Sara awoke to reeahing and two little leetas jumping on her face. “Why?” she groaned in the darkness. “Why do you do this to me?” They gave no answer. Instead, they curled up on her cheeks, simply satisfied that Sara was awake and could love them before she had to leave. “You little shits.” She was annoyed, but oh, did she love them. Part of her wanted to become a villain just so she could have Reck sit on her lap in the audience chamber as she passed judgment on the plebs. But that was too much. So, instead, she just snuggled them, sneezing to push away fur. It was a bittersweet morning.
Issues that day were as expected. Stabilizing the citizenry, fixing property damages, feeding people affected by the rebellion. Basic considerations. Advisors brought her candidates for refilling the openings from the imprisoned nobles, and she chose them. Sara considered opening up the noble slots for election and filling them with nobles regardless—just seeding the idea of elections, fake as it was—but she quickly scrapped the idea. Instituting democracy was a decade-long undertaking, and she planned to kill Agronus in three years at most and then… fake her death or something. Leaving them to deal with a political revolution without her was like a teacher setting up a string of competitions for their students and then abandoning them for the rest of the school year. Disaster.
Once she finished her decisions, she obtained some news that—yet again—should’ve been on the forefront.
“We’ve also seen your report about Lord Reenous and Lady Mest,” one said. “What would you like to do about them?”
Sara felt the icy grip of anxiety wrap around her neck. “What do you mean, my report?” Those two were nobles who followed her orders to expose other nobles. They shouldn’t have been targeted. If they were, it would send all the nobles who listened to her orders into a panic.
The advisors glanced between each other and then back at Sara. “Is this not yours?”
Sara accepted a piece of parchment and stared at it with trembling eyes. “I didn’t write this.”
A cool breeze passed through the room.
“Who wrote this?” Sara demanded. They didn’t speak. It was a dumb question. “How many of these are there?”
“A few dozen… My Lady….” Tropan said.
Sara gripped it. “I need to let them know I didn’t write this.”
“I….” Tropan stopped her. “I would advise… against that… My Lady.”
Sara turned to him with a poison-laced smile. “And why ex~act~ly would I do that?” She gripped her throne’s armrest, but it was still jagged from her outburst the day before and was thus uncomfortable. Artisans were crafting a new one with reinforcement arrays, but it would take at least a week to make.
“It would sow… confusion,” he said. “One of the benefits… of having people speak in this chamber… is that your word is law. The source… of truth. But when you created this… anonymous system of communication… you left yourself vulnerable. If you discredit… these messages, you’ll threaten the integrity of all… the anonymous messages… you left.”
“Then what should we do? Just let anyone write whatever they want?”
“Allow me to elaborate,” said Lord Kell, a man with thick robes that moved to his ankles and a face that made a trimmed mustache look fashionable against all common sense. He was the new economic advisor in Telskal’s place, an announcement of which would be provided upon her execution (which was delayed because the Alacom was packed with rioting citizens who were rebelling instead of willing to watch public executions). He was a man she hadn’t met in her last life because he was likely executed by Mary, but he was competent and qualified, as he was already Lemora’s capital advisor. “We must establish that the means of communication have changed and all other forms are illegitimate. But that’s not the problem.”
Sara closed her eyes. She already knew what the answer was. “It’s that the people are conducting their own trials about nobles?”
“Precisely. In the people’s eyes, all nobles are corrupt now. Your enemies are taking advantage of that by fanning the flames of contempt.”
That was a serious problem. Nobles were still the ruling authorities of the kingdom, and if she tried to usurp their power, the rest of the kingdom would rebel. Brute force only went so far, and if she alienated the nobles that she protected during her witch hunt, the kingdom would be embroiled in chaos.
Sara didn’t have time for this. These were problems that other people could solve. Her jobs in this world were to obtain power—something that had completely stagnated—act as a deterrent force, raise an army to destroy the demons, obtain legendary items for her party members, train the heroes, and kill Agronus. Becoming the acting queen solved many of those issues. As queen, she had unlimited resources at her disposal, the ability to create and train an army, and was now a massive deterrent force that could unite the people. But in exchange, she couldn’t leave the capital. She needed time to let Raul and Emma “train” in the Sayon Temple and the Halkon Crypt (obtaining legendary items from both) and also to obtain the support of the heroes again to prevent them from rebelling. What she needed….
Sara pointed at Tropan, Lord Kell, and Lady Regam (the Kingdom Advisor who managed kingdom relations between landholding nobles, something she proved capable of in her last life). “You three, stay.” She pointed at the rest of the advisors. “Out.”
Prince Alecov Escar swallowed nervously beside her as they left, leaving nothing but the head advisors. She turned to him. “My King. Are you ready to rule?”
He fidgeted nervously. “Am I a ruler?”
“That’s a wise question,” she said. “Understanding your role is important. The answer is yes. You are the ruler of this country, and you will follow in your father’s footsteps.”
He looked down at his legs.
“The question is whether you are willing to do what it takes to obtain peace. To quell the violence. To challenge the demon army and win. Are you?”
“Do you want to execute my father?” he asked.
“That’s the right thing to do…. But no. I won’t.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“My Lady…” Tropan said. “While I remained loyal to Trinov since he was a boy… it is unwise to split—“
“Enough. I will not.” Sara turned to him and the other advisors. “I am not the queen of this country, nor will I ever be. I have accepted temporary rule to further our quest to defeat Agronus. Your king lies in front of you.”
Alecov’s eyes welled with tears. He was a gentle boy. “So you want me to kill my father?“
“If you ever feel it’s right and in the kingdom’s best interest….” Sara took a deep breath. “Then yes. That will be a decision you can make at any time, and it is something that will become advisable in the future, as will the punishment of your brother.”
A tear streaked down Alecov’s cheek.
“But that is for the future,” Sara said. “What needs to be done will present that question before you in the near future. It will also cross many lines that you may not be comfortable with. Will you do what’s best for your people?”
Alecov looked at her with wide eyes gashed with pain and blurred by teary cataracts. “I…. That is… my duty.”
Sara touched his shoulder. “Good.” She turned to the advisors. “This kingdom’s ruling structure is in peril, and our enemies seek to exploit that. We must give them something to unite over that isn’t our own people. We must demonstrate power and call all nobles to bend the knee, not only to our faces but also in their actions. We must build our army and solidify power. There is only one tool that we have that can obtain such a result.” Sara stood and looked at the advisors. “We need war.”
2
The next day, King Lemings sat on his throne with a deep scowl. His weather-worn face and thick beard were showing signs of graying, and the resentment in his eyes burned. “You shall repeat that,” he said to a nervous advisor who was holding a piece of parchment.
“Yes, Sire. The letter reads that Princess Tanta Lemings was pregnant before her marriage to Trinov Escar, and thus, the blood alliance was illegitimate. Trinov Escar has been imprisoned for creating a false blood alliance, and the legitimate heir, Prince Alecov Escar, demands reparations from the Lemings Kingdom for the same. If not, they will meet the problem with military force.”
King Lemings took a deep breath, gripping his throne. He took deep breaths, but he couldn’t help but chew his cheek or demand the advisor before him was flogged for even reading such a statement. “You mean to tell me that Trinov Escar made a false blood alliance, and yet his son demands reparations of us?”
“That is what it said.”
“I see….” King Lemings smiled sinisterly, indignity burning in his veins. “It says that there has been a coup, and my grandson has taken the throne. Does it not?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Wh~y have I not been informed of this rebellion?”
The advisor’s face paled. “T-This has been very perplexing, Sire. As we have reported, there have been executions of lower nobles in the kingdom over the last two years. Recently, there have been reports of nobles being accused of wrongdoing, but the last report was a week ago. There was no sign of rebellion at that time.”
King Lemings smiled widely. “You mean to say that there was a rebellion in a week, and it was led by a boy of thirteen? And now he’s declared war on his own blood?”
“As I’ve said, Sire. This situation is perplex—“
“It is not perplexing! If you had done your duty and obtained proper information on the Escaran Kingdom, we would’ve known this was happening months or even years ago. Your incompetence has resulted in this situation!”
“My apologies, Sire.” The advisor took a knee and bowed his head.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Imprisoned.”
King Lemings gripped his throne. “Who dares…. Who is the acting ruler?”
“We’ve received word yesterday that there had been an outcry by the populace over the imprisonment of a certain individual, one Sara Reece. We believe it’s her, but we have been unable to verify.”
“Who is she?”
“We… don’t know.”
“I should have you beheaded for your incompetence!”
“I beg your forgiveness, Sire, and ask that you let me finish.”
King Lemings fumed. “I shall allow you to speak.” The advisor needed to understand that his life was in jeopardy for such a grave oversight. War beckoned on the horizon, and he knew nothing of the event. Such incompetence warranted swift action.”
“Lady Sara Reece has the designation of a noble, but she is not on the noble registry. Our historians cannot identify the lineage of her first or last name either. She has come up with no reports from our civilian or internal sources, and all but one noble supplying us with information has been imprisoned. The one who remains is unwilling to speak to us about her, even under threat of exposure.”
King Lemings felt a cool sensation of doubt creep over him when he heard his sources had been imprisoned and that blackmail had been rendered useless. “What else?”
“Lady Reece is rumored to be around twenty years of age, and there are rumored to be about thirty other individuals around her age with noble titles who are not on the noble registry either.”
“Find out everything you can.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Once the advisor left, King Lemings slouched into his chair, his heart pounding from anger, anxiety, and confusion. He was excited. The wrong kind. The kind that keeps a king awake at night.
Who could do this? he pondered.
That was a question that he didn’t think he would get an adequate answer to, and that caused him the most discomfort. One way or the other, Lemings was the strongest kingdom in the middle territory. If anyone declared war on him, he would meet them with force. And anyone who laid their hands on his daughter….
3
Sara knocked on Raul’s door. He hadn’t left his room in the last few days and refused to speak to anyone, even Emma. It was time for her to try. “It’s me.”
Silence.
“I’ve brought wine.”
Raul shifted behind the door, pacing back and forth until he finally opened it. He was disheveled, sporting a four-day beard, and looked like he hadn’t slept. Yet he was still physically fit, likely having spent most of his time exercising to free his mind. He took a deep breath, leaning on the door frame with his head on his forearm. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Sara shook the bottle of wine.
“That only makes it worse.”
“Not if you convince yourself it helps.” Sara gave him a cheeky smile.
Raul exhaled, too tired to deny her. “How can you smile?”
“Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”
He opened the door and ushered her in.
The room was spartan to the core, with a well-made bed and no decorations. There was a desk that was filled with papers and inkwells that were nearly empty. Sara walked to the desk and found that there were dozens of letters to every member of his family on the desk and unmailed letters stacked up and bound. There had to be a hundred of them. Just looking at the sight made her heart sink. When Sara had returned, she felt talking to her mother was an inconvenient chore. That’s because her mother was dead in her mind. She had grieved, she had overcome, she had moved on and made a family. So when she returned, part of her wished her mother wasn’t home so she wouldn’t have the regret of having the option to stay with her before turning it away. But when she looked at the letters on Raul’s desk, she was certain that no matter how much time passed, the letters wouldn’t end. This pain… he hid it from her and Emma in her last life, locked behind his role as a mediator. Now, it made her question if she ever cared about him at all.
“Since I can’t hide it, I might as well ask,” Raul said, sitting on his bed, forearms on his legs, staring at the floor. “Why did you bring us here?”
Sara swallowed hard.
“It’s something that I don’t understand,” he said. “It’s driven me crazy, and now it’s all I can think about. Why would you bring Jason and Mary here if you just planned to kill them?”
Sara took a deep breath and put her back against the wall. “I….” She bit her lip. Raul deserved the truth, but if he resented her later, he would know her greatest weakness. And yet…. Raul was her friend. Maybe. Actually, probably not. Why the fuck would he be her friend after this? She stripped him from his family, broke apart his friend group, and he killed his best friend to support her. Now, she was a queen—his leader—not a person he could be “friends” with in a conventional sense. Yet he was trying to be her friend, and she wanted to be his. So should she trust him and tell her about her family? Roll the dice with a friendship that wasn’t likely? Or would she just treat him like a pawn despite his sacrifices, all to protect her loved ones that would eventually become common knowledge? For the first time in a long time, she had to make a decision that she had denied relationships to avoid.