High Prince Adrian, second in line to the crown of the Central Kingdom, sat in his chair atop the velvet-draped dais hastily erected in the Palace’s Courtyard. His father, the High King, slumped in his own seat next to Adrian, seeming only half aware of what was happening around them. But that was normal, barely worth making note of.

  The Courtyard. Adrian had heavily debated the proper setting for this meeting, both with himself and his advisers. There were a number of places a royal family might choose to make an announcement to their subjects and allies, from the chapel to the throne room to simply shouting out news from a palace balcony. Given the nature of why he’d called together many of the most important people in the Kingdoms—though technically his father had been the one to send out the missives, it was an open secret that the youngest of the High Princes performed most true governing—Adrian had decided that flaunting the throne room in front of the Sorceress would be… inadvisable.

  Because in normal circumstances, the High King’s Throne Room would act as a powerful reminder indeed, no matter who the royal family was hosting. Few people could look upon that storied seat and ignore the social, political, and military might symbolized, and thus all discussions held would be colored by that message, consciously or not.

  But that exact reminder was what Adrian felt dubious about prompting. Not just because he wasn’t sure how the Sorceress would feel about such an overt signal—not that he expected her to pay much attention to the location he chose, but that cunning steward of hers would—but for the other attendees. Adrian feared that rather than emphasizing the High King’s position, having the Sorceress stand next to the throne would create… questions in their minds. Doubts. Particularly about where, exactly, the Sorceress fell in the established hierarchy. And that was a question Adrian truly didn’t want answered.

  So. The Courtyard. Tables, food, drinks, servants—a joyous celebration of the Sorceress’s return. Much more appropriate. At a minimum, it avoided drawing undue attention to the political headache she represented not just to the royal family, but the entire upper crust of the social order. Of which the majority of individuals present were members.

  There were around fifty people in the courtyard, not including the staff, and they ranged from the heads of the crafting guilds to representative embassies from the other kingdoms to Institute archmages and other world-renowned Titled. Many Titled—any who had defended Meridian or who had been easy to reach and were friendly with the crown.

  The Gale of Blades was in attendance, one of the most individually powerful next to the Archbishop and Archmage Aeris. She was speaking animatedly with a butler, plucking food from the tray the flustered man was holding and clearly not caring what anyone thought about her or the flagrant breaking of social norms. Adrian understood not knowing or even caring about the minutiae of high society’s elaborate and sometimes inscrutable customs, but he was pretty sure speaking with one’s mouth full of food was classless even by a commoner’s standards. Was she acting this way as a message, showing her disdain of high society, or was it natural for her? He honestly couldn’t tell.

  She was an interesting character, the Gale, but Adrian understood that few who reached those heights weren’t.

  His father stirred suddenly, straightening in the throne-like chair centered on the dais. Adrian glanced the man’s way. The King looked left and right, brow furrowed, a modicum of clarity returning to his eyes. Their gazes met.

  “Adrian,” High King Edmund said. “Where—ah, that is to say…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. He idly adjusted his crown and didn’t finish his question.

  “We are waiting our honored guest to begin,” Adrian informed his father.

  “I see.” The King frowned. “And where are they? It is time, is it not? Past time.”

  “It seems they are running late,” he said. He wasn’t happy about that either. There were a lot of extremely important individuals present, individuals even the royal family would begin to sweat over if it seemed they were wasting their time—especially when the High King had all but demanded attendance on short notice. “But I’m sure there’s a very good reason,” Adrian allowed.

  The old man harrumphed and adjusted his crown a second time. “A king should not wait on another; he is the one who is waited upon.” He almost seemed like he might continue with a proper lecture, but he lost the energy. He slumped back down in his seat and began muttering under his breath.

  Adrian studied his father out of the corner of his eye, then suppressed a grimace. He was fairly certain the display meant that his father had forgotten who their ‘honored guest’ was. Which concerned Adrian. This event may not be some sensitive parley with enemies in which a misstep could destabilize the entire negotiation, but the royal family hosting the Sorceress was obviously a circumstance that needed to be treated with care.

  But Father’s forgetfulness was hardly new. The king ruled as well as a man who often lost track of where he was and who he was speaking to could, which was to say not well at all. But Father deferred to his advisers, and indeed allowed Adrian himself to act unilaterally with the King’s authority—so in that sense, Edmund’s years had brought wisdom. The man recognized his failings; he just refused to give up the crown, as he should have decades ago.

  A similar privilege of authority had been extended to Darian, the Crown Prince, but the eldest of the High Princes had his own problems, perhaps worse than their father’s. Adrian’s jaw tightened, remembering how his brother hadn’t attended this gathering despite Adrian’s thorough insistence he must.

  He set aside those familiar headaches. Because, as if summoned by his father’s grumbling, Rafael of the Adventurer’s Guild strode into the courtyard and caught his eye. Adrian rose and met the demon on the side of the dais, twisting one of his rings to summon a bubble of silence so that they could speak privately.

  “High Prince Adrian,” the demon said, giving a bow of socially acceptable depth—meaning just low enough and not an inch further. Neither a slight nor a grovel. With some men and women, Adrian might make observations like that and assume no hidden meaning; not all people measured their words and actions so carefully. Rafael of Vanguard was certainly not one such person. “I deeply apologize for the delay, Your Highness.”

  “I presume you, or she, have your reasons,” Adrian gracefully allowed. “It is not overly late.” Though was beginning to approach that point, considering the company they had called upon. “She has arrived?”

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  “She has. And is ready to present herself as needed.”

  Adrian’s heart shouldn’t have jumped, not when he was one of only a few individuals who knew the truth of the Sorceress’s return. Yet he’d never seen the woman in person. He had, like the vast majority of modern humans, only heard of her through stories. Through legends told in history books.

  “Shall I call for the gathering’s attention?” Adrian asked.

  “If you would be so considerate.” Rafael bowed again. “But I shall announce her myself, if it pleases Your Highness.”

  Adrian paused at that, since he’d assumed he would be the one to herald the Sorceress’s return. Had a proper introduction written up and practiced. He wasn’t of a particular mind to refuse the unexpected request, though, since Rafael was Vanguard’s steward and being on that particular guild’s good side was of monumental importance even for the royal family. Perhaps especially for them. So Adrian nodded, if with slight reluctance. Rafael’s bow sank an inch lower in gratitude, a concession to match the concession.

  Adrian returned to the dais and informed his father, who grunted in acknowledgement—prompting Adrian to make a silent prayer that the King didn’t do anything that reflected poorly on the royal family’s image. It was a prayer that had even odds of being answered or not; the old man’s reputation was not the best in recent years for good reason, but he was not making a fool of himself on the regular, either. Adrian wondered whether he should probe his father and brief him again on what was happening, but that came with its own issues, and would be tedious and might not solve anything.

  In the end, he simply gave the appropriate signal to the herald. The man stiffened, then slammed a ceremonial staff against the pavement with three loud cracks on stone, drawing all attention his way.

  “Attend!” the man called out in a deep baritone. “His highness, High Prince Adrian, second of his name, would address the gathered!”

  The conversations and idle movements around the courtyard stilled as the booming voice brought everyone’s gaze toward the dais. Adrian twisted another of the many rings adorning his right hand to activate an artifact.

  “Honored guests, esteemed allies, and distinguished friends of the Central Kingdom.” Adrian’s magically amplified words carried smoothly across the courtyard, without need for raising his voice. “On behalf of His Majesty, High King Edmund, and the royal family, I extend our deepest gratitude for your swift response to our summons.” He swept his gaze out across the assembled dignitaries. “I know many of you have set aside pressing matters to be here; rest assured, we would not have asked for the sacrifice were the occasion not worthy of it. Please rise from your seats, so you may greet our venerable guest of the hour as befits her status. The Steward of Vanguard shall announce her presence himself.”

  Calling attention to Rafael’s prior title, rather than current position as the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild, was truthfully half the announcement itself. And few of the individuals present were inattentive enough not to recognize that crucial detail. Several jolted to their feet not out of respect for Adrian’s request, but sheer surprise.

  Adrian stepped back, yielding the floor while remaining visible at Rafael’s side. A glance toward his father showed that the High King looked vaguely interested, which didn’t bode well for Adrian’s previous theories. The senile old man had definitely forgotten who their guest would be. Too late to properly deal with that, though. Particularly because there was no proper way to handle it.

  He should have abdicated decades ago, Adrian thought with frustration. He loved his father, and Edmund was not a bad man… but he was not a fit ruler anymore, and even Edmund himself surely knew that.

  Rafael surveyed his audience for a moment, and his lips quirked up.

  Adrian recognized the look of a man who was about to enjoy himself.

  The demon used an artifact of his own to amplify his voice, no need to fill his lungs and call out in a booming manner.

  “It is with immense honor that I introduce a woman with many titles,” he began with the smooth confidence Adrian had come to expect from the Guildmaster. “In consideration of the time you have already yielded to attend, I am tempted to hurry through them. But I would bring great shame to all present if I did. They are not titles to shrug aside, not even for brevity’s sake. They are not offered in pointless ceremony, but in deserved reminder.”

  His voice rose in volume, and, despite the artifact carrying his words, he spoke with the intent to be heard.

  “With great privilege,” the Steward of Vanguard said, “I announce the return of she who slew the Umbral Regent, so that Eternal Twilight shrouds our lands no more.”

  Adrian understood what Rafael intended to do the moment that sentence left his mouth. A spike of irritation went through him, though he couldn’t identify why. A formal, perhaps even tedious introduction was appropriate, if not what he himself would have done.

  “I announce the return of she who slew the Reaper of the Lost Harvest, ending the timeless scourge of the Crimson Blight.”

  But did he truly intend to list all seven of those titles? Or more still? As Rafael had said: the Sorceress had an endless number. It would be a crude rhetorical device—cruder than Adrian expected of a man of Rafael’s skill. Any speaker knew that impact came from conciseness. A point made in fewer words was more effective. Simply naming their guest as ‘the Sorceress’ would stun even this audience; that was how Adrian had planned it.

  “I announce the return of she who slew the Maw of the Abyss, silencing the call that drew the Hungry Deep to war.”

  When Rafael listed the third title, though, a shiver snaked its way down Adrian’s spine, and he knew his gut instinct had been wrong. Was it heavy-handed, the rhetorical device? Yes. But a blunt hammer was still a tool, and all tools had their uses.

  These accomplishments were feats that not a single mortal in the world could claim parity with. Feats of such scale that neither the High King nor assembled Titled, nor any High King or Titled of modern or ancient history, had ever come close to accomplishing.

  The woman Rafael called out to welcome was unequaled. Peerless in the truest sense of the word. Adrian abruptly felt the weight of his coronet, and a squirming sensation settling into his gut.

  “I announce the return of she who slew the Flesh-Weaver, cleansing the twisted mutations of its Rampant Genesis.”

  Rafael was an acceptable orator, but there was nothing particularly incredible about this display, Adrian thought, a bit sourly. Even a stammering beggar could yell out news of a king’s assassination and have a crowd enthralled.

  But perhaps that was Adrian’s sudden insecurity speaking.

  “I announce the return of she who slew the Colossus, that great beast that once Sundered the Earth wherever it trod, crushing cities underfoot.”

  Adrian released his irritation. The uncharitable thoughts had been irrational. Borne of baser instincts, and a High Prince was better than that. Why shouldn’t the Steward of Vanguard name each and every one of his guildmaster’s legendary titles? He would, indeed, be doing a great disservice to both audience and master if he didn’t.

  Rafael’s tone fell in volume, since his point was already made, and he knew it. He continued with appropriate gravitas nevertheless.

  “I announce the return of she who slew the Shattered Oracle, healing the scars of his many violations against reality.”

  Not so much as a glass clinked or a stray cough echoed out. Even Adrian himself felt the grip of Rafael’s words. Perhaps he is more than an acceptable orator, Adrian reluctantly allowed.

  “And I announce the return of she who slew the Ashen Hierophant, who shall never again call down his Great Conflagrations to scorch half a kingdom to naught but ash and embers.”

  Almost casually, the demon finished with an afterthought sequence of titles. Titles that even still no one present could match.

  “I announce the Guildmaster of Vanguard. Twentieth elevation archmage. The Sorceress of the Party of Heroes.”

  Rafael smiled warmly and spread his arms.

  “Lady Vivisari Vexaria.”

  Then, despite more than a minute having passed across that lengthy introduction, giving plenty of time to the present individuals to come to terms with the gravity of the circumstance—

  A short demonic woman teleported onto the dais, and the entire gathering erupted into shouting.