Eirik stood behind the doors, his mouth dry and a heavy weight on his shoulders figuratively and literally. The massive satin and fur cape hung majestically from his shoulders, linked to his doublet by golden chains. Rings of his forefathers decorated his fingers and he imagined he could already feel the heavy weight of the crown.

He took a deep breath and the guards opened the doors. There was a cheer as he emerged, smiling and waving to the people. He followed the practiced path down to where the five priests stood, decorated in their own ceremonial garments. The crowd fell quiet as the first stepped forward. Eirik kneeled and tried to focus on the words as the priest blessed him with all the power of the gods of truth.

Each blessing took about ten minutes and Eirik's knees were sore by the time he stood once more. He turned and the Jarls kneeled to him. First to speak was Jarl Trandil of Greystone.

"My High King, I pledge fealty to thee and swear to defend our borders and our people."

With a solemn nod, Eirik turned to the next Jarl. From north to south they repeated the vow. Eirik had already been prepared for the exclusion of the original ‘and lay down my life for thee’ clause of the pledge, but he could hear the murmurs in the crowd. He thanked Yoriv for the countless practices the meticulous mage had insisted he had and showed no annoyance, nothing but strength and nobility until the last vow was said.

Finally Jarl Wallof, the most senior Jarl stepped forward and took up the crown. The ninety year old man too had clearly practiced as he stepped forward with a look of pure determination. Although he had used his cane to stand, he walked unassisted to place the heavy crown on Eirik's bowed head.

"Long live High King Eirik!" he shouted with surprising enthusiasm and the crowds went wild. Fanfare played and Eirik smiled at the host of people. After a few moments of congratulations, Eirik returned to the castle, flanked by guards in full splendor.

The party pared down to nobles and Eirik sat on his father's throne. The old man, crownless but still kingly, stepped forward and held out a sword, golden hilted with a huge emerald on the hilt.

"High King Eirik—son—I give you the King's Sword. Given to my grandfather at his wedding to the Lady Megthara and the founding of our lineage. May you wield it with strength and honor."

Eirik took the sword, fighting back tears. Yoriv took center stage and began a speech on the proud history of Valhym.

It was a tactfully planned transition. The King's Sword was a sensitive subject, seen by some as a painful reminder of the Imperial blood that ran through Valhym's monarchy. Eirik was all too aware he manifested his family's more imperial features and donned the blade without any more ceremony.

As Yoriv's speech concluded with a magical finale, the feasting began. Eirik began the tiresome task of going through his mental checklist and acknowledging the countless political parties at his coronation, ensuring none felt offended or unattended.

He greeted the ambassadors from the other countries. To Yoriv's disappointment, the Arch Mage did not attend, although the blue skinned Azir ambassador was exciting enough to the people of Valhym. Naturally, Eirik spent much of the feast with his distant cousin, the Sunrise Emperor of Solis. The emperor’s presence was one reason that the Jarls behaved so well and Eirik was almost disappointed he was leaving shortly after the feast.

At last the tables were cleared and the grand hall transformed by hundreds of servants into a ball room. Eirik slipped away and changed from ceremonial garb to formal wear. He returned to the cheers of the crowd.

The music began as did the hours of greeting guests. After he'd formally greeted the most important, Yorik gave him the signal to descend from his pedestal and mingle. His first dance was tactfully given to Jarl Tolla, the recently married leader of the capital's southern neighboring Jarldom. Once that political move was finished, he was slowly bombarded with women eager to dance with the king.

Once more he mentally thanked Yoriv for the preparations as he recognized each woman and where they came from, possible marriage candidates ran over by Yoriv in the days previous. He was polite and noncommittal to each, but grew more exhausted as the long day turned into a long night.

He barely registered as another woman approached him, he went through the well practiced motions and began the dance, his tired mind flipping through the names and faces he'd memorized, prepping for this next conversation.

"Hello, sweet prince."

Stembling, his mind screamed, finding this woman's face in a different section of his memory, a section he had carefully pushed down.

"Careful now, wouldn't want to start a stir..."

He recovered from his stumble, but he was stiff as he truly looked at the woman he was dancing with. Lyra had her hair done up in a beautiful intricate braid speckled with gems, her green gown showing off her eyes perfectly. He could feel her toned body under his hand and he struggled to breath as she smiled at him, her fingers entwined with his.

After a few more steps of the dance, he managed, "What are you doing here? I should—"

"Not do anything stupid or weak in front of such distinguished guests," she purred. He frowned as he realized she was right but still there was no way she wouldn't be recognized by everyone here. Surely some Jarl...

"Harold," he stated and she hummed, "that's how you got in."

She laughed, a light tinkling sound so unlike her usual cruel and mocking laugh. "Indeed, although we both know I could have gotten here anyway. Though I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I am Lyra Westor, cousin of Jarl Harold returning from studies abroad in Aryus. I'm so honored to be here at the coronation. Oh and to have a chance to dance with the prince!" She made her tinkling laugh again.

As the next dance step rotated them, she leaned forward and whispered, "Do smile a bit, you're drawing stares."

A few faces were watching them in confusion. His face, well practiced by the day, did indeed smile mechanically and most stares alleviated, although female ones stayed. He spun Lyra under his arm and as they met back again he hissed through smiling teeth, "What do you want? Why are you here?"

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She smiled coyly, her hand roaming from his shoulder to his neck, caressing the side of it. "Oh just to congratulate you and show you that your little problem is solved."

"What do you mean?" The piece was ending and he both urged it to end faster and to slow down.

"Why the problem with a mere bandit marrying a prince, of course! Lyra Bryndotter would make a terrible bride, but Lyra Westor, a noblewoman closely related to a Jarl. Why, that seems perfectly appropriate."

Eirik felt his face drain and Lyra touched his cheek, pure concern in her expression. "Why, my king, you look so pale, you should get a drink."

The song ended and he tried to peel away, but she had her strong grip on his arm. Slightly louder, so the approaching women would hear she repeated, "You look positively exhausted. A quick drink to your health."

The eyes returning, Eirik twisted his face to smile and nodded, 'leading' Lyra to a table with drinks. He poured her one mechanically and then himself, not letting her have any chance to slip something in. She gave him a knowing look before innocently drinking her wine.

A small crowd of angry noblewomen were forming at earshot distance from Eirik and he was about to use them as an excuse to escape when Harold stepped through the crowd.

"Ah, Your Majesty, I see you've met my cousin. She's just returned to Valhym from studying in Aryus." Eirik eyed Harold, who seemed put together all things considered, his words made the encroaching crowd pause.

His own words tight, Erik answered, "So I'd heard. I don't recall you ever mentioning a cousin, Jarl."

"Well, my uncle took her to Aryus at such a young age and due to my mother's poor health, we were never able to visit. At word of my father’s passing, Lady Lyra decided it was a fitting time to return to her homeland. It has been a blessing to have family in Hjor again."

Eirik was impressed Harold managed the whole speech. A few nearby eavesdroppers nodded their approval at the tale, including, to Eirik's annoyance, Jarl Sigmond. The southernmost Jarl would know nothing of Harold's family and clearly bought the tall tale.

"I'm sure."

Harold bowed and Lyra curtseyed back extending a hand which Eirik was forced to take and press to his lips quickly before escaping back to the dancing. His next partner quickly took her place.

Lady Marrissa, Jarl Tola's niece. He made polite conversation, Marrissa was his age and a clear marriage candidate. He gave her the same noncommittal responses he had rehearsed but was unable to stop himself from occasionally glancing past her to the green gowned woman who chatted amiably with other guests.

To his dismay, when the dance ended, Marrissa turned her gaze to Lyra as well, a flick of annoyance on her face. Clearly she'd spotted his poor attempts at espionage. His agitation growing, Eirik dodged the next girl and waded through the crowds to Yoriv.

"Ah, Your Majesty, enjoying the ball?" the mage asked, his cheeks a bit pink and a goblet of wine in his hand.

"I've had enough dancing. End the ball."

Yoriv raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit early yet."

He frowned. "I don't care."

The mage sighed and drained his cup. "I can't end it now without a stir. Give me an hour and I'll be able to conclude the event."

Eirik nodded unhappily, but Yoriv shooed him back into the spotlight and once again he was caught up into a dance with an eligible noblewoman. One hour.

Lyra sipped her wine eyeing the room playfully. To Eirik's partner's annoyance, he watched Lyra closely. Jarl Maelif approached Lyra and the two exchanged words. The Jarl's body language was tense, but Lyra cooly responded to whatever the Jarl had said and the two slipped through the crowd and out of sight. Eirik tilted his head to try to see where they went and completely missed his dance partner’s question.

"Your Highness?"

Eirik blinked and refocused on the girl in his arms. She was frowning, annoyance clear in her eyes. "My apologies. I thought I saw a Jarl calling for my attention, you were saying?"

The woman, Hilda Greenhelm he recalled, tittered, "I was just asking if you had planned where you would stay in Taka during your tour. You are more than welcome at the Greenhelm manor."

"Thank you for your kind offer, but it is traditional to stay under the Jarl's hospitality. I will, however, remember to pay my respects to your esteemed family during my time there."

She pouted a moment, unhappy with his gentle refusal but her flirtatious smile returned and she began regaling him with the beauty of Taka. He nodded appropriately and tried to subtly scan the crowd for the Jarl and Lyra's return, but it was in vain.

A half-dozen more dances and it was clear Yoriv had done his job. The floor was clearing and as the song ended and Eirik bowed, kissing the last lady's hand he excused himself. Yoriv intercepted the crowd that stepped towards him and chatted with him until they had escaped the ballroom.

"Thank you, Yoriv. I'll see you in the morning."

"Rest well, High King Eirik."

Eirik gave him a tired smile and climbed the steps to the king's chamber. His effects had already been moved. His father was in a guest chamber before his journey tomorrow to the summer home where he had decided to spend his retirement. Eirik respected his decision and knew it would let his father spend his last days free from the burden of political maneuvers, but he would miss him dearly.

He was exhausted. His brain sluggishly tried to think of the implications of Maelif and Lyra meeting, but his eyes were heavy and his legs lead. He opened the door expecting a Godfrey to help him to bed and instead found her admiring his new decor. He shut the door and groaned, leaning against it.

"Please leave." The words sounded pathetic and he hated himself the moment they left his mouth. She smirked and walked over, still in her brilliant green gown. She touched his cheek and he flinched.

"We had such little time to talk during our dance. I'm sure you have questions."

He did, but he could hardly summon the energy to ask. He sighed and pushed past her, sitting on the bed and removing his boots. His feet ached from dancing. "Fine. What did you and Maelif talk about?"

She sat on the bed behind him and he tensed as she unclipped the red cape from his tunic. "You did watch me closely, didn't you?" she teased before answering as he moved to stand again, "Maelif and I have known each other for a while. She's just mad I made the first move. You should be thanking me, I have no doubts she'd have you married to Hilda Greenhelm since she herself has no children. You're especially lucky she married four years ago or she'd been after you herself."

Eirik didn't have the energy to say even that would have been preferable. Instead he leaned over, burying his face in his hands. "You think a borrowed name and a sloppy backstory will be enough for the Jarls to let a murderer take the throne?"

"Sloppy? You offend me. I think you'll find my story holds up quite well under the investigation I am sure many of those whores who had their hands all over you today are throwing themselves into."

Eirik snorted at the hypocrisy, but Lyra just laughed. "I've told you before, the sooner you accept you're mine, the more sense everything will make. Now, you've done well tonight so I'll make you a deal."

He looked up and she slid closer to him, her face leaning in towards his. "You kiss me right now and I'll leave so you can get some rest."

He couldn't stop the brief flash of horror and disgust that crossed his face, but Lyra seemed to enjoy it. The cold pit in his stomach told him that this was a threat on what would happen if she stayed. Exhausted and wanting nothing in the world more than for her to leave, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Her fingers curled in his hair and locked him in for longer than he intended. When he did manage to pull away she smiled. "There that wasn't so bad. Could use some work however." She stood up and went to the door. "I'll see you on your tour."

When she left, he fell back. This was a mess. His mind swirled with the million things that had happened during his coronation, the political jabs, the half-concealed requests and promises, and of course Lyra. He fell asleep until an hour later when his manservant finally arrived and he woke, allowing the apologetic man to help him out of his clothes and properly to bed.