“The Order of Pelirise was once amongst the finest troops in the entire kingdom of Dael, and consisted of brave knights devoted to the goddess. But time and war left their mark, the braves became fewer and fewer... and eventually, their treatment of captives and their methods were deemed too brutal and unholy even toward nomadic raiders and heretics, and so they were casted aside by king Arvus Agelien before they could tarnish the goddess' image. Nowadays, the Order is still comprised of skilled warriors, but they're little more than a bunch of violent fanatics and bandits playing templar, and they loathe the church and the royal family, supposedly for their softness and tameness.

-Daeli chronicler”

* * *

Ezveril

It was on a bleak morning that the siege began. The sun wasn't high up in the sky, in fact it wasn't there at all, hidden behind the white cloudy sky, and the thick fog had barely started to fade. The bells rang, their deep and low sound echoing throughout the palace, and loud footsteps and yelling reached Ezveril Agelien's ears through the wooden door of her room.

“Your highness, it has begun,” said Hilne Neraldes, who was being armed by a squire. Clad in grey glittering plate with sharp steel at her waist, she looked like she was going to ride into battle and charge the enemy at the head of the heavy cavalry.

“Where will you be, Hilne?” Ezveril asked, her fingers playing frenetically with the buttons of her night silks. The morning was chilly, the flood icy on her bare feet, and she noticed her legs were shivering.

The knight smiled, like a mother expecting a silly question from her child would. “At your side, princess. The walls may fall and the gates may break, but even then I shan't leave you.”

“Will they fall?” Ezveril asked impulsively, nearing her balcony, but forcing herself not to look as if it would bring bad luck. “The walls...”

Hilne shook her head. “Of course not, princess. Lord Segheon has already sent a pigeon last week to call our fleet. They'll arrive anytime, now.” She paused and thought for a second. “I've also heard lady Atricia and lord Vierodel have bought new engines from this Callirian merchant, making the walls unapproachable.”

Ezveril remembered that day in the audience hall. A fortnight ago, or perhaps more. She had forgotten, as she'd often attend willingly, especially since the lady-regent seldom bothered with such matters. Somehow, she found enjoyment in pretending to sit in Vierodel's chair, where she'd dispense justice and answer the citizens' worries. Doubtless said enjoyment would be ruined by lady Atricia's attendance, if such an event ever came to be...

And so she was there, the day this Demnir fellow came to speak in front of lord Vierodel. There was not much to say about the man ; he was an opportunist and a liar, much like everyone else. It was probably what earned him a room in the palace, and it was certainly the reason she had a bad feeling about him.

“Why are we entrusting the defence of the city to the likes of Flavo and Demnir?”

Hilne thanked the squire once he was done with her armour, then came near Ezveril. She bore the three moons of her family crest on each shoulder plate, and carried her helm under one arm. The princess was glad the knight wasn't wearing the helmet – with only a thin slit for the eyes, it was just a great lump of decorated steel that made the dark-haired beauty look like a soulless monster. “Have you talked to lord Vierodel about that?”

“How could I?” She scoffed. “He wouldn't listen to me or anyone, and even lord Segheon sides with him.”

Hilne did not reply to that, probably agreeing with Ezveril's point. A series of knocks at her door almost made her jump, and she couldn't help glancing at her knight with, she was sure, a frightened expression. Hilne went to open the door, and it turned out to be one of Vierodel's nameless lackeys.

“Master Vierodel asks if you'd like to break your fast in his company,” said the slave. “He wants you to know that food shall be served on his lordship's balconies, so your highness could watch the battle in his company. Afterwards, your highness could spend the day with him and enjoy the events from afar.”

“...He invites me to eat?” she repeated, both confused and offended.

“Yes, princess.”

“Now? To watch the siege?”

“I believe so.”

“What an extravagance,” she muttered. The slave had an apologetic expression, perhaps he also found the situation absurd, or perhaps he was feigning. Ezveril almost wanted to yell out her frustration on the slave, but she knew it wouldn't amount to anything. She sent him away instead.

“You should go,” said Hilne all of the sudden, to Ezveril's surprise. “Lord Segheon would surely say the same, if you truly want to understand Vierodel of Ocia and get him on your side, you cannot afford to avoid him. Unless your highness feels unwell, in which case I'll tell-”

“No, you're right...” It might be worth it, she thought. At least it was better than staying isolated here, waiting anxiously for good or bad news, even with Hilne at her side.

Ezveril called for her maidservants to help her dress. Glancing through her wardrobe, she chose a pale blue Vieran robe to match her eyes, not even bothering to look at her own clothes anymore. Daeli dresses were humbler and would often involve the use of a corset, while the gowns Atricia had provided were almost all sleeveless, either dangerously loose or awfully tight around the womanly parts, and more generally, too revealing for Ezveril's tastes. What was the point of having clothing long enough to brush the ground and trip on it, for instance, if the two slits on each side went so high they almost exposed her buttocks? The princess had always suspected that Atricia, who wore such gowns with grace, was inflicting this ordeal on her as a way to humiliate her. But she'd rather suffer this small inconvenience if it pleased the lady-regent, lest the horrible woman acted even meaner and threatened once more to have her hair dyed purple by force.

Her hair wasn't the ashen blond of her father, but a light brown, or dark gold, she could never decide – what she knew was that it was the same as her mother, and she'd sooner walk around naked than have it dyed to please the nastiest person she knew. “One night, while you sleep,” the lady-regent would say from time to time, “I'll send slaves to get rid of this earthy mess you call hair. You won't even notice until you wake up.” Ezveril never quite knew whether she was meaning it, or only jesting. But once, when Atricia was very drunk and in an awful mood, and when Vierodel and Hilne weren't around, she made a different threat, a truly vicious one, saying she could order her manservants to do something else to her...

A glimpse at herself in the mirror, and Ezveril rid her face of that angry frown. Then, they left for Vierodel's apartments, and all around the palace, servants would cower or hurry, freemen would bellow orders, soldiers were running in the corridors. At the entrance of the lord's chambers stood a few slaves, and some she wasn't sure where she had seen before. The one that caught her attention the most, since he was staring, was a young man the same age as Vierodel, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, but with short brown hair and the most ordinary face she had ever seen. They exchanged stares, and he attempted a strange bow, clumsy and out of place – it looked like traditional Daeli etiquette, but even in her country they rarely used it these days...

She gave him a confused and pitying look before walking straight to the doors. In the large room decorated with carpets, sculptures and divans, Vierodel wasn't alone, and for a moment she wanted to go back while nobody had noticed her. Alas, they quickly did. Hilne's clanking armour was probably what made them so noticeable.

“...Your highness,” lord Segheon said as he turned around in his green robes, apparently surprised to see her. “And lady Neraldes. Good morning. Have you slept well, princess?”

Vierodel's invitation must have been a whim, because nobody looked like they were expecting her – lady Atricia dropped her charming smile, while the sly merchant Demnir seemed to have picked it up. “Yes, thank you,” she eventually answered. Vierodel greeted her too, and so did his mother, albeit with the usual disdain. Atricia quickly escaped to the balcony, her slender hips swaying with each step, her gorgeous figure highlighted by the cream-coloured gown tightly held in place by a single chain around the waist. Then it was the Callirian's turn.

“An honour to finally make your acquaintance, princess Ezveril,” he said in his odd accent, bowing, while she did a curtsy in return. Same as the first day he appeared, there was a confidence in his low-pitched voice that felt unsuited for his age and his circumstances. And these piercing eyes, shining like the silver coins he craved so much for... “I wonder what took so long? We live in the same palace, and though I'll admit it is quite vast, it's as if no one here had the good idea to invite us both for supper!”

Vierodel gave a forced laugh, and Saerge a nervous one. Ezveril did not recall doing anything in particular to avoid the merchant, though she certainly didn't go out of her way to meet him, so she figured it must have been Atricia's doing. For what reason, she knew not, but it was likely done out of malevolence or distrust.

“Could it be that you too were invited at his lordship's table?” she asked the Callirian, hoping it wasn't the case. It was bad enough to have lady Atricia around – because of course, she would certainly be staying – and she had no wish for the foreign greedy merchant to be there too.

Stolen story; please report.

Lord Vierodel dragged his feet toward them. “He wasn't, but now he is,” he said as he motioned for the balconies. “What say you, lord Demnir? There's space enough for all of us, if you wish to stay.”

Ezveril did not miss that and almost rolled her eyes. Oh, he's a lord now, is he? Demnir shook his head politely, his pleasant smile never fading.

“I'm afraid I cannot. I only came to speak about the siege, and now that we've done that,” he said, putting one hand on his sword hilt and extending the other arm, “the walls await me.”

“Is that so.” She must have looked either irritated or worried, for the merchant raised a brow and widened his fake grin. His white teeth and the pale grey eyes contrasted with the slight tan of his skin and his raven hair.

“Fear not, princess,” he said as he glanced at Hilne behind her. “I trust you'll be quite safe with this noble knight. My lady, may I ask for your name?”

“...Hilne Neraldes,” the knight answered flatly after a short hesitation. Not many people dared to call Hilne a lady when she was in armour, and in truth, few dared to even speak with her in the first place... Fewer were those who managed to look her in the eye – she was taller than the average Daeli man, and her icy blue eyes seemed to be judging anyone they encountered, except Ezveril.

But he stared, and not once he glanced away. “Ah, yes, descending from Neral of the Dark. Forgive my ignorance, I am ashamed that I would fail to recognise the three moons of the Neraldes house, famous even in Callir. A pleasure.” He then nodded to Saerge Segheon. “I believe it is time, lord ambassador. Shall we?”

“Yes indeed. Lest good captain Flavo take advantage of our absence to launch an attack on the enemy camp...” With his fingers, lord Segheon combed what little hair he had left on his balding skull, a pointless endeavour in Ezveril's opinion, and headed outside with Demnir. “The man is spirited and eager, I'll give him that, but perhaps he is a bit too eager...”

The merchant's laugh was muffled by the door that the slave from earlier closed behind them. At least, Ezveril wasn't the only one who thought of Flavo as an unpleasant man... Even though the captain of the city-watch had never done anything conspicuously evil or vicious, it seemed everyone had the same opinion about him. A wolf in human clothing, waiting patiently for opportunities to satisfy his lust for blood and be rewarded for it... Men like that had their use in times of war, she had heard her father say, but Ezveril knew that Flavo had been around long before the siege, and would still be there long after. How does one keep such beasts under control when there are no enemies threatening the city?

She knew the answer, of course. Enemies could always be found inside the walls.

Her nose tickled and itched, and she noticed that the strong scent of Saerge's perfume had not left along with its owner. Ezveril turned her attention toward the Vierans. Lady Atricia was seated on the balcony already, where a table, chairs and cushions had been brought under hanging drapes.

“Well then,” lord Vierodel said, delicately taking the princess by the arm, “are you hungry? I'll have the cooks serve anything you wish, in the meantime there are grapes, figs and olives to peck. Furs and brasiers, if you are cold. You too, lady Neraldes,” he added with a smile. “I doubt you'll need that armour, why not wear something more... comfortable?”

“Thank you, my lord, but I'll be fine.” Then she stood against one of arched doors leading to the balcony, and fell in her usual silence. Royal knights need neither food nor sleep, Ezveril thought, repeating the absurd stupid words from the holy vow. We shall reject comfort and luxury, and make vigilance and honour ours. Foes of the crown shall be our only nourishment, and rest we shall find once our duty is complete.

She hated that Hilne sometimes seemed to be following her vows to the letter. Outside was cold indeed, and so Ezveril wrapped herself in furs. She neared the balcony rail, and beyond the city walls, she saw it.

Tents and horses and men and wagons and fires. Flags of yellow and sigils she had never seen floated in the wind. Large wooden monsters had begun to rise from between the tents, and people were crawling around those. The encampment stretched throughout the entire southern horizon, though she could see that the width of it wasn't as great as its length. By spreading their tents as far as they could, the besiegers would give the defenders an intimidating sight. That was probably how it looked from the walls, in any case – here in the tall palace, the impact was lessened. Atop the city walls, she could see more soldiers, and more of these wooden engines on the towers, and on the other side, crammed up near the port entrance, purple sails were facing yellow sails.

“What a sight, wouldn't you agree? They took advantage of the fog to set camp during the night, but we already knew they were coming, so it's somewhat fine.”

Ezveril glanced at a grinning Vierodel, and frowned. “You don't even seem worried.” Was he feigning confidence? And lady Atricia did not look anxious either, for that matter. She was already pouring wine in a cup, but the princess had stopped being surprised long ago. The realisation had not struck her the first time she saw Atricia drinking till she almost passed out. Ezveril had not understood the second, third or fourth times either. But one evening, at one of these hours-long suppers during which the lady-regent would drink more than she'd eat, it made sense.

Atricia of Ocia does not care, she thought back then. She would never attend the audience days, and her absence during the military councils had become more and more frequent. Atricia had no interest in ruling the city or in organising the defences, and would rather spend her time emptying amphoras, smoking opium, bedding slaves or picking on Ezveril. Since then, the princess had been wondering why Saerge Segheon had told her otherwise. Lady Atricia might enjoy power, but she doesn't care for administration and ruling. Her son Vierodel was already doing this on her behalf, so what was the point of postponing his wedding by engaging him to Ezveril?

In the end, it only comforted her in her doubts and worries. If Ezveril and her young age served no purpose to Atricia, it meant it did to her father – Arthian Agelien never left anything to chance. As the crown prince's last and youngest daughter, she was unlikely to inherit the throne, he could afford to send her away in a foreign city. A city which he knew would be attacked at some point...

“And you are brooding,” Vierodel said, interrupting her thoughts and caressing her cheek with his soft fingers. “What is it, my princess? Something is worrying you.”

The siege is worrying me, she replied in her mind, but she couldn't really admit to her husband-to-be that his bride was a disposable bargain tool in the eyes of prince Arthian. For all she knew, it could have been the reason of Atricia's disdain. Any parent would feel insulted to see their son wed the less important daughter of a large and prestigious family.

“If the enemy frightens you,” he continued, “wait until you see lord Demnir's weaponry. If I am to believe captain Flavo's kind predictions, this will be – and I'm quoting him – a spectacle that elevates killing to art.”

“Yes, well, as it happens, I am worried about your new friend,” Ezveril improvised. “Lord Demnir? Forgive me, but I surmise he's entirely unworthy of your trust.”

Lady Atricia let out a loud and mocking laugh that earned her an awkward glance from her son. “Who said anything about trust?” she said, her tone feigning shock. “Idiot girl.”

“What my mother meant to say, princess, is that you are indeed right,” Vierodel said, his purple lips curving in the same fake smile as ever. “We'd be fools to trust an odd character like this one.”

“Then why are you letting him take part in the siege's command?”

The lord shrugged. “Because he is useful, why else? Demnir of Callir might be bright and eloquent, but in the end he is only an exile. He has too many enemies and too few allies, and no weapon beside his flattery and his trade. He is desperate to regain his wealth and he'll do anything to help us win the war if it allows him to fill his pockets with our silver.”

“Still, you let him wander the palace freely. Shouldn't you at least have him watched?”

Another snicker from Atricia. “Didn't he buy that girl you sent?”

“He did,” Vierodel said with a shrug. He then saw Ezveril's confused and irritated stare and granted her the honour of an explanation. “We're not careless, princess. He is being watched – everyone is, truly. Captain Flavo has no idea that some of his own men report his every word and action, and our dear lord ambassador Segheon is clearly not wary enough of the many whores he visits.”

The lord gave her the kindest smile she had ever seen, and it must have taken hours and hours of practise to make his facial muscles move in such a delicate way. And so Ezveril knew that he had planted watchers amongst her own maidservants. It was no surprise, but knowing that lady Atricia was spying on her made her even more terrifying. Ezveril looked discreetly at Hilne, wondering if she had any idea about the spies' identities. But the knight's face was unreadable like always, a sentinel forever silent with ever-watching icy eyes and ever-listening ears.

“What about this slave you sold to the Callirian?” she asked, steering the conversation back on Demnir.

“I suppose he felt homesick and took a liking to her? Though she told me he did not bed her, oddly enough.”

“Perhaps he prefers men...” Lady Atricia almost sounded disappointed and vexed, for some reason, and her beautiful face was sulking.

Atricia's son shook his head vigorously. “I doubt it, mother, he couldn't look away from your beauty the other night. Regardless, any desire on earth can be satisfied, and so whatever food Demnir eats, we can provide it if we want.”

Ezveril glanced away and stared at the ground very hard, still not accustomed to the Vieran nonchalance toward what would be seen as shameful or sinful tastes. Hilne had once told her a story from when she was still a young girl living in the Moonlit Castle. Two squires were caught together in the stables, and Hilne's great-uncle, duke Darius Neraldes, had the boys whipped, then stripped naked and forced, held at sword point, to finish the act in the middle of the courtyard and in front of everyone. The whole household, from elderly to younglings and distant cousins, with all their retainers, the guards, the physician, the master-at-arms, the cooks, the kennel-master, the smith, the pigeon-master, the other squires, the maidservants, even the priest of Pelirise and the sleepweaver of Atharemine... They all watched in silence, until it was finally over and the duke kicked them out of his castle while threatening to hang them by the crotch if he ever saw them again, and to do the same to anyone he'd catch indulging in similar crimes.

“So,” Ezveril said, chasing those thoughts far away, “what else did you learn from the girl?”

“Nothing yet,” Vierodel admitted with a hint of reluctance.

“Nothing?” She found the idea quite unnerving. If Vierodel wasn't lying, then the slave was. If she wasn't either, then it meant Demnir was far too good when it came to hiding things, which was the worst possibility.

“Give it time, princess. This slave is one sneaky rat, she'll find out his secrets soon enough.”

Ezveril frowned, wondering if slaves could really be trusted. She had never owned any slave as it was forbidden in Dael, and so she would never pretend to know how slaves were thinking, but if Demnir was a kinder master than Vierodel and Atricia – and any master would seem kinder than Atricia, she was sure of it – then why should the slave girl stay loyal to the Vierans?

“Then what?” the princess asked. “When you find out his secrets, and if perchance he is not a traitor deserving of the rope, what will you do? Confront him? Wait and watch?”

“For now, the Callirian is a helpful ally against Paar,” said Atricia, holding her cup between her thumb and her middle finger, making the wine in it swirl and swirl. “And as long as he stays helpful, he is our friend and our esteemed guest.”

“But after the siege is lifted, well...” Vierodel gazed at the walls, resting his elbow on the balcony rail. The wind blew hard suddenly, crashing against his purple robes, making his long curly hair flow and sway. “That's a different story, isn't it?”