Blood Bond

We arrived at the outer courtyard of the main keep. Except for a smattering of rag-tag, hurriedly assembled guards, there wasn't much of a welcoming party. I recognized none of them; their uniforms seemed ill-fitting and thrown together. Stonehand ignored them, waiting for the columns of his own men to arrive.

At first glance, it seemed like an average day at the keep: servants scurrying about with sacks of food, scribes and priests with scrolls in hand, and students carrying their practice gear toward one of the gates leading to the academies.

But here and there, I spotted the scars: a jagged crack ran down one of the white marble walls of the grand hall's facade. Further on, a magnificent statue of a silver Aethelwing, the symbol of Aethelgard, was maimed—one of its wings lay shattered in rubble on the ground.

They fought! A fierce, hot pride swelled in my chest. My people had not simply yielded and handed the keys to the invaders.

But the pride soured almost as soon as it bloomed, choked by my other, colder voice. I had seen the history books and films: men charging into the trenches under the blaze of machine gun fire, their blood soaking the earth for one small piece of land, a symbol, a worthless name.

The dark stains etched into the grains of rock gripped me, refusing to let go. I saw it once more in my mind's eye: that lone Aethelwing circling the dead on the road. The price in blood, and for what? Just the name, Aethelgard, for the faces that would be no more, families torn, and all the lives left asunder.

Once the rest of the contingent arrived and dismounted, Stonehand jabbed a finger at Roderic. "Take her to the court Antechamber. This time, make sure she doesn't get into any more trouble." His glare then fell upon Meris and Kael, who had taken up their stations beside me.

Roderic simply nodded, gesturing for us to follow. We marched through the Hall of Gifts, its walls carved with the reliefs of previous Chosens—young men and women standing at stoic attention. Signs of the recent battle were visible here as well. The stone of the warriors was scarred and charred in places, and dark stains marred the polished floor beneath their feet.

From there, we walked down a balcony overlooking a training courtyard. Down below, a new crop of trainees were running through their forms. I suppose it's inevitable given that Soul Seeding day is over, but it's still strange seeing life returning to normal under the shadow of occupation.

My eyes caught sight of another unexpected return to normalcy: Master Steffan striding through the ranks of students. The famed swordmaster had his usual sword at his side, his back was ramrod straight. He moved with that fluid grace of his, gliding from student to student as his sharp eyes and goatee roamed over them, assessing.

Sensing my gaze, he looked up. Our eyes locked for a single, sharp moment, causing him to stumble in his stride. This time, he didn't speak up, and instead lowered his face, as if hiding in shame.

As we made our way through the main corridors, I noticed familiar faces among the servants, but they were the newer ones; none of the older, more established staff could be seen. Barely hushed whispers followed in my wake—surprise at the sight of me, my drab attire, my fate in the hands of the Regents—all seemed to be fair game. The whispers didn't quell even under Meris's withering gaze.

A young kitchen hand carrying a pot approached, and I recognized his face. It was the boy who had spilled a basket of herbs before me—the kitchen rat. My hand snapped out and grasped his arm, causing him to look at me with wide-eyed alarm.

"You! Where are Lorne and Anya and the others?" I demanded.

"They're… still in the dungeons," the boy stammered and then went ECKK! when he saw Roderic rushing over.

"Gods, princess! Why must you stir up shit everywhere!" He disentangled us, and the boy fled down a side hallway.

I turned on Roderic. "Why are those servants being held there? They're harmless!"

"It hasn't even been a week since we took over, your highness. We barely have our own people sorted here. The big guys decided it best to keep the ones that could make trouble locked up."

I realized then he meant the power of their Soul Seeds. My thoughts flashed back to the courtyard. "And Master Steffan?"

Roderic shrugged. "He's made some oath, or is deemed necessary."

We came to a stop before a set of imposing oak doors. Four guards stood sentinel, a tense and mismatched honor guard. Each wore the livery of a different Regent power: the golden sun, the grey mountain, the green spear, and the silver ship.

Roderic led us past them, exchanging only a brief nod with the Ironfell guard. I stepped into the cold antechamber, a room that I'd never been in; it was a place for petitioners and minor envoys, not for royalty. Hard stone benches lined the walls instead of cushioned seats. The sculpture of an Aethelwing stood over the entrance to the throne room. Its claws clutched a large calf, and its hooked beak was tearing out its insides. This room wasn't built for comfort.

The door opened and an old, wrinkled-faced soldier stepped forth. His eyes shot toward me and he said in a rough, curt voice, "The Regents will see you now."

—

I stepped into the throne room, and the sight made me freeze. My father's throne was gone, ripped from the dais. In its place sat a heavy, unadorned wooden desk with four chairs arranged around it, a crude council table in place of royal rule.

Only one person was seated in the chairs: an old, weathered man with tanned skin, graying hair, and a fading widow's peak. His eyes were a startling amber, the same shade as Cassian's, which led me to identify him as Marshall Quintus. Standing behind him, a hauntingly beautiful elf with silver hair and icy blue eyes watched me with unnerving stillness. The perfect, ageless proportions marked her as a high noble of Deepwood: she had to be Queen Lelian, Jarlen's mother.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Another figure, a woman with brown hair braided into a neat bun, was perched on a wide window ledge, her legs draped casually across it as she looked out over the courtyard. That must be Eris Corin of Serephos. On the corner of the desk sat a man with shockingly short green hair, one leg propped up as he methodically ate what looked like beans from a small metal can. Titus Valerius of Veridia, I presumed.

My gaze then found the last familiar figure. Stonehand, for his part, had taken up a position against a marble pillar, his massive arms crossed as he watched the others. It seemed none of the new Regents felt compelled to sit in their assigned places. This wasn't a council; it was a gathering of jackals, each claiming a corner of the room.

Lelian spoke first. "Welcome, dear. First, I'd like to offer my apologies for the actions of my son. As I mentioned to Lord Stonehand." Her gaze flickered over to Stonehand and she smiled at him. "The boy seemed to have gone rogue. I have over ten sons, and their many schemes are rather… tiresome." She sighed wistfully for emphasis.

Her voice was absolutely terrifying to me. None of her words held any hint of emotion. Even Jarlen's dripped with pride and disdain. But hers? I could find no purchase. I simply nodded in response.

Eris Corin hopped off the window ledge. "That matters not. What is concerning is what you're trying to pull with her." She pointed a long finger at Stonehand.

Titus Valerius lowered his can of beans and looked at me. "Yeah, Borin, she's a looker, but a bit young, no?"

"I already told you all! I only went to retrieve her on account of Cassian!"

Titus wrinkled his nose after licking his spoon. "Oh, so the two of you were conspiring to give Rodinar some royal blood?"

A heavy fist pounded the wooden desk with a sound like a cracking bone.

"Silence."

The voice of Quintus was not loud, but it carried the weight of command as it echoed in the hollow air. He looked from Titus to Stonehand with his cold amber eyes. "This is pointless. While you snipe at each other over trivialities, the realm remains fractured. We are here not to squabble like children over a new toy, but to forge a new order—a lasting peace."

He leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk. "As you all well know, to do this, we cannot rely on the might of our brawn and magic alone." He stared down each person in the room to gain their assent. "We are here because we require the might of Aethelgard: its cultural and religious mandate, its temples, and its academies. To do this, we need to impress upon everyone here our united front and the virtue of our mission."

He paused, letting the weight of that statement settle. "Which brings me to the centerpiece of my plan. The people need to see a bridge between the old way and the new. They need their faith validated. There will be a gala, and High Princess Astrid, their beloved Chosen, will be the guest of honor. She will publicly endorse the Regency and consecrate our way forward."

Finally, his amber eyes fixed on me. "And you, Princess," he finished, "now that we have you here, will also attend. You will be a symbol of your family's willing transition."

I could only stare at him stunned. This is what he brought me here for?!

He continued on without regard for me, "Yes, we will have all the students, the nobles and the clergy attend. And you will be escorted in by Cassian, who will have a dance with you."

"Wait a second," Eris Corin cut in sharply. "Just Cassian, your son?"

"Yeah, old man, that's pulling quite the fast one ain't it?" Titus chipped in.

"It's merely symbolic," Quintus said, on the defensive.

"Marshal, it is a grand gesture," Lelian's soft, silky voice slid over the commotion. "One that could have the profound implications you envision. Would it not be a better symbol of our united front if a representative of each Regent had a dance with the princess?"

Titus looked up from his beans and flashed me, a lewd, wry grin. "Oh, that's right, give each of us a turn. Hope you won't be too tired after that, princess."

I braced myself steady for the sake of my pride, glaring back at him. They are trying to utterly humiliate me!

Quintus, however, only dipped his head toward Lelian. "I see no issue with that suggestion."

"There is one issue," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.

Every head in the room gravitated toward me, hungry, predatory eyes zeroing in. A few of them raised eyebrows, as if surprised that I had the gall to actually speak up.

"I can't dance," I said, my face flushed. "I was never taught."

A stunned silence fell over the throne room.

Stonehand broke it, slapping a meaty palm against his forehead with a groan of pure exasperation. "Mother of the mountains," he muttered. "Is there anything they did teach you?"

Marshal Quintus ignored him, his amber eyes narrowed in cold, pragmatic thought. "That is unacceptable," he stated flatly. He turned to an aide standing near the wall. "Find a dance master to teach the princess. Now."

"I have a suggestion."

My voice was quiet, but it cut through the room. All eyes turned back to me.

I met Quintus's gaze directly. "Master Steffan. The swordmaster."

Titus let out a short, barking laugh, but I continued before anyone could object. "He has grace. He understands balance." I stilled my voice with confidence, "I know that he can dance, and is an excellent teacher." And perhaps, he could teach me more than just dancing.

Before Quintus could respond, I pressed the advantage. "But I have a request." I held the gazes of the four Regents, one by one. "If I am to perform for all of you in this spectacle, then you will grant me this one small request."

—

When the heavy doors to the throne room closed behind me, I found the antechamber thick with tension. For some reason, Prince Saleic was here. He stood face-to-face with Kael, their hands hovering just above the hilts of their swords. A low growl was audible in Saleic's throat.

Then, Titus Valerius exited the throne room with an empty can of beans in hand. He glanced at the standoff and a skewed grin twisted over his face. He clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Come, Saleic. We have other matters to attend to."

"But Father," Saleic complained, his eyes still locked on Kael, "there is a score that must be settled."

Titus somehow managed to wrench Saleic away just by the grip on his shoulder. Pain marred Saleic's face as Titus raised his can to him. "More important things, Saleic. My can is empty, and it needs to be filled." Then he turned his terrifying, dark eyes to me, and that grin grew wider. "If you'll excuse us, Princess. Though I think we know who will have his turn with you from my side now."

Once they were gone, I turned to my protector. "Kael? What was that about?"

Kael's jaw was tight, but he finally answered, his voice low. "His uncle was the 'Lion of Veridia.' The man I defeated in the Solstice Tournament to win my post."