What is a noble?

That word has a lot of meanings. The most common, I think, references someone born into a position of power, those who are meant to rule by the right of bloodline. They are those that are meant to represent the best of humanity. The elite of the kingdom. This is the view used by both said nobles and the commoners they govern, an idea purposely reinforced by those in power to ensure their subjects don’t dare to question their superiority no matter how they govern their territories.

Others see nobles as people with access, nobility nothing but a title that makes getting on with their business, whatever it is, that much easier. It’s an ambitious way of thinking reserved for the ambitious. The common men and women who believe they can change their lives with enough hard work and daring. To them, the only power they respect is their own. Everyone else is just an opportunity or an obstacle.

Then there are those who think nothing of nobles and only see nobility as a trait. Something that can used or thrown away by anyone. The proud and the purposeful. Those who aren’t defined by their circumstances and won’t let others define themselves charitably.

If anyone had asked me before this year what definition I believe in, I would have quickly said the first. For the first eighteen years of my life, I couldn’t say with confidence that I was any better than the villagers my father loosely governed. And yet, because I was born with a last name, I was, objectively, better than them. A girl born to a farmer could be the smartest, strongest, and quickest person in a hundred leagues, but she would still be looked down upon and I would always have more opportunities, despite my family being oppressed by the Grimoires.

You are either born lucky, a noble, or you are not.

Now? I have my own definition. Nobility is nothing. Titles mean nothing. Gold means nothing. Bloodline means nothing. There is only one power that truly matters. Personal power. What a person and the people beside them can do. Whether that’s the intellect to outthink the constraints of a system working against them or the strength to punch through it, personal power, if you have enough of it, wins.

The lord of Quest is powerful, but in the way of a classic noble. A few hours after breakfast, Earl returns from his errands. Between him and the succubi, I have a pretty good idea of the man we’re dealing with.

The Teppins are an old family that can trace their lineage as far back as the founding of Harvest. The original patriarch was one of the generals in the First King’s army that led the push into the then wild lands of the continent. In those days, Quest was one of the largest war camps in the fledgling kingdom, second only to Victory. Not just anyone could be put in charge of rowdy soldiers still in the thick of war with the wild residents of the land. The king of the time hoped a strong hand would keep them in line.

Something that proved correct and false at the same time. The general could relate to the soldiers but managing a city was a very different thing from managing an army. As natural resources flooded the fledging Quest, it needed a different kind of mind to guide it into the future. An administrator, rather than a fighter.

And so, a tradition was created. The successor would always be a child that excelled in academics, administration, and negotiation. Another child would be trained in matters of war, to remind the family of its roots. Together, they would manage the city, one through the strength of mind and the other through strength of arms.

A beautiful thought, but the truth is, there can only be one leader. The optimistic tradition has caused nothing but strife for the family. It’s a rare thing when the design works acts intended, two siblings with insight into opposing worlds supporting one another for the betterment of the city. Usually, the administrator hoards all the power of the family for themselves, as their kind is wont to do. In a few rare cases, the brute of the family usurps the mastermind and that is not a situation anyone looks forward to.

This generation, another administrator is the patriarch of the family, which explains the cowardly attitude of the guard. It also explains his decision to piss me off by making me a wanted woman.

The current Lord Teppin is a noble in the first sense of the word. Someone who draws his power from his bloodline and the power invested in it by the crown. Without the crown, he is nothing, so he dares not defy the will of the king. Worse, he is a schemer. Someone who deals in the long-term, rather than the short-term threat of an angry caster or three knocking on his door.

Unfortunately for him, he’s severely underestimating the threat of a few casters. I suppose he thinks the standing force of thirty odd knights, the true force behind the Teppin name and the reason the guilds don’t run roughshod over the family, are adequate protection. Rumors are they have three master casters amongst them. Enough to make fighting the family too costly for the guilds but not enough to bring them to heel. Certainly enough to stop an arrogant, deviant noblewoman and her cohort.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Or so he thinks.

The air is tense as we ride through the city. By now, I imagine anyone with any stake in the city knows my name, face, and personal crest. They know who I am and where I’m going, as one doesn’t ride to the only estate in the walled city by accident. Violence is in the air and the people of Quest can sense it. The roads noticeably clear the closer we get to our goal and Bell, riding atop the carriage, spots a contingent of the city’s guards following us once we’re close.

I suppose the designer of the Teppin estate figured a wall around the property would be redundant with the tall wall around the city. Or perhaps they thought the materials could be put to better use. As such, there is only a fence around the grounds. A deterrent for pests and unruly children, not hostile casters.

I imagine the half dozen men standing in full plate armor, the head of an axe buried in a stylized sun, the crest of the Teppin family, painted on their chests, taking up the full width of the road leading up to the estate are meant to be the true deterrent. Or perhaps a distraction for the dozen others behind them that can’t escape Bell’s sharp gaze, ready to unleash a rain of magical destruction if we dare approach.

We roll to a stop a safe distance before them. Far enough away to give them a sense of safety but not so far that I couldn’t be on them before they realize what’s happening if they prove they lack manners by attacking us without a word.

Inside my carriage, Kierra and Alana prepare for a fight while Yulia sits with her lips pressed in a tight frown. I’m not sure what the snow bunny is doing here. Conflict doesn’t agree with her, but she insisted on being present. Believes there will be a job for her when the fighting’s done, which is a bit ridiculous. We are far beyond the need for a negotiator, but Alana approved her presence and I’m sure the succubi can protect her, so here she is.

“Ready?” I ask when my elf has strapped on her last knife and Alana has tightened the straps of her gauntlets. I get a savage grin and a grim nod. Time to make a point.

Slowly, so slowly I feel like a monster pretending to be a human, I step out of the carriage. A warm breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders as I step onto the dirt road. Saints, it’s a nice day. I should be sitting beneath one of the trees of Kierra’s garden, enjoying a bowl of fruit and honey. Or maybe strolling through the Grand Market, frivolously spending gold I haven’t earned. What a waste to spend a day like this wading through blood.

The poor knights standing in front of the flimsy gate of the Teppin estate don’t recognize death as it comes for them. I can hear them muttering to themselves.

“That her?”

“Fucking barbed arrow up the ass, I got out of bed at the ass of dawn for a scrap of a girl?”

“Scrap? Too many nights in the Zone has fucked your eyes. I’ve seen bulls with less muscle than her.”

“The fuck? My thumb is thicker than those arms.”

“I’d do her.”

“Quiet, all of you!”

After deep and authoritative voice snaps at them, the men shut up. They even straighten their backs, their grips tightening on their weapons, swords and shields for all of them. Having found the leader, I keep my attention on him. He isn’t the biggest of their number or the best equipped. I’d say he could do with a refitting. His breastplate is as dull as the shoddy armor Alana still wears, I really must do something about it, and just as scratched. Standing between the mountain of a man to his left and the cockily posing warrior without a helmet to his right, he doesn’t seem like much at all. But there is something about him. An intensity in his dark eyes.

Ah. Maybe he does recognize what’s coming for him.

“That’s far enough,” he shouts at me when I’m close enough that he expects me to hear him, drawing his sword from its scabbard. The other knights don’t draw but their bodies are tense, ready to move at a moment’s notice. I imagine he’s thinking something similar to me when I stopped the carriage. I’m far enough away to make me feel safe but not so far that he and his men can’t reach me before I can do much damage.

Hilarious. The last thing these men want to do is get close to me, but I suppose keeping me any further away would make any discussions difficult.

“Lourianne Tome. By decree of King Sebastian kor Harvest, you are to be detained for acting against the king’s law. Surrender peacefully and no harm will come to you,” the leader says in a stern but droll voice. His tone suggests he knows damn well I have no intention of surrendering. “Don’t, and we will detain you by force.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, projecting my voice and ignoring his ultimatum. “I warned your lord I was coming. If he has any sense, he investigated us and knows what we can do. You know what we can do. Why are you standing here instead of dragging your liege out of this city?”

There’s a long pause where I think the leader won’t answer me. But then he tucks his sword under his arm and removes his helm, revealing a square and scarred face that only a mother could love. “I am Sir William Deckard,” he roars with the vigor of a proud lion. “One of the Glorious!

“My great-grandfather was given his family name by the Lord Teppin he served. We have defended the Teppin family and Quest for generations. I received your note and I know of your wife. What she did to Emeritus. I counseled escape but my lord has greater concerns than his own life. He has ordered me to defend this road so I will defend it with my life.

“However, you are not a knight. There are no oaths constraining your actions. Leave Quest. I guarantee neither my fellows nor my lord will care to chase you. End this farce before you cause any more damage.”

I chuckle. “You’re wrong about one thing, Sir Deckard. I’ve got plenty of oaths binding me. That note was my attempt to work around them. A mercy you idiots really don’t deserve. And now you have the stones to ask for more.”

I wonder if he knows I can see exactly how deeply he frowns. “This is a mercy for you too. You are strong, yes, and I don’t doubt you’ve brought strong people with you, but you are outmanned and surrounded.”

“Outmanned and surrounded. You’re not wrong, but you are working under a few misconceptions. Chief among them, that I’m the one in danger.”

“So be it,” Sir Deckard says, voice heavy with exhaustion and dread.

He’s still putting on his helmet when I transform.