The promised day had arrived. Vlad finished running the razor over his face, the last drop of foam gone, he observed himself in the mirror, offering a gentle smile. With soft features and a square chin, he was a handsome twenty-year-old, teetering between warrior and high-born knight. His aquamarine eyes contrasted with his jet-black hair tied in a ponytail that reached his nape. Tall and muscular, with a Herculean physique, his toned abdomen bore scars from training.

He grew up among soldiers. Orlox feared that times of peace would make his offspring weak, so he sent his sons to learn from General Lawrence in the barracks of the south. Vlad mastered the art of every blade and hand-to-hand combat, all while maintaining royal manners during his intermittent returns to the fortress of Inmortalis.

The difference between his brother and any other prince, Vlad was more of a warrior than a noble, yet he accepted to be king more out of duty than ambition. He could barely contain his breath; his hand trembled as he held the razor close to slipping; he nicked his cheek slightly and dabbed the bleeding with cotton.

"Here we go... it'll all be fine..." Vlad, shirtless, with only a pair of unbuttoned pants, massaged his still-stinging smooth skin after finishing shaving. "I can do this... I know I can. I've prepared for weeks... no... my whole life for this day. Just put that thing on my head, greet the people... and sit in that chair for hours... then dance... I'll drink as if I were Adrien at any ordinary party... I can do it. I'll be a king... I'll be a good king. There's no danger of messing up and the people revolting to put my head on a pike."

A warrior didn't equate to ruling. Vlad understood the difference and would ascend the throne with the mindset of protecting the people. His insecurities were compensated for by having his father by his side, the counsel of a wise man who wore the crown. A title that, according to Orlox's words, defined it as a curse, where one ceased to be human to protect the country. Despite this warning, he remained steadfast in his conviction.

Adrien sought freedom, Vlad sought recognition. The laws of succession were reversed by the brothers' decision, and furthermore, the prince was never alone. The last conversation he had with his father still came to mind. The young prince was summoned to the study, a cozy library lit by the fireplace where the king shone peacefully, from his armchair wrapped in a dressing gown and away from the liquor cabinet that had been emptied by order of the queen. Not a drop of alcohol would touch the monarch's throat.

Without looking at him, Orlox hit Vlad with a question that took him by surprise: "Should a king be loved or feared?"

Without hesitation, he answered that he should be loved by his people, earning himself a history encyclopedia of Artizan, written by Haunted. Vlad barely dodged it, but when he picked it up to demand an explanation, Orlox pointed to the book after choking on an entire bottle of water. It narrated the stories of many kings of Artizan, all feared by their people as they knew them in their times of conflict and how they confronted them, merciless to traitors, relentless to invaders, but above all, doing what needed to be done to protect the people.

Vlad couldn't ascertain if his father was drunk or not; his eyes showed signs of sleeplessness from nights of struggling with withdrawal, and with seriousness, he continued the sermon. Hand placed on the shoulder, staring into each other's eyes, the king indicated that one heinous act saved thousands. Fear was the sword and curse he would need when donning the crown, as long as he made sure not to bear the burden of hatred.

Maintaining the people both satisfied and fearful, the balance of these factors laid the foundation for a prosperous reign. However, one must beware of the friendly ones, those who openly smile at his actions while sharpening their knives behind his back driven by ambition. A true king would identify them to cut off their heads before they poisoned their lands with conspiracy and death. A heartless act to prevent hundreds more.

That conversation continued to linger in Vlad's mind, haunting him in the nocturnal veil. The need to always watch his back shook his very core. A knock on the door snapped him out of his ruminations.

"Come in," Vlad placed the razor in the sink, and a feminine figure entered the bathroom.

"Hey! You were taking too long, so I came to find you," the woman of short stature, barely reaching five feet tall, hopped into the room. "You need to look radiant for your coronation."

Agatha appeared as a slender elfin woman of short stature, with delicate features that made her look like a porcelain doll. Cinnamon-colored skin and sharp purple eyes. Her pointed ears were covered by a hat similar to those worn by harlequins, adorned with various tails, at the tips of which hung ornaments shaped like golden stars, moons, and suns. The headband on her forehead was adorned with a ruby red gem, the so-called crown that helped her manifest and amplify her magic. A braided ponytail emerged from the back of the hat, with a red brooch at the tip. Her outfit consisted of a dress of red and gold colors, with golden details adorned with stars and runes. She wore tight red and blue stockings.

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Always wearing a radiant smile, loyal and with a brazen enthusiasm that bordered on suffocating, that's how Vlad defined his assistant. When he met her as a teenager, he couldn't believe she was much older than him, in her forties for being an elf, and with the appearance of an eighteen-year-old of short stature. This was rare among her kind, who were known for being tall people with sharp features, thin faces of beautiful demeanor, even the men looked androgynous.

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"I'm doing my best..." Vlad passed by her, unaware of the newly crafted mischievous smile as she glanced at him, and couldn't resist the temptation to give her a playful slap on the buttocks.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"You're quick!" The jolt made him jump, emitting a high-pitched squeal, causing him to cover his mouth, flushed with embarrassment. He feared the other mercenaries and soldiers within the barracks would discover them.

"What's wrong with you, shorty? Do you want them to overthrow me before we even start?"

"Relax, kid," she flexed her arms, showing off her muscles, "I've got your back! That's the job of your bodyguard and squire."

"Don't say that out loud..." Vlad ran a hand over his face. "They already think our relationship is too strange as it is."

"Translate this fantasy story into English.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. They would love to have a talented and beautiful sorceress like you as their protector," she said in a cheerful voice, winking confidently.

"Shut up and help me with my clothes," he replied, gesturing for her to follow him. "You said I must look radiant. What do you have for me?"

In the next few minutes, Agatha floated using her magic, pulling out dress after dress and tossing them onto the bed in the simple room with brick walls and a wardrobe. Vlad watched with a mixture of embarrassment as his friend made him try on everything, flying from one place to another, discarding alternatives.

"This one look perfect... no, wait! This one is better!" Agatha acted like a child, throwing and removing one outfit after another, much to Vlad's growing distress.

"We were supposed to have one planned..." he pointed to one of the doublets on the bed.

"I found five other alternatives! It was love at first sight," she excused herself. "Do as I say. We can't afford any mistakes. This is the most important day of your life. Everything must be perfect, and as your squire, I cannot allow any errors."

"Being late could be the worst mistake of my existence..." Vlad grabbed the first garment he saw. "This one, and let's go."

"Screw them! You're going to be king! Everyone will have to bow their heads when they greet you if they don't want to be decapitated," Agatha analyzed the outfit and nodded approvingly before leaving the room. "Let's see how it fits you."

Once finished, Vlad looked at himself again in the mirror. He was dressed in a reddish coat with golden details, with white ruffles coming out of the sleeves. The coat was open at the chest, revealing a white shirt over the armored undershirt. As usual, he wore a sword and pistol sheathed at his belt, white trousers, and brown boots with golden buckles. His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his bangs were neatly groomed.

"You can come in," he called, and the young woman entered again, her eyes sparkling, causing Vlad's ego to soar. He received any compliment with open arms, flashing a sly, knife-sharp smile.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Decent," she nodded, giving him a thumbs-up.

They crossed the barracks' hallways filled with soldiers on rock walls. Agatha escorted him proudly, raising her staff to make way for the future king. Every man and woman patted Vlad on the back; they didn't see him as a pompous nobleman but as one of their own, another warrior who grew up among weapons from a young age, so there was trust.

There were promises of eternal loyalty, laughter as they invited each other to toast with wine in honor of the new king. Some joked that it would be strange to call him by the title of lord once he wore the crown. Throughout the journey, Vlad never let go of the sword hilt, ready to draw it in a trembling hand that might slip; nerves ate at him. Everything would change, and even though he said he could handle it, deep down, he cursed Adrian for running away with his lover to ride in the meadows.

From the moment the crown was placed on his head, he would never be the same man again; a new life would be born, or the end of it, he screamed inwardly, unable to escape that fact.

As they climbed the stairs, they reached a brown hallway, with a wide, bright white corridor illuminated by electric spheres connected by cables, and there they were awaited by the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, Lawrence Ligthwing, and the chief mechanic, Victor Frankenstein. The embodiment of a giant warrior, winged at shoulder height, and a wise constructor of technology.

Lawrence was a mature man of robust build and tall stature, with short blonde hair, arranged by a white strip, and a thick beard dyed with threads of albinos. He wore an aquamarine armor with prominent shoulder pads from which a black cape emerged, the standard attire of the guard. He held a mace tied to his belt.

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Frankie's attire consisted of a hooded platinum tunic, from which a backpack adorned with runic engravings emerged. He had harsh, thick features, with a round chin showing a goatee. He wore round glasses, and around his neck hung a chain with a gear, a symbol of his creed of the lords of machines. He wore metal gloves from which he held a mechanical staff, like an engine.

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"Today the boy becomes a man!" Lawrence placed his hands on Vlad's shoulders, greeting him with an air of pride and reassurance. "How do you feel?"

"About to lose my head, Uncle Lawrence," he joked, though he wasn't his blood relative, he raised him during his training days. "Nothing new... I still manage to hold back the urge to vomit."

"You haven't even reached your first day, and you're already babbling," Frankie tapped Vlad's shoulder with his cane.

"I think a good king shouldn't lie," Vlad excused himself, even though deep down, he wanted to say that he couldn't lie to them.

"What are we going to do with this kid?" Frankie massaged his temples, bitter as only he knew how to be. "Too noble, too good... he'll end up with his head on a pike."

"They'll have to pass over my dead body for that to happen!" Agatha stepped between Vlad and the two lords, seemingly unaware of the difference in size and power that could exist.

"Relax... it's just our way of taking care of Vlad," Lawrence calmed the waters, and then he looked back at the young prince. "We promised your father that we would turn you into a great warrior; becoming a king will mean we'll have to knock some sense into you if you dare to rest on your laurels... isn't that right, Frankie?"

"If he keeps my research funds in order..." Frankie stopped to think for a few seconds and then solemnly declared, "then I'll keep tolerating."

"That's his way of saying he supports you unconditionally," Lawrence corrected.

"I appreciate it, but..." Vlad hesitated as he discovered an inconsistency, "I thought I would see you at the coronation alongside my parents."

"I sent several of my men to guard His Majesty," Lawrence confessed, placing his hand on Vlad's shoulder, and a hint of a smile appeared on Frankie's face. "We wanted to give you our blessing personally. You're going to do well, son. We trust you, and we'll be there to support you no matter what."

"We'll keep that crown on your head until your hair turns white," Frankie continued, "Just don't forget to send money to my laboratory, and we'll work wonders."

"Thank you so much..." A warmth sparked in Vlad's heart, a fire that purged his insecurities as he felt that trust and appreciation. The weight of the crown was still present, one that he would bear with strength until the end. "To both of you."

"They're going to make me vomit..." Agatha waved her staff in the direction they needed to go. "But we have a tight schedule."