My thoughts often turn to the Helvetian King, the one responsible for so much of my pain and suffering.

You are Helvetian, are you not, intruder?

But fear not. I have no qualm against you for your status. Those who had been the source of my torment are already all dead. Killed, by me…

The only one I have yet to reach is King Fiske himself. And one day, I will slay him where he stands.

Trust me on that, intruder.

-

The next two days passed by quickly as Arwen settled into the comfortable routine she was so used to before her deployment to Alaru. On the third day, however, her father informed her that King Fiske of Helvetia had arrived in Cyfoeth.

It was late in the evening, and the Helvetians wanted nothing more than to rest after their march down to the enemy’s lair, so Arwen was given fair warning for the confrontation to come. She readied her uniform, of which had been cleaned and dried by the servants a day prior but she never bothered to wear again, and folded it on top of her cabinet. The Helvetian King had made prior visits to the castle, but Arwen was never allowed to attend such meetings despite her status. Now, as a sixteen-year-old woman, her father clearly expected to rectify her unfamiliarity with the opposing royalty. The prospect filled her with equal senses of dread, excitement, and fear. Such was tumultuous times in Loel, and if she were to say or do something offensive, she may jeopardise what could be the only possible chance for father to bring peace to the two Kingdoms.

The visitation of Helvetia also had other, more dire, consequences. Once the Vampire Keep had caught wind of a friendly parley with Helvetia, they had sent one of the Council of Three members himself, Caius Victorsson, to demand the intentions of Cyfoeth in enacting such a meeting. According to Arwen’s father, Caius had even gone so far as to insist an assassination on King Fiske be made. King Blayney had refused, for doing so would guarantee Helvetia turn its titan sights upon Cyfoeth, whose obliteration would be certain under its utter military might. Caius had then left in anger, and the following day, a handwritten letter by the vampire himself arrived to King Sion Blayney. From that then onwards, Cyfoeth was no longer aligned with the Vampire Keep.

“This is good news,” Arwen’s mother had told her in private. “Without this godsforsaken alliance binding your father’s honour, he can make a peace treaty with Helvetia without objection.”

This did, indeed, seem like good news to Arwen. But there was still the matter of hashing out such an agreement with the Helvetian King, who may try to utilise his recent dominance over the Vampire Keep in the war as leverage to demand unfair terms. There was also her father’s concern that such a treaty in Helvetia would alienate the vampires living in Cyfoeth and stop innocent refuges from being able to arrive to the Kingdom. She wondered what Eryk’s opinion on the potential treaty would be, but quickly dismissed her curiosity.

The next morning, Arwen was called almost immediately after finishing her morning makeup and preparations to the audience chamber. Dressed in her uniform, with her hair tied in a neat bun resting at the back of her head, the loose strands of black dangling across her face served to frame her prominent features and naturally dour expression, inciting a sense of authority and power in the hearts of all that would gaze towards the stern Princess. Upon entering the audience chamber, she found King Blayney standing in front of his throne, instead of sitting atop it. Furthermore, while typically empty save for the two guarding the door, the large hall was now filled with Cyfoethian guards lined up by the walls. She could tell by their nervous expressions that they did not expect much amiability in the coming meeting.

Arwen took her place next to her father. Amelia, her mother, was nowhere to be seen, for she was like her daughter in her despisal of social events and politics. King Blayney smiled down at Arwen, approving of the servants’ work on her appearance. He squeezed her arm supportively before allowing his own to rest by his side. The King’s outward appearance was that of authoritative stoicism, but Arwen could tell by the uneven rises and falls of his chest that he was nervous.

After about a minute, the large doors to the audience chamber swung open. A deep voice called into the chamber, echoing across the stained-glass windows. “Stand by for King Fiske of Helvetia!”

This was it. Arwen straightened her back and took a deep breath.

A stream of soldiers dressed in the Helvetian black and silver uniform colours entered in a rhythmic march, forming two solid lines that made their way straight towards the Cyfoethian King. Arwen was slightly alarmed at the sight, for there must have been nearly one hundred Helvetians armed with swords and lances walking directly towards her father, but a quick glance towards King Blayney’s calm expression reassured her that this may be normal. It would only be safe for the opposing King to be well-protected, right?

It was only when the soldiers were halfway down the chamber that they begun to fan out, exposing a lone figure in the middle making his way straight for Arwen and her father. The Helvetian King, Arwen presumed, was a man who instantly commanded her respect, what with his tall and muscular visage framed by broad shoulders and his determined expression. He had green eyes and, surprisingly, somewhat messy blonde hair, though it was rather attractively styled in Arwen’s opinion. Contrary to that, his thick black shirt bulged against his broad body which was adorned with silvery gauntlets, cuffs, shoulder pads, and leg braces, which shined brightly but were dulled by the scratches and scrapes marring their surfaces, speaking to his warrior background. Brown trousers finalised the style- an odd choice, but one that worked with his ensemble and mannerism.

The man stopped short a good six metres away from King Blayney. “As the King of Cyfoeth,” Arwen’s father took the initiative in the meeting, “I welcome you to our humble country. It is with good tidings that I greet you, King Brandt Fiske.”

“It’s a pleasure,” King Fiske had a deep and velvety voice that rumbled out of his body like a low thunderstrike. He spoke Deinian perfectly with little in the way of an accent. “I hope you’re in good health.”

“I am,” affirmed King Blayney. “Please, meet my daughter and heir to Cyfoeth, Princess Arwen Blayney.”

King Fiske’s eyes met Arwen’s, who nodded slowly in a display of respect and tried not to let her nerves show. “Pleased to meet you, King Fiske.”

But to her utter shock, King Fiske approached Arwen and clasped her left hand in between his. Arwen was surprised at how warm his were, for she had always had the impression that Helvetians were as cold blooded as their environment. “Princess Blayney,” he offered a warm smile while locking her gaze. “I greet you for the first time with the utmost of kindness,” he pulled back and addressed her father. “It looks as though your daughter will make a fine heir and Queen to Cyfoeth. Let me be the first to congratulate your luck on having such a wonderful daughter.”

The obvious aggrandizement from King Fiske would’ve felt disingenuous and sarcastic had it not been for the man’s sincere tone and shining affection. It was then that Arwen realised that the Helvetian King was not only their strongest warrior, but likely boasted an impressive talent for flattery and charming with his forthright mannerisms. Despite herself, Arwen blushed when she spoke. “Thank you for your kind words, King Fiske.”

“Now,” the Helvetian held the stage as he walked back to a respectful distance before King Blayney. “I’m here to discuss some possible friendly terms between our two countries, and I thank you for your encouraging reply. We have only been here a day, but our treatment by your country’s people have been nothing short of awe-inspiring,” he turned to his soldiers who were all lined up at the edges of the central red carpet in the room and yelled in Iekean, “right, my good men?!”

“Yes, sire!” an impressive roar of voices simultaneously agreeing with their King thrummed in the bodies of the Cyfoethians.

King Fiske turned back to King Blayney with a broad smile. “See? We all agree that a big thank you is in order for your kindness,” Arwen supressed the urge to raise a brow at the King’s almost clownish air for theatrics. She had expected a cold, fierce, and uncompromising ruler made only scarier by his angular features, but King Fiske had certainly subverted all of her expectations of him thus far. “Now, I’m not one for manipulation and all that nonsense,” the King continued. “I face those I speak and fight with head on. So, I’m not gonna make it a secret that I know about your difficulties with the Vampire Keep. Hey,” he raised his hands, “I admit I’m relieved, but I’d like to know your opinion on that.”

“I am saddened by the loss of our allies, for we strive to make Cyfoeth a safe place for vampires who want to live alongside humans,” Arwen’s father droned, but then lay forth a ruthless backstabbing of his former allies. “However, I must confess my… concerns, with their methods of late. I hold no more love for the Keep.”

King Fiske nodded along in silence. “And you, Princess Arwen?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Caught off guard, Arwen stuttered for a moment. She hadn’t expected the Helvetian King to bother much with her presence, much less ask for her opinion on Cyfoethian matters. It made a lot of sense, she supposed, for the King to get a feel for Cyfoeth’s heir, since it was a real possibility that they would interact as equals in the future. “Uh- I… I hold no opinion on the matter,” she lied through her teeth. “I prefer to wait and examine the resulting facts before expressing one.”

“Very cautious and sensible,” King Fiske smiled with an enthusiasm that belied his age, which must have rivalled Arwen’s father. “I love it. Now, I got to admit this to you. I hold no love for vampires, but I’m not exactly offended by their existence, either. The Vampire Keep, on the other hand,” his tone darkened, “those people are a bunch of savages whose destruction only mean good for this land.”

“But,” the Helvetian continued, “with you breaking off from their clutches, I think there’s opportunity for a peace treaty, wouldn’t you agree? Truthfully, I’m pretty tired of this tense showdown we have going on at the borders.”

“We are open to it,” King Blayney was ambiguous, “but it highly depends on the terms.”

King Fiske began to pace as he formulated his reply. “Yes, terms…” he nodded to himself as he went. “We both know how reparation demands from Helvetia always go badly with you folks, so I’m willing to let sleeping dogs lie on that one. Hell,” he straightened and faced the Cyfoethian King, “I’ll even sweeten the deal. You can have all your subjugated territory back.”

“And in return?” King Blayney asked in a stiff tone. Arwen herself was also sure some sort of curveball was coming their way from the animated man before them.

“This little ceasefire we’ve got going can continue indefinitely,” King Fiske shrugged. “I doubt we’ll be friendly for a while, but maybe even some trade can be commenced.”

King Blayney interrupted with a rebuke. “I’m afraid I cannot engage in commerce with Helvetia, else our vampire population may think this even more of a betrayal than it may seem by aligning with Helvetia over the Keep.”

At the mention of the Keep, King Fiske paused and frowned deeply. “I thought as much… well,” he dragged the word out for a couple of seconds, “I suppose that’s only fair.”

“Anything else?” King Blayney’s question was terse. Arwen recognised her father’s no-nonsense mannerisms. He often employed a stiff, uncompromising position when he felt backed into corners.

“You can stop sending food and other such supplies to the Keep- I knew about that, by the way, despite your rather clever attempts to conceal it,” the accusation wasn’t backed up by a lot of heat, and the King’s mannerism remained relaxed. “Aside from that, I’m easy.”

“T-That’s it?” Arwen spoke up, eliciting a surprised look from her father. “That’s all you want from us?”

King Fiske turned his attention onto her. “Look… I’m going to be really blunt here, okay? I don’t really care about the vampires you let stay in the Kingdom, it’s the evil fuckers at the Keep I’m after. The war with the vampires is a drain, yes, and I’d rather not have to face the full might of Cyfoeth alongside it, but let’s be real- even when fighting you guys on both fronts, you were losing. We’d have both annexed the Keep and you in a matter of time. But I’m not interested in world domination. Helvetia had that a long time ago, and look how it turned out. So, I’m here to establish stability in relations between our two countries, since I don’t see how fighting helps either of us.”

“And you propose it by walking here,” Arwen gestured out towards him with a hand, “as if we are friends.”

King Fiske twisted his head in confusion. “Yes.”

“Arwen,” her father turned to her in a low voice. “This is just how Brandt is. He speaks like that to everyone.”

“Even us?” Arwen hissed back. They were the royal family of King Fiske’s enemies, for Gods’ sake!

“Even us.”

“To summarise,” King Fiske politely waited until they had finished their low whispering before continuing. “We officially stop fighting, you stop sending the Keep supplies, and in return? We’ll give you back all the territory you lost to us and I’ll go about my merry way beating the Keep into a pulp. Sound fair?”

“I will consider it,” King Blayney nodded slowly. “Please send formal documents to our administration when you can, and then I will need some time before signing.”

“Take as much time as you need,” the Helvetian didn’t seem bothered by his recipient’s lack of enthusiasm for his treaty deal. “But after tomorrow, you’ll have to send your response to Helvetia, since I won’t be here in person anymore.”

“Agreed,” her father quietly sighed in relief. “Shall we dine, now? I believe it is time for lunch to be served. I must go momentarily to confer with my aides, but Princess Arwen will guide you all to the dining room.”

King Fiske bowed his head. “An appreciated gesture. Hey!” he waved over a soldier seemingly at random and beckoned him forward. “Tell Ivar to draft up a treaty form and give it to me by the end of the night.”

“Yes, sire!” the soldier bowed deeply and immediately left the room to perform his duties.

“Alright, you lot!” the King further bellowed to his soldiers. “Off you go, and don’t cause any trouble!”

Another chorus of ‘Yes sire!’’s was belched out by the crowd of soldiers, who all formed a conical shape as they filtered out of the audience chamber, reminding Arwen of sand escaping down an hourglass. Arwen looked up pleadingly at her father, desperate to avoid being alone with the King of damned Helvetia! But King Blayney shook his head sternly and gave her a warning look before turning away and leaving himself.

“Princess Arwen,” King Fiske’s sudden proximity almost made her jump. The broad man smiled down at her, but the gesture struck Arwen with an odd sense of nostalgic melancholy. “Apologies for all that wrangling. I hate to be so direct, but it truly gets the job done quickly, else we’d be here for hours.”

“Of course,” Arwen almost stumbled over her words again. “No apologies needed.”

She began to lead him out of the audience chamber and through the castle’s sprawling hallways towards the dining hall, where luncheon would doubtlessly be awaiting. On occasion, Arwen would glance behind her to ensure the Helvetian King was behaving himself and not trying to snoop, but the big man kept a polite stare forward. “Are these hallways always so… twisty?” King Fiske asked behind the Princess as they went.

“Most are,” Arwen decided to engage in polite conversation, even as her mind whirled with unease. She couldn’t do this… I’m not up for it yet. “But some are relatively straight forward once you get the hang of it.”

“Hmm, okay,” Arwen could not see King Fiske behind her, but she thought his tone sounded satisfied enough. “I see you’re in uniform, Princess Arwen… do you serve?”

“I do,” she confirmed, glad for the change in topic even as she tried to stop her breaths from shuddering. Gotta work well under pressure. Remember your training. “I had my first mission recently.”

King Fiske let loose a low whistle. “Risky business of your father to send his only heir out to the wide world amidst a war. I wouldn’t ever risk my child like that.”

“It’s tradition, apparently.” Arwen was so far keeping an air of nonchalance as she shrugged, but that was quickly dropped when she realised the significance of his last sentence and shot the Helvetian a furtive glance. “You have a child?” she could’ve sworn King Fiske was childless.

“Ah,” an awkward chuckle. “Slip of the tongue. Victor isn’t my son, but I take care of him like one, if you will. How old are you, dear Princess?”

“Me? I’m s-sixteen.”

“A fine age,” King Fiske approved. “Victor’s a year younger than you, being fifteen himself, though he acts so much older than otherwise. He trains and trains like he’ll never get the chance again,” the King’s voice swelled with pride. “At this stage, I dare say he may already be as good a fighter as I.”

“Is he a mage of any sort?” Arwen’s heart lurched as she boldly decided to do a bit of fishing.

But King Fiske saw right through her, much to her perturbation. “Sussing out a possible future opponent, are you?” he let out a gentle laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t really care. Nope, to answer your question, Victor’s as human as we come. I presume you to be a lightning mage, yourself? Forgive my lack of knowledge, your father can be quite thin on detail, and he rarely speaks of you to me.”

For good reason, Arwen inwardly thought. “I am,” she decided to lie as she twisted her hands within each other, “and a powerful one at that.”

“I don’t doubt. Hey,” the Helvetian King’s hand on her shoulder caused Arwen to whirl around in surprise. “Can you give me a little zap? I’ve always been curious over what it feels like. According to the books at my castle’s library, it’s a sensation that nothing ever can replicate.”

Arwen stared uncomprehendingly. “Wha-? Y-you want me to assault you?” Was this some kind of ruse?

“Not in the sense that it’s unwilling, no… think of it as sating an old man’s curiosity, got it?” the King suddenly raised an eyebrow. “Tell you what, if you grant me this favour, I’ll let you in on a secret of mine.”

“A secret? What secret?”

King Fiske smiled. “You want me to go first? Alright, I’ll shoot. My big secret is… I’m actually quite sympathetic to vampires.”

Despite herself, a giggle burst through Arwen’s lips. “You’re joking!” it was a funny, however, in its irony.

“Dead serious,” the Helvetian raised his eyebrows. “If I made my little secret known to my people, they might lose confidence in my hard-line stance to the Keep. I even rescued one from some bad people, nursed him back to health. He was a remarkable one, that young vampire, and also incredibly strong even without all that blood nonsense.”

“What happened to him?” Arwen cocked her head. Although she did not know it at the time, the King has done a masterful job at allaying her worries over his reception to her.

“Who knows?” King Fiske shrugged. “Could be dead for all that I’m aware.”

Arwen took that bit of dour information in stride, and then made a deep sigh. “I- I suppose I’m obligated to zap you now.”

King Fiske nodded in confirmation. With another smaller sigh, Arwen grabbed a hold on his arm. “This will hurt,” she warned him, “even with clothes blocking contact with your skin. Are you sure you want me to… to do this?” please say no. Please say no.

A slow, confident nod belied the King’s wide eyes and dilated pupils. Fear? Arwen briefly wondered. Or excitement? She began to channel her magic, slowly building up a tiny jolt in her finger without allowing it to pass through into the Helvetian’s body. For fear of accidentally harming the man, she made sure each step was incredibly precise and thought-out, rather than simply hitting him with an instinctual burst of lightning as she had done with Cai all those days ago. Once confident enough in the low level of magic at her finger tip, she let it pass into the King’s arm.

King Fiske flinched slightly at the sudden pain and his body stiffened, but he didn’t pull back or cry out like most did. Instead, he gave the Princess an awed look. “That was… wow,” he shook his head in disbelief. “It truly is a unique type of pain.”

“Satisfied?” Arwen’s tone wavered a little, worried that the King may now view his little experiment as an attack. Assault on a Helvetian monarch would probably have dire consequences if King Fiske were to interpret the facts in a… different light.

“Absolutely,” the King replied happily. “I never could get King Blayney to do that, so I am certainly glad to have met you.”

He seemed genuinely impressed by Arwen, something that the Princess herself did not expect so easily. It seemed she was inadvertently doing her job incredibly well, though she couldn’t tell if he was authentic or was merely trying to flatter.