Chaos. Pandemonium, even. How could it not be? The King had died and his daughter was missing. It was not a big surprise that everyone seemed upset by the current state of events.
The Chancellor hastily convened a Council meeting mere hours after the monarch’s death. King Ferdinand’s death was meant to be kept a secret for as long as possible, yet even before Adrian was dragged out of bed in the small hours of the morning the news was on everybody’s lips.
As Adrian made his way to the Council Chamber he could not help but feel the change in the atmosphere. It seemed to affect everyone – even the cats that prowled the hallways. Everybody was jittery, on-edge, in a state of angst caused by an uncertain future looming ahead of all of them.
Adrian, for one, was mildly annoyed to be woken up at such an unholy hour. Not unexpectedly, the Council was already in session; they had started without him. Even in this gilded hall of power, the uncertain atmosphere permeated. True to his name, Chancellor Redfield face was the colour of beetroot, Marshal Trance fidgeted about like a pool of disturbed water, Spymaster Evans was subconsciously rubbing his palms together and the Royal Scholar was massaging her temples like she was being afflicted with a particularly bad migraine.
Adrian took a seat without announcing himself, and the council took it in stride. The Marshal surreptitiously nodded at Adrian as he took his seat.
“She cannot have gotten far,” said the Chancellor. “She has no friends or allies in court.”
“Her mother certainly does.” Marshall Trance ran a hand through his hair.
“I have reports that she is just as clueless as we are,” Spymaster Whitemoss shot down the argument. “I took the liberty of questioning her immediately after we discovered that the Princess was missing. She said that the princess was in the company of one Druscilla Clearwater.”
Heads turned to the Royal Scholar. “Well, on my part,” began Lady Clearwater. “I inspected the Princess’ chambers personally – look what I found.” She took out a dagger from somewhere beneath her clothing. “I appraised the weapon and found out it is made of steel with a [Lacerate] enchantment; which is to say any wounds inflicted by it will not heal without magical intervention. It is a fairly low level Arcane enchantment, but is extremely expensive given the illicit nature of the dark arts. I think some assassins were sent to eliminate the princess. If they had a weapon like this it means they have a wealthy backer, or backers.”
“But if the knife is so expensive, why leave it behind?” the Chancellor asked.
“I don’t know yet, maybe there was a scuffle? Either way, we’re dealing with a third party. The best way to identify them is to figure out a motive.”
“The obviously wanted Princess Gwendolyn dead, the poor soul.” Marshal Bluewater wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Though that doesn’t exactly make a small suspect list.”
“We cannot be sure of that until we find a body. Marshal, I want your men to scour every inch of the city looking for the princess.” Adrian noticed how the Chancellor sounded like he was expectant, as if a layer of mirth was concealed beneath his commands. He must want to find the princess quickly; solving crises put his mind at ease after all.
“They are already on it, my Lord. I even have some looking through the sewers. The council will be the first to know if something is found.”
“Whitemoss, Clearwater, anything else you want to say about the scene of the kidnapping.”
“No, my lord.”
“Nothing,my lord.”
“Good. Now, there is the issue of public order. I have arranged a public viewing of the King’s body this afternoon. I want you to provide security Marshall.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“It will be done, my lord.”
“With all due respect, my Lord,” Lady Clearwater said. “People are expecting a conflict; the mood is feverish and excited. I suggest Prince Sancho address the people, that might put their hearts at ease.”
That would be an unmitigated disaster. It might have been a good suggestion if the heir apparent was anyone other than Sancho. The boy was thoroughly unlikable, but easy to control – that was why he had not completely ruined his reputation yet. If he was given the leeway to speak publicly, even if his speech was scripted, he would undoubtedly ruin everything with his tone deafness and lewd jokes.
“Absolutely not,” the Chancellor shot down the proposal as Adrian thought he would.
“He has to learn how to speak to the masses soon if he is to be ruler.” Lady Clearwater was keen to press the matter. She was probably the smartest person Adrian knew, definitely the most learned, so she must know of Sancho’s ineptitude.
“Opportunities will come later. For now he does nothing.”
“About that, my lord,” the Spymaster said. “He was spotted heading to a pink house earlier today.”
The Chancellor pinched the bridge of his nose – his demeanour changing from confident to irritated. “Spending his time with courtesans soon after learning of his fathers death – no shame, no shame at all. He is going to run his mouth at them for sure, bring him back to the Palace as soon as possible.
It’s not like the King’s death is a secret.
“What am I going to do with that boy,” the Chancellor mused, more to himself than to the councillors present. “He’s probably assassinating his own character as we speak.”
Through the efforts of the council, the common people knew Prince Sancho as an unremarkable but competent Prince. The greatest enemy to this false persona was the Prince himself.
The rest of the session was spent discussing the public viewing of the late King Ferdinand’s body. Well, it was not so much of a discussion rather it was just Chancellor Redfield asking questions and issuing commands. Adrian did not speak this entire time, but he would be expected to pay for everything.
They were scheduled to address the Royal Court with their resolutions. The suns were already high in the sky by then, about an hour before noon.
The courtiers gathered in the Throne room. On the throne was an entire farm’s worth of vibrant flowers. The councillors stood in a single rank behind the Chancellor, who was at the bottom of the steps to the throne.
Quentin Redfield raised his voice to address the gathered courtiers. “Order!” he shouted, trying to silence the din. “Now I know this is an uncertain time for all of us –“
“My child?? Where is my child?? My daughter is missing!” A distraught woman was causing the commotion. Her clothes were creased and her hair dishevelled. Streaks of tears ran down from red eyes. Adrian froze when he recogized Jacinda Blackstone, mother of his beloved.
Dixie has other sisters, right? He scanned the room. All the courtly Blackstone were present except for Dixie.
“Calm down, my lady. I am sure your daughter will be found.”
“She was last seen heading to the roof by some maid,” Jacinda continued in her distressed tone. “That was the last time anyone saw her. The people who kidnapped the princess must have got her too.”
Oh no. The strange mannerisms, talking like she knew she was going to die and that she had made peace with the fact – it all made sense now. Dixie had been on a mission to kill or kidnap Princess Gwebdolyn. The Blackstones were Royalists – though only to oppose the Whitestones – so she certainly had motive. She must’ve known the mission would end in failure or death, thus her nihilistic demeanour earlier on.
I wonder if I will be held as a hostage? Adrian’s father was a prominent anti-royal, if the princess was not found a civil war would definitely ensue. It really stung him to think that Dixie had put a suicide mission before their relationship.
While Adrian was caught up in his own thoughts, the room had descended into chaos. The Chancellor was trying and failing to get things back under control. Apparently, the news of the missing princess was not common knowledge. If she were to somehow turn up alive, then the world as they knew it would end, as a centuries-long peace was broken.
The search for Gwendolyn went on for days. No stone was unturned in looking for the girl. It was clear that she had probably left the city.
All across the land, the nobles raised their banners – calling all able-bodied men to take up arms. Some courtiers tried to leave the city, but the Chancellor had them thrown in the dungeons. Like the days of the war torn past, most of the courtiers were now literal hostages under house arrest in the Royal Palace.
Adrian, though he had attempted to flee, was confined to his personal chambers. He was relived of his position as Treasurer and was provided with three meals a day and almost no human contact.
The common people were not nearly as anxious as the nobility. The excitement and anticipation for war spread among them like an infectious fever. Everyone and their mother knew the fighting was about to start. This was their time to earn glory like the knights forever immortalized on tapestries and in the words of song.
There would even be promotions for those who distinguished themselves. The prospect of being granted a landed title was scintillating to the poor peasants. If they fought well enough, they would earn more money than they had ever dreamed of.
Amidst this excitement, disturbing reports from the Northeast went ignored. There had been sightings of a massive swarm of bats, far more than has ever been seen before. The number varied wildly from witness to witness, some say a few thousand while others swear they number in the millions. What they all seem to agree on was that the swarm was big enough to blot out the suns.
Whenever the swarm passed by a town or a village, a number of people would report nausea and drowisness. An even smaller number would be missing and no bodies recovered. Sergeant Trory Bluewater was convinced there was unnatural influence with the swarm and petitioned to head out on an expedition. This was denied as Chancellor Redfield said that the Sergeant’s place was ‘by the King’s side’.
A small coronation had been held for Sancho. The funds were being diverted into the war effort. The young King made his displeasure known, but no one really paid him any mind. After the event the King’s life was not so different from Adrian’s. Sancho was confined to a single wing of the Palace. Courtesans were hired to keep him busy and thus the king did not notice the shackles put upon him.
Quentin Redfield was now in charge in all but name. And like everyone else he was ready for a fight.