Conquest of Avalon

Luce VIII: The King of All Avalon

The airships cut through the fog like a blade, appearing above Ortus Tower before there was any time to take defensive positions. First one, then two behind it, then the rest in a ragged V formation, recognizable but clearly missing several ships. They still numbered in the dozens, recovered from Laura Bougitte's assault in the time since. The Ashen Rain, the soldiers called it, named for the smoking scarlet wreckage of the Aerial Armada as it crashed down from the sky.

Harold had bandied harsh words about that when the news broke, all the more condemnatory once it came out that she'd broken out of Luce's captivity in Charenton. Luce hadn't fought his brother's effort to rebuild the fleet particularly hard, since every Avaline soldier aboard an airship circling Salhaute was one fewer down on the ground committing atrocities, but also because it served to erase a mistake.

Now, it was beginning to look like he'd regret that ambivalence.

"A fast, decisive strike," Charlotte noted glumly, ever at his side in times of crisis. "I'm sure Harold loaded them up with as many soldiers as he could fit, but he's still left most of the Territorial Army out." She began pacing as shadows and scientists buzzed around her in terror, speaking calmly as if the alarm weren't blaring at all. "I'll bet you anything that the rest are on ships, meant to arrive in a coordinated attack."

"The Aerial Armada must have blundered in early, blinded by the fog." Luce pinched the bridge of his nose, debating whether a glass of brandy would be helpful or hurtful under the circumstances. "We won't have long before the ships arrive. We can't endure an attack from the coasts and from above."

I thought we had more time. We should have had more time.

"Your shadows will remain loyal, but none of the other Avaline soldiers can be trusted. If the day looks lost, they'll turn against us without a second thought. Many will be eager to usher your brother back to the throne no matter what, while others will happily defer to the king before them rather than the one far away in his dark tower." She didn't miss a step, but her face twisted into a glower. "Disloyal curs."

Luce shook his head. "You were right the first time. It's not a question of loyalty, but proximity. No officer wants to turn on the king who's right in front of her, giving orders, surrounded by loyal soldiers. Many of my brother's forces would do the same for me if... Wait..." They blundered out early and spoiled the surprise attack. There's more coming, but right now they're all alone. "Charlotte, get me on the flagship."

She knew him too well to curse in his face, or cry out 'Absolutely not, you fool', but it was a near thing. These days, it wasn't hard for Luce to tell. Perhaps he could never know Charlotte quite as well as she seemed to know him, but he felt like he was getting closer every day. As it was, she stopped her pacing and clutched his arm. "What are you planning?"

"My greatest strength: diplomacy." The Treaty of Charenton was proof enough of that. "I know a way to make sure we control the skies."

⚈

In the end, Charlotte refused to help smuggle Luce through the air to land in the heart of the enemy fleet. However clever the plan, there were some risks that simply weren't worth taking. Though they grow fewer by the day. At every turn, Luce's caution and restraint had been rewarded by treachery and failure.

Bold, decisive actions had ever been the key to victory—in Charenton, in Forta, and in Cambria. Luce turned back to look at Charlotte, changed into a black military uniform with golden épaulettes. And in more personal matters too. He'd tried to explain as much to Charlotte, and she hadn't argued back on merits, but simply countered with a safer alternative, a more sensible plan that wouldn't require the two of them to ride a small balloon up towards the fleet under a peace banner.

Instead, a beacon of peace shone from Ortus Tower, beckoning the ships to moor themselves for negotiations. Fortunately, the flagship obeyed, docking at the eleventh floor balcony while the other airships circled above. By now, every garrison from Pantera Isle to the Marina was fully staffed and ready to fight, though Luce didn't fool himself that all of them would stand firm in the face of Harold's return.

Luce had Charlotte and his most loyal shadows from Ortus gathered at the landing point, weapons at the ready but not aimed, lest hostility be assumed where none was meant. Gunning down the captain of the fleet would see the fight begin immediately, and any warships waiting in the fog would take it as their cue to strike. This had to be managed more delicately.

The first to descend the gangplank was a large man with an even larger gun toted on his shoulder, a great brown beard spilling down his chest. Luce might have taken him for one of the enlisted, but his uniform was that of an officer's—for all that he clearly wasn't adhering to uniform regulations. He looked to be in his late thirties, though perhaps his rough appearance aged him.

At his side, by contrast, was an elegant woman in swirling silks of pale yellow and pastel blue. She didn't look a day over thirty, with hair twirled up in the style of a mountain that looked like it must have taken hours to get right. Luce couldn't help but hate her immediately, but he put on his most cordial smile as he stepped out to greet them.

"Before you stands King Lucifer, of the dynasty Grimoire," Charlotte announced behind him. "He of the Great Binder's blood, King of all Avalon, Lord Protector of Charenton, Prince of Darkness, and Overseer of Ortus Tower."

The gruff man frowned deeply, though the woman looked ambivalent. "Then allow me to present Queen Serein of Micheltaigne."

She dipped her head demurely, then gestured back to the man at her side. "Well met, Your Grace. My companion is Sir Ostian Astor, of Carringdon. He's acquainted with your brother, though I cannot say whether he's had the pleasure of meeting you."

Ostian Astor... Luce was sure he'd heard the name recently, but it took him a moment to place it. "Sir Ostian," Luce realized. "You were the Councillor for Carringdon. But you resigned your post to join the war." You chose that scurrilous slaver, Delbrook, over your own daughter, and almost ruined the Great Council in so doing. Scant surprise to see him here, still serving Harold after whatever corrupt bargain they'd struck.

"Your Highn—Your Grace is kind to remember me. If I might ask... What..." Ostian chose his words carefully, frowning. "When I left Salhaute, your father was the king, and your brother the Prince Regent. Has some horror befallen them both in the time it took us to return?"

You really don't know? It could be a ruse, to be sure, to allow him cover to speak with Luce despite any deals with Harold. But even if that were so, wasn't that exactly what they were looking for? Luce would be happy to give him whatever cover he liked, so long as the Aerial Armada was his. Punishment for the hash he'd made of the Great Council could wait until things were more settled.

"Your Grace?" Astor prodded.

Luce shook his head, not sure exactly how to answer. But Charlotte saved him. "No misfortune, nor horror, but simple choices. King Harold, fourth to bear the name, decreed that his son Lucifer should be his heir. Then he abdicated. The Great Council affirmed the new will by an overwhelming majority, and Prince Harold, rather than accept his father's wishes, turned traitor and fled into the night."

Narrowing his eyes, Luce gauged their reaction carefully, knowing Charlotte was doing the same with far greater skill. But he could see no trace of deception, and from Charlotte's silence, it seemed as though she didn't either.

"I see..." Astor frowned in turn, twisting his beard with his fingers as he contemplated in silence, no doubt keenly aware of just how outnumbered he was on the balcony of Luce's own seat of power. "I'm not certain that I... Well, surely you see that this is an unlikely tale. Of course, unlikely events happen all the time in this troubled age of ours. I never knew King Harold personally, so I cannot speak to his intentions for his heir. But... You will forgive me if I verify your story, I hope."

"Verify all you like. It's the truth," Charlotte told him bluntly, stepping forward to stand at Luce's side. "And every moment you spend prevaricating instead of bowing before your king will be verified in turn, I assure you."

"Charlotte—" On impulse, Luce raised his hand, but he found that he didn't disagree. "We have some questions of our own for Sir Ostian, do we not?"

A crooked smile twisted across her face. "Indeed, Your Grace. Sir Ostian, we are well aware of how you deserted your post in the Great Council and—if Prince Harold is to be believed—passed over your own daughter in favor of a criminal fiend. What have you to say in your defense?"

"A criminal? Delbrook was of good stock, with deep ties to Carringdon."

"And deep ties to Lord Monfroy, to whom he sold children," Luce explained. He certainly has a gift for playing dumb, if indeed it's just a ruse. Then again, Micheltaigne was far away, and he'd obviously been occupied by other matters for quite some time. "Even if you were truly ignorant of that, your actions defy comprehension. Why would you desert your post and run straight into a warzone?"

Astor pulled on his beard for a moment, then answered. "I had to know what happened to my brother. And now I do—mutiny. I tracked down the cave where he died, but there were no signs of a struggle save the bloody stones used to murder him. All of the real fighting was on the trail to the cave. I managed to disguise myself and talk to seven or eight of Mars' men—they all confirmed it too."

"Meaning?"

"My brother was killed by his own men," Astor declared. "Prince Harold offered me leave to investigate and bring my brother's killer to justice. If you wish to earn my loyalty, my honor compels me to ask for nothing less."

A small price, whether he was truly ignorant or not. At this point, though, neutralizing the threat of the Armada was more important than scrutinizing his every word. Charlotte could always follow up later, though her time was growing limited.

"Then you have it," Luce declared, looking towards Charlotte for a nod of approval. "That, and more. Lieutenant Charlotte is the greatest investigator the world has ever seen. If any of these mutineers can still be found, she'll track them down. You have my word."

Astor looked surprised at that, though Luce hadn't any idea why. He asked for help; surely he considered that I might give it to him. Perhaps he'd merely been looking for an excuse to refuse, to die in Harold's name or sit out any civil war inside a cell. If so, he wouldn't be so lucky.

"Do you have the names of your brother's unit? It would save me some time." As always, Charlotte got straight to business. "You'll want to moor your fleet so that most of the crew can descend. I'm sure you'll all be tired after your long journey from Micheltaigne."

"You have no idea," Serein scoffed. "These were hardly the sorts of accommodations we discussed when I agreed to surrender to Avalon."

"Well, you never would have needed them if you'd kept control of the kingdom like you were supposed to," Astor grumbled, then turned to Charlotte. "My batman has a copy of the rolls and a list of names. Most of them are dead, unfortunately, but perhaps you can make something of the rest."

"Excellent." Charlotte reached out and shook Astor's hand, ignoring his lingering bewilderment. "Of course, the crews will need to be informed about their new king. It would be best for all of them to see you swear your loyalty publically to the one true king of Avalon, lest there be any confusion."

"After my brother's killers are brought to justice," Astor grunted. "Then I'll be able to affirm His Grace's rights all the more passionately."

"I wasn't negotiating, Sir Ostian. If you think you can—"

"That will be fine," Luce cut in, trying to head off an argument. "In the meantime, I'll have rooms prepared for you at the palace. Your crew should fit comfortably in the barracks on Pantera Isle." Keep them close, while shadows occupy the airships. It would be better to keep the more experienced men and women to crew the airships if it did come to war, but it was easy enough to keep them confined while Charlotte ferreted out Douglas Astor's murderers. At the very least, now, the Armada couldn't be used against them.

Charlotte could tell exactly what Luce was doing, and dropped her argument immediately. She peeled off with Sir Ostian to discuss the logistics of the descent and airship repairs, but Serien of Micheltaigne lingered.

"Can I help you with something?" Now that the threat had passed, Luce knew he really ought to get back to his discussions with Vas Sarah, though he wanted to do nothing less.

Serein smiled courteously. "I believe I can help you, King Lucifer. Though I am the rightful High Queen of Micheltaigne, I am ever a humble servant of Avalon."

"Are you? I can't say you served us particularly ably."

"Well—"

Luce wasn't in the mood. "Your entire purpose was to subdue the population peacefully. Perhaps that was impossible after the bombardment of Salhaute, but you could hardly have failed more spectacularly. You're so beloved in Micheltaigne that you had to flee an uprising in the name of Princess Mars. 'Your' people ignored your surrender for nearly five years, then tossed you and Avalon out the moment an army showed up at the gates." Luce pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to muster a bit of civility. "You are welcome to remain at court as my honored guest, but I struggle to see what good you could do for anyone, at this point."

Serien schooled her features, the empty smile gone. "Mars was ever a willful child, but she has no more claim to the High Kingdom than I do. You of all people should know that a king's eldest child need not be their heir, King Lucifer."

Does she think needling me about that is going to help her? "Perhaps so, but I didn't flee the capital the moment a challenger showed up."

Serien was undeterred. "The people of Micheltaigne love their monarch more than they love Mars, because they know the simple truth that the first High Queen declared when she chose her successor: No one rules Micheltaigne but the sovereign who bears the sword. You have Nuage Sombre, King Lucifer, looted in the sack of Salhaute. Return it to me, and Micheltaigne will be yours."

"Is that right? After they ran you out of the country?"

"Yes," Serien answered bluntly. "Nuage Sombre was forged from a fang of the sky spirit, a gift to the rightful ruler of Micheltaigne. The High Queen united the kingdoms and forged a unified High Kingdom, and her heirs followed after her in ruling it, a centuries-old tradition of legitimacy."

"Other than all those civil wars."

"Long ago—"

"The Winter War was in living memory. There are veterans from it who are still alive today."

"So what? King Somet bore the sword, and the kingdom ultimately fell in line behind him. Give it to me, and I will make Mars fall in line in much the same way. Once I sit the throne again, Avalon will have an eternally grateful ally across the water."

A grateful ally in you, perhaps. I doubt the people of Micheltaigne would be any better disposed.

Still, it did raise an intriguing possibility... The Micheltine were fearsome fighters, resisting occupation from the most powerful empire in history and eventually liberating their kingdom. Forcing the Aerial Armada to retreat was proof enough of that. Their kingdom had been devastated, but that might give Luce more leverage when providing aid... Almost as if Harold and I had planned it that way, instead of tearing each other's ambitions apart.

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Per the Treaty of Charenton, Lyrion and Malin were not enemies, precisely, but Luce knew better than to treat them as allies either. On that front, Guerron stood alone, leaving Charenton more vulnerable than Luce would have liked even before Harold showed up in Lorraine and seized control of the Territorial Army. If Micheltaigne could be won over as an ally, if the sword really did provide such a path...

I might be able to set the whole continent to rights. Harold would have no choice but to stand down, while Leclaire would have all the more reason to check her ambition in the face of Avaline dominance. That sword could be the key to victory, if Luce wrote up the right sort of treaty for its return...

Not with Serein, of course. Her time was done. But if Luce could get that sword back where it belonged, Queen Mars would have good reason to be grateful. Perhaps he could withhold it for a time as well, to extract whatever concessions he might need.

But what does it even matter, when the sword is gone? Sir Thomas Alcock had trumpeted his achievement from the rooftops, unveiling the treasured sword at a decadent gala at the Tancredi Museum, only for his grand unveiling to be undone by a thief.

Wait, and now I know that his assistant has been a pirate in disguise this entire time... The more Luce considered it, the more likely it seemed that Florette had had something to do with the theft. As part of his agreement with Sarah, he'd agreed to leave the girl alone for the time being, but that didn't mean he had to stop investigating.

And making her give up the sword would hardly be a big enough move against her for Sarah to object... Perhaps Charlotte would get her chance to have a word with Florette after all.

In the meantime, Luce packed Serein into a carriage to the palace, a relevant resource if he ever wanted to know more about Micheltaigne's internal politics, but otherwise forever irrelevant now. The fleet she'd arrived with, on the other hand, could prove crucial in the months to come. Every Avaline force that remained loyal was one more that Harold couldn't draw upon, one more crack in his hopes of stealing the throne.

And if the moment comes when he sees that it's truly hopeless, then at last he might lay down his arms and be welcomed back into the fold. It seemed less likely by the day, but Luce still held out hope. Especially if the situation with Father could be dealt with—that seemed the primary cause of his animosity.

Reconciliation was going no better with Luce's other brother. Jethro had returned from hiding just in time to thwart Harold's schemes, stepping in at a crucial time and helping tip the balance towards Luce, yet he'd stolen out of his bed before Luce could even talk to him. He'd been severely injured, Charlotte said, but she'd kept him under close guard anyway. When his absence was noted, the guards cited a hazy confusion after Jethro blew powder into their face, which could just as easily be true as a poor excuse. In any case, it seemed that he'd returned to hiding.

Or, worse, he's waiting for another moment to make a big entrance. Luce wanted to believe that his turnabout was sincere, but it was hard to be sure after he'd fled like that. Perhaps he too would return once Father was gone.

If nothing else, having what remained of the Aerial Armada under royal control could prove incredibly useful for the Nocturne Project. Setting off a DV bomb right next to the Gate had been fine in Forta, with its endless moors stretching on for miles, but every Nocturne Gate in Cambria was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people. The only safe way to touch the Gate with the bomb would be to do it high in the sky. Rebecca had performed experiments to prove the concept already, and now that he had the airships back, Luce thought he had everything he needed to make it happen.

With enough time, if Harold thought to try his luck, he'd face an Avalon powered by the endless energy of Khali's realm. Even in the short term, powering Cambria's civilian infrastructure with extradimensional energy would free up coal and other conventional fuel for the existing military machinery. Not that that's a pleasant thought.

"The sword isn't enough." Uncle Miles had arrived from Fortescue to lend his aid to Avalon's new king, and seemed impressed with Luce's idea for Micheltaigne once he had the chance to share it. "What's to stop her from turning on you the moment she gets what she wants? Guy Valvert just pulled that very scheme with your brother."

"There must be some way to ensure she remains true..." Now that the thought had entered his mind, Luce was loath to let go of the possibilities. "Guerron grew into a steadfast ally. If I meet with her, if I offer Micheltaigne aide..."

"Perhaps that will suffice," Lord Miles Arion allowed, sounding far less like the melancholic uncle Luce knew and more like the hardened soldier his reputation would suggest. "But you can never be certain. Anything you give her, on any timelines... Eventually, she'll have what she needs. And you can't count on her having a short memory."

"He's right," Charlotte added. She'd walked into his office so silently, Luce hadn't even noticed. He'd expected her business in the basement, whatever she was up to, to last a bit longer, but he didn't mind having her here to counsel him either. "We bombed their capital into rubble and squatted on the ruins for five years, brutalizing their people. You can blame it on your brother all you want, but Mars isn't liable to forgive Avalon, whoever sits the throne. I wouldn't expect you to be so trusting, after what happened to the last blue-haired continental you tried to ally with."

"I wouldn't call it that..." Luce didn't know Princess Mars, to be sure, but her strategy for retaking her kingdom shared little with Camille Leclaire's. Nothing in his reports suggested that Mars was the same sort of schemer... But perhaps she's just playing on another level entirely. After Leclaire, Luce had no intention of getting complacent. "I just want to find a way to make it work."

"Well, there is one contract that she'd never break." Miles scratched his chin contemplatively. "Offer her your hand in marriage along with the sword, and you could wed as King and Queen. None could doubt Micheltaigne's ties to Avalon after that, nor could any of the High Kingdom's loyalist countenance plots against you without forsaking their own beloved Queen."

"Isn't she a bit young for that?" As far as Luce knew, the Princess of Micheltaigne hadn't yet reached twenty, while he was pushing thirty himself. That wasn't the real issue, though. "Besides, my hand is promised to another."

"What?" Charlotte looked as though he'd slapped her, as if all of her words of pragmatism had been carried off by the wind. "That was her price for the Jays' votes?"

"The most important part of it," Luce allowed, feeling an urge to throw himself from his office's balcony. "A matter of blood, Vas Sarah said. She wanted to protect the Mamela from the Crown, and I needed her votes. Imagine what would have happened if the Jays abstained, or worse, threw in with Harold?"

Miles' eyes narrowed, stern disapproval radiating off of him like steam from an engine. "You are Mamela, Luce. My mother—your grandmother—was the blue flower of the ancient and noble Velle family. A cousin to Vas Sarah's own grandsire, if I'm not mistaken. She had no business pushing you into that."

"I tried to tell her that, but..." Luce buried his face in his hand. "She has a point. When darkness fell, the Crown left the western isles to rot. It was the same in Carringdon, and the Isle of Shadows. Why shouldn't she want a more secure agreement?"

"May I be excused, Your Grace?" Charlotte looked as tense as an overwound watch, ready to explode in a shower of springs and screws.

"You may do as you like, but I want you here. This is important." Why does she care? This is exactly what she asked for. It wasn't what Luce wanted, but Charlotte had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in being his Princess of Darkness... Luce was being pragmatic, just like she always wanted him to be...

"You needn't honor the agreement," Miles said calmly, ignoring the tension between Luce and Charlotte. "Betrothals can be set aside, and the Queen of Micheltaigne is a worthier match than even Vas Sarah, especially in these precarious times. Offer her something else, and—"

"You think I can pull out of the agreement meant to reassure her we're on the same side and not get any backlash?"

Miles shrugged. "You got the Jay votes when you needed them most. Now you can do without them."

"Then the Harpies will carry the Great Council. They could stymie my agenda, or usher my brother back, or—"

"Suspend the Great Council," Charlotte offered, trying to sound more flippant about it than she really was. "They've been little more than a rubber stamp ever since the traitors were taken into custody. The King calls the Council to order. All you need to do is refrain—cite the emergency, perhaps. If any more Councilors object, you can throw them in a cell with the others."

Even from Charlotte, Luce could hardly believe what he was hearing. "The Great Council is an institution that's existed as long as Avalon. The old kingdoms would never have united without the assurance that their voice would be heard. I can't be the king who kills it." He looked to Miles, desperate for agreement.

"It would be premature, I think. The noble families of Avalon are diminished in strength, but could prove deadly if they all supported Harold, and suspending the Great Council would be sure to do just that. Wait until your brother is dealt with, and find another way to deal with Vas Sarah."

Thank you for nothing. "That's not the kind of king I want to be. Perhaps if it were suspended in favor of an equitable alternative... A new round of civil service reforms, dividing the nation into boroughs that elect their Councillor instead of an appointed lord..." Even as he said it, it felt feeble. Democracy had spurned an able governor in Carringdon and ushered in an unrepentant, traitorous slaver. Repeating the experiment on a national scale might be worse than leaving it to the Harpies.

"Have you learned nothing from Malin? You ceded power, and Leclaire ran away with it. I ceded power out of guilt, and allowed Perimont to do far worse than I ever did. There's no... it's not justice to hold yourself back. It's simply a retreat from injustice."

"There's another way," Charlotte said, a slight spring in her step as she began to pace. "Monfroy was blackmailing her. Luce, you told me that. I took the liberty of investigating when I had a spare moment." When? Charlotte smiled, happy to offer a pleasant surprise. "When she was sixteen, she had a tryst with Simon Perimont. Apparently, that wasn't the last time, either."

"What?" Luce's mind raced back, trying to reconcile that with the layabout hedonist he'd known in Malin. "There's no way."

"Monfroy had proof. Letters. We're lucky he kept it in his Cambrian residence instead of Mahabali Hall, or we wouldn't have the same leverage."

Miles smiled. "Perfect, then! If it ever gets out that she slept with the enemy, the western isles will forsake her without a doubt. No wonder Monfroy had such a tight grip. Then there's no need to rush things with the Great Council."

"You want me to get out of a marriage pact with blackmail?"

"All I'm asking is that you seriously consider it. As of now, Luce, you have more responsibility than anyone else in all the world, and you're not even thirty. Kings have advisors for a reason: no one, not even the smartest, best educated princes, can be an expert in everything."

But Avalon's military experts, by necessity, are most expert at cruel wars of conquest and occupation. Even you, Uncle. But it was hard to deny the sense in what he was saying, loath as Luce was to consider further mobilization. Unsure, he looked to Charlotte, though he expected he already knew she would agree.

"None deny your expertise, Lord Arion," said Charlotte, unsurprisingly. "You cut your teeth in the Foxtrap, then honed your skills in the Malin occupation. It's the best evidence one could look for to see how experience isn't equivalent to wisdom." She reached for Luce's hand, then pulled her arm back with a shade of embarrassment. "I know His Grace wouldn't want to repeat the mistakes of his father's reign, or his grandfather's."

"Nor would I," insisted Uncle Miles. "I cannot begrudge you your enmity, child, not after what happened in Malin while I ruled there. But I'm no longer the Butcher, and I believe my nephew and I are of one mind about the Avalon that should be." He stared at Luce with piercing green eyes. "You can never build it if your brother deposes you at the head of an army. He won't be content to remain the King Across the Sea, or he never would have taken control in the first place. Ignoring the problem won't make it go away."

"Who's to say we'd ignore it?" Charlotte pointed her finger. "Your guards made up most of the first wave of shadows, and I can tell you, they had much to learn. And much to unlearn, despite your newfound enlightenment. Reforming the whole of Avalon's army is an impossible task—better to disband them, and recruit a more trustworthy force into the shadows. The rest—the inept, the disloyal, and the cruel—ought have no place in the world my Luce is building. I—" Charlotte frowned, realizing her slip, but Luce hastened to reassure her with a quick peck on the cheek.

There was no need to hide anything from Uncle Miles. It was becoming increasingly unclear why they had to keep hiding at all.

Miles, for his part, focused on the topic at hand. "Don't you understand that Luce's claim is being challenged? Leading the royal army is a crucial symbol of legitimacy. And every one that you dismiss will join with Harold for a certainty. Do you want disaffected, cruel soldiers infesting every corner of Avalon, wholly outside your control?"

"Do you want Luce's army to turn on him the moment Prince Harold returns? Treachery cannot be tolerated if we want to keep him safe."

There's something slightly condescending about her protectiveness, Luce realized for the first time, like he was the waifish maiden and she the brave protector. He couldn't help but find a part of that appealing, a strong knight ever at his side, just as devoted to a better world as he was... But she wasn't the King. The decision, ultimately, was up to Luce. "Charlotte, I think you know he's right."

Her face fell. "I will do as you see fit, Your Grace."

"No, that's not the point!" Luce slashed his hand down in front of her. "I know you, Charlotte. I know you just want to keep me safe—but a king is never safe, and certainly not one who usurped his older brother."

"Your father abdicated. He named you his heir, and—" She glanced at Miles, whose face remained impassive. There wasn't any reason to worry about him joining Harold or revealing their affair, but Luce could understand Charlotte's reticence to trust him. For all that he'd rejected the title and the office, he had been the Butcher of Malin, and Charlotte had been one of his victims.

"That doesn't change what I did." Luce sighed. "Miles, would you excuse us?"

"Of course, Your Grace." He bowed his head, then bent it towards Charlotte. "Lieutenant."

Luce waited a moment after his uncle left before continuing. "You're so strong and capable, sometimes I forget that you have your limits. I think you might do it, too. Policing thousands of former soldiers while my brother rallies support is a ludicrously impossible task. If you're concerned about leaving my uncle in charge of the army, you should lead it."

Charlotte let out a faint scoff. "Put the hated foreign mistress in charge of the Avaline army? Like you did with Camille Leclaire? No, if you're going to do it, Arion is the better choice. He has a history with the officers, and respect from the soldiery. If he can be trusted, he's a perfect fit."

Why would she bring up Leclaire like that? "I do trust him. He pulled me out of a mire of misery when I needed it most. He resigned his post out of remorse for the Blue Bandit's death. And he was the first to teach me about the horrors Avalon has wrought upon the world."

"And he's family..." Charlotte took a deep breath. "Very well then. I'll give him a report on the shadows' operations within the week. I can only hope he'll allow me to remain in charge of them, lest the disruption of new leadership allow your foes to worm their tendrils in."

Luce blinked. "I'm not assigning you to him! The shadows are outside the Avaline Army. In fact, I need them to keep them honest. You'll work with me directly, just as you always have." That sounded hollow, and Luce knew it. Nominally, Charlotte was a subordinate; the gulf in their power had only grown since he'd taken the throne. Luce could call her his partner all he liked, but it would do nothing to change the facts. Perhaps nothing could, but... "You're my family. You're the one I can trust, the one I can count on to be loyal, to protect me."

Charlotte cracked a smile and pulled him close, but Luce knew it wouldn't last. This sort of conversation wasn't new, though the takeover had certainly changed things. It would only get worse once he married, be it to Vas Sarah or Mars Arèse de Salhaute. Unless some arrangement could be made, they'd have to go back to hiding their relationship. Perhaps even that wouldn't be enough.

Luce could see the future take shape in front of him, manipulated by a snake he could never fully trust, or shouted at by a warrior queen with little reason to heed a skinny scholar. Neither had any room for the likes of Charlotte—though in truth there was no one like her.

"Don't worry," she assured him, seeing his hesitation. "You're making the pragmatic choice."

"Does that even matter?" Luce couldn't help but ask. "What good is it to make every decision exactly the right way, if it means mobilizing the military, stalling reform, and making us miserable? I'm the King now. That means it's my choice." Luce wrapped his arms around his greatest champion, staring into her eyes. "Everything we've accomplished, we've done together. Escaping Malin, taking Charenton, negotiating with Rhan, fighting Levian, the Treaty, rebuilding the city, Memorial Tower, Monfroy, my crown. All of it is because of you."

Luce braced himself, recalling Charlotte's refusal in Forta over and over again for agonizing seconds that stretched to hours. "I asked you once before, but you refused me. You're too good to me, that you don't think we should be happy together. But for once in your life, you're wrong. You're the right choice. I won't have anyone else." He swallowed, nervously examining her expression. "If... If you'll have me."

He could see the conflict in her face, twisted between pragmatism and desire. For as long as Luce had known her, the former had always won out. It seemed inevitable that it would again, but this moment was the last chance Luce had to try. He had to make her see it. "Can't we, just this once, be happy? Can we make this one choice for ourselves?"

"I—" Charlotte hesitated, her eyes glistening. "You know I'll support you no matter what."

"I know," Luce said, brushing his hand against her chin. "I want to do the same for you. I want to make it impossible for Mars or Sarah or anyone to ever think they can brush you aside. Avalon needs you. I need you. I want you. I... I love you."

"I can't... Damn it, Luce! How am I supposed to say no to something like that? You know what you're supposed to do. And..." She bit her lip, then kissed him hard. "And you still want me?"

"More than anything." Luce couldn't control his smile, heedless joy overtaking every inch of his body.