Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 81

Tears glistened in Lysandra's eyes. King Forthwind was in no shape to fight, despite the arms and armour. Years of inactivity, spent in the luxury of mourning had weakened him. Marching into battle now meant sure death.

Perhaps that was what he wished for.

She strode to him and took his hands.

"Father, you don't have to go. The Silverhaarts are back from their mission. I would defend the palace!" she pleaded.

He shook his head. "It is time that my reign came to an end, my dear. Forgive me, for I have been a neglectful father and king. This is my chance to atone for both."

But a sorrowful anger flared in Lysandra's eyes. "So you say. But the truth is, you're trying to escape your responsibilities. Like you always have! Neither have you any trust in my abilities."

She could have gone on.

She could have listed off all those things he'd done wrong, despite which Lysandra wanted her father to...stay. A gentle hand landed atop her head, so much love in that single gesture which she had not experienced in decades.

"What you accuse me of is only half right," he said, closing his yellowed eyes. "I do trust your abilities. That, however, had not always been the case. But the things you have done for Midaelia, the initiatives you have taken all by yourself has long since shattered my illusion. My gravest mistake is not realising them sooner. You are...better suited to this crown, much more than I."

Lysandra clenched her teeth, her insides churning at the sudden loss of control over all situations. For years she had worked on her ascent to the throne and future plans for the kingdom she would one day rule. She'd arranged all the pieces she would need upon her board, loyal soldiers, a tight-knit council of spies, and a trusted friend. Yet over the span of a single night, that board had been upturned, scattering all her pieces in an abrupt upheaval.

"Take this," Father said, taking out a roll of parchment. She took hold of it in trembling hands and unfurled its contents.

It consisted of the original layout plans of the palace, along with a forged one, numerous notes pointing the difference between the two in detail, complete with predictions of all possible tactics the enemy would employ when they went by the false map.

"Sergeant Linder left these for safekeeping. But his injuries are grave from what I hear, and I doubt he is fit to utilise this now. Perhaps he foresaw such a scenario, and wished for you to make use of them when the time comes."

The guards at the doorway announced the arrival of the battlemages. Doors to the courtroom creaked open, and Captain Walric strode in. Following her, one by one, the most elite of the warriors amongst the Silverhaarts marched to take their places at the princess's side, poses reminiscent of the old tapestries in the hall upstairs dedicated to the company. Marches returned from his patrol up on the battlements soon after, shaking water from his raincape. In silent steps, there came Hilda, and stood beside her.

The old captain did a silent observation of the scene and placed her hand on the pommel of her sword. "We are ready when you are, Your Highness."

And thus went her coronation, without an audience save for a few loyal friends, without grand feasts and the following through of age old traditions. Princess Lysandra knelt before the throne as her father placed the golden crown atop her head. Jewelled sceptre in hand, she ascended the stone steps to the throne of Midaelia and sat, dark eyes turned sharply at those present tonight.

Before her, the Silverhaarts and the Royal Sorcerer lowered themselves on one knee, a hand pressed against their hearts. Together they swore their fealty to the crown. The voices, mingled in a sombre chorus, ricocheted off the high walls of the hall, giving the illusion of many people speaking aloud.