Author
One Week Ago
“Attention! His Majesty, King Leonard Martial of Lantonia!” The ceremonymaster’s voice echoed so loudly it seemed to reach the far ends of the capital and beyond. “Must’ve been born with a set of lungs like that,” the monarch thought to himself, resisting the urge to rub his ears. Over twenty years of ruling, he’d grown accustomed to most things, but these announcements still grated on his nerves. They’d irritated him since his days as crown prince, through his coronation, and right up to today.
The courtiers bowed and curtsied long before the shadow of the ruler appeared in the wide doors crafted from rare red oak. The guards tensed up well in advance too, scanning their surroundings for what felt like the thousandth time in a full 360-degree sweep. The young head of the royal security service could confidently report to the monarch that everything was in order. Daniel Arron always had everything under control, just as his father had before him, holding the same position until his death five years ago.
“Where’s the crown prince, Curt?” His Majesty asked with barely moving lips as he approached the doors. He’d long mastered the art of speaking without being heard.
“I personally informed him and spoke with the queen. This event and His Highness’s presence are of utmost importance,” Curt Manner, the king’s personal assistant, reported in a whisper. The monarch nodded, dismissing the servant, then turned skeptically to his best friend and the kingdom’s spiritual leader, Cardinal Mastermal, who walked beside the ruler of Lantonia, just a step behind.
“He spoke with the queen... I’ve been speaking with her for nearly thirty years, and do you see any good coming from it? Robert is a grown man. He needs to stop hiding behind his mother’s voluminous skirts and start taking responsibility for his actions. I hope he’s not late, or else... I don’t have much time as it is, and I still have to deal with all of you.”
“By the way, sir, did you take your medicine?” the cardinal asked quietly, casting a concerned glance at the monarch.
“Since when did you become my babysitter?” the ruler replied with a wry smile, though he reassured his friend, “I took it. But you know as well as I do, they’re just to keep up appearances. They give me strength and help maintain my vigor, but they don’t cure anything. That’s why it’s so important to hand Lantonia over to capable hands,” he emphasized the second-to-last word, glancing at his friend for the first time before quickly turning his attention to the young man waiting for him by the doors.
“Sir, everything is ready as you ordered,” Count Arron whispered, leaning slightly toward the king, then froze in anticipation of further instructions. A faint shadow crossed Leonard’s lips. With a light pat on the shoulder of his most trusted servant, he thanked him with a flicker of his eyes and confidently stepped forward toward the crowd of courtiers and common folk who had come to this reception to voice their troubles. Such a practice had never existed before; the king used to learn of the people’s affairs through trusted intermediaries. But His Majesty wanted to speak with his subjects directly and designated three days each year when the palace doors would be open to all who wished to attend. He had introduced many innovations and could have done much more for his kingdom, but fate had other plans. Sir Leonard would have been glad to pass the throne to his own son, but his priority was to preserve the order he had established. With each passing day, Leonard became more certain that Robert wouldn’t manage, and greedy nobles would seize control, leading to disaster. He sought alternatives, and only one solution came to mind: issue a decree and place on the throne the one person who even thought like him. Only she could continue his work and protect the kingdom. But it wouldn’t be easy for her; he was well aware of the pressure a very young person would face after such an unexpected coronation.
“Long live King Leonard! Many years to Your Majesty!” Hundreds... thousands of subjects shouted in unison, their faces beaming with smiles. The people adored him, and the nobility respected him, unable to defy his commands. That was enough.
“Did Daniel ensure security properly?” the cardinal asked quietly, glancing around, his words inaudible to outsiders.
“It’s Dan. If everyone were as loyal and foresightful as he is, the kingdom would thrive. I’m fond of that young man. I’d love to see him as a son-in-law, but... the youth,” Leonard said with a cheerful smile, striding confidently to his throne and taking his rightful place with regal poise. In the front row, not far from her husband, Queen Clarissa glittered with jewels in her elaborate gown, already visibly bored even though the event had just begun. The king met his wife’s gaze, asking about their troublesome son with a mere expression. She nodded calmly, as if to say, “Everything’s under control. He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”
“Why not order Marquess Annie to marry him?” the cardinal suggested brilliantly, taking the first honored seat to the right of the monarch. However, his idea was met with a stern look.
“My girl will marry when she wants and to whom she wants. There’s no need to force her. I was forced, and look at me: am I so happy with a greedy wife and a womanizing son? I have no one to pass the kingdom to. Bah,” he spat, though a smile played on his lips as the first commoner approached, mentally refining his request or complaint to make it constructive. The king’s servants constantly reminded each person in line to do so before facing the monarch.
An hour of tireless work passed, then two, and still, the people streamed in to see their “father.”
“Your Majesty, we are farmers. Working the fields and tending crops is our only livelihood,” two middle-aged men in visibly worn, though likely their newest, clothing stood before the throne, not daring to lift their heads. The long journey had been arduous, the wait in line even longer, but now, at last, came the moment they’d awaited—to plead for mercy from the ruler of Lantonia himself. Peasants, poor townsfolk, even barons seized the opportunity, flocking to meet their king, for such a chance came only once every four months. No one doubted Leonard Martial’s fairness; remarkably, he always listened to the voices of those who needed his help. “But this year, our labor has been disrespected. The harvest is ruined. We’re in despair, unsure how to survive the winter...”
“What happened to you? Drought or flood?” the ruler tensed. He always respected the affairs of farmers and craftsmen, supporting them. The unfortunate men exchanged glances, visibly nervous about how to present their grievance.
“Sir, forgive our bluntness. Two weeks ago, His Highness and his entourage were hunting in Elvian Forest, which borders our fields. The crown prince and his companions, chasing a wild hare on horseback, trampled our entire wheat crop,” they reported, lowering their heads guiltily, as if they had lured the hare onto their fields and unleashed the heir upon it. Leonard exhaled heavily, exchanging a look with the cardinal. This wasn’t the first complaint about the prince today.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated for the wheat from the treasury,” he replied curtly, immediately giving the necessary orders to Curt. Seated at a small writing desk to the left of the monarch’s throne, Curt briefly noted down all the commands.
“May the heavens reward you and grant you many years of reign! Thank you, sir,” the men said, bowing deeply before hurrying away to avoid holding up the line. Peace now settled in their hearts, for a word given by the king would always be honored. The common folk loved and respected their monarch, something that couldn’t be said of his son.
“Where’s Robert?” the lord grumbled discontentedly, taking a sip of spring water from his goblet.
“Do you want me to find him and bring him here?” the cardinal asked just as quietly. If Mastermal himself had to fetch the heir, the prince would be in for it. Their relationship was already strained. Rumors circulated that due to complaints about the crown prince, the cardinal had wanted to excommunicate him, but refrained out of friendship with the king.
“I don’t. We’ll figure out later what kept him...”
The queen lowered her eyes dejectedly, exchanging meaningful glances with her ladies-in-waiting. She knew her husband too well not to see the fire of anger in his eyes.
The event concluded flawlessly, which relatively improved the monarch’s mood. That was the only comfort for Her Majesty. As fanfares resounded through the capital in honor of Leonard Martial’s justice, the king himself, tired but satisfied, yet pensive over his people’s troubles—troubles he knew he wouldn’t have time to fully resolve—returned to the palace.
“His Highness is in his chambers,” a loyal servant had already learned and reported, so without wasting time, the king headed to his son. But what awaited him somehow didn’t even surprise His Majesty.
Merry laughter echoing from the heir’s chambers greeted the monarch while he was still in the corridor. Losing the last of his patience, he quickened his pace. The footmen standing proudly at the prince’s door, noticing the angry ruler, opened it without waiting for an order. Leonard strode in confidently without warning. What he saw next could have been captured in a painting and hung on the wall—so picturesque!
The crown prince and his closest friends, equally foolish marquesses, lounged on sofas, animatedly discussing something. The topic was so engrossing that no one noticed His Majesty’s arrival. Collectible wines adorned the revelry, while empty, bulbous bottles on the plush carpet only added to the colorful scene.
Robert, visibly drunk—a masterpiece in oil. With his right hand, adorned with rings, he traced strange, cabalistic figures in the air right in front of his companions’ noses, boasting about something with such emotion that any top-tier actor would be envious.
“When I become king, they’ll all... all be mine. Right here in my grip,” His Highness declared, showing a clenched fist, though who exactly would be in his grip was hard to discern. It wasn’t even clear if Robert himself hadn’t lost the thread of the sluggish conversation.
“That’s right! To the king!” his friends cheered, raising their glasses, clearly not referring to the current monarch. If Leonard could have watched this chaos longer, he might have learned a lot of interesting things, but what he saw was more than enough.
“What’s going on here?” The loud voice of the elder Martial and his imposing figure, approaching with deliberate steps into the sunlit room, briefly silenced the room. Casting a grim look over the inebriated noble offspring, the monarch, with just a glance, compelled them to stand (or at least attempt to) and leave the chambers under the sound of uneven footsteps. The prince was more capable of speaking, though he too had overindulged. He even managed something resembling a bow.
“Why didn’t you come to the reception? Weren’t you informed?” Ignoring the mess in the room, the scattered bottles, and the self-proclamation as king, the ruler decided to start the conversation with the reason for his visit. Robert always found excuses to have “important matters” the day before a reception. Sometimes he went hunting, sometimes on an outing, but he always disappeared from the capital for a few days. Today, though, he was present in the palace but hadn’t deigned to grace the people with his presence.
“Yeah, they mentioned something like that,” the heir smirked, sprawling back onto the sofa and rubbing his eyes.
“When will you start acting responsibly? It’s your duty to attend the reception of your subjects. You want to be king, but trust me, you’re not ready. You’re irresponsible, and I won’t be around forever. When you take the throne, you’ll have to listen to your people,” Leonard said, standing tall before his heir, trying to drill some truths into him. But the crown prince had other views on life. With a skeptical snort, he sprang to his feet... or rather, tried to, only to fall back onto the sofa, unable to stay upright. Yet, he didn’t drop the mask of sarcasm from his flushed, puffy face after a hearty feast, which his friends had been celebrating for three days straight, barely sober.
“Oh, come on, I’ve got better things to do! It’s not a king’s job to wipe the snot of stinking swineherds!” the heir declared, waving a hand dismissively and knocking over a half-full glass from the table. The red liquid spilled onto the soft, light-pastel carpet embroidered with flowers and figures, adding vibrant color as it seeped into the fibers. Following the glass with bleary eyes as it rolled under a chair, the prince muttered, “Whatever, they’ll clean it up...”
“Is that why you trampled a field of wheat chasing a hare? Do you even realize that you live off the labor of swineherds and farmers? This clothing, this wine, these luxuries—all come from the taxes of craftsmen and peasants! Do you remember how you disrespected the army six months ago? They’re your primary servants, protecting your peace! Do you know how many illegitimate children of yours are growing up in the provinces? Do you know how many women you’ve robbed of the chance to build a strong, happy family? Did you even ask what happened to the forest you burned down? Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my son. If you weren’t a prince, you’d have been excommunicated and exiled from the empire long ago, but you don’t value the second... tenth... fortieth chance I’ve given you. You don’t deserve what you have! Being born into a royal family isn’t enough, Robert! These are your subjects, and I will teach you to respect them! Get up,” the king snapped, yanking his son by the arm to force him to stand, though not for long. The prince tried to pull away and fell back onto the sofa ingloriously, shouting before he did:
“They’re my servants! Born to serve me and fulfill my desires! If I want, I’ll shut down all these shelters and funds and turn them into brothels—at least they’d be useful. Enough, Father! Enough with the pity when you can be majestic! We were born into a dynasty, so it’s a sin not to use our privileges!” the crown prince slurred through drunken hiccups, delivering a whole tirade, seeing himself as worthless in the eyes of his father—eyes that grew colder and more distant with every passing moment.
“You’re not worthy of these people... They won’t accept you. Not the advisors, not the cardinal...” the monarch said sadly, stepping back from the one to whom he had given life.
“Whatever. Luckily, I’m their only heir. They’ll love me as I am,” Rob retorted smugly.
“You’re mistaken. No one in this life has disappointed me as much as you have,” Leonard said grandly, not even turning his head toward his son, staring indifferently out the window. He once again encased his soul in stone so no one could see the pain inflicted by his unworthy heir with his outrageous, irresponsible behavior. “From now on, I forbid you to leave the palace or this wing without necessity. And if I hear of even one more assault on a lady-in-waiting (don’t think I’ve forgotten that scandal) or dalliance with a maid, I’ll make sure you regret the day you were born. I’ve done many good and bad things in my life, but the worst thing that could have happened to me and this kingdom is you. You’re not worthy of being a prince! You’re lost in darkness, entangled in a web of vile intrigues, all for the sake of satisfying your base desires. You’re not harming me, not even your mother, but only yourself. You’re killing yourself, Robert. I’m deeply ashamed. You’ve disgraced the dynasty and the kingdom once again... Find the strength to accept the punishment that will still find you. And stay out of my sight...”
No, the king didn’t shout. He spoke with such force that the windowpanes trembled from the tension. He flung open the door to the room abruptly, leaving his son alone with his sins. This conversation was the final straw; now Leonard had no doubts about the decision he had made.
He walked with measured steps through the long, winding corridors, approaching his chambers, unaware that someone was already waiting for him in his study.
“Mastermal,” Leonard nodded to his old friend, who had made himself comfortable in a chair, and walked to his desk, taking his rightful seat. He picked up a report left by Daniel for review, glanced indifferently at the first lines, but pushed it aside, unable to focus. He sighed heavily, leaning his elbows on the desk and running his fingers through his thick, curly hair. The cardinal let out a quiet chuckle.
“I take it the conversation went well?”
“Like all the ones before,” the king exhaled, not lifting his head.
“And what have you decided?”
“I’ll issue the decree,” he replied sharply.
“So, you’re certain?” the cardinal sighed heavily, guessing what was meant. It wasn’t that he was opposed; he was just worried. Change isn’t always for the better.
“Now all doubts are gone,” Leonard nodded, gesturing dismissively toward the cabinet by the door. “Help yourself to something so you don’t mope...”
Mastermal suppressed a slight, ironic smile and approached the cabinet where the king’s collection of spirits was always kept. Only the finest. He took a stemmed glass, pouring a light, sunny-yellow liquid from a faceted decanter. He glanced back at his friend, who was intently writing something on paper, and closed the cabinet. Since the doctor had discovered this damned consumption, the monarch had been forced to give up everything that could harm his health, including alcohol.
“Now the seal and signature,” he muttered to himself, making the decree official.
“May I take a look?” the cardinal asked, and once the wax on the paper had dried, he picked up the will to scan it. Twice... thrice... “Do you think she can handle it? Marquess Annie is very capable, but the queen and Robert won’t make her life easy. And what will the advisors say? Do you realize you’re handing the throne to a twenty-year-old girl who essentially knows nothing about governing a state?”
“First, I’m not dead yet. No one knows how much time I have left; I might hang on for a few more years. I’ll prepare Annie, but in a way that she suspects nothing. Second, you won’t abandon her. You’ll always support her, guide her, and keep her on the right path. She’s a brave and strong girl; she won’t let herself be pushed around. She has everything she needs. She should have been born my daughter, not Ileria’s. But what can you do when a child picks the wrong family to come into? She’s like she was carved from my own mold. I’ll die in peace knowing the kingdom and everything that was mine will belong to her. Annie will take care of it; I believe in her like I’ve never believed in anyone. But this decree will remain a secret. You’ll keep silent until my death, and then announce it before all the people, as per tradition.”
Mastermal sighed heavily, rubbing his hand. Of course, between the marquess and the crown prince, he’d choose the former, but he couldn’t help worrying about the young woman. He’d known her since childhood, serving as a spiritual mentor to both the king and his niece, but no warm, paternal feelings changed the fact that the kingdom was being entrusted to an inexperienced person.
“Couldn’t you at least tell her? It’ll be a shock for the girl...”
“No, she mustn’t know first. Annie is very compassionate and loves me dearly. If she learns about my illness, she’ll drive herself crazy with worry and tears. I don’t want her to see me weak. Let her remember me as a mighty ruler. I have no doubt she’ll quickly come to terms with the will once it’s announced. I’ll leave her a letter, and you’ll give it to her after my death. She’ll understand, I’m sure. I’ll write it tonight...” Setting down his quill, he exhaled heavily and leaned back in his chair, imagining his niece as queen and regretting only that he wouldn’t live to see it.
“Why the rush? You said yourself you’re not dying yet,” his loyal friend remarked, surprised, setting aside his half-finished drink.
“The Lord’s ways can’t be known in advance. Better early than late,” His Majesty said philosophically. And he was absolutely right. “Alright, I’ll hide the decree in a secret place. And you, keep your tongue behind tightly clenched teeth. Yesterday, I promised Annie a horseback ride. While she’s still here and hasn’t left for Alwin, let’s make the most of it.”
“You should rest, my lord,” the cardinal said, shaking his head with concern and wrinkling his nose like a child.
“I’ll rest in the next world,” the king replied cheerfully, rising easily from his chair and heading for the door. Mastermal watched him go, allowing himself a skeptical smile. Back then, he couldn’t have imagined that exactly one week later, the monarch would be gone, and a storm of events would sweep into Lantonia’s life.
End of Chapter One