A long winded, ornately robed priest of Seratos lectured in Celeste’s ear on the virtue of Justice over Mercy, but she had tuned it out quickly enough. He was nice enough, a portly Fereni man with a hairline long past balding, but his arguments were all over a century old and long since argued by greater theological minds than his. Thus, she paid the man little heed save to occasionally nod and express a feigned interest in his arguments. A cultist could be reasoned with, but a theological scholar? Celeste knew better than that.

Instead, she looked across the assembled lords and ladies of Terminia and stared at a man she had waited her whole life to see. A man whom with she shared her eyes. The very man who had given Celeste those eyes. Her father, the King of Terminia.

The king was speaking with several individuals, all men dressed as richly as he. Powerful lords no doubt to grab the attention of the king. Celeste paid no mind to any of those men. She only studied his face, trying to memorize every detail. The face was harsher than she had imagined, and she had imagined it. Every orphan she had known on the streets would imagine their parent’s face. But she had a name to put to hers, and now a face to match as well.

Somehow, she had hoped foolishly, that when he finally set eyes upon her, the king would take her in his arms and proclaim her his daughter. She had dreamed of it, if never spoken so. But instead, he had simply looked upon her with as much interest as he might a peculiar pet. Staring at him, she tried to understand why he hadn’t said anything.

Then the king turned, and his eyes burrowed into her. Those mismatched gold-silver eyes, cold as ice as they stared her down. They made her feel small in that moment, as they stared a frigid rage at her. The anger of a man long contained, held deep in the soul. As he stared at her, stared through her, she knew that her father hated her.

“How dare you taint these halls.” A shrill voice pierced the rumblings of the crowd, followed by a loud slap that killed the conversations all together.

Stumbling back and being caught by a young lord behind her, Celeste stared in shock at her attacker, her cheek stinging and growing hot.

The woman, standing with wild eyes and massaging her hand, was Fereni. Pale blonde with deep brown eyes, she had unbridled rage plain across her face, and she smelled faintly of brandy.

“I… I apologize if I offended you in some manner my lady.” Celeste stammered out.

“Your very name is offense.” She slurred. “You rape her name, coming in here pretending to be her daughter. You spit on my sister’s grave.”

“My…” Celeste swallowed, confused at it all. Her name? How would her name…

Then Celeste understood. She has seen a painting of the late princess once, a gift from a faithful artist. This woman appeared much like the dead princess, though older by many years. Celeste was an uncommon name, even less so among the commoners. But Celeste had been named for her mother, named for a woman she had never met. Named after the Princess Celeste, who had died on the streets of Southshore nearly sixteen years ago.

“I… I did not name mys…” Celeste was cut off.

“You piss on Celeste’s memory, you child of a gutter whore. I don’t know how you fake those eyes, but don’t think I’ll let you…”

The woman trailed off as a tall, older Fereni man with a smooth chin and long hair falling over his shoulders pulled the woman away with a jerk.

“That is enough now dear.” The man spoke, his voice firm with the tone of someone accustomed to having his orders followed. Raising his gloved hands, the man snapped loudly. “Guards, would you be so kind as to assist my wife to a chamber for some rest. I fear the heat of the crowds has proven too much for her.” Several burly men in royal guard uniforms rushed over, pulling the woman from her husband’s arm and escorting her away.

“How did you do it…” The woman cried out. “How…” The words became muffled as the crowd consumed her, the onlookers quickly making themselves busy.

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Turning, the man cupped Celeste’s cheek in his, rubbing a finger upon the sure bruise. Celeste flinched at the pain.

“I’m sorry, you had to experience that Your Radiance.” The man spoke, taking his hand away. “My wife can be a tad… emotional when it comes to her dearly departed sister. A great woman your namesake was.” His lips spread into a dashing grin. “Large shoes that, from what I hear, you more than fill.”

“I… Thank you my lord. Though I apologize, I do not believe I have made your acquaintance.”

The man chuckled, his deep dark brown eyes glistening with a sharpness. Below the man’s jovial surface was a cunning intelligence. “Of course, my apologies Your Radiance.” Giving her a bow, he introduced himself. “I am Svenjald Harrisdal, Grand Duke of the Golden Coast and the Southern Domain. And I am at your service.”

Celeste smiled at him back, giving the grand duke a deep curtsy. “Are you a pious man, Your Grace?”

“I strive to be. Though perhaps I do not see my religious advisor as often as I might like.” He chuckled. “I believe you keep him quite busy.”

Celeste furrowed her brow in confusion. “I do?” She asked.

“Indeed. Brother Gardinal has been giving me private tutelage in the ways of the First Mother for some years now.” He seemed amused by his answer, as for why Celeste could not puzzle it out. “I have found it quite enlightening.”

“I apologize that I was not aware.” Celeste responded honestly. “Brother Gardinal never speaks of you.”

“You seem to apologize a fair bit, Your Radiance.” If the man wasn’t so pretty his smile would seem smug. “It is unbecoming of a young lady.”

“Your Radiance are you injured?” The bishop spoke, a frigidity to his tone that pulled Celeste from the moment. “I cannot believe the nerve of…” He trailed off, looking at the Grand Duke. “Lord Harrisdall, I thank you for your prompt handling of Lady Harrisdall. Though I might hope in the future one would be more proactive in the handling of their wife.”

“I will endeavor to do so Your Grace. But seeing as you have never been married, I doubt you could understand the futility of the task you ask.” The Grand Duke gave the bishop a bow, then turned back to Celeste. “I beg your pardon, Your Radiance, but I believe His Majesty is free and I have some pressing concerns I need discuss with him.” The Grand Duke bid her farewell, and Celeste returned it, and he was off into the crowds.

Cupping Celeste’s cheek, the bishop washed a small thread of light into her cheek. A warmth flushed over her face, and in a heartbeat the sting of her cheek was gone. Thanking him for the healing, her father shrugged it off.

“I can hardly believe it, picking a quarrel like a peasant woman…” He whispered dismissively, eyes darting around the crowd. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

Celeste followed her father to the edge of the party, to a quiet nook where they could speak alone along the side of the hall.

“Is everything alright father?”

“Alright? No. But it will be. Fear not it will.” He shook his head, wrinkling his brow in concentration. “Had I known that was his plan, I would never have agreed to this.”

“Whose plan?”

“Your father, obviously.” He spoke as though he didn’t have time to explain everything to her.

“I thought those papers of citizenship were quite generous father.” That coaxed a dismissive sniff from the bishop.

“A simple, if effective, move on the part of the king.” He explained. “With all those gifts he reminded the court who holds the power. He gifted land to Lord Vallerian, citizenship to your friends, even making your personal guard a knight sworn to him.” The bishop pinched his brow, seemingly deep in thought. “Make no mistake that his offer to fund the temple structure was aimed at me, not Sister Valleresa as he claims. Not to mention his ‘gift’ to you, Your Radiance.”

Celeste gave him a quizzical look.

“With that one gift, he told the entire court in no uncertain terms that he does not accept you as his heir. That all you are to him is a commoner.” The bishop shook his head and breathed deeply. “It means the next move must be ours.”

“I… I don’t understand father.” So much had happened so suddenly, while in all honesty Celeste was still trying to make sense of what had happened at the temple a week prior.

“I had hoped we had more time. That you would be older when this began in earnest. But it seems the people are primed, the king is preparing himself, and the Father’s fate is pressing our hand.”

“Pressing our hand toward what end father?”

“For you to take what belongs to you Celeste. Your very birthright.” He looked away from her then, and Celeste followed his gaze. “For you to take what is yours.”

Celeste stared at the massive marble and gold throne, the weight of his words pressing down on her. He had never said it like that before, had never made it so clear before. But she had always known. What the end goal of her father’s long years of tutelage, of preparation were for. She had always known where it was meant to lead.

Celeste spent the rest of the day staring at that throne intermittently, and as the sun sank low, and the stained-glass grew dim, no answer ever came. But it was on the journey home, long and winding once more, staring out over the flickering pinpricks of light that were Southshore that she thought just maybe. Perhaps one day she could do as so many wanted of her.

Perhaps one day, if Ethinia so willed it, she would sit upon that throne.