Before the hearing, Anton had asked Suliel why nobles had to hear everything two or three times. By his count, Duke Ariman had heard Anton’s story once from his own people, once from Count Brankil and once from Anton. Now, he was going to hear it a fourth time.

  “It’s a performance,” Suliel had explained. “He wants to seem decisive in front of his vassals, so he needs to have heard the story before you tell it.”

  “But… Didn’t Brankil say all the other counts are part of the Rose Circle? They already know all this. They probably know that this isn’t the first time he’s heard the story.”

  Suliel shrugged. “The truth doesn’t matter, as long as everyone pretends. They want him to take their side, so they’ll allow him to flatter himself. And if he knows that they’re just humouring him, well, that’s only his right, as their liege.”

  “So glad they won’t talk to me,” Kelsey put in.

  “We all are,” Suliel agreed. “Anything you’re likely to say would put a burr under everyone’s saddle.”

  Now, Anton watched the performance unfold, even as he played his role. He sat at the Duke’s table, the most prominently placed of all the barons attending. The Duke and his wife sat at the head of the table, of course. Count Brankil sat to Anton’s left, closest to the Duke. On Anton’s right was another count, Nesrin Hartwell, and the third count, Melek Levinscant, sat across from them.

  Anton had been briefed on both of them by Suliel and Lord Brankil. He had been told they were both part of the Rose Circle, but he hadn’t had a chance to interact with them. The rest of the table was filled with the Duke’s men. Ranking members of his staff, some of the barons who reported directly to him. They had been introduced, and Suliel had told him about some of the barons, but their names eluded him. He resolved to use Delver’s Discernment if he needed to.

  Suliel was seated behind Anton, close enough that she could lean forward and offer advice. Tyla was there too, as Anton’s magical advisor. Kelsey, who had agreed not to speak, was further back. She was close enough that Anton didn’t need to rely on Unwavering to keep calm. The occasional glance back was all that it took to quell the anxiety that threatened to build.

  All of the nobles gathered around the table had similar entourages. Anton’s was the smallest. Count Brankil had brought two of his barons and an advisor. Count Hartwell had a baron, an advisor and a mage. Count Levinscant had brought his son and two of his barons. He seemed to have a mage in his back row, judging by the hood.

  Anton knew why Tyla was wearing a hooded robe: she disliked people staring at her ears. He wasn’t sure why mages seemed to keep their faces covered, but it worked out in Tyla’s favour, so he wasn’t complaining.

  “This cannot be taken as credible evidence, my Lord,” Count Hartwell said. “We all know dungeons can create whatever items they wish. Why not a replica of the King’s crown with such dubious enchantments on it?”

  Anton wasn’t clear on why a member of the Rose Circle was speaking against his evidence. Part of the performance, he supposed.

  “Are you suggesting that the Hungry Depths does Lord Nos’s bidding?” Lord Brankil countered.

  “Is it so much of a stretch when the Dungeon of Endless Battle is clearly acting on his behalf?”

  Anton had never seen so many people carefully not look at someone. Without looking himself, he knew that Kelsey was smirking.

  “Dominion or not, he would still have to give the order,” Duke Ariman commented. He had the False Crown in his hands and was examining it closely. “Have you had the opportunity to view the crown, Lord Nos?”

  “I have seen His Majesty wearing it, my Lord,” Anton said carefully. “I have not had the opportunity to examine it closely.”

  “The King has visited the Depths,” Duke Ariman said mildly. “But I very much doubt he ever brought his crown down there. How, then, do we explain this perfect duplicate?”

  He held the crown up so they could see the engraving on the inner rim.

  “He might have had it described for him by someone who had examined it,” Count Hartwell speculated. “It is not only Lords that are familiar with the original.”

  “In such detail?” Duke Ariman said. “Granted, even a crown needs to be cleaned. But while he doesn’t always wear it, the King rarely lets the crown out of his sight.”

  “He must have a backup item. Or a spell,” Count Brankil suggested. Everyone looked at Count Hartwell’s mage. At the Count’s nod, he leaned forward.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “My Lords, I have been able to examine the enchantments on the False Crown, and they are exactly as claimed. I can say that there are spells that falsify observation Traits, spells that no reputable mage would use. While there are ways to detect such spells, I have never had the opportunity to do so, nor would any other mage who did not enjoy the full confidence of the King.”

  Count Hartwell snorted. “There’s our answer, then,” he said. “Just have the King take off his crown and let him be examined by our mage.”

  Rueful chuckles ran down the length of the table, suggesting how likely the gathered nobles found that idea.

  “False crown or not, he still wears it,” the duke said. “We all swore fealty to him.”

  “We swore to a King, not a false one,” Lord Brankil insisted. “An oath given under false pretences is not valid.”

  “Perhaps. But what do you suggest we do about it?” Duke Ariman looked around the table. “This is a dangerous time to consider fragmenting the Kingdom. Without a legitimate king, we will be disunited and weak, easy prey for the Elitrans or even Tiatia.”

  “Of course not,” Count Brankil said. “But what my Lord hasn’t yet considered is why Kalond should need such a thing.”

  The duke frowned. “One possibility is that he is an imposter,” he said slowly. “But that seems unlikely. For a varlet to maintain such a deep deception for so long defies belief. Kalond has been wearing his crown for twenty years.”

  “Agreed,” said Count Levinscant. “The man who rules over us now is the same Prince Ranon that we all knew long ago.”

  “This crown conceals the Class of the wearer,” Duke Ariman said. “Are you saying the King needs to do that? That the prince did not transition into king?”

  “That is exactly what we are saying,” Count Levinscant said grimly. “He failed to qualify for the Class and became a False King.”

  “But how could that be?” Count Hartwell asked, again catching Anton by surprise. This was basic Rose Circle doctrine! Fortunately, no one seemed to be looking at him. “The only requirement was that he be the heir.”

  “There was one person keeping him from his inheritance,” Count Brankil said. “His older sister.”

  “But she—are you telling me she didn’t die?”

  “Exactly,” Count Levinscant declared. “She survived and took the Queen class, preventing Kalond from taking King.”

  “She survived?” Duke Arimen exclaimed. “For all this time? Kalond would have sent assassins, she would—”

  “She lived,” Count Levinscant stated. “Her closest friends betrayed her; she didn’t know who she could trust. Eventually, she found supporters who knew what it would mean for her existence to be discovered. They hid her, protected her, and slowly spread the word.”

  “It’s been years, though,” Duke Ariman said.

  “There were setbacks,” Count Levinscant admitted. “Kalond has always known that she was alive—the King class remained unavailable. He’s never stopped trying to kill her. The only thing holding him back was the necessity of keeping it all quiet.”

  “This is what the Rose Circle is about, isn’t it?” the Duke said. “All this time hiding in the shadows.”

  “Just knowing the name is enough to get a person arrested,” Count Levinscant said. “I’m surprised you’ve heard it.”

  “It isn’t sufficient to get a duke arrested,” Duke Ariman said wryly. “Though… I was told it was an Elitran infiltration ring.” He scowled. “By people I thought I could trust.”

  “Lies, which we were in no position to correct until now,” Count Levinscant said. “But with this evidence, we’re finally ready to come out of the shadows.”

  He stood and turned to the row of seats behind him.

  “We’re ready to reveal the jewel that’s been hidden in the darkness,” he said.

  The hooded figure standing behind him stood up and strode forward. Count Levinscant stepped aside, ceding his place at the table.

  “I present to you, the true ruler of Zamarra, here to claim her crown. Queen Syrelle Kalond!”

  The cloaked figure lowered her hood, revealing a regal face with ebony skin and short hair in tight curls. She stared a challenge at the duke.

  From the gasps around the room, Anton knew that even the Rose Circle members— at least most of them— had not been apprised of this part of the performance. He realised that they must be using Nobility's Privilege to see her Class, which reminded him to do the same.

  Syrelle Kalond, Level 25, Human, Hidden Queen, Princess/Princess Royal/Hidden Queen,

  S: 14 T: 15 A: 16 D: 18 P: 39 W: 40 C: 53

  He had just enough time to gape at her Charisma of fifty-three before he felt it.

  “It’s time,” she said, and there was a muffled crash as about half of the back row went down on their knees. “The wait is over. I was hidden, hunted and afraid, but now I stand before you.”

  The nobles at the table seemed unaffected by the Queen’s intense Charisma. Anton could feel Unwavering taking up the burden for himself. Behind him, Suleil and Tyla were wavering, only just holding back from throwing themselves to their knees.

  The duke stood. “Syrelle, is it really you?” he asked. “It’s been so long.”

  “It is. It has. I’m here for your support, to claim the crown as is my right.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to go against your brother?” Duke Ariman asked. “He’s not weak; he has supporters of his own.”

  “I’m not weak either. My followers are spread throughout the kingdom, waiting for their chance. This is the moment where we take it all back.”

  The duke sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ve been blind all this time,” he said. “I wish… there was another way, but I know… You can’t go back when your brother tries to kill you. You have my support.”

  Count Brankil pushed his chair back and knelt. It looked a little ridiculous with just his head poking up above the table, but he didn’t manage to puncture the gravitas of the situation. He was quickly joined by the other two counts.

  “I swear my fealty to the true Queen of Zamarra, Syrelle Kalond.”

  There was a muffled rustling and scraping of chairs as the rest of the room went to their knees. Anton wasn’t sure how much of the obeisance was planned, how much was prompted by the counts’ actions, and how much was just her overwhelming Charisma. He joined the others on the floor and repeated the pledge.

  “I swear my fealty to the true Queen of Zamarra, Syrelle Kalond.”

  He looked back and saw Kelsey. She had knelt with the others, but from the smirk on her face, she hadn’t pledged anything.

  “Everybody rise,” the Queen said. “It’s time to plan a civil war.”

  [Cycle 413, Embermoon 17th, Hour of the Glass Serpent]

  ["Kelsey"]: Hey, you up?

  [The Hungry Depths]: What?

  ["Kelsey"]: Are you uuuuuuuupppp?

  [The Hungry Depths]: Neither of us sleeps. At all.

  ["Kelsey"]: Yeah, but are you uuuuuuuuuuuuuppppppppppp?

  [The Hungry Depths]: I am a cavern on a mountainside that descends to the very depths of the earth. If I am any direction, I am down.

  ["Kelsey"]: Down is cool, I can do down. I can go down, if you know what I mean.

  [The Hungry Depths]: I do not.

  ["Kelsey"]: Like, *down*, you know?

  [Mel69]: Kelsey, stop being weird! Sorry about her, she's drunk.

  [The Hungry Depths]: How?

  [Mel69]: She's very inventive.

  ---End logging