Once Emma left, Sara reluctantly got up, looked out the window, and sighed. What the hell have I done? she thought. It wasn’t so much that she morally regretted her actions as much as she really didn’t want the job that came with it. Being an advisor wasn’t particularly difficult: she showed up for meetings like a corporate employee and spent the rest of her time building her power. Now, until Prince Alecov was coronated, her life would consist of waking up, entering a room, giving judgments on things for eight hours, making decisions in private for two hours, feasting, and going to bed. That was it. That would be her entire fucking life. I need to coronate that kid…. Also…. Sara sighed. I should talk to them.
After Emma and Raul helped her, there was no way that she could keep them in the dark or keep them out of her life. They already got their hands dirty—suffered that trauma and moral injury—so she couldn’t deny them a place in her plans any longer. That meant that they had to obtain the other legendary weapons and armor to fight Agronus—and she’d have to train them not to die. There was no way she’d go through this much hell just to lose them again. It was time for training. But that was for tomorrow. Today, she had the unfortunate role of playing queen and speaking to the people.
Brushing off her grievances, she took a breath, donned the royal robes her advisors provided her, and prepared to meet the day head-on.
Her preparations proved meaningless. The moment that she saw a hundred-person line outside the audience chamber, her expression crumbled, and her desire to slice through the wall and escape reached a near-crippling extreme.
“My Lady!” an advisor yelled. “Thank Emanasa that you’re here!”
“Why?” Sara asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are there a hundred people outside?”
“T-To swear fealty—“
“What part of King Alecov being the fucking king didn’t you get?”
“Y-Yes, My Lady. He’s in the chamber right now. But they are swearing fealty to your kingdom. It’s symbolic… mostly.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly.”
Sara’s nose scrunched in, and she filled her lungs to the maximum degree possible. “What. Does. Mostly. Mean?”
“My Lady. Please forgive me. But a kingdom cannot be run without… a monarch.”
“This is temporary,” Sara said. “Very fucking temporary.” It wouldn’t be temporary. While she planned to escape at some point, she would never be able to move far. Her place in this kingdom as its “Hero” would never, fucking, end. Her decision not to just run away, steal Qualth, assassinate Jason and Mary, and then kill Agronus felt worse by the second.
Sara strode to the audience chamber, rebel sycounts awkwardly taking position around her as she thrust open the doors.
Poor Alecov, just thirteen, was shaking on the queen’s throne. His breaths were shallow, and he was gripping the armrests so hard that a swift chop would break his arms in half like a gram cracker. “M-My Lady.” He tried to stand, but she lifted her hand.
“Sit down. Kings don’t rise for others.” There, right in front of the entire audience, she knelt before Alecov—her life-long pawn. “Greetings, My Liege. It will be an honor to serve you as acting ruler until your coronation.”
Alecov nodded, awkwardly using the decorum he had practiced his entire life. “You… may rise.” He’d get better.
“Thank you, My Liege,” Sara said, standing and striding to the throne, where she sat, now holding absolute power over the Escaran Kingdom. She looked at the advisors. “You may enter.”
One after the other, after the other after the other, politicians swarmed in like locusts, trying to leave a favorable opinion, many repeating their names multiple times, a few trying to present gifts. Yet, no matter what they did, she showed them the same thing: a frozen gaze born from the Ninth Circle of Hell that could freeze Lucifer in place.
Four hours.
It took four hours just to have people bend a fucking knee.
Meanwhile, the kingdom was on fire from the rebellion that just happened the day before, her armies were suppressing riots, trade networks were shut down, and real problems were playing out. The whole time, she sat there, tapping her foot, daring, begging, pleading for one sycophantic motherfucker to say something completely outlandish so she could make a demonstration of them. No such luck. It kept going and going, and going, twisting and turning, ebbing and flowing as more and more people entered the castle until, suddenly, it was over—
—and the true hell began.
“My Lady,” an advisor said. “Let’s start with the most pressing news. Bastard Prince Halter has escaped and is raising an army.”
Sara took a deep breath, chuckling, imagining a serene sunset over a land of rolling hills. Then she counted back from ten, taking deep breaths, imagining each blade of grass with morning dew. Amidst those three seconds of tranquility—the hillside burst into spontaneous combustion, and she gripped the throne’s armrest, shattering it into a mound of splinters.
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The advisors slowly backed away, and Alecov panicked.
Sara took a deep breath, recognizing the fear on their faces. Don’t be like Jason, she thought. Don’t be like Mary. At that moment, after being denied information that the only person with a legitimate claim to the escaped the rebel army, she could sympathize with both of them. Yet she calmed herself down. “Why,” she chuckled murderously, finding that what she interpreted as calm was really just her pushing a loaded spring down, “didn’t you start with this?”
“My Lady….” Tropan came forward, taking weak steps to the center of the room. “Everything…. Takes time. It will take time for them… to move… and time for you… to correct. There is a time for action but also… a time for organization. Investment….”
Sara reflected on his words and took a deep breath, this one quelling her rage instead of stoking the fire. “I’ll trust your judgment.” She didn’t trust his judgment. Tonight, she would need to control her newly-earned citizens before her enemies could sow doubts or corrupt them.
2
Prince Halter met with military leaders around a table in a countryside bunker. While the mana crystals lighting the space were dim and the news was heavy, the atmosphere wasn’t as grim as the prince expected.
“Can we win?” Prince Halter asked.
“Victory is always obtainable,” General Lomt said. “Lady Reece’s power is beyond imagination, and she could likely face an army in a head-on confrontation. Yet—“
“Yet what?” Prince Halter snapped.
“She is still a human,” the general said. “All humans run out of mana; all humans run out of barriers and shields. They are vulnerable to traps or arrays, and most importantly—they’re vulnerable to other mages.”
“Is there anyone we have that can fight them?”
“Not yet. But reports state that Lady Reece killed a popular hero and paralyzed another. There are dozens of powerful summonees. If we can bring them to our side, we have a chance to defeat her.”
Prince Halter contemplated the situation. “How can we do that?”
General Lomt smiled. “We will use their riots against them.”
3
The Alacom was alight with political fervor. It had barely been a day since the revolution, and it was already over, leading to serious doubts about whether there was a revolution and what the outcome of it was. Citizens gave speeches on produce crates, riling up the citizens standing around bonfires. Musicians worked on songs to immortalize the revolution but lacked the details to make a song. So they waited, packing the area in preparation for the arrival of their queen.
Suddenly, there was a sound of trumpets and flowing rivers of excitement. The crowd pulsed in waves, citizens stumbling on each others’ feet as they pushed backward, allowing a group of soldiers to pass through the area, musicians leading the procession.
“Make way for the acting ruler of the Escaran Kingdom!” a soldier yelled. “Lady Sara Lenena Reece, the first!”
An explosion of cheering shattered the soundwaves, picking up the spirits of civilians stumbling drunk by the fires. They yelled, pumping their fists, waving around bottles of wine, and passing them around. Few people were tired. The area was electric as Lady Reece The Hero walked onto a pre-built stage in the Alacom.
As soon as her face shone with the light of mana crystals, the citizens gasped.
“Is she a god?” a man asked thoughtlessly. Yet his sentiment spread like wildfire through the crowd. The woman before them wasn’t normal. Her face was… perfect. Unnaturally perfect. She was beautiful, sure. Many with body constitutions were. Yet the smoothness of her face, the shadows of her cheekbones, and the thick obsidian eyelashes that accentuated her blue irises were beyond description. It’s nothing that a mortal could possess.
Lady Reece stood there, staring blankly at the people until a few of them stopped murmuring. Then silence cascaded like a waterfall, creating an eerie rolling effect of noise until nothing but the pop and crackle of fires remained. Only then, once she had obtained absolute concentration and attention, did the amplification circle light up on the stage, painting a patterned glow of white on her white robes.
“Proud people of Lemora!” Lady Reece yelled. “I’ve called you here—at night—because it’s a time for celebration….”
The people held their breath.
“Tonight, we celebrate the downfall of the Corrupt King and the rise of the rightful heir of the Escaran Kingdom!”
Her voice lit a flame in their citizens’ hearts, and soon, they were enraptured, crying out in unison, releasing cathartic screams to the sky.
“The corrupt have plagued this land for too long. They’ve poisoned our streets, our wells, and our women, feasting upon your pain and sorrow. Hard times are ahead as our people root out the wicked and reclaim what is ours. But fret not. For we will rise from the gates of Tramula where Trinov Escar left us and reclaim our throne in the skies of Reemada!”
Lemora had a pulse, beating with vitality, hot blood passing through the heart of its citizenry.
“I stand before you, not as a queen but as a messenger and protector! Our battle doesn’t end here in this city, in our fields, and our kingdom….” Her voice got lower, commanding total control. “No. We will not stop here. Our people are the chosen ones—the people who will reclaim this world. And I am here, protecting our people, leading them forward until we do what no kingdom has been able to do in millennia….”
The citizens gulped.
“Together, we stand against Agronus and reclaim this world from the demon army!”
A pulse of static rippled through the citizenry in wavelengths of negative synesthesia. No name had been able to invoke more fear and uncertainty than Agronus. Yet…. The woman before them spoke with absolute confidence, and a few people choked out a few cheers. Then, the momentum from the earlier speech broke past its blockage, and the crowds began cheering once more, cascading in a wave until citizens half a mile away in the crowded streets of Lemora were cheering.
“You may not think we can. You may think it’s hopeless—that it’s beyond mortal capabilities. You may have heard the legends of Telia Sayon and the Battle of Dantal and thought that it was beyond the means of man and perhaps gods. But I assure you it’s not! I stand before you as a messenger of Delina!” Lady Reece reached into a spatial ring and slowly brought out a sword. It was as flawless as her face and twice as radiant as it radiated crimson light in the air. A sudden pulse of mana burst forth from it, momentarily seizing everyone’s lungs for a split second as it passed from one person to the next, spreading raw power through thousands of citizens. “Can you feel that, Lemora? This is the sword I will use to strike down the wicked, reclaim this land as our own, and put an end to the monster that has plagued us too long!”
Her demonstration finally broke the seal on any doubts they had about the revolution, the state of affairs, and their future. There was no doubt: between her beauty and power, they believed—believed that the woman before here was a divine messenger of War God Delina and was there to lead them to victory.
“So rest!” Lady Reece yelled. “Return to your jobs, your lands, and commerce! Reclaim your lives and ambitions! For this year, we will raise an army and will require Lemora to thrive!”
As the fervor reached a fever pitch, and battle cries shattered the skies above Lemora, a group of cloaked figures walked through the crowd, passing out sheets of parchment to anyone who was well dressed and potentially capable of reading. They read:
-
Citizens of Lemora, Lady Reece has spoken! She calls for the surrender of the following nobles….
-
Then, the cloaked figures departed, blending into the crowd, disappearing as soon as they appeared.