Book 1: The Grace of the King [Part 2]
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“It grieves me, Your Majesty, to report that they are engaged in critical duties within our borders,” Seraphina explained, the smallest of smiles curving her lips. “A grave blight afflicts our lands. Foreigners, hailing from beyond the Empire’s edges, have trespassed upon your sacred realm, bringing with them banditry, unrest, and the silent whisper of corruption. They stain our fair fields and woods and threaten to poison the blood of the nation, sowing discord where harmony once flourished.”
She paused for a moment, pretending to be thinking before she uttered the rehearsed words. “My father’s sword arm is raised in defense of his lands, aided by my mother’s oracular Sight. Together, they root out these malefactors, striving to restore peace and stability to your domain. In their stead, I have ventured forth alone to kneel before Your Majesty and pledge our enduring fidelity.”
It was good to remind the King of her parent’s power and the old man gave the barest of twitches at the mention of her mother’s unique gifts. Seraphina felt that the King had some hidden history with her mother.
The weak man looked at as a wolf might look at a sheep. “Very well, Lady Seraphina de Sariens. Your words are heard, and I accept you as the representative of your House. Step forward, and consider yourself welcomed, under our watchful grace of and the sovereign authority of the crown,” he replied flatly.
“Ahh, that is most unfortunate for them. With the Duchy of Sariens being so dangerous, we are of the mind to invite you to stay as a guest of our royal hospitality as to such a time as your wedding arrangements are formalized with our son, the Crown Prince,” the King declared.
There was an intake of breath around the Royal Court, the courtiers and nobles tittering among themselves. Slowly, under the stern gaze of the King’s steward, the gathered crowded nobles quietened to an uneasy silence. They waited for the response from the heir to the Duchy of the Sariens.
A thousand and one thoughts rushed through Seraphina’s mind as she sought an escape from her predicament. The King’s response put her in a very dangerous situation.
“It is with great regret that I must refuse your generous offer. The Crown Prince Vellens has yet to formally present himself to me, nor is he here now to greet and welcome his would-be fiancée. Accepting under these conditions would be an insult to the Sariens,” she said saucily, smiling sweetly while meeting the King’s gaze with unmistakable defiance.
“And on that note, where exactly is His Majesty the Crown Prince? Your steward, Sir Gantly, assured me he was most eager to see me—pining, almost. Yet he failed even to perform the simple courtesy of arriving at our estate’s doorstep with a full escort of Royal Guards. I must therefore question the depth of his supposed love.”
At this, the Royal Court burst into laughter. It was a good while before they were cajoled into silence by the Royal Guards and the steward shouting for order. The Archbishop looked down at Seraphina, his expression cool and placid.
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The King fumed, his fists clenched in a vice-like grip, his expression dark at being refused. Faron stepped forward and whispered something in his ear, causing the King’s anger to subside into a guarded calm. Pushed into a corner, an ominous grin spread across his face.
“By royal decree, we must so insist, Lady Seraphina,” he declared.
In response, Seraphina snapped her fingers, and the two knights behind her wrestled with the package swaddled in strips of white silk. They presented it to the girl, who unwrapped it with a single tug, revealing a most fearsome weapon.
Her father’s blade—known as the Titan’s Knife—was unveiled before the Royal Court. A massive, crude slab of iron forged into a heavy blade nearly as tall as she was, its scarred length bore the marks of countless battles. She hefted the great sword almost effortlessly with one hand, drawing gasps from the assembled nobility in a dazzling display of raw Strength.
Instantly, the Royal Guards’ hands flew to the hilts of their own weapons, and in that moment they looked more like frightened boys than disciplined soldiers. Seraphina, however, noted that one among them—Sir Gallant—stood calm and unshaken by her demonstration. She silently resolved to keep a wary eye on him.
“My father sent me with his old weapon, to remind the King of their shared bond. And like my father before me, I would like to swear formal fealty to the crown,” Seraphina declared. Dropping to one knee alongside her honor guard, she offered the sword to the King with both hands.
Even in his youth, King Elidion II could never have lifted her father’s sword. He made no move to take it. Seraphina hoped her message was clear: she would remain loyal—unless the King forced her hand. A part of her even wanted him to challenge her.
Standing just behind Seraphina, Eloise trembled under the weight of the moment, as if history itself were bearing down on them. If the King insisted once more, civil war would be inevitable—a conflict Seraphina almost welcomed, for it would grant her family a clear and just casus belli. She would embrace the chaos and strife, knowing that by force of arms or sheer cunning, she would prevail.
King Elidion looked down at her, his expression at war with itself. Then, he burst into laughter—a peal of mirth that rang through the hall. The Archbishop at his side appeared more and more uneasy, but the King did not cease his laughter.
He shook his head. “Just like your mother, you are bolder than we have ever imagined—and one day, that boldness may be your undoing,” he growled, his warning anything but subtle.
It took all of Seraphina’s self-control not to laugh in his face. Instead, she maintained a calm, serene demeanor, silently challenging the Crown’s authority.
“But you’ve been a good influence on our Vellens,” the King continued. “He’s off on some errand for the Adventurer’s Guild, and it seems your example has given that hopeless young man a spine at last. For the rather obvious love he bears you, I will forgive your recent transgression and breach of protocol.”
She noticed how deftly he had reframed the encounter. If she pushed any further, she would look like an ungrateful brat rebelling against his supposedly magnanimous gesture. Also, it revealed that his steward had been trying to needle her.
Seraphina inclined her head, acknowledging the King’s words. She had one card left to play.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” she said. “If it pleases you, I will take my leave. I have urgent business awaiting me at home. My family fears a potential invasion from the Empire, and I can dally here in the capital no longer.”
Before he could reply, she stood, turning her back on the King of Aranthia in silent challenge. Seraphina had taken his measure and called his bluff; no doubt he was stewing behind her in anger, but to call after her would only weaken his position.
With a confident sway of her hips, she moved toward the exit. In her mind, she had successfully slipped free from the snare that was the Royal Court.