Archaic Era, Year 1283 (Not long after the announcement of the new Crown-son.)

Elian POV

Buzzing in the ears were a dozen voices, echoing off the spacious and decorated brick walls of the throne room, all clamoring for attention with equal fervor. A forest of figures clad in brightly-dyed robes and gleaming jewelry heaved and writhed, closing in. Dully, an arm throbbed. A splinter of panic lodged in the heart, easily buried and numbed. For a moment, the fear that this crowd might turn to bloodshed and beating. Eyes blinked, and a thought came drifting: It would be easier if they were all dead. If this were a true battlefield, and I could simply kill them.

No, no, no, no, no. Don’t put thoughts in my head, Fiend. That wasn’t a thought Elian should be having. That wasn’t something a hero should do. A hero fought to protect others and to save his friends. Elian stood in this spot because he had come to save Talon and Nania. With the defeat of the Crown-son Lordrin and the unexpected support of the Fiend, the hardest parts had already been done—all that was necessary now was to give the command for their release.

But would that be enough? If Talon were captured for the Rite of Sunset, who’s to say it couldn’t happen again.

Ugh. It really, really would be easier if this were just a normal battlefield. Where the only thing to concern oneself with was not dying and not killing. On a battlefield of words everything became so much more complicated—I think I’d rather just die.

Perhaps things would be simpler if I could imagine this as a battlefield. In that case, who is the biggest threat to take down? Eyes scanned across the heaving crowd, mind working quickly.

Not long after stealing the throne from Lordrin, the appearance of the Sun Fiend—or the thing no one else seemed to realize, or at least voice aloud, was the Sun Fiend—still held the crowd captive. Dozens and dozens of eyes as wide as saucers, glazed over with leftover awe and fear in equal measure. Fear and awe inherited that transferred to me as I stood before them. After that memorable duel, a dozen dozen things had immediately took my attention—my kingship had to be announced, the previous King sequestered away, the proper people assembled. As if bored, the Fiend hadn’t stuck around long—after a yawn and a stretch, she’d quickly disappeared, leaving me to deal with the fallout of the excitement alone.

What was to be done? Ex-King Lordrin was a problem, but one for later. After the duel, he’d been led by guards, stumbling and dumbfounded, to solitary confinement. Probably not in the dungeons like Talon and the other Angra captives, probably somewhere more comfortable, like unused guest changes. Lordrin would have to be dealt with, as he was technically still a viable candidate for King as another Crown-son, but he could wait. The more worrisome people were those amongst the crowd who were no longer awestruck.

There were a few. Most of them were older than Lordrin’s generation, mostly the older soldiers who had retired for the courts. Aradenene could be recognized—he was like Menone, a half-brother to a previous Crown-son. Instead of awestruck or frightened, he seemed to be smirking. Hard to say what that meant, but he was unlikely to make a move right away—perhaps he could even be considered an ally. No, the biggest threat right now was the Head Priestess, Forya. Lordrin’s mother, and the most powerful woman in the Temple. Much like her son, she had little love for the Angrans. Unlike her son, she had little love for Nania, either. Not that Nania was treated well by either of these people.

It would be wiser to take Talon and Nania and run, before they found out. But would they pursue us? No. The right thing to do would be to cause as much damage as possible. Leave a mark. That’s why I’m doing it, aren’t I?

And if Forya mislikes it…it’s her word against a Crown’s.

So long as they keep believing her to be a Crown.

Finally, the uneasy silence broke as one courageous copper-haired aide, stepped forwards, clad in crimson robes that touched the floor with glossy hair neatly-bound. Both were signs of great wealth. Suddenly I was too aware of how my shorn hair and grubby armor must look, amongst the luxuriously dyed floor-length robes and well-maintained hairstyles. These people likely all had servants to prepare them for the day—I’d have to deal with servants touching me and looking at me. They wouldn’t see Elian; that would cause problems. I touched his still-throbbing hand, looking at the way the aide cradled a small pile of tablets in his unblemished arms.

Another reminder that I had to work fast, before I was discovered and declared unfit to be King, no matter what the Crowns said. How long could I really rely on their unfounded fear and awe?

The aide cleared his throat daintily. “Crown-son,” he said, beckoning for attention. “Congratulations on your victory, a-and on the love of the Crowns. Surely this is the beginning of a prosperous new era for Gresha, your ascendance comes as a most auspicious hour: I have just arrived with the new reports from the farmers’ fields. Now will be an excellent time to familiarize yourself with—”

I waited for the aide to finish so I could say my piece, but a guard with silver streaks in his hair spoke up first. “Crown-son, the ex-king has been secured within an unused guestroom. What is your judgment for him?”

Hazel eyes darted between the two, waiting for someone else to interrupt. Slowly my mouth opened. Elian began to speak. “Simply keep him in the chambers for now—”

“Crown-son,” sniffed a woman with a low, melodious voice. She beckoned with one hand, making no effort to touch me. “You will need measurements taken for a new wardrobe, as well as jewelry, a hairdresser, and—eugh, a bath. Perhaps a healer for that arm, too. Please come this way, the sooner the better.” Despite her pained expression she reached forward to grasp me, causing me to gasp as pain sparked up his arm. I stumbled backwards into another petitioner.

Behind me, yet another voice spoke up. “Crown-son, as the new king, you should give the public a more official address as soon as possible, and address the military soon—”

“Crown-son—”

“Crown-son—”

“Silence,” I croaked, voice quickly swallowed up by the crowd. Hazel eyes darted, only to lock onto one tall, frail figure striding towards me, hair and clothes more elaborately kept than any other.

“Crown-son,” her thin and calm voice interjected. Despite how soft it was, all fell silent, as though she had snuffed out their very voices. Such was the respect that Head Priestess Forya commanded. A respect that King Lordrin had inherited in part, but which Elian had no reason to inherit at all.

Women in Gresha City found a hard time amassing much power. Becoming a merchant or trader wasn’t impossible, but not every profession would look favorably upon a woman’s work. Women were not allowed to fight in the military, not unless they forsook their womanhood. Neither could they become King, as they were Crown-sons, and not Crown-daughters. The closest thing to a Crown-daughter in the City, in fact, would likely be the Head Priestess, often either the mother or main consort of the King. The Priestesses were the favored daughters of Crown Naruune, and the Head Priestess was of course chief among them, responsible for looking after her charges and priming her king with the wisdom of the gods.

That was how the stories portrayed the Head Priestess: the King’s most faithful and loving servant. That was how it was meant to be. But I had heard different stories from Nania. A certain kind of person was often declared Head Priestess. One who appreciated the leverage the position of ‘lover’ or ‘mother’ often gave her.

Head Priestess Forya scrutinized me with a withering look, taking in everything from my hair, which only a poverty-stricken civilian, mourner, or hermit would wear so short, to the arm I was still massaging, to my tattered and dirty clothes. While she didn’t voice her judgments, she made no effort to hide the cutting expression on her face. Anyone in the room could see what she thought, and not a single pair of eyes looked away. “Crown-son,” she repeated, turning up her nose at having to refer to me by that title. “Come. We have much to discuss about the next Rite of Sunset, and the recent breaches in security. If you are ascended from the ranks of military, these things should be simple tasks for you.” She paused. “And if you wish to secure this role, you should work quickly to produce an heir. I can introduce you to several suitable Priestesses trained to replace me.”

Forya and I had met, previously. It would be a very bad thing if she remembered those meetings any better than I could.

Most Kings were Crown-sons from birth, born from the prior King and his Head Priestess. Even if the King took other lovers, the heir-to-be must come from one favored by Crown Naruune, that they inherited the blessing. By challenging Lordrin for the approval of the Crown, I could circumvent that—but everyone else would be expecting their new King to continue his lineage. They couldn’t know my actual plans.

But they didn’t need to know my actual plans. It didn’t matter what happened twenty seasons from now. It would be ideal to find someone better leave on the throne by then, but the priority now was Talon and Nania. And to do that, all they needed to hear was what they wanted to hear.

What words would make them leave Angra alone? There had to be some magic combination. I opened my mouth. “You’re entirely correct, Head Priestess Forya! There are so many preparations to be made before the Rite of Sunset. We are at the dawn of a prosperous new era, after all, one shepherded in by the arrival of a new Crown in person. Has any other King had such a welcoming?” A quick, reassuring smile flashed at the watching crowd. Attention flicked back to Forya. “But with a new era, I wonder if it’s really best to continue on with the old traditions?”

Forya’s green eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Only that I do not think the traditions of the Rite of Sunset are…wise, exactly.”

My mouth was moving, but I did not feel like I was the one moving it. It was strange to say, but I felt as if I was disconnected from my body, watching some imaginary hero navigating an impossible fairy-tale.

Kings of Gresha were trained for the position from birth. Etiquette, diplomacy, strategy, literacy, history, leadership, arts, even mathematics and astronomy. Many of which I could only barely grasp. There was no way for me to master all these things, even if I was only king for a short while. So I would allow some other ‘Elian’ to react to something, to run my mouth until I found the words to get what I needed.

If this were simply all a story with an audience, perhaps I could find comfort in it. Stories usually ended happily for most, didn’t they?

The thing that was Elian continued speaking. “Traditionally, the Rite of Sunset has used Angrans as sacrifices. It’s been said that we are sending their souls off to fight the Fiend and distract her. But it has also been said that Angrans are worshipers and supporters of the Fiend. So sending their souls off to be with her…would that not be sending allies to assist her? Really, it would be wiser to appease her with animal sacrifices like goats and chickens,” he finished.

Saying something outrageous like that seemed to do the trick. Whether the people agreed or not, they were listening less to Forya. As she glared with a mixture of frustration and bafflement, her spell broke over the crowd and they began to chatter amongst themselves, loudly. Even if she cast doubt on the legitimacy of ‘Crown Ruuthelaine’, or on ‘Elian’s requisites as King, it wasn’t necessary to outwit her or rebut her. Only to say something that got more people talking.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She managed to bring the crowd under control again, but the first bout had gone to the young Crown-son. It wasn’t something she seemed to realize. “I believe I must have misheard you, Crown-son,” she said, smiling with a predator’s grin.

“And I believe I spoke loud and clear,” Elian said breezily. “Henceforth, there will only be animal sacrifices.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Or does the Head Priestess of Gresha’s temple lack faith in her masters? No, it must be as you say—you’re growing older, and worry for your young replacement. I’ll gladly hear your advice as to who would make a good Head Priestess in your absence.”

This time, she made no attempt to bother quieting the gasps and titters throughout the room as she locked eyes. “It is not a matter of faith, King Elian—”

“Of course it isn’t. The Crowns are all-powerful, and with the revelation of the third, perhaps the day of the Sun Fiend’s downfall draws even nearer.” He raised his chin up.

Her eyes only narrowed. Her tone dripped with condescension. “It is not a matter of faith, it is a matter of gratitude,” she repeated, her lips peeling back in almost a hiss. “You have been beloved by your Crown so far, it is clear, King Elian. But Crowns are so much greater than any one human. An entire human life is the blink of an eye to them. We are mere maggots. In order to keep their gaze on us, we must show our gratitude through sacrifice. You must not take the Crowns for granted.” Now she turned her gaze out to her audience. “This is world where sacrifice is necessary for survival, King. Even the farmer must subsist on the sacrifice of the threshed grain. Yet you do not mourn for every stalk of wheat your foot crushes, do you? Every swatted fly? If we do not offer the Crowns and Fiend fitting sacrifice, for the protection and appeasement respectively, she will feast upon our threshed lives.”

“But what has you so sure it must be humans?”

“What has me—” she sputtered, then threw out her pale and slender arms, bedecked with large bracelets, as she gestured at the ancient murals of the throne room. “It is written all across our history! On the very walls themselves! Without sacrifice—”

“Sacrifice is fine. But this isn’t sacrifice.” Now it was his turn to look out at the gathered crowd. “One can only call it ‘sacrifice’ if one gives up something important to them. Something valuable. Do you disrespect the gods by gifting them what you call trash, Head Priestess?”

Her expression seemed to shift, just subtly. From pride to something a little more worried. “I—the Angrans can be very useful. Captured ones can be used to construct our buildings—”

“Livestock can also be far more useful. So would they not make the better sacrifice?” he rebutted. “And as I said earlier. The Angrans worship the Sun Fiend. Is it really wise to send them to fight her, unwillingly? Who’s to say they won’t join her, instead? So, I have to say it again—what makes you so sure the Rite of Sunset works? Does it really keep the Fiend away—or is there another, better method?” He punctuated his arm by squeezing his scarred hand. The pain in my arm felt dulled, distant.

The Angrans didn’t actually worship the Sun Fiend. They hated her more than anything, and would likely die a second death just to spite her rather than join her. But most Greshans didn’t know that, and that could be used to further these arguments.

“You’re not sacrificing to the Sun Fiend, you’re bribing her. If she grows hungrier, who’s to say she won’t take a second course from amongst our people? We’re all mere humans to her.” A cruel smile curled his lips. “Apologies, Head Priestess. This is Crown Naruune’s beloved city, isn’t it? Perhaps she has more reason to hunger for our numbers than the Fiend.”

Those final words were only fuel for the fire. Conversations broke out amongst the crowd like lightning striking a tall tower. Forya’s eyes darted to and fro, flecked with something like concern. “You—you don’t really know what she’ll do. Perhaps stopping the human sacrifices will only enrage her,” she said.

“Perhaps not. You’ve admitted how little you know about the Crowns—I’ve met one.”

And besides. I knew the sacrifices hadn’t kept the Fiend away. Even if revealing precisely how I knew would create a panic.

Forya’s face had grown quite red by now. She opened her mouth, prepared for quite a nasty retort, only for someone to place a hand upon her shoulder. We both looked to see the grey-flecked form of Aradenene. I didn’t know the man well, but having been the Head of the army before Menone, it was easy to guess he and Forya had worked quite closely together. It wasn’t hard to imagine they could have been friends. Well, it wasn’t hard until one saw the way Forya’s mouth twisted at her touch. Perhaps she was just like that with everyone, though.

“Now, Forya. I think the boy’s proved he’s quite a cunning one, that’s enough testing him for now. I do believe he’s passed,” Aradenene said loudly, before lowering his voice. “And I think you’ve made enough of a fool of yourself. You should really be presenting a united front with the young Crown-son.”

Even despite his age, it was clear Aradenene had once been quite tall and broad--it was easy to tell who Menone had inherited his stature from. Though his figure had become softer by now, a twisting scar up his chest and neck and a silver mane of hair meant he still cut an impressive image. He smiled at me, not-unkindly, and quickly escorted Forya from the scene. The two continued to speak in hushed tones, as I slowly felt myself come back to my body. The pain in my arm grounded me further.

Something in my stomach rolled. Perhaps I had secured my leadership in the city’s eyes, but Forya remained my greatest threat. There was any number of things she could do to damage me. Even if she couldn’t put together ‘Crown Ruuthelaine’s true identity, there were certain secrets she could use to discredit me, or she could make an attempt at poisoning me…

The murmurings of the crowd drew me back from my thoughts, and suddenly I was pinned by their stare. I had given them quite a lot to talk about now, but it seemed to have backfired. If I didn’t get the crowd under control soon, there was a chance they would begin to panic.

“Crown-son, will animal sacrifices really be enough? If what you say really is true, can anything really stop her…?” one nervous aide voiced.

I swallowed, and felt everything grow a little distant again. “It’s as Head Priestess Forya said. We shouldn’t focus on appeasing the Fiend, we should focus on giving thanks to the Crowns. A new shrine will be built to accommodate Crown Ruuthelaine…”

“But will they really be able to protect us? We don’t know anything about this new Crown…”

“Even if they do, you can’t simply announce this. You have to write it into law for it to pass,” another aide spoke up.

“A Crown’s word trumps the written word of man. As our King has just said, he’s met her before. He must know plenty about her, especially if she’s so bold as to throw her support behind him like this,” a low voice emerged from the crowd. Heads turned and locked onto Menone’s long auburn hair and bright amber eyes. “In fact, let us declare a new festival, to welcome Crown Ruuthelaine properly.”

“O-of course,” I heard myself say.

“With three Crowns defending us, our city will prosper forever,” Menone said with a smile. “And in the meantime, we will devise new methods of dealing with the Sun Fiend and the Angrans. Worry not.”

“With three Crowns, perhaps we can even find a method with which to kill the Sun Fiend,” I quickly added. The weight of that statement wasn’t met with the proper response, the people were exhausted from too many things happening earlier. Now the crowd was beginning to disperse. As people streamed around him, like a rock parting water Menone stood firm as he met my eyes. Then he held out a hand and beckoned me.

I did not want to follow him. I wanted to float away again, to close my eyes and open them again to find that none of this had happened, that Talon and Nania were precisely where I had left them. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years until I awoke with all problems solved and my name a hero’s name. To know that whatever path I walked I would arrive at the proper destination was a reassuring thought. But more than that, I craved to know an even better path. One that made me a good person, too.

But my work wasn’t done here, so I went to walk with Menone. There were answers we needed from each other, and I struggled to stay present, focused. To not just let my mask take control.

As I approached, I flashed him one of my brilliant smiles. “Thank you, old friend, for your support—” I said, only for him to gesture for me to remain silent. Without consent the body obeyed. That was annoying. I outranked him now.

Menone smirked, and tilted his head towards a side-corridor. I nodded and followed him, until we were alone. He spent a few minutes taking in my appearance slowly, looking at this body with some strange mix of pity and approval. On his own right forearm there was a rather prominent scar—it stood out among half a dozen others. Then, he spoke. “Truly, you’re full of surprises, Elian. You’ve guaranteed your immortality in the gossip circles, at least. But you’ll have some difficulty sitting as King. Forya knows it, too—she’s the one who helped you walk ‘another path’, isn’t she?” It was a rhetorical question, gave no answer. He gestured idly with one hand. “Why do you wish to be king so badly?”

How much could I tell him? I decided to speak a little of the truth. “I told you all before. The sacrifices are pointless. We should—”

“You want to save one of those sacrifices, don’t you? Let me guess…the very same one who the Priestess-Candidate girl tried to save?”

Now I was very present, though I didn’t really want to be. Some thought of the Fiend’s was insistent on shedding blood—I silenced it. Too obvious. How does he know? How did he find out? What will he do with it? Despite a neutral expression, too-long silence spoke for me. Menone chuckled, then said, “You’re much too soft to be a king. I knew you had to be friends with one of them.”

“How?” I asked sharply.

“Your familiarity with their fighting style, how you’d disappear for lengthy stretches of time, those had me suspicious. But showing up with an Angran at the Festival? Challenging the King right after one tried to escape?” Menone raised an eyebrow, as though silently asking, ‘did you really think you could get away with it?’

“Why didn’t you have me exiled or arrested?”

“I hoped if I let your little dalliance continue, your friend would slip up. You would learn a valuable lesson, I would gain some valuable information about the Angran tribes. So long as I kept a close eye on you two, no one would be hurt, and everyone would come away from the experience having grown.” With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, his auburn hair trembling. “I didn’t suspect a Priestess-Candidate of the Temple was involved, too, until later—had I known that, I would have just moved in to capture him early,” Menone finished.

“Talon wouldn’t have grown.”

“As I said. Too soft,” Menone echoed.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked. “Tell me what you want. Now.”

Menone grinned. “I knew I’d like dealing with you more than Lordrin. So straight to the point. A true soldier.”

No answer.

“My half-brother is many things, but he’s not a true soldier,” Menone said conversationally. “Yes, the King is also the General of the army, expected to lead his soldiers in battle from the front lines. But Kings these days are more concerned with squabbling with the Head Priestess and his advisors than acting as befits a warrior. Gresha was once a great nation, but it has long become complacent. Our only real power in Heishan and Merides’ eyes comes from our status as a port city, but that’s a mercantile edge, not a military one.

“The appearance of your new Crown represents an opportunity, Elian. With you as a new king in Gresha, a boy with no royal lineage whatsoever, you create a precedent for true soldiers to sit upon the throne. A new Crown may represent a shift in Gresha City’s power structure—pivoting away from the temple and the courts, and towards us. I saw that beautiful Goddess. I could tell—she was nothing but power. A true war god.” Something shimmered in Menone’s amber eyes. “With her favor, we would be able to stand against Heishan and Merides, those we are forced to curry favor with.”

Menone’s goal was simple: conquest. But I needed allies. He believed ‘Elian’ simple and honest and soft, even now. He had no idea how many lies I told.

“I see,” I said, calmly. “You admire my patron.”

“Crown Ruuthelaine?” Menone asked, a new light entering his eyes. One of a sort I could never understand. “She’s beautiful,” he said, his tone both reverent and hungry, “a true warrior goddess, as befits a new era. Crown Naruune has her aspect as the earth-shaker and storm-waker, yes, and the Sun Falcon hounds the Fiend from dawn until dusk. But you could feel incredible power radiate from Crown Ruuthelaine. Perhaps I was wrong about you, Elian. If she saw something in you, then you must truly have a vicious beast within, a warrior unlike any other waiting to be born. Everyone has seen you and Head Priestess Forya in discord—if you wish to truly shake her power and be rid of her, you need to strike with aggression. A new festival as befits a new goddess.”

“A tournament,” I said quickly. Then I breathed in deeply through my nose.“Alright. I believe in your loyalty. We’re both soldier; brothers to the end,” I lied. “I trust your advice, as I always have.”

“Me and Aradanene both,” Menone said, with foolish confidence. “We are on your side, Elian.”