Under the richly decorated, well lit ballroom located in the King’s castle, each congratulatory toast Amelia made left her feeling completely and utterly drunk, on vindication alone.

Despite knowing most of the nobles approaching her did so because they now thought she held sway over her father, Amelia couldn’t help but revel in how the Marquess of Rutherford had suffered the first return-blow among many to hopefully come.

The details of the feud between the Rutherford’s and Strightsworth’s had in the end, been divulged to the public, partially. By the Duke of Winchester, whose released statement spoke of Gregory Rutherford’s attempt to taint Amelia’s honor; alluding to both his failure, and how proud the duke was that his Grand-Daughter had turned to him to seek justice.

“What a horrible man.”

“I always thought he would one day cross the line.”

“Is your father still single?”

Such were the remarks and questions Amelia now needed to deal with since word had got out. She almost wished her apple cider had actual alcohol in it. Publicly branding Gregory Rutherford as an awful person was well and good, but it wasn’t quite what she had pictured when she had first sought Martel out.

Still, the future would come to those who deserved it. Even the King seemed to be currying favor with Havoc by allowing the use of his personal property to celebrate the results of the duel. An especially kind gift, considering Amelia intended to put to rest a matter kicked down the road long enough. She prepared her heart one last time.

“I’ll make sure to consider your proposal once I’ve returned to my estate,” Amelia said, to the daughter of a Count who had approached her with a business proposal.

Apparently, with her newfound title of Viscountess, quite a few third and fourth sons/daughters now viewed her as an investor of sorts. To use money to make even more money, it was an appealing idea, and with her knowledge from the Historian’s Novel good for a bit under a year more, the opportunity to make an unimaginable profit was ripe for the picking.

Not that Amelia wanted to put in the work. She might have decided to take advantage of The Historian’s novel, but the work-ethic required for that would almost certainly get tossed in the compost the moment she got home and relaxed on her favorite lawn chair.

Better to let more diligent people handle it. Like Thompson Brown, or Heimdall, whose professionalism had led him to return home for the purpose of managing the Strightsworth’s estate. No sense in being greedy, not when Amelia already had everything that she wanted. Well… Almost everything. But the certain someone she wanted most by her side, unfortunately had to be elsewhere.

Pushing the greedy thoughts down, Amelia began searching for her father. She found him with Martel by, unsurprisingly, a food-bar.

“You look really pretty today,” Amelia said to Martel, who had for the first time since they’d met, dressed up like a right proper noble. Everything until then could have been described as fancy commoner’s wear, but now, the woman appeared to have dusted off what baubles she had in an effort to stand out.

Judging from how her father was wore neither a military suit, nor casual clothing but instead a fashionable tux, Martel probably had a hand in that too. Although the effect was ruined a tad by how Havoc continued to devour a plate full of ribs.

“Whant Un?” he offered.

“I’m too nervous to eat,” Amelia said, almost feeling ill at the idea of eating anything heavier than a grape.

The next step in her plan after all, involved a certain amount of risk. Since she needed to avoid accidentally offending the King who would soon be put on the spot, while appearing like a dutiful vassal and not an over-eager achiever.

“Are we doing that thing you talked about soon?” Havoc asked, after swallowing down the rest of his plate.

“I don’t want to put it off any longer.”

Nodding in understanding, her father licked his fingers clean then snatched a wine glass from a servant in passing. Despite Amelia having only told Havoc she needed to speak with the King for an ‘important reason’, he had agreed without question.

“I would like to make an announcement!” Havoc said loudly.

It worked; all eyes moved towards him. Even before Havoc tapped the edge of his crystal with a spoon for attention, turning his wine glass into a powder that splattered his shoes with a vinaceous dark shade of red.

Nobody laughed. A few nobles nervously looked towards their King.

“Havoc, have you something to say?” asked the King, who sat alone on his throne at the head of the room.

Amelia hadn’t been expecting the King to be as old as her grandfather. The royal portraits each noble was expected to have somewhere in their abode had always painted his likeness to appear much more youthful. Her worries twisted into a knot. Would Grace be able to bond with her father despite the lost ages laying between them?

“I do,” Havoc said, handing the stem of his glass to a servant as two more stepped forward to begin cleaning the mess. “I would like to announce that my daughter, has received a vision.”

This was it, thought Amelia. Not a single person in earshot would be able to ignore what happened next. With Havoc being the man to shine a light on the subject, surely even the King wouldn’t be able to dismiss her words without first hearing them out.

Although she didn’t expect the glass in the king’s hand to begin shaking. Nor his other which tightly gripped the edge of his throne.

“Truly?” The king asked, his voice straining as if the question had been exceedingly difficult to get out, “Is it safe… For us to discuss it here? Now?”

“The nature of my daughter’s vision is one that benefits the Velvetican Kingdom as a whole.”

“Thank goodness,” said the king, breathing a sigh of relief as he slumped back in his chair. “Where is she?” he asked, his eyes searching for Amelia until he had found her.

Planning it out was one thing, but to become the focus of their Kingdom’s nobility all at once gave Amelia a good case of stage fright. The fact she was pawning off The Historian’s Novel as some kind of divine message didn’t help either. Word for word in its content, the book came off more as a smutty romance more than anything else.

“Umm, hello,” Amelia squeaked, clasping her hands since they had neither doll nor Grace to hold out of comfort, “W-would it be alright to share only the important details of what I saw? My vision would otherwise be too long of a story… your Highness.”

“I don’t see why not,” said the King, looking around himself for any signs of disagreement, “Does anyone think otherwise?”

Call it a coincidence, call it intimidation, but as Havoc took a heavy step to place himself behind his daughter, with his arms crossed and his eyes steeled to the point none could match his gaze for more than a few seconds without turning away, not a single hand or voice was raised in complaint.

“Excellent,” chuckled the King, who seemed to enjoy watching Havoc throw his weight around. “I myself would prefer that the contents of a divine vision be delivered with less ears around, but if your father wanted that, then we wouldn't be here, now, would we?"

The King tilted his head towards Havoc, as if wanting to double check that his guess was on point.

"Correct," Havoc said, allowing his one-word reply to set the stage for Amelia’s prepared speech, wherein she began to describe the ‘dream’ she had received, transforming the Historian’s Novel into a vision where she alone stood outside both time and space, to see the future unravel for undiscernible reasons.

Leaving out any mention of the princess, as well as a few other embarrassing moments, Amelia revealed to those gathered what their Kingdom’s future was meant to look like. Beginning with the disappearance of her father, and ending with a description of the enemy who would arrive from across the Ocean thanks to the help of a traitor.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“You know who is responsible for this future, I take it?” the King asked somberly once she had finished. He wore a tired expression brought about by the very idea of what might have happened.

“I do, your Majesty. And I am willing to risk my repute in accusing the Marquess of Rutherford with collusion and betrayal, of his vows as a noble to serve and protect your Velvetican Kingdom.”

Murmurs broke out all around. The King signalled for his knights to return order with a combined, singular strike of their spears upon floor.

“I am willing to consider your vision… But These are heavy accusations,” said the King, his voice showing signs of a deep tiredness, “Havoc, did you truly have intentions of leaving my service?”

“You know very well I have questions only one being can answer… But I will move past them.”

The King sighed, as if expecting as much, “Then I must thank your daughter for having changed your mind. However, that is one thing, this matter of betrayal is another.” The King addressed Amelia, “Do you have proof the Marquess of Rutherford is responsible? An investigation can be begun on your word, certainly, though I would appreciate anything… concrete, to speed up the process.”

His reservation was to be expected. Amelia herself knew how outlandish her words were. But she had held in reserve a certain reveal, whose time had come to finally take centre stage.

“While I might not have physical proof,” she began, “I have something better than words, your Highness,” Amelia said, “For my vision allowed me to meet a particular person, who might not have ever been found without my dream’s guidance. And they are, in my opinion, undisputable evidence that my vision is real enough for a hasty investigation to be launched without any proof at all.”

“A person you say? Should I know them?”

“In a sense,” Amelia answered, “might I have permission to bring them in? They’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time.”

Well, she wasn’t technically lying. According to the Historian’s novel, Grace had in fact always wondered who her parents might be.

“Without prior approval?” the King chuckled, laughing at his own joke. “I approve it.” he said, “bring them in. Let me see this living ‘proof’ as you call it.”

The ballroom’s doors opened, allowing Thompson Brown to arrive with Donavan at his side. The merchant looked exhausted, while the wizard happily skipped as he walked.

“Your Highness,” said Thompson, presenting himself, until the King allowed him to raise his head in his presence.

“I’m assuming it is not you who Amelia spoke of but the person hiding behind you.” The King said, “Who is he? And why should it matter?”

“This wizard —”

“Big D,” Donavan interrupted.

“—This wizard named Donavan, who sometimes goes by a name I find not amusing at all, and who holds a very high standing amongst his peers, is only here to confirm the identity of the woman behind me. For I do not dare tread lightly while bringing to your attention a conspiracy, not against your Kingdom, but yourself your highness! And to the late queen!”

Amelia wanted to applaud Thompson’s sudden use of theatrics; he had instantly painted over Donavan’s lack of decorum.

“Continue,” the King said, with an edge to his voice, “However, should this conspiracy of yours place my wife in a bad light, I will have it buried and forgotten. Her memory is the one thing I will not allow sullied...”

The room drew in a collective breath when Thompson actually chuckled, “You need not worry of that, my King,” he said, and Amelia signalled for the servant she had prepared to carry out on a purple pillow, the locket she had found in the Historian’s novel.

The King nearly rose from his seat, “I know what that is,” he said, and a Knight moved to collect it, “This… Belonged to my wife,” he added, after having received it, “I never thought it would find its way back into my hands… She used to call it her favorite child-hood keepsake, which never made much sense to me seeing that it looks like a carnival prize… I thought it stolen, how did you come to possess it?”

Thompson business face never faltered, though he did take out a handkerchief to wipe away a streak of sweat on his brow. “It’s all to do with the Lady Strightsworth, your highness,” he said, before turning Amelia’s way, “Shall I bring in the woman who has had the locket in her possession? The one who you’ve been taking care of until now?”

“The thief?” asked the King.

“No, your Highness,” replied Amelia, and once again did the ballroom doors open, revealing a picture of innocence, as a girl dressed in blue nervously entered, wearing a veil.

“My King, the answer of how the locket became lost is simple,” Thompson explained, trailing his words off for Amelia to finish his words, as Grace approached but kept her head lowered in front of the King,

“Your wife passed it down to her daughter.”

Amelia really did think things were going perfectly, until the bloodlust hit her, emanating from their King who now gripped the edge of his throne tightly enough for spider-web cracks in the stone to start forming.

“Is this the conspiracy you speak of?!” The King yelled, in a voice loud enough that Amelia needed to cover her ears. “Do you find it amusing to insult me in my old age?”

What had she done wrong? Amelia trembled, until her father stepped between the King and his people to shield those behind him from the wrath of their monarch.

Havoc sighed, as if it couldn’t be helped. “The girl is yours, Bradley,” he said calmly, and he called Grace over with a regard, “Please forgive my daughter’s poor choice of words. Child, will you not show your face to prevent a fiasco?”

Grace lowered her veil. The impact, was instantaneous. The resemblance between Grace and the former Queen unmistakable. And with her beauty enough to turn heads to begin with, none failed to see how her eyes, or her concerned, albeit fierce regard, matched the King’s to a K.

The King’s bloodlust vanished, replaced with a confused look.

“But I…” he said blankly, “Now hold on Havoc… What are you saying?”

Amelia realised her gaff. In presenting Grace, by stating she was the Queen’s daughter without specifying who was the father… She had unwittily accused the Queen of infidelity. And upon seeing how reserved Grace now looked in the presence of her own father, her scared stiff legs found a reason to scramble.

“I… I apologize sire!” Amelia said, and she would have thrown herself at the feet of the King were it not for Havoc who stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, “This woman before you is indeed the child we once thought to have lost alongside our Queen! Her blood has been tested by a reputable mage. Her powers, which she will demonstrate in private are undeniably blessed! There is no doubt your highness that this is in fact—”

“My daughter…,” said the King. Out of his seat, he nearly stumbled in his hurry to bring Grace into his arms. “There is no doubt about it,” he said, as he examined his daughter with mist in his eyes, “My mind was momentarily clouded in anger, but I can now see clear as day that she is of my own flesh and blood. Please, will you tell me your name?”

“It’s… It is Grace, Lord” said Grace to the King, and Amelia allowed her father to support her weight as relief caused her to lose control of her power to stand.

The king, with a wide grin looked over his subjects, “It is a good name!” he said, “One the whole kingdom should know!”

Amelia felt herself shift as her father began clapping his hands together. His example led to the other nobles soon following suit.

“Congratulations your majesty,” Havoc said, as every noble of standing rushed to begin offering their sincerest best wishes to the reunited King and Princess.

**

A father had been reunited with his daughter. And with her own party having ended pre-maturely of her own request, Amelia prepared to say her goodbyes outside the King’s castle., where a coach awaited to bring her on a long, hopefully calm, journey home.

“How long have you known?” Grace asked, while a half-hundred royal guards tasked with escorting their princess guarded their charge from a distance.

Amelia struggled to face the princess’s question. In the end, she chose the quick and painful way out and stuck with the truth.

“From the very beginning. Are you mad?” Amelia answered quietly, unable to plead her case more, for there had indeed been a time where she had thought to use the princess for her own personal gain.

Grace closed the distance between them. “Amelia,” she said, reaching out to stroke a hand through Amelia’s hair, “I’m an opportunist. A good one. I can appreciate your attempt to use me for the betterment of your family’s name. Besides, we’re still friends, right? I think I would have noticed if you were pretending to like me by now.”

“I’d like us to be.” Amelia said, though her cowardice caused her to drop the ‘more’ from her sentence.

Grace traced Amelia’s strands to their tips. “Then, I would appreciate it if you forgave yourself already,” Grace said, moving on to grasp and raise Amelia’s hands between them, “This isn’t something worthy of self-blame... Do you remember what you did during the third duel?”

Amelia nodded, ready to take responsibility for having promised anything. She lifted her face, to uphold her commitment, and was taken completely off guard when Grace leaned down and gave her a deeply passionate, if not brief, lip to lip kiss.

Having thought Grace was about to ask her for political support, Amelia’s brain, overwhelmed with elation, shut down to bask in the after-glow of a taste she had expected to never again know in her life.

“Why don’t you go home and write me a letter,” Grace said, smiling in a way that showed she knew exactly what effect her kiss had taken on Amelia, “Invite me over. I’m not letting my Lady run away from me that easily. And… There are things I’ve been hiding from you as well that I would like to talk about once we’re alone. How does that sound?”

“It… It sounds w-wonderful,” Amelia answered, as she felt Grace pull away to begin walking back towards the castle.

“Then, I’ll see you later!” Grace said over her shoulder, before her figure became blocked by the Knights who lined up to follow.

Amelia practically floated her way inside her coach where Thompson Brown and Martel were already waiting. There she regained her composure, after all, a final detour remained.

“I’m sorry to keep you both waiting,” Amelia said, “Now, are we sure that it’s him?”

Thompson puffed his chest out proudly, “Trust me, my connection knew who it was before he had even stumbled into his… bar.”

Martel stopped waggling her eyebrows at Amelia to scold Thompson. “She’s not a child, you can tell her he got caught messing around in a brothel,” she said, before the older woman added with utmost seriousness, “You know, Amelia… You don’t need to meet him yourself.”

Amelia tutted, “Martel, a light wind might be enough to cause me to stumble, but make no mistake… I want to do this.”