Chapter Text
When dawn found her, still tossing and turning about in her bed, a sense of resignation settled within Ranni. She’d been steeling herself for a confrontation with the Queen Eternal ever since she had arrived in Leyndell. She knew this moment would come – even if she felt woefully unprepared.
Birds were chirping away outside, eager to greet the morning sun. Growling, Ranni pushed a pillow against her head, hoping to block out their melody. So accursedly joyful. A part of her wanted to plant her face into the mattress and scream until she was gasping for air and her throat was raw. Or bash her head against the bedpost. Perhaps she’d be spared from visiting the Goddess, if she concussed herself hard enough.
The princess reckoned that in an hour or so, Blaidd would be at the door to wake her. Punctual, as always. He would frown when he’d notice the black circles under her eyes, the exhausted slump of her frame, and offer to bring her breakfast or have the servants prepare a bath. And Ranni would accept both, because there was a no more pitiable sight in the world than her Shadow feeling useless.
Until then, she was free to wallow in her misery.
Giving up on trying to muffle the birds’ singing, Ranni flung the pillow to the floor, then turned to lay on her back with a huff. To add to all her ills, exhaustion rendered her vision hazy and painful. She would need to brew some sort of analeptic if she hoped to make it through the day. Fortunately, the princess had brought along a few rudimentary alchemical instruments, which had since been collecting dust in one of the unopened crates. Her expertise didn’t lie with potions. Yet, if memory served correct, Ranni had the ingredients to craft a mild stimulant.
Alchemy practised within her own chambers should be tame enough not to send the servants running to Radagon.
Ranni’s fingers twitched at the thought, itching to hold a scepter again. As time passed, the restrictions placed upon her use of magic chafed against her more and more. She, daughter to the greatest sorceress of her generation; she, who’d been whispered the mysteries of the stars since the cradle – forbidden to practise the art anywhere outside her apartments.
As an act of a petty revenge, the princess made sure to put on a grand magic show for Malenia whenever she came over for tea.
A smile flitted over her lips as she recalled her sister’s awed expression. For a girl of ten and twelve, Ranni found her to be greatly sheltered. Given that sickness had apparently kept her confined to bed for much of her life, it made sense. Still, it was a strange thing for the princess to behold. At her age, Ranni had already been attending the Academy for two years, a prodigal student by all measures, childhood shadowed by her mother’s growing melancholiness. She’d just encountered the dark vision of her Moon and had begun pursuing its trail, which eventually would lead her all the way to that cold, umbrous forest…
Outside, the bells began to toll, intent on rousing the people of Leyndell. Ranni flinched at the clamour. These same bells were to accompany her to the wedding ceremony as well. She could already feel the phantom of a headache their ratchet would cause. Five weeks. Five more weeks and she would be married. Just yesterday, the thought had brought some relief. But now…
The matter was quite simple if a bit embarrassing: Ranni had no experience with romance. A stilted kiss was all she had to show for any amorous adventures, offered by a boy whom she’d tutored back at Raya Lucaria. It had not led to anything more. There were lingering looks, attraction, even banter that toed the line of flirting – but the princess always seemed to have something greater to worry about: her house, her mother, the Academy and its council, her destiny. Little time to be squeezed in for a lover. Not that it had bothered her – at least not until now. Yet the notion of facing her wedding night utterly unprepared and at the mercy of Godwyn made her fragile trust in him waver.
Such sweet promises he whispered to her the night before – but could he keep them? Would he overlook his own pleasure in favour of her comfort? Ranni had no idea. She wanted to have faith in him, despite the foolish blunder which had cut short their dinner. But his words were not to be taken for granted.
Talk of the bedding had dredged up another uncomfortable thought: motherhood. She had previously regarded it as a faraway, abstract thing, a duty she would once need to fulfil to continue the line of Caria. An heir was unnecessary – the Lunar Queen yet lived and Ranni herself was still young – so she’d long put the matter from her mind.
But now? Sure, Godwyn seemed in agreement that conceiving a child so soon would be best avoided, yet Ranni knew they were merely stalling for time. A marriage vow won’t hold together this farce of alliance forever – no, it had been the birth of Radahn and Rykard that had truly solidified the truce between Liurnia and Leyndell.
Not that their existence counted for much when Radagon tucked tail and ran back to his master.
Sooner rather than later, a child will be demanded of them. Would it be in Ranni’s power to refuse? And even if she did comply, who knows what the Queen Eternal could do with such a leverage…
Motherhood. As she sprawled on the bed, the princess attempted to picture herself with a babe in her arms – black haired and blue eyed, like a true Carian heir should be – but could only conjure up a visage of some hazy, unfamiliar woman. What did she even know of being a mother? Ranni had been without one for nearly half her life.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Lady Ranni?” Blaidd’s voice was muffled, tentative.
There was no point in pretending she was still asleep. “Come in.”
The well-oiled hinges slid open quietly and the half-wolf’s head appeared through the crack. Mismatched eyes roved over Ranni’s dishevelment and the bed’s sorry state, briefly flicking to the lone pillow lying upon the carpet.
“Would you like me to bring you breakfast?” he asked, “Or have a bath drawn for you perhaps?”
Blaidd looked puzzled when the princess broke out into sudden, roaring laughter.
Once the water had washed away the traces of what little sleep she’d gotten the night before, Ranni sat down in the parlour to break her fast – an assortment of fruits, a steaming bowl of porridge sprinkled with cinnamon, and a pot of tea sweetened to her exact liking. Opposite her, the Shadow gobbled his meal up with alarming speed. The princess hadn’t much of an appetite but forced herself to eat regardless – she would need to preserve her strength for the trying day ahead of her. Afterwards, clad in only a shift and an old-fashioned housecoat, she rummaged through the crates to find what she needed to brew the analeptic draught.
“Sleepless night?” Blaidd asked, perched upon the edge of her desk, as Ranni set about grinding dried arteria leaves into a fine powder.
“Hm,” she nodded, watching the flaky foliage turn to dust under her ministrations, “Too many thoughts.”
They stewed in silence for some time, with Blaidd occasionally handing her an ingredient or tool when indicated. Once the potion began roiling inside the cauldron, Ranni sighed and leaned back. Wordlessly, the half-wolf moved a clawed hand upon her shoulder, squeezing. A pleasant shudder raced down the princess’ spine, which he took as an invitation to knead her muscles a little. A restless night of tossing and turning had worked up quite the stiffness.
“What do you miss the most about home?” she asked on a whim, watching a bubble grow and burst upon the brew’ surface, “If you had to choose?”
Now it was Blaidd’s turn to hum. “…The ale, I think. It’s too sweet here.”
Ranni laughed. “Thinking with your stomach again, I see. Poor Iji, to think he’s to be cast aside in favour of a cool pint.”
“I’m sure he would be understanding,” the Shadow’s guffawed, then trailed off, “And you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you miss most?” he clarified.
Everything. Mother. Iji, of course. Miriam and the other preceptors, even Seluvis and his haughtiness. The Manor’s leal knights and servants – her family, more so than anyone in Leyndell. Adula’s grumbling, their flights, the heady allure of the skies, which she braved despite her fear. Freedom, heedless and unrestrained.
Ranni remained silent.
The draught returned to her some much-needed vitality, but also furthered her restlessness. Hours would pass before she’d be called upon by the Queen Eternal, yet Ranni found no means to distract herself. Mostly, she spent her time pacing around the bedchamber and study, forbidding the guards to allow any visitation. Noble guests plagued her frequently these days. Her agitation spread to Blaidd as well, who idled away the hours by cleaning his spotless suit of armour.
It was almost a relief, when after luncheon, Gunda – flanked by Gilda and Dea – marched in and set about making her presentable.
Chattering about some scandal, they dressed her in a deep blue robe she’d received at the beginning of her stay, closely resembling the Queen’s garments. Unsubtle, as far as gestures went. Ranni allowed it, grudgingly, but refused to wear her hair in a plait or have her face painted, much to the chagrin of the two older maids. Instead, she selected her favoured bracelets and diadem – a choice similarly blatant in its symbolism – ignoring complaints that she looked ‘too modest’ to meet with the Goddess. A withering look silenced them at last.
Gunda and Gilda left soon after, perhaps to report her disobedience to the Elden Lord. Only the youngest remained, fussing with the princess’ appearance – tucking a curling lock behind her ear, straightening the robe’s hem. For once, she appeared calm as she worked, even humming an odd little tune. Staring at her through the mirror’s reflection, Ranni spied a smile playing at the corner of her lips. How strange.
“Dea,” she said, causing the girl to look up. Her smile flickered but did not quite vanish. “Your work is done. Leave us, please.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” she replied, voice even. She didn’t stutter, nor did she avert her eyes. With a curtsy, Dea then exited the bedchamber.
Left alone at last, the half-wolf pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against and stepped closer. Careful not to ruffle her hair too much, he rested his chin on Ranni’s head, arms circling her. She welcomed the embrace.
“All this pomp… I tire of it, I do,” the princess muttered, twisting her bracelet, “Worse shall be the wedding preparations,” Radagon scheduled her another fitting with that insufferable tailor – news which he had delivered through a servant, the coward.
Blaidd let out a rough chuckle, fur tickling her face. “Should I duel the maids for your honour, my lady?”
Ranni swatted at his arm in mock offence. “Oh, hush, you fool!” They exchanged a glance then burst out laughing.
“Have hope,” he said, once the two of them quietened down, “You have faced her once before.”
“And all the good that did me…” Ranni replied with a bitter chuckle. She remembered how eager she’d been to confront her a decade ago – she, who stole her father away, who damaged her mother beyond repair, who shattered her family – only for that serene voice to strip away all her hope for vengeance with a mere few words.
And instead of slaying the monster-queen, the valiant princess had fled and never looked back.
****
“Silence!”
The Elden Lord’s command cut through the council’s frenzied chatter, at last bringing about some semblance of order. Near an hour had passed debating matters, and yet they have not managed to move a single step ahead. The glaring absence at the head of the table – where Mother should’ve been – was not helping matters.
“Please, your Excellencies,” Godwyn spoke, imploring the councillors to quieten, “Before we get ahead of ourselves and speculate upon mere conjecture, let us wait ‘till Lord Fortissax’s return. He is sure to provide insight into his sire’s wishes.”
Having drawn the curtains shut, the shadows of the chamber were illuminated by candles – a rarely used commodity in a city which basked eternally in the Erdtree’s light. Their flickering flames only made the foreboding atmosphere weigh heavier upon them. For all that the council room now housed the empire’s foremost lords and ladies, the air was tense with uncertainty and helplessness.
“As you say, my prince,” Lord Casimir nodded in agreement, one of the few who yet managed to keep a level head.
“And what guarantee is there that the dragon shows up?!” Duke Marron, true to his surly self, growled. He slammed a fist on the table, rattling chalices. “Damnation, for all we know, he could be halfway to that wretched floating city of theirs by now, along with the rest!”
“You think our church so fickle?!” from the other side of the room, Dame Krista reared up in affront, “Our oaths bind us to the Queen Eternal, not just the dragon lords. We shan’t betray Leyndell.”
“That sentiment may shackle you,” Lady Hoslow said, more thoughtful than alarmed, “But is it enough to tie down the wings of the dragons walking among us, should we once again come to blows?”
“Wherefore it would be prudent,” Radagon interjected, cutting off the knightess’ indignant reply, “to await Lord Fortissax before we hasten to conclude the worst.”
Marron, irate enough to ignore decorum, started again, “But he may ha—!"
“He shall return. Prince Godwyn assured me of his steadfastness,” the Elden Lord nodded towards him, “Regardless, the discussion with Lady Lansseax ought to be lengthy. The delay is not suspect to mine eyne.”
At last, the duke backed off, slumping into his chair with a disgruntled expression. A veteran of the war with Farum Azula, he’d never come to trust the dragon lords. Godwyn understood well as to why. The Aerigh estate had been crushed under Gransax’s assault, leaving Marron grieving and alone, with only a distant cousin as his heir.
Long minutes passed in tense silence. Godwyn counted every second. They were all stuck wallowing in doubt, caged by their duties like wild beasts at a menagerie. He was a man of action, courtesy of his father’s barbarian blood. Ill-suited to such impotent waiting.
If this ends in war, the prince mused, at least the wedding will be postponed.
The prince straightened when at last the guard posted at the council’s entrance announced Fortissax’s arrival. He steeled himself for whatever news was brought before them.
“Highnesses. Excellencies,” as he stepped inside the dim chamber, the dragon’s human guise was inscrutable. He didn’t waste time on proper etiquette, sensing everyone’s impatience: “Mine sire, I am glad to say, has been swayed by Lady Lansseax’s plea for forbearance.”
All at once, relieved sighs echoed across the room. Godwyn let his shoulders sag, if only for a moment. This was the best outcome they could have hoped for. If Placidusax followed through with increasing draconic presence in Farum Azula’s former strongholds, old tensions would have inevitably resurfaced. Besides, Mother had always lacked tolerance for blatant displays of power.
If matters escalated to war, the prince was uncertain peace could again be achieved without toppling their empires. Leyndell’s streets would once again run with the blood of innocents.
“His other demands, however, remain unchanged,” the dragon added, dampening the elation somewhat.
“Such tidings bring us much solace,” Radagon nodded to Fortissax as he seated himself in an empty chair. From across the table, Godwyn flashed his friend a small smile, “And prithee, confer our gratitude to thine sister for her efforts. No doubt we have been spared further trouble only by her hand.”
Duke Marron grumbled something unseemly under his breath, which both the Elden Lord and Fortissax ignored.
“Still, this does little to ease the rest of my concerns,” Duchess Fairgrove, who had thus far been silent, chimed in, “I respect your noble sire for tempering his initial hostility, Lord Fortissax, yet what he asks of us is ludicrous. To grant his agents free rein of our lands – why, that is unthinkable!”
“And he refuses to extend the same gesture to us in exchange,” Casimir added, toying with the silver-hemmed sleeve of his tunic, “Our aim may be to mend the cracks of our alliance, but such concessions are a fragile ground to build upon.”
“With all that has transpired, it would be foolish of him to do so. There could be enemies lurking amongst even our most loyal of men,” Godwyn cut in to remind them, “I admit, what Placidussax asks of us is a step beyond reason. Yet we have also failed to do our due diligence in investigating Peregrissax’s killers. Had we put forward more of an effort, then perhaps the Sanctum could have gone unplundered.”
“Speaking of which,” Radagon said, turning to Sir Abelard, who’d joined them at the Elden Lord’s request, “How fairest thy investigation?”
The man scratched at his bearded jaw. “Nothing of worth has been found, ‘fraid so. Lord Maliketh apparently captured a suspect of note, some scholar who’d visited the Sanctum not long before the ransacking. But she managed to slip him and, well, er… silence herself, before any information could be pulled from her,” he rapped his knuckles against the table, a rare nervous gesture, “That had been our best lead.”
“Another trail to end in blood,” Fortissax’s voice was rueful. Their eyes met for a moment, both recalling the same ghastly image – the aftermath of massacre in the smugglers’ cellar. “Whatever their aim, to bring about all this carnage and thus draw our fury upon themselves is unwise,” he paused for a moment, then muttered, “Or perhaps that is precisely what they want…”
“Fools,” Abelard scoffed, “Their punishment will be grave, once they are caught.”
“If they are caught,” Casimir said pointedly.
“They must be,” Dame Krista clenched her fists, “The Sanctum’s desecration cannot, under any circumstance, go unpunished.”
“Nor do we intend to,” Godwyn decided to interject before the discussion devolved into an argument, “But you must understand, Excellencies, that if we assume Peregrissax’s assailants and the temple’s looters to be one and the same, they’ve managed to evade not only my men, but the servants of the draconic church as well. Which is why—” he began, levelling a stern gaze at Marron, “I would advocate for acquiescing to Lord Placidusax’s demand. Or, to put forth an offer of a joint force to carry out an investigation. Thoroughly, this time.”
“The Queen shall be more amiable toward the latter of those options,” Radagon said, nodding to the prince. Even before the council convened, the two of them had concluded as much. “Would thine sire prove willing to go along with such a compromise?” he asked, turning to the dragon.
Fortissax hummed, picking at his claws. He already knew of their plan, though could not promise that his father would favour it. “Perhaps. I shall have mine sister convey it to him, for he is most fond of her.”
“Objections?” Radagon looked to their councillors. Duke Marron’s displeasure was evident enough, but he stayed silent. A compromise, however disadvantageous, was better than war. From that, only these unseen foes would profit.
As the lords and ladies filed out of the room, Radagon laid a hand on Godwyn’s arm, halting him in his tracks.
“A moment. I need to speak with thee,” the man said, voice low so only the two of them could hear his words. Godwyn hesitated – he had thought to draw Fortissax aside for a more candid conversation – but upon seeing Radagon’s expression, he nodded his assent.
They exited the chamber together, arm in arm. Sir Kristoff dutifully fell into step behind his prince and the King Consort.
“Hast thou any engagements this afternoon?” Radagon asked as he guided them towards the stairwell connected to his chambers, “‘Tis not mine wish to keep thee from thy duties.”
“Nothing pressing,” Godwyn said. A bit of a lie. “I’ve invited Lord Casimir to take his supper with me and his son. They have not seen one another frequently of late,” the old lord had been far too occupied with his heir’s betrothal to dote upon his younger son – something that must have pained him, considering how much he favoured Crennan, “Lady Ranni is with Mother, so we shan’t take our customary walk. For the time being, I am yours.”
A brief smile flitted over Radagon’s lips but soon faded. He pushed the curtains of the Erdtree Sanctuary aside, the silk fluttering in the breeze. Godwyn motioned for Sir Kristoff to remain outside, then followed after him.
As they ventured deeper inside, the prince saw the lordly guise fall away from Radagon’s face, giving a glimpse of the man beneath. Shoulders rigid, he leaned both hands upon the nearby table and stared ahead, statuesque. A storm brewed in his gaze.
Godwyn knew that expression. Silently, he came to stand beside him.
With a gesture and a muttered incantation, Radagon encased them in a silencing sphere, which would prevent anyone from listening in. A caution the Elden Lord rarely felt pressured to use.
Within, even their breaths echoed harshly to the prince’s ear.
He was just about to ask what warranted such a measure, when, with a wide arc of his arm, Radagon swept a dainty set of porcelain from the table. The dishes met their end upon the stone tiles, their destruction disrupting the unnatural quiet.
Wide-eyed, Godwyn’s eyes snapped from the ceramic ruins back up to the Elden Lord.
“Mine apologies,” the man said, voice calm, unreflective of his outburst just a moment before, “I shall have the servants bring us new cups. Care to take thy tea with me?”
A bit shaken, the other nodded. Mindful of how far the incantation reached, they both seated themselves.
“I fear I do not understand our Queen these days,” Radagon sighed, fingers digging into his braid. Godwyn merely hummed. Though he was loath to say it, he felt the same.
“Her discussion with Ranni must have taken priority,” the prince said instead, attempting to be diplomatic, “After all, Mother’s duty is to the Greater Will, first and foremost. Matters of succession weigh heavily on her mind.”
“A rather distant prospect, which I fail to perceive to be of more import than the crisis we are facing,” Radagon’s tone was clipped, “Lord Fortissax very well could have brought us a declaration of war. ‘Twas a failure on her part to not attend.”
“Likely, Mother has faith in us to solve the problem in her stead,” he said, trying to temper the Consort’s ire, “Or perhaps she had knowledge of something we did not,” even as those words left his lips, Godwyn felt unsettled by the possibility.
“Perhaps…” Radagon conceded, though his posture remained tense, “Fortunate, then, that the worst had not come to pass. Cooperation is now tantamount. Speaking of which,” he rolled his shoulders, “If Lord Placidusax agrees to a joint force, I shall have need of one of thine men.”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“Sir Arthur, if thou couldst spare him. He worked alongside the Inquisition enough to familiarise himself with their… peculiarities. Mine son may accept him more easily.”
“You wish to involve them?” Godwyn frowned. Rykard and his men have carried out numerous successful investigations before, that much is true, but…
“We must resolve this as swiftly as possible, lest we allow the assailants a chance to inflict more harm,” Radagon’s tone brooked no argument, “The Inquisition is an expendable enough force for the task.”
“I suppose,” the prince bowed his head, not wanting to argue, “Shall the Queen be satisfied with this arrangement?”
“She bid me to act as I see fit, and thus I have done so,” a mark of annoyance creased the Elden Lord’s brow, “Should the Queen find our solution disagreeable, she may call for the council to convene again.”
Godwyn hummed, thoughts beginning to wander. He had half a mind to dispel Radagon’s incantation and call for a servant to bring them tea, but there was just one detail – quite insignificant, in the grand scheme of things – which irked him.
“Have you known that Maliketh was also in pursuit of the thieves?” he asked, quite nonchalantly. Yet Radagon’s gaze snapped to him all the same.
“…Nay, to tell thee verily,” crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair, “But the Sanctum is his to oversee, above all else. Little surprise he would join us in the hunt.”
When put like that, it made sense, but… “The Black Blade has never acted without the Queen’s command.”
Why would Mother pretend such complete disinterest in the attacks that befell the draconic church, then in secret bade her loyal Shadow to investigate matters? Had she, after dismissing their concerns, realized her error and sought to make up for it? Or had she concealed her involvement since news first came of Peregrissax’s murder? His own words just moments earlier came to his mind unbidden: perhaps she had knowledge of something we did not. But what could that be? And what would possess the Goddess to hide it from them?
If similar concerns plagued Radagon’s mind, he expressed it not. Instead, he swirled a finger, the motion causing the sphere around them to disappear.
“I shall call for tea,” he said, then stood, leaving Godwyn alone to stew in his thoughts.
****
Breathe in. Breathe out. You cannot show weakness. You cannot let her control you.
With a nod to the two Blacknives posted at the entrance, Ranni drew aside the curtain veiling away the Queen’s bedchamber from unwanted eyes and stepped inside – alone. Here, not even Blaidd or her guards could follow her.
“Punctual, thine arrival. Good,” she tried her best not to tense up at the sound of that voice, “Come, child, be seated.”
Those words were an order, despite the warm tone accompanying them.
For a moment, Ranni let her gaze linger. A decade had passed, yet in keeping with Marika’s professed eternity, nary a detail had changed within the room. Almost involuntarily, her eyes were drawn to the enormous bed carved of stone and the delicate baldachin draped above it, illuminated by the golden light all night and all day – perhaps so the Erdtree may gaze upon its mother as she slept. If she slept. Ranni wasn’t certain. Surrounding the bed was a great wall of carved tablets, seemingly ever increasing. Whether matters of the empire or detailing Golden Order tenets, she could not say, nor did she care to know.
When last they faced each other in such an intimate setting, the Queen Eternal had been seated upon her berth, forcing Ranni to kneel before her on the stone tiles. Now, before one of the windows, was a small table with a pair of chaises placed at either side, jarringly out of place with the solemn air of the bedchamber. Marika sat farther from the entrance, a teacup held within delicate fingers. She smiled at Ranni – that serene, knowing smile. It sent a shiver up the princess’ spine.
“Come,” she repeated, and the other obeyed, knowing well not to refuse her command a second time.
Slowly, like one might approach a snake coiling to strike, Ranni lowered herself on the remaining chaise. She had her own cup and saucer – a glazed ceramic of blue and gold – yet empty of any beverage. As soon as she was seated, the Queen poured her some from the kettle. The brew was made with pomegranates and peaches if the fragrant steam was anything to go by. Careful not to give herself away, the princess sniffed at it lightly, looking for any odd note in its scent – something that might indicate a potion or truth serum. She detected nothing of the sort.
Never had a cup of tea so intimidated Ranni. She gripped it tightly, staring into the amber-coloured liquid before daring to raise her eyes. Marika looked back at her, head braced upon a hand.
“Thou hast grown much, little spark,” she remarked suddenly. Something almost wistful appeared in her gaze.
Ranni bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything foolish. She’d hoped the Queen Eternal would leave behind that mocking endearment. Little spark. Too close to what Mother used to whisper to her, hands running through her hair as Rennala lulled her daughter to sleep: little star.
Her little star, cradled by the moon.
“It is only natural, Your Majesty,” through some miracle, Ranni’s voice did not waver, “When last I came to Leyndell, I was nary more than a girl,” not that she felt much older now, pinned under that gaze.
“And now, a woman grown, to be married,” Marika raised the cup to her lips, “Tell me, mine dear, how hast thou found thy visit, now that it shall come to an end anon?”
The princess’ reply was a slew of stilted courtesy. Yes, her rooms and servants were most adequate. Yes, the robes and fineries gifted to her had been wonderful. No, she had not yet grown tired of the castle halls and their majesty. Yes, she had often visited the gardens. Yes, they were breathtaking. Your Majesty must have excellent gardeners. No, being incessantly called upon by courtiers was not too troubling. No, Malenia was well-behaved whenever she came by. Yes, yes, no, yes, no, yes, yes, no.
Cautiously, Ranni sipped at her tea. Waiting, through the deluge of small talk and trifling queries, for the other shoe to drop. The Queen Eternal must’ve had some purpose in mind for this, other than amusing herself by humiliating the princess.
“By all accompts, mine children are most fond of thee,” Marika said after some time, stirring her cup, “Godwyn, in particular,” Not knowing how to answer, Ranni jerked her head in imitation of a nod, “‘Tis a fortunate start for a marriage. Mine first lord and I shared a similar understanding, ere the bonds of matrimony.”
The princess opened her mouth to reply, but the Queen seemed uninterested in whatever she might splutter out. “Art thou intent on returning to thine mother’s residence, after the wedding?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Of course. Ranni wasn’t planning to stay a moment longer than necessary within these accursed walls. “As heir, it would be unseemly if I left her side for longer than I already have.”
“Such concern,” Marika practically purred, “Thy devotion must warm the Lunar Queen’s heart,” cup emptied, she poured herself from the brew once more.
Ranni swallowed, chest growing tight. “She has given me more than I can ever repay,” unbidden, memories of a hundred starlit nights emerged, spent in study of the celestials, as Rennala – saddened but still sane – guided her sleepless daughter along a sorceress’ path, “It is not merely duty that hurries me home.”
“O, child, I understand,” the Goddess reached out to caress her hand. Her skin was cold, more marble than flesh. Goosebumps raced up Ranni’s back. “Thou needest not justify thyself. I too have been a daughter once,” Marika’s touch lingered for a moment before pulling away. “Be not afeard, I shan’t force thee to stay. Mine son will have to content himself with the wedding night,” she giggled, sweet as a babe. The princess stared into her tea, stomach tying itself in knots.
“Will the prince remain in the Capital?” the question tumbled out of her before she could think better of it. Marika raised a brow, a hint of amusement in her expression. Beneath the table, Ranni clenched her hand into a fist.
“Aye, he shall. Thou must understand mine desire to keep him close, considering how eager thou art to reunite with thine mother. He has duties to attend to, besides,” Ranni inclined her head, relieved. She had expected as much, but having it confirmed eased some of her worries. “Although if it is thy wish, I will have him accompany thee on thy journey home.”
“I’m grateful, Your Majesty, but there is no need,” the princess said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
“Of course, with such distant living arrangements, frequent visitations shall be necessary,” Marika continued, “Mine lord husband made mention of the four belfries once. Perhaps a fifth might be set up, to ease the strain of travel? A gateway betwixt Liurnia and the Plateau would prove useful.”
For an invasion, certainly. Ranni wanted to scoff.
“I’m afraid the belfries have been inactive for centuries,” she replied. It was the truth. Their people have long realized the danger of keeping the gates open. They had divided the keys between the Academy, Caria, and the clerics of Manus Celes Cathedral, though that has since also fallen into the hands of her family. “And any plans for a new one would have to undergo extensive negotiations with the council of Raya Lucaria, as well as the clergy, which are sure to last years.”
Marika was not fazed by the swift rebuttal. “Well, something to consider for the future,” she said, pausing to sip her tea, “Thou shalt grow weary of travelling soon – thrice a year thou must return,” Ranni frowned, eliciting a laugh from the Queen, “Do not look so downcast now, little spark. Thou’rt shall be mine heir in all but name once the wedding bells ring.”
The plate must have cracked with how hard Ranni had slammed down her cup, levelling an icy glare at the Goddess.
“I have refused, and refuse yet still,” she said, barely keeping her voice from trembling in anger, “Marriage shall not change that.”
Marika tilted her head but said nothing. Her gaze almost seemed pitying, but Ranni wasn’t fooled by her. Underneath all the smiles and serenity, the Goddess possessed no true warmth within her.
“The Fingers have spoken. Mere stubbornness shall not circumvent thy fate, Ranni.”
Defiant, the princess raised her chin. “You have sired two other Empyreans, Your Majesty. One of them shall surely prove a suitable replacement, more than a mere stepdaughter.”
Marika had made it clear to her, on that fateful day more than a decade ago, what godhood entailed: to be hollowed out and made a vessel for some golden parasite. To be remade in its blessed image.
Terrified beyond sense, Ranni had refused and fled the Capital. In the following years, as Carian control and Mother’s sanity dwindled, the princess had been convinced that the Goddess simply meant to frighten her away from pursuing the path of ascension and be rid of a potential rival.
She’d been wrong. Whether by her own wishes or the Greater Will’s decree, Marika was determined to have Ranni as her heir.
But the princess did not intend to roll over and let her have her way. Godhood could hardly be forced upon her the same way a marriage could.
“Mayhaps,” the Queen hummed, as if Ranni was nothing more than a feisty pup disobeying commands, “Nonetheless, as consort to the crown prince, certain engagements shall be expected of thee. Three visitations a year. No less.”
As much as she wished, this was not the time to be rebellious. “Very well,” the princess bit out, smothering her anger with a deep drink, “Thrice, a sennight long each. That is as much time as I can spare.”
“A fortnight would be more prudent, I believe,” Marika sprinkled a bit of sugar into her cup.
Ranni raised a brow. “I have duties.”
“I had not known the Lunar Queen to be incapable without her heir,” the other stiffened, even though her tone was light, almost teasing, “A fortnight, mine dear. ‘Tis for thy benefit.”
Indignant, Ranni was ready to object, but the Queen Eternal interrupted her once again. “Now, to the matter of the wedding,” from a nearby pile, Marika lifted up a thin stone tablet, glancing over it briefly, “The ceremony will not see much change. I shall have mine lord husband’s chamberlain sent, to help thee familiarise thyself with the necessary steps. Worry not,” she assured, “Upon the Elden Lord’s insistence, thy vows shall include the oath of moon and stars that is custom amongst Carians,” the princess breathed an uneasy sigh.
“I’m grateful, Your Majesty,” she bit out. It felt more of an appeasement on the part of her father, than a gesture made in good faith.
“Thou should’st begin preparing thy wedding gifts as well,” the Queen Eternal continued, passing the tablet to Ranni. She took it, nearly fumbling. Now that she held it in her hands, the princess could see it was a list of names, sorted by various trades. “Some I know thou hast brought along from Liurnia, but I took the liberty of compiling the finest craftsmen that dwell in our great city, nonetheless, should the need arise.”
“I understand,” Ranni forced a tight smile, “If that is all…”
Holding the tablet to her chest, the princess rose with a curtsy, before turning to leave. A few long steps and she reached the entrance, desperate to be free of the Goddess’ gaze, which weighed upon her heavily. She lifted a hand to draw the curtain aside—
“A moment.”
Ranni’s grip on the silk faltered. She looked back at the Queen Eternal.
“All things yearn eternally to converge,” she recognised the words: the doctrine of regression. Her face twisted in confusion. “‘Tis law, child. Under sacred oath, the bedding must take place, lest the union be deemed invalid. Do not forget.” Marika’s smile was dazzling.
The princess nodded, her mouth dry. This time, when she pulled open the veil and stepped forth, no one called out to stop her.