If I were the king of everything,

I would be the greatest

Bigger than Nida, Njalmar and Aetna,

I would be the best of the best

I would lead my armies

like no one in history

Discovering new lands

With my soldiers singing

"Victory" after "victory"

I would be good and pious

Giving the poor something to eat

Medicine to the sick

And protection to the weak

I would know how to be hard and cruel

To those who only know ambition

I would tax the richest

And apply justice

With the hand of the strongest

If I were "King Clavell"

my homeland would be ideal

Without hunger, sadness or wars,

where no one would know evil

The Short Life and Cruel Death of John Clavell - Aeronn V. R. Thewnes – 1st Edition

*

-Royal knight, huh? - Guinevere raises her eyebrows and grabs the mug of beer. - Congratulations. It is the equivalent of a minor title of nobility. It is a big step forward.

-Thanks. - Arthur nods, raising his own mug and searching the tavern with his eyes. – Where’s Thiago?

-He was called to accompany Bernard.

-Weren’t you invited?

-I asked to be dismissed. – Her body relaxes on the wooden chair and she stretches her arms across the table, grabbing the roasted lamb leg that was in the middle of the stew. – I mean, don’t misunderstand me. I love Fiandel and Yvanna will be a wonderful queen. It is a great occasion. But… - She hesitates.

-What?

-I just HATE these formal events. – She slams her mug on the table. – Uncle! Another round!

A dwarf with a red mohawk on his head, who until then had been behind the counter, smiles at Guinevere and hurries up with a small barrel, slamming it down on the wooden table, which looks like it is about to collapse.

-Here it is. This way I can save my legs.

-Thank you, Uncle. – She does not receive the information with irony. Arthur is still surprised by the relationship between the two. When the warrior called Arthur for a drink, he had not expected her to actually be the niece of the owner. – As I was saying, I have a bad habit of, let’s say, abusing the cordiality of the hosts.

Arthur smiles and take a sip of his drink. Guinevere imitates him.

-I love this beer. – She exclaims.

-It makes sense. – The boy says and decides to add after seeing her look: – It's your uncle's tavern, you must have lots of memories from here.

She thinks for a moment and then nods her agreement.

-You're right. Growing up here makes everything in Fiandel have a special meaning, doesn't it? - She sighs. - That's probably why, no matter how much I don't want to, I would sacrifice my life without thinking twice to protect the kingdom...

Guinevere's gaze narrows in the direction of the drink and Arthur frowns. The sudden sober tone of the conversation displeases him and he decides to raise his mug and toast. His speech, however, is interrupted by the sound of bells and the screams of the crowd gathered around the castle. The two members of the tavern look at each other.

-It started? – He asks.

-It started. – She confirms.

*

The guests arrive at the grand ballroom of Fiandel Castle in an orderly line, slowly marching forward. More than a hundred servants are dedicated to the single task of organizing tables and assisting guests so that they can accommodate themselves in circles carefully prepared by experts in nobility and diplomacy.

The first ones to arrive are those who consider themselves “lucky” to be at such a prestigious event: Apprentices, emissaries and nobles of lower social status diligently accept the waiting list and move happily to the corners of the hall. They sit in their seats aware of the long waiting period until the beginning of the commemorative activities, using such time to create connections, seek beneficial friendships and scour some “fertile ground” so that their social positions can rise.

This is the mass that walks in the corridors, settles at the tables and listens to the sound of the harp and lute, in a slow melody, almost a lullaby, that fills the room. Most of the sound comes from the instrument of Karius Evander, the musician known as a master with knowledge about the greatest number of instruments in all of Fiandel.

It is his lute that resonates through the tables and enters the ears of those who smell the snacks that are delivered in small portions as a way to distract guests and give room to conversations while the second wave of guests approaches the hall.

Members of the second wave of guests only when the line has dispersed. To them, the kingdom dedicates a servant to each guest, diligently directing them to their tables them. They are the great merchants, the most prominent diplomatic figures, the artists, warriors and mages of great nations. They are also the ones who need to be at ease and feel that they are the center of attention. Therefore, they are placed in the center of the room, on tables near the corridor where the third wave of guests will soon pass by.

Rinlia and Bernard arrive among the second wave and with it they cross the aisles and are positioned at the table closest to the end of the aisle. It is evident that they are considered part of the first echelon among the guests who have arrived so far.

They are placed in the same tables as other prominent figures. Among them, the mage Armenvald of Fibo; the mage Xaerfim Yaerande, second in command of the Republic of Markav; Graciela Bienvenuto, royal knight of the kingdom of Mallia and the sovereign's personal guard; among others.

-Thiago! – Rinlia, without ceremony, intones his name and makes the poor soldier fight his way through several groups to cross the space that separated his table from the one where the elf was. – Xaerfim, I would like to introduce you to one of the most promising magicians in Fiandel. This is Thiago Saavant Benavidez. You came with Bernard today, didn't you?

-Yes, I brought him as my assistant. – Bernard interrupts his conversation with Armenvald to confirm the information.

-And he's my apprentice in magic. - The elf announces when the boy arrives. – I would like to introduce him to you. After all, if you are the same as Armenvald, I'm sure you're interested in meeting the prominent figures in magic across the continent, aren't you?

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-Oh... – Xaerfim places his thin fingers on his chin. His voice is thin and off-key, like he's about to deliver a falsetto at any moment. – Interesting, interesting... I see you've got a good apprentice, Rinlia. I'm curious... Why didn't Armenvald take him off your hands? With this amount of innate magic-

-Please, allow me to interrupt you for a second. – This time, Armenvald is the one who stops the conversation with Bernard. - Unfortunately, Rinlia found him before I could. Plus, I have some projects that don't allow me, um, let's say they don't allow me to spend time with another apprentice for now.

-Oh, I can relate to such problems. Of course, it's very difficult to balance so many obligations... – Xaerfim narrows his gaze in the soldier’s direction. – Still, his amount of magic is remarkable. Be careful, boy, or you'll overextend the quantity that your body can handle. – He turns to Rinlia. – Have you made him expend a lot of magical energy recently? I feel he is constantly wasting energy to generate more. Or was it a mistake in my evaluation?

-Something along those lines. – The elf smiles and turns to the soldier. – However, I think it is better if he answers for himself.

Rinlia doesn't worry that the boy might hand over some sensitive information about Arthur, since he'd been thoroughly instructed on what could and could not be shared with outsiders.

Besides, she did not want to speak for the soldier more than necessary, since the reason for calling him was to make others see him speaking to eminent figures, in order to improve Thiago's status in Fiandel's influential circles.

And, judging by the looks directed at their table, at least the objective of making him stand out had been achieved.

The conversation, however, is soon interrupted by the sound of an angelic voice.

The lute and the harp, until then masterfully played, served, as well as the food, only as a background for other activities, making an outstanding environment such as the large room with large windows and tables adorned with silver threads, fabrics of silk and gold symbols into something pleasing to each corporal sense.

However, from that point onwards, the music was no longer just part of the background. The sound of the voice over the small podium in the corner of the room suddenly claims the place as the main attraction.

It is the voice of Elise von Reginald, the most prestigious singer on the continent. Not even Rinlia or Bernard are able to take their eyes off the image that, in a mournful tone, sings an old song of lost love. With her curly black hair rising like a great crown around her head, she stands in front of the microphone with grace. Her thick lips sculpt a padded voice that soothes the core of all the guests.

The woman with the curly crown and angelic voice, for the next minutes, focuses all the attention of the salon on her image.

That is also the final preparation before the side doors open, allowing the royal guards from five of the continent's six civilized kingdoms to position themselves, forming a corridor.

It is under the sound of that soft voice, which gradually diminishes in intensity, that those who are the main guests walk towards the two reserved cabins of the hall: King George and Queen Mallia, from the kingdom of Mallia; Chancellor Bernadir, the Righteous, ruler of Markav; Malik Saidi, Commander of Argalya and his daughter, Abidemi Saidi; behind them, Aetna and Orlov, sovereigns of Vivre, walk side by side to the most prominent place in one of the cabins. The other has the prominent seats offered to the rulers of Argalya.

The guests do not even have enough time to start whispering about the importance of the massive presence of so many leaders on one occasion, as a small entourage follows behind the guests, led by King Njalmar, accompanied by his sons, daughters and their respective spouses. To his right, Connor carefully keeps himself a half step behind his father. It is enough, however, for everyone to understand their almost equal positions in the kingdom.

Njalmar goes to the central seats, placed on a platform at the front of the hall. High-back chairs, decorated in gold, silver and diamonds are occupied by Njalmar's sons and daughters, all accompanied by their respective spouses, in order of importance towards the center, where three places were unoccupied: Njalmar and Connor's chairs, who remained standing, and one more, where would sit the one who would soon be part of the royal family.

Rinlia nodded as she confirmed that Nafaester had not come with Njalmar. She would remain a secret for a while. The deal made with Njalmar, their future marriage, and the war with the Great Forest were secrets that could not yet be known.

The king raises his left hand and the music stops. Conversations and whispers immediately cease. Njalmar gestures to the musicians.

-I appreciate the opportunity to hear your voice, Elise. – He smiles at the singer. – It is a privilege to listen your voice in such an important occasion.

The singer and the musicians bow and, in the silence that is imposed throughout the hall, the soft voice of the singer could reverberate clearly in everyone’s ears:

-It is my privilege to lend my voice to such an important occasion.

The king waves and the musicians sit on chairs placed on the stage, waiting for the moment to play again.

The silence is absolute. Even the scrape of a chair would echo across every corner of the room.

Njalmar's face cannot hide the edge of a smile under his beard.

-To everyone who dedicated themselves to be here, today, at such an important occasion, I am grateful for your efforts. It is a pleasure to receive you and I want everybody to know that your willingness to honor us will be remembered. And although it is my wish that this day could last forever, there is still something that cannot wait. Open the doors so we can welcome Fiandel's new princess!

The order is immediately obeyed by guards posted at the central doors of the hall. The guests, for the first time, take their eyes off Njalmar and, as if they had rehearsed, stand up as the bride steps onto the red carpet, laid out in the center of the room, leading the way to the place where the king is placed with his family.

It would be nonsensical to say that Yvanna, upon entering the hall, looked charming. After all, the vampire had transcended such word. She was stunning. She radiated, with every step, a majestic and triumphant beauty.

Her gown of sable and silk, laced to reveal portions of pale skin at the shoulders and the arm, framed the athletic figure of the warrior, and with every step she took, her dress train moved gracefully and angelically. The bridesmaids who followed and held the dress train, allowed the bride to walk confidently across the red velvet rug.

Her red hair, partially covered by her veil, tumbled in curls over her shoulders and over the lace of her dress. Her thin lips drew a mysterious smile, accompanied by the look of her brown lobes, in the direction of the prince.

Connor, in his elegant black-and-gold outfit, felt a shiver at the sight of the vampire's gaze towards him. In an instant, the full power of Yvanna's image seemed to come to his mind.

"Is this the first time I understand who I'm marrying with?" He asks himself, standing next to his brothers and sisters, straightening his spine and forcing his face to give the bride a discreet smile, masking the turmoil of feelings inside him.

The image of the vampire had such an intense and pure attraction that, for an instant, it was as if the guests sighed in unison, admiring her image in a collective trance.

It was Njalmar who took it upon himself to break the spell of Yvanna's vision, gesturing to his son after the vampire reached the prominent place in the hall, next to the king.

With bride and groom before him, the king of Fiandel announces:

-This is a day of celebration. Here is the future of the great Kingdom of Fiandel, in the form of its future king and queen. Here are those whose destiny is to reign and live a different life. Today, in the form of ritual of war and magic, these two individuals will unite their destinies forever. – He turns to the bride. – Yvanna, by being chosen and accepting the position in our kingdom, you gave your destiny to the people of Fiandel and your life for the maintenance of the crown of the kingdom. You have accepted your duty.

He turns to Connor.

-My son. You, however, had no choice. Since I chose you to be my son, you've been forced to accept the greatest burden I could hand you. So, I give you a choice, if not for the first, at least for the last time: Do you have any regrets? Any desire to leave this life behind you? Any ambition but to live and die for the people and the crown?

Connor considers making a sarcastic comment, but finds himself unable to voice it. He just shakes his head and sums up his feelings:

-No, my father. I have no regrets. On the contrary. My desire is to give up my life, just as my bride did.

-If that is true, you should announce it, my children. Both of you, tell all the kings, queens, nobles, warriors and prominent figures here. Tell them: Do you give your lives to each other and both to Fiandel's kingdom?

-Yes.

-Yes.

-Do you hand over your destinies to the entities, turning your future into one?

-Yes.

-Yes.

The guests cheer. A smile spreads across the faces of Connor's brothers and sisters, and even the king allows himself to openly smile.

Rinlia claps her hands effusively and does not take her eyes off Yvanna, who smiles at her.

The clapping continues until the king raises his hand. Then, they diminish until the hall return to absolute silence.

And again, as if they had rehearsed, after a gesture from the king, all the guests took their seats.

-The wishes have been expressed, my dears. Now, as a testament to your stubbornness and keeping up with the customs of our ancestors, it's time to perform the rituals of the wizards and warriors. – He reaches out to the free space in front of him. – Step forward, representatives of the people!

Rinlia and Bernard look at each other. There was more than one reason why both of them were at the tables placed at the front of the hall, in a place of prominence second only to the royal families.

The elf and the warrior rise, obeying the king's order. As they walk, Njalmar announces:

-Prince Connor, as a warrior and mage, and Princess Yvanna, as a warrior, you will face two of the most powerful fighters in all of Fiandel. As spells, only protection spells will be allowed. Everyone's role, as warriors, is to use melee attacks and demonstrate their strength before all of us.

Despite the festive tone, Rinlia feels her hands shaking. Yvanna is assisted by a servant, who removes the train from her dress and, deftly, the vampire pulls a hidden line under the lower region of her dress, reducing the size of the skirt and allowing her legs to have more freedom of movement.

-A somewhat barbaric ritual... – Yaerande whispers beside Armenvald. – There is no need for a show of strength from the leaders. After all, the world is no longer commanded by the sword...

-But by the feather. – Armenvald shakes his head. – However, it is just a traditional ritual, without real risks. – He keeps his eyes on Rinlia and Bernard. – I taught Connor the archaic spells of greatest visual value and Njalmar taught him the most beautiful battle moves. Even though Connor is a great fighter, this is just an exhibition. A first dance for the newlyweds, if you will.

-No risk, you say? – Xaerfim Yaerande seems unconvinced. – So that's why you are not the chosen mage?

The stage is moved by several servants who free up space, giving the “fighters” a few meters in diameter as space for their “battle”.

-The elf is a friend of the bride. She wanted to be the chaperone on this occasion.

-I see... Still, a barbaric ritual for a happy occasion like this.

-Fiandel is a kingdom forged in the blood and sweat of battle, my friend. - Armenvald looks up, as if proud of the thought. – You can't get rid of something like that with a few hundred years.

*

*