All her life, Lenna had been the one outside the carriage. Whether it be as an anonymous footslogger on sentry as her company’s patron rolled by in a coach or riding a horse whilst escorting the King during one of his semi-regular inspections of the frontier, she’d been unable to keep herself from wondering what it would be like to be the one catered to. Protected. 

Now she knew, and she couldn’t wait to find an excuse to leave.

The carriage was cramped, for starters, something Lenna abhorred as both a woman of height and considerable wingspan. Five women, two of them armoured, sat in a wooden box normally meant for four dainty gentlemen at most. Lenna had been crammed into the corner of one bench with Crys who, for many reasons in addition to space considerations, also had Riven in her lap. The pair thankfully refrained from pawing at each other in the presence of their regent, with the head of the guard contenting herself to play with the hair of her sweetheart. Riven, for her part, was spending the whole journey asking questions. She was a spy, after all. Knowledge was her currency. After the third hour, however, it became annoying.

“So what exactly IS a Mounting, anyway?” Riven asked.

They were two days into their thirteen day journey.

Whatever magic that a Voidcaster like Nira had access to, they needed to invest in it immediately.

On the opposite bench of the carriage, Katerina was only too happy to expound on the finer points of her family, their nation, and the various smaller players in the region. Not just to flex her accumulated knowledge of historical trivia, but also to hear the sound of her own voice. Next to her, Vikka switched between listening intently and fidgeting with a pair of knitting needles.

“Before the Arcanum, before the City of the Second Sun, even before the Six Sisters mastered the laws of magic, men ruled this part of the world. They hunted elk and wilderbeasts, they grew meagre crops, and they killed each other for both. Life was short, brutish, and violent. Then a barbarian king came, an empress of a sort I suppose, and bound them all underneath his lash. We don’t know his name, but when he died, he was apparently important enough to entomb in the heart of a mountain.”

Something jogged Lenna’s memory. “I thought his name was Kral?”

“No, dear,” Katerina replied with a charming smile, always eager to respond with a correction. “Kral just means leader or king in the Old Speech. Common misconception from people who don’t pay attention when taught their history.”

Lenna grumbled something derisive and looked back out the window, leaving Riven to pick up the torch of knowledge.

“So they buried him in a mountain.”

“Yes, right. His entombment was a grand affair, from what we can tell, from what original structure remains. In the decades and, later, centuries that passed, subsequent dynasties wanted to append their legacy to the Mountain King. They buried their headmen and important family members underneath that mountain. These tombs became more elaborate overtime, and eventually, they struck ore at the root of the mountain. This led to further digging, some casual desecration of ancient relics, and eventually, after decades of feverish construction, an underground palace for the reigning king at the time. This one we do know the name of: Gregorovic Vyeord. My ancestor.”

“Your ancestor…built a palace…in a tomb mountain? That’s…”

Katerina raised her hands. “I’m not defending why someone with my blood built a house in a hole full of skeletons. Men do strange things all the time that vex me. Nevertheless, that is what occurred. And for centuries before conquest, that was the royal palace for the Kingdom. The Kralgrav.”

“This is getting us no closer to my original question,” Riven commented.

“Context is important! But, yes, the Mounting. My ancestors did not rule forever. The Capital moved North, dynasties rose and fell, but the Kralgrav remained. Rather than used as a palace, however, it became a kind of pilgrimage site for those who sought power. You’d go to pray to the statues of headmen, evoke your ancestral claims, sometimes proclaim yourself the inheritor to some long lost dynasty. Then those men met others who visited, and they spoke at length about the issues of the day. In time, generations later, this meeting became formalized. Once a year, the worthies of this land would gather at the apex of Summer. Succession, land claims, whose sons married which daughters. They called this a Meeting at the Mountain’. Along the way it got shortened and mingled with another word for meeting.”

“And someone surely thought it was funny to discuss which Princesses were going to get stuffed at an occasion called a Mounting,” Crys provided, giving a little bounce to Riven to emphasize the point. The tall spy flushed a little, but retained her voice’s composure. 

“I can imagine. But…I’ve never heard of this practice. I’ve not been everywhere on the continent, but the Huntr…Savin, had me infiltrate the higher echelons of power in this region before. Surely this procedure would have come up.” 

Lenna spoke up. “Not unless you cracked the spine on a particularly old book. The practice was abandoned in the reign of the Mage Tyrants. They’d no need for consensus. You know how casters are. Capricious. Venal-”

“You’re talking yourself into some severe treatment later, dearheart,” Katerina purred, making it sound more like an encouragement than a threat. This time it was Lenna’s turn to blush. Gods above, she loved her wife. The pair exchanged leering looks that made them equally amused and horny, up until Riven cleared her throat.

“But…if it had been abandoned…why are we heading there now?” 

Katerina broke the stare first, losing some of the joviality in her voice, as well as the sparkle to her eyes. “With my father’s declining health, and my brothers’ complete lack of ability to come to a consensus as to who should lead in Pyotr’ absence, Adam has invoked the old rites and called for a Mounting. All the children of King Magnus will attend, and we will hash out the future of the Kingdom…for better or worse.” 

Lenna’s wife was as formidable a presence as any mountain, but the last few weeks since they’d received word of her father’s declining health, her spark had noticeably cooled. It was understandable! Gods only knew how dreary life felt to Lenna after her own mother had passed. But it was one thing to be there for your partner in their time of need, and another to be able to fight their personal battles. The most savage, the least forgiving. All the power in her sword arm and she was helpless when her wife didn’t return her kiss in the morning.

Vikka, for the first time in the conversation, sensed something the matter in the silence. After a gesture and a silent nod, her and Lenna shuffled past one another in the cramped quarters. The Knight sat down next to her wife and squeezed her hand. Katerina squeezed back. Then, Lenna took over the explanation as if there’d been no lull in the conversation at all.

“Vladimir is second oldest, and so by rights the throne should be his. But since Pyotr’s death is only suspected at the moment, there is sufficient uncertainty in the minds of some that this may be some secret machination by Vladimir to gain the throne. Apparently notions that have been encouraged by Adam, who has been positioning himself as a better choice for leader.”

“Why?” Riven asked.

Lenna was quick with the official answer. “Because he’s a strong soldier. A leader of men in combat.”

“And,” Katerina chimed in bitterly, “He can walk unassisted.”

Riven noticed the noticeable mood shift over the last few moments and dropped her tone a touch. “Ah, I see. I’m sorry.”

“You were a spy, sent to infiltrate our court, and you don’t know this?” Crys asked.

“Savin didn’t deem it necessary for me to know ‘everything’. Of course I’ve taken steps to learn about her Highness’ family afterward, but this is a chance to get a first person accounting. The stories I heard certainly didn’t mention Vladimir’s…status.” 

The Princess waved both of them off. “Nothing to justify. It’s not exactly widely known. He is a capable administrator who manages the logistics and accounts of the state from within the walls of Kralgrav, which he uses year round as his personal holdfast. He’d be a good leader, and with some guidance from Adam, Magnus, and I, we’d be a formidable kingdom. Hell, maybe just with my help.” Good, Lenna thought. She was sounding a little like her old, confident self.

“But Adam doesn’t see it that way,” Riven filled in, to a nod from Katerina.

“Adam’s ambitious. Father thought to use him to quell an uprising in the Mad Rocks leading the Knights Resplendent in their Oh So Important crusade against the bog monsters and hutfolk who live there. But with Pyotr dead, Adam is the closest thing our family has to…a traditional authority figure.”

“Strong, cunning, brave,” Lenna rattled off in a disinterested tone.

“An able bodied male who’s interested in women,” Riven surmised.

“But what about Paris?” Crys asked. “I’ve sparred with him before. I was smaller, quicker, better trained, and the man still knocked the stuffing out of me. And quite the hit with the ladies…from what I hear.” The last line was uttered in a rush.

“Strong and Attractive is about all Paris is. I love my brothers, every single one, but Paris is the worst part of my Father rolled into a younger, more physically impressive body. He’s quick to anger, he acts on impulse, and he is a desperately sentimental romantic. The kind who believes all the guff about the chivalric virtues of the Knights of Old.”

“And to top it off, he’s about the only one who has a hope in hell of actually wielding The Sword,” Lenna chimed in.

“The Sword?” Riven asked.

“The Sword,” Crys agreed.

“Enough about The fucking Sword!” Katerina snapped, and the rest of the cabin fell silent. After a deep breath, she continued. “We’ll deal with the Sword when it comes to it. At any rate, I doubt Paris will be at the Mounting. Last time I heard, he was out in the far west as a hedgeblade. He believes himself to be in some kind of heroic fable, and I am loath to dissuade him of the notion.”

Riven nodded. “Alright, that’s four brothers, one to go. I should have been writing this down somewhere.”

“I’m sure the playwright will leave a Dramatis Personae you may refer to, little blade,” Crys chided. 

Katerina didn’t respond immediately. Indeed, there was a long pause in the conversation, but it was intimately clear by her expression that she wasn’t waiting for them to speak instead. She looked out the slats in the cabin that formed the protective door to the outside. Lenna looked too. Going this far north, it actually started to feel like Spring. But green had yet to come back to the world. The trees remained stripped of their leaves, the ground dead and fallow. Harsh. Bleak. Unforgiving.

When Katerina spoke again, it was still holding that lingering hint of melancholy. But there was also steel in her voice. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she was preparing for what she might have to do.

“Young Magnus is a gem. He’s inquisitive, he’s earnest, and he was kind to me in a time when much of my family was not. He’s the closest thing the House of Forde has to a good person. Whatever happens, whatever machinations of power the rest of us conjure, Magnus will be safe. I would die to defend any of my brothers…but I would kill to protect him.”

***

They camped that night on the leeward side of a hill, a sheer face cut into it by a long migrated river giving them space to pitch the tents together and save some heat. Though they had several staff along with them, Lenna was nevertheless lamenting a lack of the various comforts of her home castle before she could stop herself. Being the kept wife of a Princess was making her soft, she thought. She’d have to do some hikes when this was all through to get her edge back. 

Their entourage was intentionally sparse, as agreed during negotiations for the Mounting. Alongside Vikka, there was the carriage driver Krue: a portly older gentleman with a floppy hat and grey moustachios who had been with Katerina since she was a child. He was getting on in years and not as quick with his efforts to saddle the horses in the morning, but he was a fiercely loyal sort. Two guards, Verity and Murrow, brought the armed contingent including Crys and Lenna up to the maximum of four. Technically five, given that Riven had taken the Thornblade with her, but nobody necessarily needed to know that. The final part of their cadre was a pair of servants by the names of Warren and Bendle. They were either lovers or just really good friends–the relationship was unclear and Lenna hadn’t thought to ask–but they were dutiful in their duties and did their best to help pitch the tents. 

Of all the people to seem unprepared, Lenna had expected it to be Vikka. But against her preconceptions, the high strung little maid was a veritable font of backwoods wisdom. 

“Burn this FIRST!” she shouted, thrusting a pile of snapped and dry spruce limbs at Crys. “Then the blue ash I gathered. Obviously a soft wood to start, hard wood to sustain. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT!”

Crys nodded, clearly the one out of sorts in their camp. Going from a swashbuckling sailor to a city guard, then palace guard, she’d never had a chance to practice field craft like this. Lenna watched with concealed amusement at the normally self-possessed and confident woman struggled to light a basic camp fire. 

“It’s not as easy as it’s made out to be,” she seethed, clearly detecting Lenna’s mirth.

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied, but made no move to help her.

Finally, mercifully, Riven picked up her partner’s frustration.

“Mind if I?” the lithe spy asked, pulling the sparkcatcher from Crys’ friction burned fingers. Instead of using it herself, she placed her hand onto the nest of tinder had been piled and closed her eyes. Bringing her thumb and forefinger together, the bright spark of her Weaving needle of light formed,. Then, she snapped her fingers together. The needle vanished, and in its wake, a simmering cinder.

“Neat trick,” Crys said, sliding some of the hair that had spilled in front of her eyes. “Can you do anything else magical?”

“Join me under the covers later, we’ll find out together.”

Ugh. Lenna didn’t dare listen to more. The pair of them were insufferably affectionate. Lenna never had a sweet tooth, and their badinage had a distinctly saccarine quality. Nevertheless, the offer made Lenna think of her own partner. She stuck her head into the insulated tent flap that she shared with Katerina.

“You warm enough?” she asked the Princess.

“Absolutely not,” the hooded mound of blankets and furs announced. “Get under the covers immediately and warm your regent with your body.” 

“Soon as the camp’s squared away,” Lenna replied, hearing but choosing to ignore the muffled ‘I AM FREEZING TO DEATH’ as she closed the flap. With the fire started but Crys and Riven otherwise detained, Lenna decided to give Vikka a hand making the camp stew.

They packed plenty of dried meat, either venison from local game or fish from the river. Dried herb and seasoning went into making a broth from some boiled stream water. Then the meat went in, accompanied by some root vegetables, more seasoning, and some salt. Lenna was unused to such preparations going into camp food, but Vikka was adamant that even outside the confines of the Court kitchen, her Majesty should eat something palatable. 

“You carry yourself well outside of the castle,” Lenna commented. “I’d no idea. How came you by these skills?”

“My father was the King’s huntsmaster,” Vikka replied with an uncharacteristic lack of verve. “My father taught me some of what he knew while I was a child. Hmm…more salt.”

Lenna felt the edge of a wall, and didn’t want to press. She knew that, despite her status as a Princess’ maidservant, Vikka was born with no more silver under her tongue than Lenna had been. They’d both gained some measure of status thanks to their patrons, despite them taking two different paths to acquire it. Briefly, she wondered what other skills the handmaid might have picked up from her father.

Once the soup was as tasty as it was going to get, Lenna carried two portions in wooden bowls back to the tent, along with two halves of a loaf of soda bread. She thought it might be difficult to coax Katerina from her blanket cocoon. Thankfully, the smell of hot soup was very persuasive. 

“We should probably discuss what may happen at the Mounting,” Lenna began, her spoon moving the broth around as she avoided eye contact. “In case…you know…”

“This is not a matter I am interested in debating,” Katerina said, her voice adopting a familiar but nonetheless still grating haughtiness the moment an uncomfortable topic arose. But while Lenna might have taken the hint when she was but a Houseguard Knight, she was her wife now. And that had a certain amount of allowance for impertinent questions. 

“What you seek to propose will not be popular. Vladimir and Adam are both very proud, very stubborn men. They will not wish to share power. And the Kingdom-”

“I don’t care what they want. It’s the right thing to do!” Katerina snapped. “Our Kingdom is too spread out, too diffuse to be maintained in an iron grip so centralized to one or two major cities. A distribution of powers like we’ve had for years now is the right way.”

“One might suggest that your solution would just make it easier for our neighbours to gobble us up piecemeal. A strong, central authority-” 

“-is how we ended up here. With Father dying, Pyotr missing, and my brothers ready to kill each other.” The fire left her voice upon speaking the last three words. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Lenna with a fear that by saying it aloud, she’d forced it to happen.

Lenna knew when it was time for words, and when it was time for action. So she took the initiative, wrapping the Princess up in a tight hug that nearly spilled the last of her soup into the blankets. She only let go when she sensed it was time.

“Whatever happens, I will be here for you,” Lenna intoned, dropping her hands to latch onto Katerina’s.

“I know,” she said, voice tightening again. “But I worry that my brothers might not have such sound council. I worry that fear may drive them to do something…unwise.”

“Then we should make some plans, then. In case anything happens. To keep us safe, and to keep them safe from each other.”

That got a nod. And soon, as darkness overtook the camp and their combined bodies warmed their little tent, the Princess and her Knight began to plan for every scenario they could think of. Even the most dire.

***

Interminable amounts of time on the road later and they found the first signs of civilization. Forests remained, but occasionally swaths of the ancient wood had been slashed back, revealing clear pasture land and flat fields for incoming crops. Even now, green shoots for crops planted in the late fall were emerging, and every now and again there was a farmhand fixing up a snake rail fence or picking through the fields for the first sign of weeds. Once or twice, the caravan had to pull to the side to allow a shepherd and their herd. Another sign that life was returning to the world once more. 

The journey lasted long enough that they saw clear evidence of Spring emerge from the gloom of late Winter. Tree species that had just started budding when they left the Winter Palace were half-covered in green by the time farms were more common than forests on either side of the long road. A bridge they had needed to cross halfway to their destination had been washed out by meltwater, and they had to travel several miles downriver to a place where they could ford. Even still it had been touch and go, including a moment where everyone (except Katerina of course) had gone out to push the carriage out of a morass it had gotten mired in. At the very least she’d suffered indignity of standing amidst the mud, rather than further weighing down the wheels within the cabin.

They encountered a military presence twice during their journey. The first was a chance encounter with a group of the Frontier’s famed ranger unit, the Woodwraiths. Three figures in cloaks, masks, and strung bows gave them an archer’s salute as the caravan passed by a large and particularly gnarled copse. 

“I would have thought there’d be more,” Lenna commented.

“There are more,” Riven said with a chill in her voice. “You just can’t see them.” 

At that, Lenna leaned over to look out the window opposite her side of the carriage. Even knowing there were more there, she could only see another three shapes that could have been Wraiths. Or merely shadows cast in the twisting bree limbs.

Days later, they received a second and much more formal armed contingent. Over three dozen of the Kingdom’s bannermen–their dark blue livery indicating House Boren if Lenna didn’t miss her guess–rode up at a casual trot on obviously lathered horses. The Mounting had not been formally announced, but it hadn’t been a secret either. And even with the size of the country like the Kingdom, rumours travelled fast. 

The heir of House Boren, a pinch-nosed youth by the name of Pecke, offered to escort them through his territory. They took the offer graciously, then spent the better part of the next day deflecting any questioning beyond acknowledging that yes, the Princess was inside the carriage and yes, they were travelling to Huln. He escorted them to the city’s outskirts, then peeled back with a wish for safe travels and, with the same breath, a reminder of House Boren’s loyalty to House Forde. 

“The realm is getting restless,” Lenna commented aloud once the Boren boy and his men were out of earshot.

Katerina gave a curt nod, though her eyes were already facing forward. “Best we get this over with as quick as possible then.”

Hulne’s territory actually started far from the city’s centre, a historical buffer zone erected at the horseshoe shaped valley it inhabited. But the mountains were easily visible. Treacherous, violent shapes that stabbed into the sky like snow-sheathed blades, they represented the edge of the original Frontier that had given their kingdom its name. Their borders expanded several hundred miles to the west of there now, where the mountains descended again on the plains of Athaban and its neighbouring lands. But just looking at the city utterly dwarfed by the peaks above, one could easily understand why the first explorers to reach this mountain range thought they’d encountered the edge of the world.

They took a circuitous route around the outskirts of the city. The main roads and thoroughfares offered momentary relief to their sore behinds. Eventually, they’d peel down a much more rougher stretch of road meant for carts and the occasional wagon. The air reeked of dung as the barns opened up for the spring, farmer tending fields of winter wheat emerging from the dark soil or working the field to prepare it for later tilling. Beets, cabbage, carrots, all ready to come up in a month or so. Lenna watched the backbreaking labour of dozens of people and reminded herself, as many times as she needed to, that there were worse fates in life than to be married to a Princess. 

Even still, there were plenty of eyes to catch the carriage and its small entourage. The small number of visible retainers would imply that it was merely a rich fop come to present his case in person to the Prince. But the farm hands and travelling merchants all gawped and gossiped as they passed. Lenna only caught fragments as they rolled by voices dropping beneath the rattle of the carriage’s wheels.

“-bad sign-”

“-many people are they going to fit-”

“-can’t believe he’s really dead. The King-”

Katerina stiffened. Lenna grabbed her hand and clenched it tight. She knew that all her wife wanted to do was spring out of her seat and shake down the person who had spoken. Drag every bit of gossip from their lips with some twisted truth incantation. But that wouldn’t do her any good. If something had happened to King Magnus, then the person who would know first would be her brothers. And they were already on their way to meet with them.

***

The road reached the foot of the mountain, which had been slashed and gouged through with a perilous switchback that took them roughly a third of the way to the peak. Up this close to the mountain, the bottom of the shelf was visible, though not the entrance itself. Decades ago, long before Lenna had first visited, there’d been a much larger and more regally appropriate ramp up the slope, the kind you could lead a proper funeral procession along with a crowd of retainers standing shoulder to shoulder. But dozens of individual excavations, combined with a blight of grave robbers mouseholing between tombs destabilized the pathway, causing a landslide that had stranded the entrance to the mountain redoubt for months. The switchback had been cut in its place, leaving barely enough room for their carriage going around hairpin turns over a crushed aggregate of rocks, dirt, and forgotten kings.

As they neared the lip of the shelf, above the whipping of the wind, Lenna thought she heard something. She quieted a conversation she’d been having with Crys with a gesture. The cabin fell silent, allowing her to focus on the sounds. Snatches of speech caught by the wind. The longer they stayed silent, the more noises they could pick out. Fluttering of cloth caught in a breeze. Laughter. Metal clanking on metal.

Lenna wordlessly left the carriage, tapping the side to get the driver’s attention. Krue brought the carriage to a halt, keeping his hands on the reins and one eye on the steep fall off the switchback besides them. Crys joined her moments later, motioning for the pair of guards at the rear to tie their mounts to the rail at the back of the carriage and form up with her on foot.

“Is it an ambush?” Katerina asked out the window. Lenna put a finger to her lips, but didn’t answer the question. If it was an ambush, it was a sloppy one. But she couldn’t take any chances; they were in an obscenely precarious position. Startle the horses and they’d take the whole cart off a sheer cliff face. And to flee down the switchback would make them little more than archery range targets for anyone perched at the top. She motioned to Riven to keep an eye on the Princess, and then led the trio of guards up toward the plateau. Her hand on the hilt of her blade, Lenna prepared herself for anything.

Beyond the lip held a cavernous alcove whose ceiling was easily as tall as the highest tower on the Winter Court. At the end, the Kralgrav’s carved entrance towered in the distance, its weathered crenellations and enormous draconic statuary were just as she remembered seeing them the first time. But beneath this grand backdrop, something that hadn’t been here the last time she visited: dozens of armed men, all clad in mantles of a different colour, standing at attention in two neat rows facing one another. 

“Peacock Knights, fuck me,” she cursed under her breath. At Guardsman Murrow’s cocked eye, she elaborated: “Knights Resplendent. A bunch of bastards and also-borns who do witchseeker work for whoever can pay, all while putting on airs like they’re some holy order of heroes. Question is: what the fuck are they doing here?”

“Ambush?” Crys asked. 

“Doubt it. Assassination isn’t in their purview. Still. I’d rather put my foot in the beartrap than let it snap shut around Katerina. Krue, first sign of trouble, take the Princess into town and raise the city guard.” 

The old carriage master nodded and tipped his cap. The city would protect Katerina as they would any Heir to the Throne of Forde. Though if one of her siblings was the one about to betray them, she thought darkly, perhaps the master of the city’s guards had already been compromised.

Lenna closed her eyes and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her mind was stepping twelve steps ahead of where her body was. If stepping blindly into a trap wouldn’t help, neither would panicking into making a stupid mistake. First thing was first: establish the threat. 

She crested the switchback and stood upon the shelf without attempt to conceal herself. On one side, a sheer cliff overlooking the expanse of the valley beneath her. On the other, a veritable rainbow of heavily armed men. Well. There was no sense dawdling.

“Excuse me,” she announced, walking with the confidence and purpose of a woman born to rule. “Might I ask who is blocking my lady’s path?”

A murmur of voices from the collected Knights. Nobody went for a weapon, that was good. 

“They’re not blocking anyone,” a man in the red and black of the House of Forde boomed, emerging out from a knot of armed and armoured men. “They’re here at my request!” 

Standing before Lenna, silver hair blowing in the wind like an argent banner, was Adam Forde. He was about as tall as Lenna, carrying a suit of gleaming plate on broad shoulders and equipped with a cocky grin above them. He pursed those same lips and whistled sharply. The Knights, largely all in their arms and armour already, rushed to form a line at parade rest. Between them,  a corridor with enough space for a single person to slide on through, all the way to the doorway into Kralgrav.

Lenna was just gathering her thoughts when she heard the carriage door slam followed by a set of hasty footfalls. She cursed inwardly, but knew it was futile to try to prevent what was about to happen.

“Adam, what in the seven unholy hells are you doing?!” Katerina seethed, her hands on her hips. If looks could kill, her gaze would scour the shelf in the mountain clear of all life. But Adam’s smile didn’t even flicker.

“Dear sister! It’s so good to see you after so many-”

“This is NOT what we agreed to. We were supposed to be limited to four armed retainers at a maximum. I agreed, leaving the vast majority of my guards behind, and I arrive to find you’ve brought a fucking army?”

“-years apart. I’ve long missed your company after my time in service to the realm. Have I introduced my men? KNIGHTS.”

“AYE,” the men replied in chorus, gauntlet drumming on their shields in a single, sonorous clang. 

“These are the Knights Resplendent. Fresh from the successful campaign upon the Mad Rocks, helping our forces purge the islands of the barbarian Stormqueens and their captive rabble.”

“I don’t care if they’re the Host of Light riding on steeds made of golden fucking syrup, What Are They Doing Here, Adam?” 

His smile waned, but even still his frown and tone of serious concern came off like a practiced affectation. “I’m afraid it’s a necessary precaution. There has been a threat upon all of our lives, originating from the Magisters of Thrast. To ensure our safety and the neutrality of the proceedings, I invited them to camp outside the Kralgrav.” 

“Under what authority?”

“As a Prince of the Realm, of course.”

She folded her arms. “And what did Vladimir have to say about this?”

“Well, I didn’t ask for permission if that’s what you mean. You may not have served in the military, sweet sister, so you might not understand. But in a crisis, one can’t ask whether they are allowed to do what is necessary.” Before Katerina could conjure venom to spit at him like a tropical serpent, he held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Rest assured, they aren’t here to sway the proceedings. I’ve pledged in the Light and in an audience of honourable gentlemen that I will abide by the results of the Mounting. Whoever proves themselves to be the best and most virtuous pick for King, I will follow. These Knights are here to protect us against perfidious magic users and allow us to reach an unbiased consensus, nothing more.”

Katerina didn’t look any less angry, but at the very least she wasn’t looking for the first knight to kill with her bare hands. Instead, she made a ‘come hither’ motion over her shoulder and, not looking back to see if her instruction was understood, barrelled past her brother on her way into the enormous stone edifice. Lenna rallied the rest of the party to proceed forward, then double-timed herself to Katerina’s side

“Pleasure to see you as always, sister!” he called after her. “Oh, and your new bride! Three cheers for the happy couple, lads. HIP HIP HIP.”

“HUZZAH.”

By the second huzzah, Katerina was cursing up a blue streak as she stalked forward. Whatever melancholy had wrapped her had been thrown off, replaced with a much more familiar, if somewhat terrifying, wrath. If she was capable of martial violence, Lenna had half a mind to hold her shoulders and whisper some reassuring words. But there were few things that could stop a mage of her ability. In lieu of physical contact, Lenna just kept herself close by and available to talk. Perhaps just by her presence she could tamper down her passions.

…though Lenna had her doubts.

***

The enormous stone entrance to the Kralgrav swallowed them whole. Lenna noticed the edge of a stone door the size of the largest castle gate she’d ever seen. How something so heavy would move was beyond her, but magic wasn’t out of the question. She’d never seen it sealed, but Lenna imagined that if it should be closed, nothing bar an explosion of calamitous size would get through. 

Passing the doorway led into an antechamber that fed off to the left and right, with archaic text describing them as the servant’s quarters and the stables, respectively. Beyond this was another, smaller door, perhaps large enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder, protecting the first real wonder of the Kralgrav: the Hall of Headmen. 

Lenna did her best to keep from gawking as they entered a room lit by magical sconces high above, casting unnaturally steady light upon two flanking walls of statues. Originally grave markers placed over the tombs after it was sealed, they proved to be less sanctified monuments and more advertisement for graverobbers. The hall they traversed was the first constructed by Gregorovich Vyeord. Its purpose: to memorialize his position amongst those who came before and venerate the children who came after.

Their shape and design varied, but they were roughly the same size. Three times Lenna’s height, give or take a head. Some were carved to render the features of a dead man in excruciating detail. Others were in the advanced stages of weathering, sneers of cold command smoothed to a faded memory by water and time. Several had been reassembled and sealed together with mortar of a different colour than the grey stone that comprised their bodies. Whether they’d been knocked over naturally or toppled by a sore winner in the game of dynasty, only the stones themselves knew for sure.

In the centre of the room, surrounded by plinths as if the hub at the heart of a wheel, stood an imperious figure. A head and shoulders taller than the largest competitor, he held an enormous hammer aloft in his right hand. His left held tongs that might have once held something. In their place, upon a platform that was half-anvil, half-shrine, was a real sword. Larger than any Lenna had ever seen wielded in combat, it rested upon a cushion, its blade seemingly polished with sufficient regularity to gleam in the garish magelight. 

The Sword of Gregorovich Vyeord. 

To use the more common name: the Kingsblade. 

To use the name everyone everyone used in the songs, primarily because it rhymed: The Sword of Forde.

Lenna knew the legend. Everyone knew the legend. But the fact that it was just sitting there, out in the open, for anyone to try their hand at wielding…it was absurd. A relic like that should be placed out of reach! It was The Sword for fuck’s sake. 

“Come to see The Sword?” a voice asked, and Lenna realized that the two of them were not alone. At the foot of the enormous statue waited a pair of women that Lenna didn’t recognise. Both had similar features that marked them as not local to the area: rich, tawny skin and eyes of chipped emerald. One, the taller of the two, had a head of raven black hair that would have spilled to her tailbone should it not be tied in a series of elaborate coifs. She wore a silken ruby dress that flowed around her slim torso, tied around her waist with a golden sash. But the long skirt had been slit up the sides to allow freedom of movement, as well as giving hints of muscular thighs beneath the soft fabric. In a dead sprint, this woman might give Riven a hard time.

The woman beside her was shorter, but more muscular. Her hair was a warmer, dark brown colour, but cut short and shorn to the scalp down one side. Padded, quilted armour with leather bracers, including a quiver of arrows, as if she’d just come in from the field. Both women had sheaths for daggers at their hips. Matching ones, as it turned out. This one wore a studiously disinterested expression, where her counterpart wore an outright hostile expression.

Katerina responded to the question with a shake of her head. “I don’t need to see it. It’s my family’s icon. Their birthright. But what would you know about it? Have you come to compare my family’s blade to the limp little things at your waist?”

The taller woman scoffed. “It pains me to see you again. You smell of the road. Horse-sweat and dung.”

“Oh goodness, it’s you!” Katerina stated with equal derision. “I didn’t notice you through the fog of ignorance. He still hasn’t gotten tired of riding you?” 

“Contemptuous cur. Your mother made a mistake not draining you with the rest of the chamberpot.”

A pause. Tension brought the air to a simmer, and for a moment Lenna thought she might have to defend her wife’s honour. Or, perhaps more likely, keep her from biting.

Then, the tall woman’s face cracked into a broad grin. She leapt forward, not in an attack, but in a ferocious hug that picked Katerina off her feet. The Princess’ legs kicked a little–Lenna knew from personal experience how much she didn’t like being carried like a sack of millet–but she more or less submitted to the embrace.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Bond-Sister!” the tall woman said. Her shorter companion smirked lightly, but gave no other sign of being aware of the events transpiring mere feet away from her.

“Likewise. But please. I can’t breathe,” Katerina gasped, and was rewarded with her feet touching the ground once more.

“My apologies. But it’s been far, far too long! I missed your, how do you say…acerbic repartee!” her assailant said, her accent lifting her vowels in a way that was pleasant to the ear. “And who is this noble warrior? Bond-sister, you abandon your duties once more by not introducing her!”

Katerina took a second to smooth out her dress and collect herself before pointing an open hand toward Lenna. “My apologies. Might I have the honour of introducing Dame Lenna Stone, my wife and protector. Lenna, this is Turai of the Wild Sere, Vladimir’s wife and my sister-in-law. And the lady next to her is her Blade-Sister, Jenniq.” 

Lenna only had a loose grasp on what that relationship title meant, but she at least had the grace to nod at the pair, treating them with equal deference in case there was something she missed. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” 

They returned the nod. Jenniq’s eyes finally stopped looking into the middle distance, looking the Houseguard Knight up and down like she was assessing a cut of salted meat at the market. 

“A Knight woman? Fight you well on horse, or just feet?” Her accent was harsher, less melodic than Turai’s. 

Lenna offered a diplomatic shrug. “I get by with both. Though I hear the Horselords of the Sere can do terrible things with their bows and spears.”

Jenniq nodded vigorously, then returned her gaze to the vague nothing behind Katerina’s shoulder. Something told Lenna that this woman hated meeting new people more than she did, which was quite impressive. Turai picked up the torch of the conversation, tapping her chin in a theatrical mime of deep thought.

“Lenna Stone…you wouldn’t happen to be the same Dame Stone who cut a formidable figure at the Butterfly Queen’s abortive Jubilee celebration, would you?”

A twinge. That whole night had been a mixed blessing. It was the moment she’d been widely humiliated in public, but it’d also been the time she realized just how much she loved being Lenna…and being with Katerina, for that matter.

“Perhaps. Most of the people who saw me there were mages. Know many of those?”

“A few. Like your wife, for instance. I like to be informed.” Cutting off further questions, she held out her hand to point down the corridor to her left. “You must be fatigued after such a long journey. And, if I may be so bold, I was not kidding about the smell. Quarters have been set aside for you and your retainers, and you have full access to our bathing facilities. Jenniq here will point your serf-women to their assigned bedding and show them around, and I will do the same for you. But before you turn in for the night, my husband told me to send you his way once you arrived. He wanted to ‘check in’, I believe is the term.” She spoke the quote in an exaggerated impression of the Frontier’s own harsh consonants, before returning to her own accented speech.

Lenna turned to move, but Katerina kept still. “Just…before we continue, I have to know. While we were riding here, I thought I had heard someone say that my father had passed. Is that true? Do you know?”

Turai took in a breath before answering. Her eyes found Jenniq’s, and they exchanged a meaningful expression. The Sword-Sister nodded, and Turai turned back to Katerina. 

“I’m sorry. I’d hoped that Vladimir could be the one to reveal the news. It would have been more gentle than the careless utterance of some khulat on the road.” A moment of genuine anger flashed over her face, totally different from the feigned aggrievement she’d put on at the beginning of the conversation. Not white hot rage, but a cold fury. It vanished from her features in an instant, as if a hunting hound was yanked back on its leash. 

“Do you know how it happened? When? I’ve been travelling, and we haven’t…I haven’t…” Katerina’s mouth moved but her voice failed her. Lenna reached over to touch her shoulder, but it was Turai who made contact first. She wrapped the Princess’ hands in her own.

“You are not alone in this. Know that we grieve with you. King Magnus was a strong man, a wise ruler, and a talented hunter. His loss is our own. But…your brother was quite insistent that he be the one to speak of this to you. I’m sorry, Bond-Sister.”

Katerina nodded, though her mood remained dower. “Works for me. C’mon Lenna dear, let’s go see what terrible news my other brother has for us.”

Turai led them away from the towering statues through a series of corridors lit by lanterns hanging in sconces at regular intervals. Kraken oil was relatively odourless compared to something like a tallow candle, but even still, the tight confines filled the passageways in the smell of burning oil. Surreptitious holes in the ceiling presumably led up and out, providing some measure of ventilation. Nevertheless, the close confines of the hallways carved into the rock were hard not to dwell on, even as someone who didn’t consider herself particularly claustrophobic. Every corridor seemed purposefully designed for an ambush, and it was an act of sheer willpower to keep herself moving without her hand on the hilt of her sword. It didn’t help that the passage seemed to widen and narrow at random, making their traversal feel like they were being digested by the intestines of some enormous stone leviathan. 

They weren’t the only ones down here, of course. Servants in the family colours slid down the tight passages with ease, ducking beneath the occasional low door frame and shimmying around the trio as they continued deeper in. They passed by doorways leading off to small but well-appointed quarters, a small kitchen, privy facilities, and another water basin. 

“Living down here must be challenging,” Lenna said, attempting at conversation to smooth over the awkwardness. 

“It was! Hah, still is. There are many stone structures on the Sere, especially around the Iron Plains. Though we are not their builders, we use them as temporary camps and landmarks. Temples, sometimes, when we give thanks to the Gods of the Earth. Some of our kind even grow crops around them for harvest during another portion of the Long Ride. But we don’t stay in them for whole seasons, and we certainly don’t live beneath the ground like this. I rode as much as I could when I first moved in, just to get out from beneath the stone sky.”

Understandable. If Lenna had to live beneath a mountain herself, getting out of the place on any excuse would be a top priority. 

“And on your rides outside, did you happen to notice the dozens of Witchseekers camped outside the gates?” Katerina asked.

Turai grumbled out something in her own speech before continuing. “Yes, as a matter of fact. They arrived a week ago. Vladimir, sun bless him, nearly chewed through his hand. For all the pretense and bluster, Bond-Brother Adam is little more than a stallion showing his cock to the wind, hoping to intimidate the herd into following his lead.”

Lenna snorted. An apt, if colourful, description. A naked intimidation tactic, but a Knightly Order wasn’t about to intercede in the politics of a sovereign nation. It was surely a hollow threat.

Surely.

They came to the guest quarters, and Turai spent the next little while pointing out the facilities. The corridors were labyrinthine and there were no posted signs. Lenna did her best to make mental notes as to where things were in relation to one another. The most successful tactic was to keep track of the oil lanterns in between one room and another. Three lanterns to the bedroom, four lanterns between that and the bathing room, and the like. 

But the lit paths were not the only ones they passed by. Several times they came to passageways closed by wooden boards, or left open but unlit.

“Don’t travel down any of the dark paths,” Turai warned in sepulchral tones. “Most are mapped, but some aren’t stable. Others are…what is the words…haunted by the howling dead?”

Lenna looked at Katerina and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if she was serious. The Princess just shrugged, as if to say: ‘Yeah, the howling dead, what are you gonna do?’

They arrived outside a wooden door that had been built to fit into a much older, uneven alcove. Turai rapped on it gently three times.

“No matter what I do to get him to leave and see the sun and stars, he always ends up back in there at the end of the day. Men, am I not correct?” she said with a wistful shake of her head. A voice from within said ‘come in’ loud enough to be heard from behind the door, and Turai made her way back down the path they’d come. Before she could leave, Katerina caught her arm.

“Apologies if I’ve been curt with you,” she said, squeezing a little. “It is good to see you again.”

Turai smiled back. “Likewise. Hopefully we can get this secession matter settled and get back to what’s important: getting drunk off spice wine and arguing about horses.”

***

They entered a room that was, aside from the Hall of Headmen, the largest by far. Nevertheless, every wall and free floor space was filled with enormous bookcases. Stacked to the ceiling, filled to bursting, yet still somehow not enough. Loose piles appended the sides of the shelves, cutting off even more room to manoeuvre until there were only a few curated routes through the chaotic library. 

At the centre of this organized disorder, sitting at the largest of a pair of large wooden desks, was Prince Vladimir. Nominal second in line to the Throne, but should the rumours of Pyotr’s demise be confirmed, the next King of the Frontiers. A pair of well-worn walking crutches sat next to the desk, their grips ivory encased in leather. He was writing past the halfway point in a large book, hand sketching quick but legible letters in with admirable precision. Lenna’s writing wasn’t near as good, even though she’d paid good money to learn how to write with the money from her mercenary days. Pays to grow up rich, it seems.

“Mir?” Katerina asked. The man at the desk did not look up from his work, but his pen did halt.

“I wish you didn’t call me that. We are no longer children, Katerina.”

“Sorry. Vladimir. You wanted to speak to me?” 

He spun around in his simple wooden stool, an act that took him no small amount of effort. His legs only moved a little of their own accord, the rest he moved with his upper body. Lenna could see Katerina tighten up, restraining herself from going over to help him.

There was little in his appearance that reminded Lenna of her wife. He was tall and rail thin, where she was short and well built. His silver hair was much darker than her own, even absent the glow Katerina’s had. He kept it bound up in a ponytail, rather than work to style it in any particular fashion. His garb was similarly dissimilar. Tunic and hose that were more akin to a common merchant than a regal claimant. As his gaze fell on her, Lenna could see something she recognised: the eyes. He held that same dissecting glance that had flayed the man she once was alive. 

“I’m glad you could come,” he said, “though I would have preferred you would have come alone.”

“This is Dame Lenna. She’s my wife,” Katerina replied curly, holding out her hand. “I don’t suppose you have a problem with that.”

“Your wife indeed. I hadn’t believed the message you sent, thinking it to be some adolescent prank. Really, Katerina? Marrying your Houseguard? That’s something from one of the fables I read to you when we were children. I would have thought you above such fancies.”

Lenna was about to speak in her own defence, but her wife did the honours for her. “Should I have waited to be married to someone Father alone chose? Shuffled off to some court like a bribe?”

“You should have had someone besides yourself in mind when you made a decision!” he replied sharply, sliding his pen into his inkwell like a knife into a back. “Inconsiderate. Impulsive! Just like Pyotr, just like…” Vladimir’s fury drained from him as his mind caught up to his mouth. Just like her Father. Two family members, alive and vital mere months before, both gone. 

A long pause followed, but Lenna hesitated to fill it with anything other than her breathing.

“Is it true?” Katerina asked at last. “Is Father dead?” 

“In his sleep, less than a week ago.”

Lenna didn’t need to hear anymore. She wrapped up Katerina in an embrace and squeezed her tightly. At first her wife fought it, pulling away as if to demand an explanation. But moments later, she relented. Her sobs were quiet, and Lenna wished she was out of her armour. She wanted to be with her wife, physically feel the touch of her skin against her. The best she could do was hold her tight and hope she knew that no matter what happened in the next few days, that her wife would be by her side for as long as she needed.

For herself, Magnus had been a good lord. There’d been a reason she’d accepted his offer of a Knighthood in the first place. Bold. Resolute. But he had a heart, and he treated the people under his rule with as much care as a monarch ever could. A decent man, one she’d sworn to defend up to the hilt of her blade. His passing would be felt for years, likely decades to come. Many were born to rule, few were worthy of the task. 

A part of her felt like she failed. From what she’d been told, it had been illness that had killed him in the end, not an enemy weapon. Still, her liege had died on her watch. The man she’d sworn an oath to, now midst the ancestors whose stony gaze they’d walked beneath less than an hour ago. That oath passed to his sons, and daughter of course. Though without a single heir with primacy, to whom did she pledge her blade?

“The Mounting will be in the morning,” Vladimir began again, his voice finding strength where Katerina’s had faltered. “I know this is sudden, and I know you’re grieving with the rest of us. But…I need to know your intentions. Father was clear; you’d get the same vote as the rest of us.”

Katerina pulled away from Lenna’s embrace, and her wife let her go. Her eyes were reddened, but the tears were gone now. 

“Very well. I’ll vote for Decimation.”

The laugh he gave in response was so cold Lenna was surprised it didn’t fog his breath. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not. Neither of us want another War of the Three Princes. The sheer waste involved-”

“-is a moot point. Katerina, sister, that won’t happen. Nor does it need to. I have the backing of the Bannermen in the North and the Coast. My marriage to Turai has bound me to her clan, who will ride to my aid should I need it. In the absence of Pyotr and by the rights of old law and the Light, I am this Kingdom’s ruler.” 

“And what does Adam have to say about that?” 

This gave her brother pause. Clearly he hadn’t expected the men outside anymore than they had. He turned to the desk and picked up his quill, though his hand merely froze, fingers tense and in danger of snapping it. 

“Adam is a blunt object. He may have a small cadre of loyal men, but he has neither the breadth of vision nor the trust of the realm. I’ve no doubt that after his little martial tantrum doesn’t give him what he wants, he’ll see things my way.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Vladimir’s hand moved back to the page. “I have certain contingencies in mind. Ones that will secure the safety and continuity of the true heir of the House of Forde. Rest, sister. We shall convene in the morning. I have a hope that you’ll listen to my proposal then…and be more reasonable with your expectations.”

Apparently seeing that she would be getting nowhere after being dismissed, Katerina spun in her skirt and left. Lenna followed. Before she could leave the room, Vladimir spoke again.

“Dame Lenna, could I speak with you for a moment?”

Lenna looked at her wife, wordlessly asking if that was okay. That she would be okay. 

“I’ll be alright,” she said. “He won’t try anything. Mir…Vladimir is harsher than he was when we were children, but he’s not a monster. I’ll be in the baths when you’re finished. Don’t take too long.” She leaned up to give Lenna a quick kiss, which Lenna returned with enthusiasm. The chance to join her in the baths was all the encouragement she needed to get this meeting finished up as soon as possible. The door closed behind her, leaving Lenna alone with her brother-in-law.

“I don’t believe we’ve met formally. I understand you pledged yourself as Houseguard while I was studying at the Anostos Academy.”

They actually had met. Several times, in fact. But that was Lennox. So, Lenna supposed, he was actually telling the truth.

“Pleasure is mine, your Highness,” she said, curtsying as best one could with a blade at her hip.

“I’m not familiar with House Stone. Is it far?” His tone implied curiosity but she’d been around men like this long enough to know when they were actually asking questions and when they were testing you. 

“It doesn’t exist, save on paper,” Lenna replied, her tone as if merely describing the weather. “But you already know that.”

Vladimir replied with a single, quiet chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I did. A spouse for a member of my family normally goes through an intensive vetting process. You skipped the line. So, naturally, I was curious.”

“I wasn’t aware of a line. But if there are suitors who take offense, they may address me in person. If they can take her from me, then they should have the opportunity to try.”

“Bold and defensive. A peculiar pick for my sister. Her choice in partner has been…well, an open secret. I would have never thought she’d settle down with someone so….”

“Assertive? Honourable?”

“Direct,” he finished. Dumb, in other words. Lenna was tired of the games that Princes played.

“Your highness, what do you want me to say? That I don’t love her? That this is a marriage of convenience to keep her from being married off against her will? Well I can’t. I love her. Damn me and for all the reasons only the gods know, but I love her. I would put myself to torment and hazard blind oblivion to keep her safe. And…and I think she feels the same way about me.”

A tense silence, like a slow pull of a longbow, stretched between them. At last, he said something she didn't expect.

“Good. So long as my sister is in safe hands, my mind is at ease. You may go, Dame Lenna. Pleasant to meet you again.” His head dipped and he began to write once more, making it clear that his side of the conversation had concluded. It wasn’t til she was halfway to the baths that the last thing he said connected. 

“Gods…maybe I am ‘direct’,” she mumbled to herself, and consoled her ego with the thought of seeing her wife naked in a few moments.

***

By the time they were carrying their bags into the room they’d been assigned, Riven had gotten antsy. Their long carriage ride had been a veritable buffet of teasing, both subtle and covert. But little relief had been given. Crys maintained control of her chastity cage, keeping Riven in a delirious state of arousal that she’d done her best to hide from the others. Her carefully sculpted composure split apart like threadbare hose as soon as they shut the door to their room. The lock was barely thrown across when the former spy practically leapt at Crys.

Riven’s kiss was forceful, needy, and nearly bowled her partner over. Crys had just enough wherewithal to toss the bags down at her sides, rather than from their position over her shoulder, to keep from spilling ass over cauldron onto the stone floor. 

“Gods,” Riven said through gasps as they broke the kiss just long enough to breathe. “I’ve been…waiting…so long…”

“And have you…been…a good girl?” Crys asked, her hand sliding down to feel the metal lump that kept her submissive’s cock caged and under control.

“Yes…yes! So good, so goooood!” Riven purred, turning to melted butter under the heat of their shared need. Crys clothes were thrown off in violent fashion, while Riven’s vanished into her in a flash of white light. The fashionable dress she’d worn had vanished, leaving nothing but the chastity cage and a belt with which she concealed the Thornblade against her body. Both of those came off moments later, her cock finally free for the first time outside of bathing.

Every touch to her sensitive flesh sent lightning through her body. The slightest brush of Crys’ hand against her, an errant touch, and Riven’s staggered. Her toes curled, her knees knocked together. Unprepared for the sudden, overwhelming sensation, she squirted.

“Aaaah!~” she cried, spilling gushes of watery cum down her thigh and onto the floor. She hadn’t even gotten hard. It just poured out of her, cock flexing weakly as weeks of teasing manifested in an embarrassing, pathetic, but oh so pleasurable release. Crys didn’t begrudge her this, or look disappointed. She returned to kissing her lover, all while using a pair of fingers to milk Riven to completion by pulling her foreskin back and forth, back and forth, gently tugging the rest of the cum out of her.

The pleasure faded, waves of mind-melting endorphins ebbing at last, but not quite fading entirely. Benefits of her new physique. Orgasm was no longer the end of the fun…though how quickly she came was still a little embarrassing.

“Can’t say I’m shocked,” her partner purred, gathering a little of the watery seed with a finger and sliding it along her tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” she began, but Crys put her lips back on Riven’s. 

“You can make it up to me by getting on all fours upon the bed. I traded with one of Katerina’s friends for something I think you’ll enjoy~”

*** 

In the afterglow, late in the night when the halls became quiet and the lamps were dimmed, a question rose up in Riven’s mind. Crys had her arms around her, holding her close as the Big Spoon, her face pressed up against Riven’s bare back.

“Which room should we move into, do you think?”

Crys stirred. “Whuh?” 

“When we get back, I mean. You have the Captain of the Guard’s room and I have my little tower bedroom, either would be ideal, but I was curious if you had a particular preference.”

A pause. “Might be better if we kept separate,” Crys replied matter-of-factly. “We both work different schedules, be a pain to keep waking each other if I work the nightwatch and you have a morning briefing, and vice versa. As well I need to be available to muster with the rest of the guards in an emergency.”

Riven rolled over to face Crys. She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but what she could held little warmth. 

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked. The guardswoman shook her head lightly, then put her head flat against the pillow. 

“No, you didn’t. It’s just a matter of priorities. I’m the head of the guards, I can’t just...”

“Lenna and Katerina live with one another.”

“Yes, but they’re married.”

“Then we get married!” Riven said, surprised by both the words and the fervency with which she said them. Crys looked like she’d just recommended she should eat her own head.

“That’s…a little fast, Riven dear.”

Riven sat out of bed and lit the room’s only lamp with her finger. Crys sat up too, rolling to put her feet on the floor as if preparing to flee. Both of them were naked, and though the last thing she wanted to do was ruin the first night they’d had privacy together...that seemed to be the thing Riven was about to do.

“We’ve been seeing each other for months, Crys. You matter a lot to me. I thought I mattered a lot to you.”

“Of course you do!” her partner replied. “That’s not the issue at all. Of course I want to keep seeing you, it’s just-“

“Keep seeing me?” The repeated words came out much colder from Riven’s mouth. “Like I’m your favourite sellsheath?” She hadn’t meant the words to come out as pointed as they did, but this was not how she expected the conversation to go at all. 

Crys took a moment to collect herself before replying. When she spoke again, her voice had the conciliatory tone of someone trying to end a hostage crisis. 

“I apologise. I was not aware that you were having thoughts that far into the future.”

Riven’s heart sank. “You weren’t thinking of a future with me?”

“I’m at the beck and call of my King, and through him Katerina. I don’t…I can’t plan that far ahead. I may be called to give my life at any moment. I can’t form permanent connections knowing that, at any moment, they could be severed.”

“That’s what life is, Crys!” Riven spat, anger overwhelming her sorrow. “That’s ALL life is! You were the one who saved me. You gave me a second chance at life free from the people who used me like a weapon. I want to be with you. I Love You.” 

There it was. Three words she’d wanted to say but hadn’t. Three words hurled from her heart like crossbow quarrels into Crys. The other woman stuttered, her lip quivering. Then, in a rush, like she was afraid the words might vanish in her throat before she finished the sentence, she shot back.

“How can you know it’s real?”

Riven heard the words, understood their literal meaning, but the sentence wouldn’t parse. Like ink that had run on a page, she peered at them with her mind’s eye, trying to understand what Crys had meant.

“What do you mean ‘real’?”

Crys visibly struggled with whether to proceed or not, her mouth opening and closing three full times before she spoke again. When she did, her voice had a flat affect.

“You said it yourself. I was the one who saved your life. It was my intervention that kept you from being killed, that protected you, that coached you, that…that helped make you the woman you are now. And I’m proud of that. I’m proud of you. But…how do I know I’m not still your jailor? How do I keep you, knowing that it’s possible you’d never be with me if I hadn’t made you mine by force?”

Crys sagged, as if just speaking her fears aloud had taken all her energy. All her strength. She fidgeted with her hands, distracting herself while waiting for Riven to make the next move. Riven, for her part, had no idea what to say to that. The thought that Crys still thought of her as her jailer had not even occurred to her. That had barely been a meaningful part of their relationship at the beginning of her life as herself, let alone now. But the revelation that that aspect hadn’t vanished from her partner’s mind made it clear that this wasn’t something they could just blow past in their shared, mutual passion. This would have to be something they addressed, openly, together. 

So obviously, Riven did the reasonable thing that any functional adult would do in a situation that required both total honestly and emotional openness: she got dressed and fled the room. 

Riven couldn’t help but notice the magic light of her Weaving was dimmer than it had been when she’d put the dress away. Probably just a fluke. An optical illusion due to the reduced illumination of the little room they’d been assigned. Crys had started another round of pleadings, but Riven wasn’t having it. The taller woman left her partner alone in the room and stalked off, looking for a distraction. 

Anything.

*** 

She didn’t have any particular direction to her wandering, nor did she have any inkling as to where she was going. Nevertheless, Riven trudged. The argument with Crys rose up again and again, repeating ad nauseam like a bad play she was trapped in the cheap seats for. Over and over her fears, her worries, her earnest wants and deepest desires, they all poured out of her internal monologue. Then, when she’d thought she’d worked up the courage to voice them, she found a new corridor, and kept walking.

To distract herself, she got familiar with the layout of the Kralgrav. It truly was labrynthine, with many paths that weren’t bothered to be lit at night. Some not even during the day, or whatever passed for a day when underground like this. Thankfully she was never without a source of illumination, though given her dower mood, perhaps trudging alone in the dark would have suited her more.

Eventually, tired as all getout and cognizant that she’d need her wits if she was going to be any help to the Princess in the morning, she found her way through the tunnels back to her room. But on the return journey, there was something different about the hallway. A chill had fallen where there’d been unseasonable warmth. She was no expert in caves, perhaps temperature changes like this were not uncommon. Especially as the warmth of day faded and the cold night air filtered in through the various ventilation slits and pockets of air. Maybe someone had opened a door and the temperature was just now equalizing.

But…she didn’t think that was it. There was something more, something that made the little fuzzy hair on the back of her neck stand up. Riven stood stock still in the corridor that led to both her and Crys’ room, as well as the one where Katerina and Lenna were no doubt sleeping peacefully. She waited for something to appear, to show itself amid the dim light of the lantern hanging from a sconce on the wall. Frustrated, she snapped her fingers and flashed the corridor with a sudden burst of magical illumination. It banished all shadows from sight, leaving the room lit as if from a noonday sun. Her energy faded, letting the hallway return to its original low light level.

Then she saw it. There, in the flickering lamplight. Directly opposite Katerina’s bedroom.

A shadow.

A shadow that did not yield when the dim light touched it. 

A shadow in the shape of a human being.

Riven sprung back into her room, fetched her Thornblade, and thrust it forward out the door. But when she returned to the corridor, the shape was gone. She swept her head back and forth down either side of the corridor as if searching for a fugitive. Then realized there was no point. Most of the tunnels were dark enough for a shadow to hide with ease. Even if she alerted the whole of the Kralgrav, there’d be no finding it. But she knew what she saw. 

“You okay?” Crys asked. Whatever argument they’d been having, it was forgotten in the rush to protect Riven. Without even thinking or, she noticed with a blush, even putting on a top, Crys was at her side, sword in hand, ready to fight. “It’s not ghosts, is it? Was it the ghosts? I fucking hate ghosts.”

“No,” Riven said. “I don’t think we’re in immediate danger, but someone was here. A magic user.”

“Hostile?” Crys asked, then rolled her eyes at her own comment. “Sorry, tired, of course they’re hostile. Don’t suppose you recognised them?”

Riven shook her head. “Couldn’t see them. But...there’s only one mage I know who can make the darkness do her bidding.”

The comment lingered, and for a moment Riven was getting painful flashbacks to their previous, pause-laden conversation. Then, gratefully, Crys cut through the silence.  

“I trust you,” Crys said, gently placing a hand on Riven’s shoulder. “We tell the Princess and Lenna first thing in the morning. Til then, come to bed. If we’re not in immediate danger, we’re going to need all the sleep we can get.”

Riven couldn’t argue on that point. And for that, she was glad.

***

“It was Savin?” Katerina asked, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. Unfortunately, the acoustics in the Greathall were impeccable. “Are you sure?”

They clustered around one side of an enormous circular marble table and inlaid with an ancient map of the Kingdom made of coloured tiles. Katerina sat in a very expensive but very uncomfortable looking chair made of fine oak. A red seat cushion had been flattened by decades of pompous asses, and Lenna could tell by the way she was wiggling around that she was desperate to find a comfortable place for her tailbone to rest. 

“Positive,” Riven replied, much more able to keep her voice from travelling. “Well, I’m mostly certain. I’ve seen that black, inky magic before. The same power that slithers up her arm. The same energy that animates the Tethertext.”

Lenna didn’t have much to contribute at this point. She was just doing her best to keep her face impassive while she scanned the room for threats. Placed equidistant around the table were seven chairs, each representing one of the Forde siblings. Four of them were empty at the moment, including the one for Pyotr: an ornate throne adorned with silver filigree, and lined with tiny rubies. Also, Lenna had to note, a much more comfortable cushion.

On one side of the table opposite Katerina was Vladimir’s little contingent. He was discussing something quietly, finger absently playing with the first few pages of a stack of documents of varying ages and materials. He wore a similar outfit to the one Lenna first met him in, but with silver piping around the shoulders and the formal ruby circlet of his status as a Prince. Flanking him on either side was his wife, Turai, and his wife’s Sword-Sister, Jenniq. Turai was the one on the other end of the conversation from Vladimir, but Lenna momentarily caught her gaze. As their eyes locked, Lenna suddenly felt like a prey animal catching a glimpse of the hunter. She kept her eyes moving, the sudden tension in her legs and back releasing as soon as she broke eye contact.

Around those at the table, empty tiers of bench seats spoke of a time when the Mounting brought all the Bannermen to witness control of the Kingdom and its territories pass. Higher above still, the great balcony crudely called ‘the Maiden’s Head’, where the daughters of lords watched without chance for comment or consideration as they were married off to secure the peace for their fathers and brothers. With its large guardrails (to prevent accidents, of course, not to prevent vengeful daughters falling out of the sky with knives to slay their treacherous kin), it looked for all the world like a stone birdcage.

Her attention dropped back down toward the other side of the table. There, Adam sat by himself in formal but altogether practical dress. Scarlet doublet, golden sash, and dark purple breeches. He eschewed the traditional circlet for a gorget, the bright red gem just beneath his larynx. Despite his civilian dress, he had his sword. No, not just with him. It was out of its scabbard, its pommel cupped in his palm, blade point pressed to the ground. As Lenna watched, the third oldest brother in the Forde household used his fingers to spin the weapon around like a top. Whether bringing out a sword was more transparent threats or just an overgrown child playing with a toy, Lenna couldn’t say. Despite the martial affectation, Adam’s attention was entirely focused on Vladimir. The sword spun around, and around, seemingly without anyone but her to notice.

“Alright, keep an eye out for now. Set up a few of the warden sigils I taught you around the Kralgrav. Preferably without being seen. That should inform us if there’s a reappearance of this ‘shadow’.” 

Riven exchanged nods with Lenna and left the way she came. For a brief moment there, when the morning began, Lenna had been sure the worst thing she’d have to do was break up a scuffle between two siblings. But with this report of blackest magics, the situation was much more dire than she’d surmised.

Lenna crouched to get closer to Katerina’s ear. “What do you think Savin is doing here?” From this position, she could also smell the perfume her wife wore. Sense memory responses making her shiver involuntarily. Why did they have to do anything else besides fuck and eat grapes, like the rest of the highborn?

“Any number of things. The Magisters have a vested interest in disrupting any peaceful transfer of power within their purview. A weakened Kingdom means they can more easily force a manufactured claim on our border provinces. Enough whispered words into the ears of our neighbours, in our weakened state, and they can shatter us like a hammer on glass.”

As Riven opened the ancient doorway to leave, she held the portal open for a young, portly man who muttered some genuine thanks. He was holding a truly enormous collection of books with surprising ease. So high was the pile that he’d had to crouch to get it through the door frame. He wore a comfortable set of clothing that conspicuously lacked the traditional colours of the House, choosing a soft sea green linen pourpoint that recalled the young man’s alma mater. He had a ready smile and rosy cheeks, totally unlike the other Fordes she’d met so far, who seemed to hate a good meal almost as much as they hated each other. His silver hair was cut longer than his brothers, dangling beneath his earlobes before curling up a little at the end.

“Sorry I’m late!” he said, rushing to set down the enormous pile of books onto the table with a huff. “I was gathering some tomes from the old archive that may be of assistance!”

Adam cast a wary eye at both of his brothers, and at Kat for good measure. “I was told Magnus would not be voting. In fact, I believe I had both of your words on that.”

“I’ve invited Magnus here to be the Arbiter for the Mounting,” Vladimir explained, then with the mask of indifference slipping, he twisted the knife. “You did know about that option, right? How contested claims of sufficient import can be made to require an impartial judge?”

Katerina cut in. “And if I recall correctly, should a stalemate be reached, the winner is automatically the one with the closest patrilineal claim.” The words were less for everyone’s benefit and more for Kat to show that she was onto the plan that her brother was trying to pull. 

Vladimir offered her a generous smile. “Just so, sister. Just so.”

“Little Mags?” Adam sputtered. “Your idea of an impartial judge is our own brother? What’s stopping him from just picking his favourite? Hell, what’s stopping him from declaring that he is the rightful claimant and bypassing us both?”

‘Both’. Not all three. Lenna saw the muscles in Katerina’s neck tense. Lenna hadn’t said kind things about Adam in the time they’d known each other, and it was clear the feeling was at the very least mutual.

“For one,” Magnus clarified, “the rules are very clear that the Arbiter is not allowed to be in a position to materially benefit from his ruling. Otherwise, my ruling is declared null and void. And for two, I have no desire to ever rule anything or anyone.”

Vladimir nodded. “In truth, it was his idea. I tried to extol the virtues of voting with me, but I was unable to convince him. But I wanted all of us to participate in the meeting.” He dragged his eyes across the room, pointedly starting with Katerina before finishing with Adam.

“All of us who you can find, you mean,” Adam said, then with a touch of bile. “Certainly a convenient outcome that Pyotr, a very skilled kraken hunter and sailor, just disappeared one day without a trace.”

“Please,” Vladimir waved off the suggestion, but then took it in an absolutely unhinged direction that made Lenna’s jaw want to drop. “You know as well as I that I’ve been the real mind behind the throne for years now. Now that Father’s dead and I don’t have to cover for Pyotr’s vacations and a veritable parade of unwed mothers, I can drop the facade and get down to addressing this kingdom’s needs.”

“Father’s body’s not even cold and you’re already tossing him out of the chair,” Adam said with a shake of his head. “Well, let’s get this witch staked. Simple majority then, yes? Our trading partners, not to mention our Bannermen, will be put at ease if we can sort out the succession as soon as possible. Then I can get started making this Kingdom the power it should rightfully have been decades ago!” 

“I believe,” Magnus began, his voice softer than his brothers, “It’d be customary to present the rationale for why you should be declared the rightful heir to the throne in Pyotr’s absence. Let’s start with you, Vladimir. As the oldest, I suppose it makes sense that you begin.”

Vladimir nodded. With barely concealed effort, he stood without assistance to his full height. Turai was by his side, hands behind her back as if it disinterested in her husband rising to stand without his crutches. Lenna could tell from her face that if he should falter, she would keep him safe. She felt the same way about Kat.

“Thank you, Arbiter. First, I’d like to draw your attention, if I may, to what the foundational charter of the Kingdom of the Frontier states. According to law-”

“According to law,” Adam interrupted, mimicking Vladimir’s deliberate cadence with a petulance that only a sibling could, “we’d wait for Pyotr’s body to wash ashore and be identified. But the Black Shoals of the Hundred Island Sea rarely gives up its dead. There is no provision in law for if a rightful heir just disappears.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Magnus replied, sorting through his book pile to find one bound between copper plates instead of leather. Holes along the side of each page indicated it had once been held together in a trio of rings—a popular choice for the larger, ponderous tomes back during the Arcanum. “According to the charter, there are several similar cases that are provided for based on existing precedent. Spontaneous combustion, transmographic inversion, something called ‘voidfolly’…” The last word left his mouth with an upward inflection, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d read it right.

“That would be the theoretical state of being permanently lost between Voidgates,” Katerina clarified. While Magnus continued to read extreme examples, Lenna crouched down again.

“Is that real? Can that actually happen?” Lenna whispered.

Her wife scrunched up her face. “In essence. Well, not really. But if I told you what it really meant, you would never use a Voidgate again.”

“At any rate,” Vladimir said slightly louder than before, “there is in fact precedence for what has happened at the moment. The statutes clearly state that should the line of succession be questioned due to some kind of intervening uncertainty, then the person whose existence is in doubt is assumed lost. The Throne then passes to whoever is next. Which, in this case, would be me. In addition, our nation’s strongest alliance is forged with the lands that my wife is bound by blood to. The Bannermen trust me, and I have good relations with our trading partners. In summary, I am the only logical pick for King.” Vladimir gingerly sat back down in his chair, doing his best not to look relieved. 

“And what happens if Pyotr were to appear and waltz through that door?” Adam asked, pointing to the only entrance to this greathall. It looked ancient, almost petrified. Appropriately, it remained motionless.

“Is this the start of your rationale, brother?” Magnus asked with genuine curiosity. Adam shot him a sneer before his features softened instantly. Whatever was the matter with him, not even Adam could hold much ire for Magnus. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he said, standing and smoothing out the wrinkling in his breeches. Even out of his armour, he stood like a soldier. A carefully catered appearance, but it didn’t look like an actor playing at statecraft either. As reasoned as Vladimir’s argument was, Lenna could see why Adam might think the Bannermen would side with him if push came to shove.

And as bitter as the draught may be to taste, she thought, he may be right.

“Distinguished, impartial Arbiter, my dearest siblings, and your wives of course,” he began, sounding for all the world like an insincere salesman at a market trying to hock stolen jewellery. “Our Kingdom stands at a momentous occasion. King Magnus was a strong leader, a gifted diplomat, and a decent man. It is the first of those qualifications that kept our lands safe from our neighbours. That held back the potential intrusion of the insidious forces of Thrast. But we cannot rely on force of personality alone. Not anymore. In a changing world, we must become strong. A power worth respecting. We cannot afford…to show weakness.” His speech ended with his eyes falling upon Vladimir, who took the remark as uncharitably as it had been offered.

“Are you implying-” Vladimir began, but was cut off by Adam raising his voice again. Now at full, parade ground bombast, he truly did sound like an aspiring tyrant. 

“I’m not implying anything, brother. I’m stating, flatly, that you would be a weak ruler. You may have been decent at playing administrator, at pushing figures or talking over tea. But it was our father’s spine of iron that allowed you that opportunity.”

“You vile prick,” Katerina shot back, stabbing a finger in his direction. “You fuck off to play Witchhunters at the far end of nowhere and then have the temerity to ride back here and demand the Throne?”

“Speaking of Witch,” Adam replied, venom in that last word, “our very own family sparkler. You can’t very well accuse anyone of ‘playing’ when everyone knows you’ve spent the better part of the last decade dressing-up a never ending rotation of dolls. What’s more, you brought the latest in your collection to this very council. And she does look ever so splendid. Who made her that outfit, hmm?” 

Lenna felt the urge to ask if he’d like to inspect the craftsmanship up close while she forcefed it to him through a mouth without teeth. But thankfully, Young Magnus interceded with a strategic clearing of his throat.

“I’m afraid we may have drifted a little far afield,” he said charitably. “Adam, if you would be so kind as to stick to the reasons why you should be chosen, as opposed to why other candidates should not be.”

Adam had the gall to actually bow. “My apologies. This is my first Mounting, and as it is in combat, the blood gets up if you aren’t careful. Let me try again. As the candidate with the most martial experience, and perhaps the only one fit to lead soldiers into battle, our people would feel more comfortable under my leadership. I’ve already reached out to Aldeigir and Murom, two of our most important Bannermen. They have confirmed their support for me.”

“What?” Vladimir asked, surprise betrayed in his voice. “Those are the provinces bordering the Wild Sere. I’ve talked to them. I know them!”

“You know only what they’ve told you,” Adam said with barely restrained glee. “But I have on good authority that our countrymen on the border with your Horselords don’t necessarily hold them in the highest esteem. Surely they’re impressive warriors, in their own way, but they do have the tendency to ignore our borders. Graze on our pastures, drink from our streams.”

For the first time, Turai spoke up, pointing derisively at the map upon the large table in front of them. “The land is not lines! We respect your people, your homes, but we have no interest in the little ticks on a map.”

“Ah, but Murom’s House Natja does. Those lines mean a good deal for those whose livelihoods depend on the crops your ‘Ride’ tramples, the livestock they scare, the game and gathered herbs that are stripped from the land as if by a swarm of locusts. And Aldeigir has had to put up with half a dozen border raids by our supposed allies in the last year alone.”

“That is clanless! Motherless outlaws. They do not ride with us!”

Adam shrugged serenely. They’re on your side of those ‘ticks on a map’ as you say. If you can’t control them, then perhaps you aren’t worthy allies after all.”

Adam had successfully pissed off everybody at the table. Lenna’s own wrath ebbed as she looked around. What was his plan? He wasn’t getting anyone’s votes, it was like he was just toying with everyone. Like a cruel little bully. But  was that all it was? Getting petty revenge for some slight that they’d given him on the playground decades ago?

Siblings, Lenna shook her head. Perhaps being an only child was a blessing in disguise.

“Is that the end of your rationale?” Magnus asked, feigning cheer but without much effort.

“Indeed. I await your reasoned, learned judgment. Oh. After Katerina gives her own speech, I suppose.” Adam sat down, motioning over to his sister. She stood, then balanced her hands on her fingers atop the table’s surface. Ironically, her position closest to the door, and this closest to the ‘south’ of the little miniature Kingdom, meant that her left hand was just a few scale miles away from where the Winter Court was. 

“Thank you Adam. Glad to see age, life experience, and the constant threat of death hasn’t changed you one iota.” She turned toward Magnus and Vladimir. “Look, I’ll keep this brief. I don’t think any of us would be a great fit for King. The Frontiers is too much territory to govern long term. My solution, Decimation, or distribution and devolution of control into separate, bordering regions with an unbreakable defensive alliance, is the most reasonable option. The only other option is we fight, and nobody wants that. That’s why-”

A trio of knocks on the door interrupted her. They all turned. The staff had all been informed of the seriousness of the meeting, and just how inappropriate an interruption would be without explicit permission. But as they waited to see if the noises were halucinated, Adam began to laugh. It was a quick, cutting sound. 

“No, no,” Adam told her with a placating wave. “There won’t be any war, little sister. Rest assured: there won’t even be a fight. You can come in now!” The last sentence was delivered in a shout toward the old, scarred door.

Strolling in, towering above all the room’s occupants and having to duck beneath the threshold, was a giant. Muscular arms bulging in a traveller’s tunic, a single leather pauldron on his left shoulder. Resting on his right was an enormous sword. So impractically big that it…

Oh. Fuck.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” Adam began anew, strolling over to greet his brother with a firm clasp of the arm. “Allow me to present to those who may be visitors to the Kingdom: Paris Forde. Fifth in line to the throne, fresh off a scintillating tour of the arenas of Xanthus Kor, I invited him to our meeting. And, unlike Vladimir’s messengers, mine actually reached him.”

Paris gave a single, brief wave to the eldest brother. “Hey Mir. Been a while. Wanna ask who I’m voting for?”

“I suggest we adjourn for now,” Vladimir said, shooting to his feet before stumbling. His wife caught him deftly, holding him upright in a move that looked both buttery smooth and required incredible reflexes. All the while, Turai made it look like a mere romantic affectation. She was good.

Adam looked about to shoot down the idea, then another of those frustrating grins split his lips. “Good idea, brother. Paris is likely tired from the road, after all. And this meeting has been ever so productive already! Let’s reconvene tomorrow morning at the same time. Then we can take a vote…and find out the name of your next King.”

***

“Just how fucked are we?” Lenna asked. They’d half made it to the banquet hall when she’d asked the question in a rush, as if the words were joined by hyphens.

Justhowfuckedarewe

“I thought I told you to wait until we have some privacy,” Katerina scolded, glancing back down the narrow corridor to check for eavesdroppers.

Lenna was not a nervous person, but the kinds of political machinations that were afoot put the pair of them, not to mention the commoners under their care, in a danger that she couldn’t best with a blade. She didn’t get a positive impression from Adam from her time as Houseguard in the palace, and it didn’t look like he’d made any personal improvements. If he became King, there’s no telling how capricious or vindictive he might be to his siblings. She’d served abroad, in nations both vast and small, where petty men did miserable things to the people under their power. 

“Should we be preparing contingency? Do I have to start looking for places that will grant sanctuary?” 

Katerina grabbed her wife’s wrist and pulled them both into an alcove. A notch had been carved into the rock for some inscrutable, now forgotten purpose. Perhaps something had stood there once, or it was just a place for people to enter to allow someone else to pass. Regardless, it was dark and out of the way, and for the moment she was pressed against the Princess with no witnesses around and Kat had just yanked on her hand with authoritative force and…

Momentarily, Lenna forgot what she was anxious about.

“You need to keep hold of yourself, Lenna dear,” she began, her tone stern but sympathetic. “You can’t show fear or weakness here any more than you can bare your neck to an opponent in a swordfight. My brothers…well Vladimir and Adam at least…are ruthless negotiators who learned from the same teachers I did.”

Lenna nodded, her gaze snapping to the alcove’s entrance as she heard footsteps approach. Moments later, a servant shuffled past. If they knew someone was in this little sliver of rock, they didn’t comment.

“Right. I’m sorry.” She was. She hated feeling this powerless, and that frustration was making her edgy. Katerina could obviously feel it too. Which is why, when her hands wrapped around the Knight’s waist, Lenna nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Are you alright?” Kat asked, this time seemingly genuinely concerned.

Blushing a non-trivial amount, Lenna nodded again. “It’s not fear for my life, understand. I have to protect you. I need to protect you. But I’ve my honour to consider. I pledged myself to the Throne.”

Katerina reached up to run her hand through Lenna’s short hair. When she spoke again, it was in the voice of a put-upon maiden. “Oh my poor, brave Knight! Caught between love and duty. My shining protector. How can I subdue the worries plaguing your noble heart?” 

There was a long pause before Lenna replied, as if she was waiting for the punchline for a joke that never came. 

“What.”

But for the moment, the only answer she got was the Princess getting onto her knees, bunching up her skirt, and using it to cushion herself against the rough stone. Then, with frightening ease, she freed Lenna’s cock from her pants. Either some kind of signal had been misread, or Katerina had some incredibly strange ways of alleviating anxiety. 

“Kat, I really don’t think-“ she began, but was silenced with a sharp intake of breath as her partner stroked her length. She was very sensitive down there, even after all this time.

“Shh, my brave Knight. You must not compromise my virtue by making too much noise,” she looked over her shoulder toward the very lit, though not currently occupied, corridor. The little nook they were in was shaded, but anyone even passingly curious would look in and see a most debauched act indeed. Frustratingly, she’d found out right at the start of their sexual relationship that Lenna found it hot to risk getting caught. Using it like leverage over a political rival, she played with her partner’s kinks like the strings on a puppet to get what she wanted. Soon, with the sight of a Princess on her knees before her, her soft hands pumping her length, Lenna was helplessly erect.

“Godsdamn it Katerina, what is wrong with you,” Lenna hissed rhetorically, but made no move to stop her. Her acquiescence was rewarded with the blissful sensation of lips taking her length inside.

“That’s it, my powerful warrior. Let your worries fall away like the leaves of autumn,” Katerina purred in that ridiculous voice. Lenna, despite feeling like she was being made fun of, was nevertheless enjoying this role Kat was playing.

She drowned more of Lenna’s dick down her throat, and the Knight had to catch herself on the wall to keep her balance. The other hand went around to cup the back of her wife’s head. With a grunt of frustration, when she tried to thrust forward, to take some measure of control, Katerina pulled back. She was driving this runaway wagon.

“Ooh,” she swooned, tongue lapping against the underside of the head as she continued the perverse taunting. “Your sword is so powerful, so mighty. I can see why you’re the strongest Knight in the land! This is fit only for the mightiest of foes…only to be sheathed by your loyal, demure Princess.”

Why was she like this? Why could she be a normal woman about sex? Equal parts frustrating and alluring, Lenna knew there was no point trying to change her. 

She was getting close. Lenna could feel it, but Katerina could too. Totally foresaking any pleasure for herself, the Princess instead derived her joy from metering out the bliss for her wife in the way she saw fit. Her pace slowed, oral affection ending and leaving her to an agonizingly slow, teasing handjob.

“But as a Knight, you obey your Princess, right?” Katerina asked, batting her eyes like the epitome of innocence. 

“Grr…yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Katerina.”

A squeeze, unpleasant and sharp, made Lenna gasp and stifle a curse. The sound of footsteps down the corridor brought her hand over her mouth as she watched for the interloper to pass. Standing stock still, or kneeling as the case may be, the figure passed, only briefly eclipsing the light from the corridor.

“Yes, my Princess,” Katerina corrected.

“Yes, my Princess,” Lenna repeated, rewarded with another luxurious lick. 

“And who does this sword belong to?” she asked, hands and tongue making it very clear she didn’t mean the weapon in the sheath at Lenna’s side.

“You, my Princess,”

“Good girl. And who decides when you get to loose yourself?”

“You my Princess!” she repeated, a little louder and with a lot more need. She was so close, fuck she could practically taste it.

“And who is your loyalty to? Who do you owe your mind, body, and soul to?”

“You my Prince-ah!” Her final words were rewarded with Katerina going straight to the base, bypassing even the hint of a gag reflex. She’d been practicing, apparently. At any rate, that was more than enough for Lenna. She groaned out loud, head lolling back as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Seed poured down the Princess’ throat, eagerly swallowed down with a gulping that only aided the completion of the climax. Lenna was so taken by the sensation of exploding into the stomach of her wife that she only opened her eyes a full half minute later. 

At some point, a chambermaid had appeared at the entrance to the nook, looking totally aghast at the perverse act before her. It was only at this moment that the Knight realized Katerina had positioned them both in a way to conceal her identity, putting her back to the corridor. Lenna, a tall woman with rather distinctive features (including, very clearly now, a penis) was in full line of sight. The Princess would have plausible deniability; Lenna very much would not.

“Can I help you?” Lenna asked the maid, making no effort to cover herself. The woman vanished, quick footsteps revealing she was maybe half a step away from a dead sprint away from the scene she’d stumbled into.

“Glad we had an audience,” Kat said as the cock popped out of her perfect lips. “Hate to perform for an audience of one.”

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Lenna asked, more tired than actually aggrieved.

Katerina stood up and gave Lenna a kiss. Lenna returned it, studiously ignoring the taste in her mouth.

“You’re feel better, right? You’re calmer? Clear headed?” 

“A little,” Lenna admitted with a light shrug. At the scowl she received, she held up her hands defensively. “Okay a lot.” 

“Good. You were no used to me as a nervous wreck.” Katerina pulled them both out of the nook and back in the direction they’d been walking before, toward their assigned quarters.

“While I’m not ungrateful,” Lenna said, “my concerns remain, dear. We’re one day away from this place becoming our prison, or worse, our tomb. I doubt you’ll be able to suck your way out of this situation entirely.”

Katerina grinned. “There’s my impudent woman of action. That was but the appetizer, in more ways than one. You and I will order something from the kitchens, then we plan. My family has underestimated me my entire life. It’s about time they realize their mistake.”

Lenna nodded, then looked down past Kat’s eyes. “Admittedly, the case to take you seriously is more difficult with a rope of my cum dangling from your chin.”

Katerina gathered the mess up her hand and swallowed it, not stopping the motion even when a pair of guards rounded the corner in front of them.

“My sweet, simple dove, I’d have thought you would understand that I am the most dangerous on my knees. After all: that’s when you’re between my teeth~”

***

The rest of the day after the abortively short Mounting and the exhibitionist blowjob was taken up by plans for their next move. Katerina was fully tackling the problem of how to overcome the disadvantage in votes, preparing arguments, drafting messages and then tearing them up. She’d gone through half a sheaf of paper and terrified the scribe who had fetched it for her so bad they hadn’t returned with the pen ink they promised. 

“Useless bastards,” Katerina cursed, carefully sheparding the last of an ink bottle with a strategic tilt to get as much of the dregs as possible.

“I’ll see if I can find you another one. Can you hold out for a while?” Lenna asked. In truth, even though she was no longer in a panic, she felt fucking useless. Moreover, it had been almost a full day since she’d had the time to exercise, and she was getting antsy about it. This arena was her wife’s domain, not hers. She left with promises to return with a fresh bottle, a comment barely acknowledged with a grumble, and went in search of a sweat.

One of the more visually striking rooms of the whole Kralgrav was the Gardens. Lenna remembered it distinctly from one of her visits as a place one could go to blow off steam and also, almost as importantly, see the sun. One of the walls had been replaced by thick, hazy glass. Nowhere near the clarity and craftswomanship of the Green House back in the Winter Court, it was nevertheless sufficient to let natural light in, as well as reveal the breathtaking vista of the valley beneath them. As if the wall had been cut straight through, revealing the world beneath their feet. Along the opposite wall, glacial meltwater rolled down the walls in a steady trickle, feeding row upon row of densely packed planters full of all varieties of flora. Root vegetables, Spring flowers, and the shoots of a dozen fresh sprouts of varying description. Maybe this had been where Katerina had gotten the idea for her Green House in the first place, Lenna thought. 

But that hadn’t been what drew her attention in the first place. What had caused her to pause her walk had been the sound of grunting, of heavy breathing, and of exertion. After getting her mind out of the gutter (and of the previous night’s activities in the baths), she peeked into the wide doorway to see Paris Forde running through sword drills.

He was stripped to his waist, sweat glistening from an enormous, muscular body that held not an insubstantial number of scars. One particularly grotesque slash mark ran from his navel to just beneath where his heart. A killing blow, if he hadn’t received immediate medical or magical attention. A fit physique, scars, combined with the light stubble on his cheeks, he’d be enough to make any maiden swoon. Any maidens with an affection for men, at least. Thankfully, Lenna didn’t carry that particular burden.

Her attention was on his form. Obviously trained by a professional from birth, he’d also clearly seen real combat. The flourishes of a gentleman learning how to fight on the training yard had been excised, replaced with practical, calculated economy of movement. The little tricks you might catch up a prancing fop weren’t there, but the certainty of a lordling in armour was. Competence and confidence: a dangerous combination.

“Have I met with your approval?” Paris asked, though he did not stop his routine.

“You handle a weapon well,” she said, standing up from her lean and entering the room. Once in, she saw other accoutrements to indicate the room’s current use. A little mat to blunt the stone floor’s hardness for wrestling drills, laundered towels, measured weights, and a set of blunted practice weapons. His own sword was in his hand for the drills, its scabbard and belt leaning against the rack of weapons.

“‘For a Prince’, you mean,” he said, not losing his smile. 

“I didn’t say that,” Lenna said, though she might as well have. Paris had been the brother she’d been exposed to the least when she was posted to the family castle. When he’d left on his absurd quest to ‘find himself a cause’ or somesuch, he’d been a tall, stringy youth with a lot of energy and a penchant for chasing skirts. Now he was a fully grown man who had seen a little bit of the world. 

“Care to spar, then?” he asked, moving over to grab a towel from the little stack and dry himself of sweat. 

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly harm my own brother-in-law,” she said, even as she unbuttoned her doublet and draped it over the corner of the weapons rack. She’d been trapped in a carriage for weeks, and try as she might, there was only so much energy you could burn chopping wood and setting wagon wheels. She needed this like other women needed air.

“It’s alright, I could use the practice. It’d give me some time to get to know my new sister-in-law. We’d…met before, I believe.”

She thought for a moment before nodding, turning around to reveal her chest wrap and her own scorecard of scars. “I’ve changed a little since then.”

“So I see,” he said, giving a glance to her chest before tossing the towel to the side, sheathing his real sword, and fetching a practice blade. She did the same, picking a longsword that closest resembled the crystal blade. Practice blades had the same heft as the genuine thing, but were dulled at the edge and tip. It even sported a few scars of its own, nicks in it from particularly vigorous (or amateur) blows. All in all it resembled just about every other practice sword she’d seen in her life. Suppose there was only so much money a royal family could spend on practice weapons. Least it wasn’t wood.

He waited for her to do some warm up stretching and placed himself at a parade rest. When she entered her own rest, he saluted her in the old style: sword hilt to his nose, then held level to the horizon. She returned the gesture. A traditionalist then, she thought. Well this’ll be easy.

“Ladies first,” he said with another winning smile, offering a generic middle of the body guard for her to strike at. With a tilt of her head, she obliged, swinging in the direction opposite it. The next few minutes were a very dull, very rote feeling out process. The combatant form of small talk. More in line with the exercises he’d just been doing than a proper sparring match, she watched him move, watched his feet glide over the ground. As her blade met his guard he was careful not to over-commit, not looking to perform some vast duellist flourish or win the battle in a single, decisive blow. And despite having obviously been working out for an indeterminate amount of time, he seemed to enjoy the exercise.

That’s enough of that, she decided, and slashed at him. An earnest attempt to defeat his guard. And then, with the speed of a serpent, his efforts went from the playful to the professional. He parried her blade, snuck in while she was stumbling, and brought the edge of his weapon closest to the hilt up to the nape of her neck. 

“Point for me?” he asked, barely breathing hard. That got her ire up. Big fucker thought he could fight? Alright then. Arm-weights off. Let’s fight like we’re getting paid.

She struck with precision, with speed, with the practice of years of combat experience and half a lifetime in the gymnasium. But his blade was always there to meet hers. Like he knew every move she’d make before she thought of it. After a clash that saw her arm thrown back, showing just how much stronger he was than her. She stumbled backward just in time to avoid a casual swipe that, had it connected with a real sword, could have disembowelled her.

“Not bad, not bad at all. Master Greylyn, I presume?” he asked, not even out of breath.

Lenna did her best to hide her surprise. “Yes. He travelled with my company for a season as a drill master, and I tried to learn all I can.”

“Ah, that must have been after he ‘retired’. He was one of my swordmasters growing up. My father gave him a pension, but I suppose it’s difficult for one like him to simply rest on laurels and wither. You move your feet like he instructed me to when I was a boy.” 

This time, Lenna couldn’t hide her annoyance. Not only had the Princeling learned from her favourite teacher, but Greylyn had been his personal tutor? Fucking rich pricks. All the same the world over.

The sudden diagonal slash he unleashed nearly caved her shoulder in. She blocked it awkwardly, both hands clutching the sword, before tossing him back. As he reeled, she delivering a good, solid kick to his midsection for good measure. Gratifyingly, Paris stumbled, caught unprepared by this change of weapon. So he wasn’t invincible. Unsporting perhaps, but she’d take a minor victory at this point.

“My apologies, Prince,” she said facetiously, “I’m afraid the spirit of combat got the better of me.”

“Was a blow fairly struck,” he replied with a strained laugh, clutching the place where her boot met his sternum. “Perhaps we stoke the hearth a bit, hmm?”

It was his turn to go on the offensive. He moved like water, and half her focus had to be drawn to keeping track of where he was in relation to her as much as making sure his blade wasn’t about to clap her over the side of the head. She tried to keep her distance, but he was always moving, always varying the length of his swings. He was good. Fuck he was good. But he was still a Prince. A dandy playing at soldier. He would never-

Stars. The world tumbled around and around, followed by a pain in her skull that Lenna could only describe as shattering. Even as she came to a halt lying flat on her back, the world continued to spin. It was only when the vaguely humanoid shape entered her vision did her eyes refocus, Paris’s face a mask of concern. 

“My own apologies, Dame…sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” He reached out to help her up, but the hand split itself into two mirrored counterparts. Even if she wanted to take him up on the offer, she could tell which one was real. 

“LENNA!” a familiar voice called. She turned to see three Katerinas sprinting over to help her. The middle one touched the side of her head that hurt, and Lenna winced. Something wet was flowing down there. Was she facing the waterfall? 

Katerina’s hand came up into view. Red. Blood. Lenna’s. Oh.

“What did you do?!”

“It was a sparring accident, I assure you,” Paris said, now sounding genuinely worried. Well that was never good, Lenna decided. Victory was difficult to achieve when your opponent felt bad for you.

“It’s nothing,” Lenna said, attempting to get to her feet with the same aplomb as before and finding them wobbly beneath her. Fuck, he’d clobbered her good. “I’m fine. Just…just sparring.”

Katerina shook her head. “Lenna dear, I love you, but you are sometimes the dumbest woman alive. You need a doctor’s eye. Thankfully, again, your wife knows someone.” Katerina tucked her head into the crook of Lenna’s arm and did her best to support Lenna’s weight as they walked. As they left the Gardens, it finally clicked for Lenna just how hard she’d gotten her ass kicked.

“Fuck.”

***

“Honey, if you don’t stop seething, you’ll end up looking like a pugilist, and that’ll affect the loveliness of your future portraits,” Katerina chastised, her fingers hovering lightly over Lenna’s forehead. She could feel the healing magics stitch her flesh together, but the dizziness remained. What’s more, a profound nausea that had led a bucket to be placed next to her. She hadn’t puked her guts out yet, but she’d wanted to.

“I’m not seething,” Lenna lied, wincing as Katerina’s fingers strayed too close to her injured flesh.

“Yes you are. It’s unbecoming.”

‘Don’t feel too bad,” Magnus said as he dabbed at her wound with a fresh cloth, a bottle of green liquid in his hands. “Paris is a fierce combatant! Made a habit of wagering the guards of visiting dignitaries that they couldn’t best him. Ended up making money hand over fist, before Father told him to stop. Could you tell me where are you now, Dame Lenna?” he asked, as if the former sentence flowed naturally into the latter.

She looked at her surroundings, conscious of every motion her eyeballs made. Her vision had returned to normal, besides some sensitivity to the light. Unfortunately, the room she now found herself in was filled with them. Along with a dozen mundane sources, a large magical glow-globe perched atop a desk filled with dozens of glass apparatuses that reminded her of Katerina’s laboratory back home. After they’d moved in together, Lenna had insisted that her alchemical work stay firmly outside their bedroom. All that paraphernalia had its double here. Perhaps more. A huge metal cylinder strapped to coils of copper wiring dominated one wall, while another featured a shelf holding dozens upon dozens of jars. All meticulously labelled in a tiny, precise hand. 

“Your room, I’m guessing?” 

He nodded. “And what were you doing before you were hit on the head?”

Lenna grimaced. “Getting my ass kicked.”

“And afterward? What do you remember immediately afterward?”

Lenna strained. She remembered seeing Katerina. Getting picked up off the ground. Then…it was like time slipped. A lacuna in her memory–a space where there was supposed to be something. 

“Nothing much…it’s like time skipped a few paces. Next thing I remember was sitting here.”

He nodded, smile maintained. “That’s normal after a blow to the head like you endured. Brain commotion is the term from the literature. From your former profession, I’m guessing this isn’t the first you’ve suffered.” 

Lenna returned the nod, though her own smile was much thinner. “I certainly don’t make a habit of it. Usually I’m doling out the head trauma, not receiving it.”

“My beautiful wife, I swear some days the only thing I changed about you is the cup size.” Katerina’s comment only got a confused look and a light blush from her brother, but he shrugged and pressed forward with his prognosis.

“Your body will heal itself with time, but there’s something that can help catalyze the process. Drink this, would you?” Magnus said, offering Lenna the full beaker of green fluid. She peered into its opaque depths, seeing some kind of solid material floating on top. It looked like crushed herbs and something else. Bark? She looked at Katerina.

“He’s not a mage, but Mags is a better healer than I ever will be,” Katerina said. A rare self-effacing compliment. Lenna drank it immediately. First bitter, then sour, then…some other flavour she’d never experienced. The brew went down with some difficulty, owing to a resurgence of the previous suppressed nausea. Thankfully, the liquid stayed down, and the bucket returned to the floor.

She blinked. Maybe it was just the fact she had something in her stomach again, but she already felt better. 

“Huh. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it! Always happy for a chance to try out a new concoction,” he said, taking the glass back, examining the little bit that hadn’t gotten swallowed, and went to a basin at the back to wash it out.

“Wait…did you just say ‘try out’?” Lenna asked, squinting.

“Her mind is already on the mend!” Magnus declared, scrubbing the beaker out. “Another victory for the natural philosophies over the tyranny of magic. No offense.”

“Some taken.”

Lenna’s head tilted. “I thought alchemy WAS magic.” 

“Often intertwined, but distinct!” the Prince replied, holding up a finger like an academician making a point on formal logic. “Much of my studies have focused on what is possible without a source of magic to catalyze certain reactions and interactions. For example!” He rushed over to his shelf full of filled vessels, plucking a pair of square vials before holding either out in each hand. “What do these look like to you?”

Lenna examined them. Both were cloudy mixtures of a viscous, purple fluid. Magnus shook them both to demonstrated similar physical properties. One bent the light slightly, but otherwise… 

“Looks like two similar bottles of some kinda syrup,” the Knight said, giving up a shrug.

“Indeed! Similar, but not the same. One,” he shook the one in his left hand, “is a healing potion I bought at extreme expense, the kind kings keep on their person in the battle. It should, in theory, heal all but the most grievous physical wounds in moments! The other,” the right, “I brewed myself with purely mundane means…though also with significant financial cost. As far as I can tell, these two should function in identical fashion. ‘Should’ being the operative word, as I’ve not had a chance to be horribly injured enough to try them out! Here’s hoping, eh? There are still things that are beyond me, but I’ve discovered a number of processes that work either as efficaciously or similar to the alchemy performed in the presence of magic.”

Lenna looked around again. Indeed, the room looked like the workshop of a particularly focused academic, rather than that of a lordling. The only hint at his station was a sword and formal outfit strung forgotten from a peg in the corner of the room. And, of course, the free time and resources to pursue studies at this level as a full time job.

“To what end, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“To help people, of course!” he replied cheerfully. “ Magic’s well and good for wounds sustained in combat or accident, but it’s woefully insufficient when it comes to complicated ailments. Infectious diseases it proves only to alleviate the symptoms. Disorders of the organs, malnutrition, wasting diseases, others, especially of a magical nature…” He drifted off, and his previous easy smile left his mouth

Katerina’s mood darkened. “If you start blaming yourself again, I’m going to toss something valuable at you. Pray it’s something heavy, because I’m not very strong.”

His lips lifted, but the ghost of his previous smile didn’t touch his eyes. “To expound on your question, Dame Lenna, I do this because it’s a way that I can be valuable. But I couldn’t save Father, I couldn’t protect Pyotr, and Vladimir doesn’t even trust me enough to try to help him. I am…struggling, at the moment, to find a purpose for my life.” Magnus’s voice quivered as he spoke, the words coming out in spurts as if from a breaking dam.

Katerina looked ready to come over and give him a long hug, one that looked in danger of going on forever. Like she was worried if she broke the embrace, she would never get a chance to hug him again. But then, with a face that betrayed a great reluctance, Lenna watched her wife make herself say something she clearly didn’t want to.

“There’s plenty of other ways you can help the Kingdom, Magnus. We…I…could really use your help in the Greathall tomorrow. But, instead of being a neutral arbiter-” 

“No,” he snarled. “Absolutely not.” He retreated from her, putting his work desk between the Princess and himself. Katerina approached again with her hands open and outstretched, like he was a rare, easily startled animal. 

“It’s just for a few hours at most. All we need is for you to cast a single vote,” she said in a soft tone. Then, in a more familiar, stern one: “You are a Prince of the realm, and you have certain obligations-”

“I’m no heir. Not even in contention to be King lest something terrible happen to all my brothers at once. Gods help us all if that happens!”

“The agreement was that we all get a vote in the Mounting. Right now the tally is one for Vladimir, one for Decimation, and TWO for Adam!” she explained, practically shouting the final number at him. “Do you really want Adam to be King?” 

“I’ve no interest in politics, Kat,” he said, previous good cheer nowhere to be found. “I didn’t ask to be born a Prince. But if I am one by blood, then I want to use this station to do something meaningful. Worthwhile! The games, the backstabbing–both literal and figurative–I want no part of. I love my brothers, and I love you, and I don’t want to betray anyone. I just want to be left alone to my studies. Dame Lenna, you’ll be fine with some bedrest. Please contact me if you experience lingering nausea or if any of the current disorientation gets worse. And try not to get knocked out again.” His head dipped, his eyes returned to his desk, and he did not move until the pair of them had left his room.

“I hated doing that,” Kat said as the door closed behind them. 

“Then why did you?” Lenna asked. A simple question, but firmly out of propriety. Katerina’s eyes smoldered like white hot coals. She was getting better at not lording her rank and status over her wife, but she still struggled with not having the last word every argument.

“The Kingdom comes first, Lenna. Duty Comes First. You should fucking know that; you taught it to me.” She stalked off down the hall in a way that made it clear she didn’t want to be followed at the moment. Lenna sighed, pressing her head to the back of Magnus’ closed door. Why couldn’t she have married a farrier? Or the town fool. Anyone more reasonable than a Princess on a warpath. She shuffled after her, knowing if she wasn’t there, Katerina would likely do more damage.

***

It took another two hours to wrangle the threads of the people who could, realistically, be brought to stand against Adam’s bid for the throne. They gathered in a place they would be sure would have no visitors: Vladimir’s study. All the same, Jenniq stood watch outside, her curved bow in hand. Turai’s sword-sister had not filled her quiver, but it wasn’t empty either. And Lenna knew that even without ammo, a warrior of the Sere was the farthest thing from disarmed.

Arranged like discarded coats in an antechamber were the members of their motley alliance. Vladimir and his wife took prominence, with him in his desk chair and her beside him. Crys and Riven had joined them, though only after some serious questioning by Turai over just exactly what their role was, and whether they were armed. The pair had been allowed entry but only if they left their weapons outside. Crys had given her sword to Jenniq, but Riven hadn’t handed over her Thornblade. Whether she’d left it back in her assigned bedroom or had hidden it on her person, Lenna didn’t know for sure. But she knew which option she’d place money on. 

Joining them was a man that Lenna nor Katerina knew particularly well. He wore the family colours of House Forde, redoubled due to the silvery seasoning to his short black hair and bushy beard. 

“This is Marten, my own Houseguard Knight. Marten, Dame Lenna Stone.” 

She nodded to him, and he returned the gesture. 

“Vladimir used to be guarded by a man named Konstantin. What happened to him?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Retired. He figured he was getting too slow to be any use, took the Crown’s Pension. Good man, but-“

“Bit of a braggart,” Lenna finished, receiving a grin from her comrade in arms. 

“Your words, not mine. Though more polite than I would have been. I would have said ‘bullshit artist’. But, again, your words.” Marten turned to his liege. “Sir, I do have to press the question as to why I’m here. This has the airs of a meeting for a conspiracy and if I’m about to be committing some kind of black treason I’d like to know the nature before I’m shuffled to the gallows.”

Lenna snorted. She might like this Marten fellow.

Vladimir’s reply was not so jovial. “Indeed. I’ve brought you here, Marten, as the man in charge of the Kralgrav’s security. Something that I believe to be in dire peril, as all of the Kingdom of the Frontiers will be in short order. The others, belong to my Sister’s retinue, I believe I can trust to operate in the best interest of our family and our people. Is that correct, Katerina?”

Kat’s mouth quirked. “I will always do what I believe is right, Vladimir. It’s just a matter of whether we agree on what that course of action will be. Decimation-“

“-is not practical, neither do you have the votes for it. I doubt you’ll convince either Paris or Adam to give up the claim to the whole of the Kingdom in favour of some piecemeal compromise. We have to be realistic, dear sister. We have to be-”

“This better not be some kind of manipulation tactic,” Katerina shot back. “I know you, dear brother. You like to conjure situations where your solution is the only reasonable one. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the secret puppet-master behind Adam’s theatrics. I never thought he had this kind of intrigue in him. Not alone, at least.”

Vladimir looked like he’d been waiting for her to stop talking to slip in a defensive riposte, but in the wake of her concluding sentence, he instead continued that line of reasoning.

“Nor I. I love Adam, but I had only agreed to the Mounting because I knew I could outmanoeuvre him. His gathering of the Northern Banners, retrieving Paris with gods only knows what promises…it all speaks to capacities hitherto unknown.” 

“And there’s the matter of the shadowmancy,” Katerina said. For a brief moment, barely a flicker of a candle’s wick, Lenna thought she saw a change of expression on Vladimir’s face. Not shock. Fear. Then, the moment passed, and he retained his previous facial expression and cadence. 

“I’ve not detected any shadowmancy on my relics. Are you certain?” he asked.

“Very,” Riven said, stepping forward before curtsying and adding: “Sir.” 

“Dire portent indeed. If Adam is in league with a mage, or Light protect, mages, our kingdom faces potential disaster. Marten, round the clock patrols of the Kralgrav interior, and double the exterior scouting parties. Rotate them at irregular intervals too, I don’t want anyone getting clever and using crossover time to slip through.”

“Aye, lord. Anyone we should be looking for in particular?”

“Yes,” Riven replied, then gave a pretty decent summary of Savin’s physical appearance. Though she enjoyed a good disguise, Katerina reported that the Magister’s look stayed roughly the same for as long as they’d known each other. Riven gave a basic outline and then described several outfits she had worn in her presence to conceal herself. Lenna doubted the gruff Houseguard would retain all the details of the various frippery Savin liked to don for a night on the town, but any detail he absorbed would help. 

“Alright, that’ll have to do. Riven, show off the sigils you placed around the Kralgrav. Posting guards there when they trigger will let us know right away when a magic user is infiltrating the corridors.”

“Sigils?” Marten asked, voice cold. “These dangerous?”

“No, no, not for mortals. They’re like tripwires just for magical creatures not attuned to them. I’ll show you.”

Crys kept close to her partner. “I’ll go with them. I can round up Murrow and Verity from their current spot humping in the stables. Three’s not much, but it’s more pairs of hands and eyes.”

Katerina nodded her consent, and the trio left the study. That left the room empty save for the pair of siblings and their spouses. Neither seemed excited to continue the conversation, now that it was just them and the immediate, external threat was being dealt with. At last, the awkward silence was too much for one of them to bare. Unexpectedly, it was Turai who broke it.

“We could kill them,” she suggested. To the collection of silent stares she received, she offered an unapologetic shrug. “What? It’s an option. That Maidenhead Balcony inside the Greathall is the perfect vantage point. Put me or Jenniq up there with a good bow, we’ll make feathers sprout from both of them before they can call for help.”

“As much as I do detest Adam at the moment,” Vladimir said, his words slow and deliberate, “I do not want to see either of my brothers hurt. We’ve already lost two members of our family this year and it’s not even officially Spring. I don’t want to lose any more.”

Katerina nodded solemnly. In her own thoughts, Lenna was relieved to see that. She trusted her wife to do the right thing…most of the time. But the spectre of civil war was not something she wanted to toy with. Dead martyrs make for powerful motivators if their allies decide to move to replace Vladimir anyway, and Adam can’t call a halt to the bloodshed with arrows in his throat.

“But again, we’re back to the vote. Our vote-“

Vladimir raised a hand. “I know you want Decimation. I know, dear sister, that you are scared that I will use you as a token to trade for peace. What if I promised you something else? What if I promised you…coregency. A Diarchy.”

Katerina’s head sprung back as if struck. “You serious? That’s…that’s never happened before in the history of the Kingdom.”

“Then we start it together. We build something new, you and I.”

“But…who sires the heir? Whose children take primacy?”

“We can settle that later. Our priority needs to be keeping the Kingdom together. We keep the Frontiers from splitting, we find and dismantle the threat from the Magisters, and we build something better than what had come before us. Together.” He extended a hand. Katerina looked at it, then to Lenna. Her wife made a little gesture with her hand, as if to say ‘your call, dear’. 

“I can afford to trust you once, Mir,” she said, their pretense and ranks falling to the wayside and standing there was a sister desperate to reconnect with her brother. “Please. Don’t make me regret this.”

She clasped his hand, shaking it. The pact made, Princess Katerina straightened her stance, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, as if realizing for the first time they were truly making history.

“There is the slight matter that the vote is now tied, two votes to two,” Vladimir said, seemingly reluctant to bring up anything to disturb the moment of sibling unity. “An Arbiter’s tie-breaking vote will be valid, but I wish we didn’t have to rely on such arcane rules-based machinations.”

“Then perhaps I could be of assistance?”

All heads turned to see Magnus Forde standing at the threshold to the study. Jenniq was holding the door open for him, though the expression on her face was something like ‘want me to get rid of him?’

“Assisting us?” Kat asked. “I thought you were the neutral Arbiter?”

He looked at his feet as he spoke, his voice small and thready. “I thought about what you said, Katerina. And though I love Adam, and I love Paris…I’m scared of what they might do with the Throne. If I stood by, too cowardly to do something, and they started a war to prove the Kingdom’s strength, all my work healing people, finding curatives for diseases, easing pain…it’ll be pointless. The hobbyhorse of a dilettante. I want my life to matter more than that. I don’t want power, but if it’s thrust upon me, I want to use it where it’ll do the most amount of good. Or at least the least amount of evil.”

A cloud lifted off of the room, like the shutters had been thrown open and the daylight beamed in for the first time in history. Vladimir’s normally restrained expression broke, and he actually offered a very inviting grin. Kat raced over and gave Magnus another long, grateful hug.

“Brother, sister,” Vladimir declared in a suitably weighty tone, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

***

They barely made it back into their bedroom when the celebration started. Both Katerina and Lenna embraced, hugging, kissing, openly weeping. It was a cathartic release beyond anything the Knight had felt in her life. The doom that had threatened them was over. They could breathe. They could finally be. And the world was open to them from here. Sure, there’d be important duties. And they still hadn’t uncovered whatever nonsense Katerina’s ex was planning to pull in the future. But for now, here, they had done it. They had snatched victory from fell oblivion.

For a lingering second, as Lenna pulled away and half disrobed, she though Kat would try another sexual antic. Another perverse playing of her easily plucked strings. But she didn’t. The Princess just stood there, centre of the room, and looked her wife straight in the eye without an ounce of cynicism or guile.

“I love you,” Katerina stated, her eyes not yet dry from the tears of euphoria. “I do put up a front sometimes, even with you. But I want to say it out loud for your ears, so you hear it clearly. I love you. Unreservedly. Without equivocation. Without a single quip or diffusing remark to protect me. I love you, Lenna Stone.”

“And I love you, Katerina Forde,” Lenna replied, desperate to maintain some level of composure as she grasped her wife’s hand and lifted it to kiss. “Whatever happens from here, I will be by your side. Against an army. Against a sea of mages. Against the whole world. I would cut down the night to keep you safe.”

Kat smiled. “You told me that before. Is that from something?”

“No,” Lenna said, frowning. “Why? Does it sound good?”

By way of answer, she buried her face in Lenna’s chest. “It sounds wonderfully absurd. Just like you.”

Too fatigued to do anything more than turn off the lights before passing out, they nevertheless embraced once more in their comfortable bed. Lenna kept one hand on Katerina’s shoulder as she rolled onto her side to face the wall. As she drifted to sleep, for a moment, Lenna wondered just how kids would work with them. And if it would work…what would be a few good names?

*** 

“LENNA, wake up!”

The scream made Lenna shoot out of bed, her limbs untangling from blankets and pillows as she searched for the source of the noise. The room was pitch dark, not a flicker of a lantern in sight. Part of her wondered if she was dreaming still. But the ice of the hand that touched her made her scream in pain. She threw a wild haymaker toward where the owner of the hand should be, but all her hand travelled through was frost-bitten air. Another hand grasped her. This time she felt the individual fingers. Thin, long. Like bare bones, but colder than the grave. And strong. But then again, so was she. 

“Kat, where are you?” she screamed, throwing off the hands snatching at her by throwing herself to the side, aiming for where she’d placed her sword for the night. Nothing. The pink pommel always glowed slightly, especially in the dark. But it wasn’t there. They’d disarmed her while she was sleeping. “FUCK!”

Katerina, however, was not so easily hindered. Somewhere off in their mutual luggage stack, she’d apparently found her way inside to retrieve a glowing white potion. At first Lenna thought she’d just use it as a meagre lightsource, but instead, she raised it above her head. 

“Close your eyes!” she commanded, and Lenna obliged. Moments later, the glass shattered, and a flash as bright as dawn lit the room, followed quickly by a crack of thunder. When Lenna opened her eyes, the room was perfectly lit as if it was a set on a stage. Everything was visible, bathed in perfect light…except for the things attacking them.

They were gaunt, stalking creatures in the shape of a man, with billowing cloaks that hung from their shoulders like they were the emaciated versions of themselves. No colour graced their form. In fact, colours seemed to bleed out of the room and toward them, rendering the portions of the room they occupied in a dull, sinister monochrome. The places left unconcealed by their robes, the feet, the hands, and the bottom half of the face, were skeletal and grey. Spectres stolen from a colourblind nightmare.

“Magisters! It’s the Magisters!” Katerina announced. “Magic counters magic. Get your sword!”

“I fucking figured!” Lenna snapped, using the moment’s grace afforded by Katerina’s shattered bottle to search for her blade. With a thankful prayer to whoever was listening, she found it. At the far end of the room, tossed down beneath a vanity, was the glowing pommel of her blade. She’d have to give the damn sword a name if it saved them from this. 

Lenna threw herself forward, hand outstretched, but the shadowthings had recovered enough to react. An icy hand locked around her neck and pulled her to the side wall, yanking her up against it like a noose. Her throat burned, both with the pressure and the impossible cold of the hand against her bare skin. Her chest screamed for air. Throwing her head forward into her assailant’s featureless face, she hoped with all her might that whatever was attacking her actually had a nose. Her skull hit…something. No satisfying crack, but the thing lost its grip on her neck. She dropped to the floor, dragging in air with deep, hungry breaths. 

Her assailant, another one of the shadowthings, was already recovering. Where its face should have been was a smoky occlusion, like black ink dropped into water, rapidly reformed back into the humanoid shape from before. It was now or never. Lenna scampered on all fours for the amethyst blade, but the light from the explosion was already fading. More shadows slithered in, from the wide open door leading to the pitch black corridor. They  grabbed her limbs with a tentacular grip, pressing her against the ground. She watched them lift the sword by its pommel, squealing, then toss it into the black void outside their room. Lenna howled outrage, biting down on a dark shadow around her mouth. But there were too many, everywhere, and it was so dark…

The tight grip around her neck returned. This time she didn’t have the strength to pull against it. But she had to fight. She thrashed, even as they pushed her down against the rapidly chilling floor. Even with what felt like a weight of a kraken pressing down against her, she kept crawling. Even as everything went dark, she reached for her weapon. 

Because whatever happened, whatever they did to her, Katerina had to know…

She had to know…

That Lenna went down…

…fighting.