The eyes of the crowd turned towards the projection of their king. With an imposing demeanor, he faced his people. He gave the convincing illusion of watching over each of his subjects, despite not being physically present among them.
After turning his head briefly from side to side, the king straightened it forward and began to move his lips.
"Hello, dear compatriots of our sister lands, Lebias and Grianz," he said, with a deep and eloquent voice that matched his imposing appearance. "Here I stand, from the Royal Palace of Netzach, as always, assuming my responsibility as the protector of the people of this magnificent city and the legacy of the Dragar dynasty. At this hour of the morning, I have chosen to address you with important news for the entire capital."
The king paused for a well-timed breath, during which a figure entered the White Forum, approaching the platform.
It is...
Princess Madalin!
Everyone recognized her, accompanied by four escorts from the Order of Lebias, clad in their characteristic lightweight armor and silver masks. The crowd parted to make way for them, offering slight and silent bows, which the noblewoman acknowledged with brief gestures. Instead of a long, elegant gown one might expect for her stature, she wore a white vest over a skirt made of strips of red leather, as deep as crimson wine, reinforced with small metal pieces. A short, wide-bladed sword was sheathed on her left hip. These garments clung well to her curvaceous figure, with pronounced hips and bust. Her limbs displayed well-defined and trained muscles, adorned with accessories like bracelets on her arms and sandals, with leather strips similar to those on her skirt laced around her legs. Her face was a blend of contrasting features. Some were delicate, like her cheekbones and shiny, straight brown hair; others were more rugged, such as her mouth, wide nose, and large round brown eyes - features inherited from her father, which, by the region's standards, worked against her natural beauty.
As the only daughter of the brief union between the current king and the last princess of the Dragar dynasty, the people often referred to her as the new princess, but in practice, it was merely a decorative title. She never showed much interest in court affairs and formalities, displaying instead a clear inclination towards intellectual and military matters, which led her to become a Holy Warrior and earn her position as a lieutenant in the city guard.120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpZBwhTvEWe
Princess Madalin took her place at the forefront of the crowd, eagerly awaiting her father, King Renardin's next words.
"First and foremost, I congratulate my people, the people of Eh-Nam, who have been proactive, working diligently on the preparations for the Maskirian Week, just like myself and all the devout followers of the Closest to the Heavens." He paused briefly. "During these sacred times, it is my duty to remind the people of Lebias of the importance of being cautious, of keeping one eye open, for danger lurks in the form of the Sulfnats, the heretical empires of the desert," King Renardin continued. "Empires of evil that, unfortunately, have grown stronger over the years under the yoke of the demon Elkan Diklah, or 'Mugnatir,' as he calls himself; the greatest traitor to have ever tarnished the honor of this noble homeland since the mangy wolf of Zeev, who, by the divine justice of Maskirio, shall forever burn in the flames of hell."
Mugnatir... Madalin whispered his name in her thoughts, furrowing her brow. Her vehement disgust for that infamous character had been instilled in her by her father, along with many other qualities.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that on the eve of these days of celebration and tribute to our heroic ancestors, 'Mugnatir' and his scoundrels once again provoke our people with their treachery. We have confirmed the rumors that have recently reached us from the Niespalian provinces: heretical pirates managed to dock in Cirencre and plunder the city's bank."
"So, is it true that they sacked Cirencre?"
"Absurd!"
A significant portion of the crowd murmured with mixed opinions. Cirencre was well-known for the defenses of its port. It was unthinkable that simple pirates could have breached them.
"Using a captured grianzan ship, they deceived its defenses and ravaged them in a cowardly act of betrayal; a shameless maneuver that could only have been orchestrated by that dark devil," the king explained. "But that's not all; just before the pirate attack, an Abiyr was sighted in the city. As you hear, the Tarburian Black Knights, the offspring of the cursed legacy of the Immortal Union, who caused so much tragedy to this homeland with their conspiracies in the Nefeshic Wars, have reappeared."
The Abiyrs...?!
They've reappeared?!
Once again, the crowd, including the princess, was caught off guard. Some of the older spectators, who had witnessed the war firsthand and its most terrifying event—the massacre of Netzach—paled for a moment at the mere mention of the mysterious knights.
"Although the city authorities arrested him, the Abiyr managed to escape from their dungeons in the midst of the chaos brought by the heretics, and since then, his whereabouts is unknown. I have received news that yesterday, just one day after the pirate attack, a severe Ashaim outbreak occurred in the city of Hezaran, a few leagues from Cirencre. Sadly, four of their soldiers fell victim to it before it could be successfully eradicated. May God and Maskirio welcome them into the heavens," he said, with solemn tone and gestures, holding a few seconds of silence before resuming his speech. "I ask you, my people, does this chain of terrible events not seem too coincidental? I have no doubt that this Abiyr is connected to them. After decades of disappearance and having signed a hypocritical peace with our world, the Tarburians are conspiring again to conquer it. They are once again joining forces with the heretical empires of the desert, whose dignity is so meager that they seem to have forgotten the backstabbing they received from the Tarburians more than twenty years ago."
The Tarburians...
They want to return to conquer us?!
The king's assertions continued to bewilder his listeners.
"And everything points to the fact that they are willing to execute their vile plans sooner rather than later. We have reports that the Sulfnats are mobilizing armies near our borders and Nefeshic crystal mines. And after the successful attack on Cirencre, we cannot rule out the possibility that they may attempt to invade it with their fleets, or any of the other coastal cities in our Najta. In the face of such a challenge, I have ordered their reinforcement and the preparation of their defenses. Let us hope that the presence of our glorious Maskirian armies will be enough to deter them and send them running with their tails between their legs, as they have always done. But before the phantom menace of the Abiyr from Cirencre, we must be more vigilant than ever.
On the projection, a hand appeared at the side, handing the king a poster depicting a detailed drawing of a fully-armored knight with a cape and a sword.
"That is why we will display this ‘wanted’ poster throughout the city," the king said, holding the poster in front of him. "This drawing is the most accurate portrait we have of the Abiyr based on the descriptions of his witnesses. If you happen to see him, do not hesitate to alert our forces."
More than one spectator widened their eyes in astonishment. Even in the harmless form of a poster, the image of an Abiyr was as terrifying as their mere presence, still vivid in the memories of the war. After displaying the portrait for a brief moment, the same hand that had appeared to hand it to the king returned to retrieve it. With courtesy, the king nodded and gave it to its owner, who proceeded to withdraw it.
"People of Lebias, despite these unsettling tidings, we must remain steadfast, as unyielding as steel, as we have been for all these years. If the enemy believes that our morale will falter because of their misdeeds, if they think they can prevent us from celebrating our traditions, they are mistaken! We will not grant them that victory! We will celebrate the glory of our Lord Maskirio like never before!" he declared while waving his arms in gestures that underscored his skilled oratory. "Netzach does not yield! The people of Eh-Nam command respect! If the heretical empires and the Abiyrs attempt to defile our capital during these sacred times, the 'wrath of heaven' awaits them!"
He raised his left arm, clenched his fist.
"This rooster will show them his talons!"
The energy and conviction in the king's words earned him several cheers from the crowd.
Pleased by these reactions, the princess smiled quietly.
But…
"Hm?"
Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. An equally sizable portion of the citizens turned their backs to the platform and walked away from it with total indifference, joining another crowd at a specific point in the square. The princess could hear repeated and prolonged laughter coming from that direction.
"Celebrate, my dear people, but with your eyes wide open. Prepared men and women are worth twice as much…"
While her father concluded his speech, the princess turned around and walked alongside her escorts to investigate what was happening in that corner that had aroused her suspicion. It was just behind the central statue of the square, the statue of the city's hero: Eh-Nam, the largest in their repertoire. The number of onlookers and spectators laughing around it continued to grow.
As she crossed the statue and peered through the crowd, the princess discovered the reason for the commotion.
"My dear people! The heretical empires of the desert are invading us once again! They want to steal our precious crystals!"
Said an actor right in front of the statue, gesturing and moving his arms in an almost perfect imitation of their king.
Gabran! The princess furrowed her brow in irritation. She identified him immediately; they and their families had known each other for several years. The young man and his younger brother, who was enjoying his antics in the front row, had not yet noticed her arrival.
"Mugnatir has returned to kill me, and he's even got the Abiyrs to do his dirty work this time!" Gabran exclaimed, continuing his parody. "But don't worry! A rooster that doesn't crow is no rooster! Forget about our allies. I, your magnificent protector, will finally lead my glorious armies into the desert to punish that dark devil with my iron fist... from the privileged view of the throne in the Royal Palace."
Several laughs erupted among his listeners. Laughter that quickly fell silent when they noticed the presence of Her Highness, who was not at all amused by the spectacle.
"Only I can safeguard the secrets of the Temple of Kajoak! No matter how much I want to throw myself into the desert to take his head with my axe, I cannot abandon my 'duties', ladies and gentlemen!" Gabran didn't stop. He brandished an imaginary sword in his left arm and positioned his body to the side in a pose identical to that of the hero in the statue behind him. "It's my fate as the avatar of Eh-Nam in this era!"
"Pssst... Gabran!" Olivrin whispered to alert him to the danger.
Gabran turned his head forward, finding himself face to face with her. It was already too late to slip away.
"Ouch!" He groaned in pain as her fingers squeezed and tugged on his right ear as if he were a misbehaving child.
"I warned you!" The princess scolded him, applying more force to her tug. After dragging him a bit, she let go and gave him a small push towards the statue's wall. "And you continue with the same audacity every Soladi!"
Olivrin and the others watched in fear as the princess delivered several punches to Gabran’s chest and abdomen. He had no choice but to hunch over to shield himself with his arms as he was cornered.
"This is your punishment for insulting His Majesty!" She reaffirmed her anger with new blows.
Taking advantage of a brief opening, Gabran sidestepped and escaped her onslaught.
"Eh-Nam, Maskirio! Please come and save me! I have the Empress of the Scarlet Star on top of me!" He playfully implored the statue of the hero and the heavens, causing fresh laughter among the onlookers, which further infuriated his assailant.
The "Empress" he alluded to was the legendary leader of the Immortal Union. The tyrannical Tarburian from the sacred records who, wielding the most terrifying weapon ever conceived, the Ashaim essence, oppressed and slaughtered millions until Maskirio and his allies overthrew her and put her to death during the Holy Rebellion, freeing humanity from her clutches. Nearly a thousand years after her fall, her family emblem, an eight-pointed star as scarlet as blood, continued to be a symbol of terror and darkness.
The princess gripped the hilt of her sword, drew it, and brought its point closer to Gabran, silencing the laughter in an instant.
"You can mock him as much as you want, but His Majesty is a hero of the Nefeshic Wars; the heavens have witnessed his courage," she asserted with seriousness, not lowering her sword. "You are but a jester who can't even match his shadow."
She sheathed her sword, still staring intently at the actor, who hadn't lost his composure or his smile for a moment, despite having the edge of her weapon inches from his neck.
"Ooooh." The crowd murmured in astonishment. Her Highness had wounded the artist without the need for her blade.
"How have you not learned anything from my mentors?" Princess Madalin reproached Gabran before turning around to join her escorts and quickly leave the scene.
"Gabran!" his younger brother said with a hint of concern, rushing over to check on him, just like some other spectators. "Are you okay?"
Gabran looked at him and patted his right shoulder while nodding reassuringly.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," he affirmed. He shifted his gaze toward the princess, a silhouette gradually becoming more distant and difficult to distinguish amidst her escorts and the rest of the crowd in the square. He grinned mischievously. "Wait for me here."
Before Olivrin and his other followers could respond, Gabran released his shoulder and hurriedly ran towards the princess.
"Your Highness!"
He soon managed to catch up.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he told her repeatedly, attempting to halt her progress as he stood in her way. Her escorts covered her and reached for their weapons, but with a gesture, the princess stopped them and indicated that it wasn't necessary. They stepped aside to allow her to face Gabran.
"Move, or I will do it myself," the princess warned him sternly, approaching him. She turned her head in both directions, making sure there were no curious onlookers too close to the two of them. "How long are you going to keep up with these foolish antics, Gabran?" she scolded him in a low voice but in a less hostile tone. "If any other member of the guard had seen you in my place, they wouldn't have hit you; they would have dragged you to the barracks."
"And I would have deserved it," Gabran replied, trying to calm her with open palms. "I'm sorry. I admit I went too far this time... a bit too far. I shouldn't have told those lies. Your father is a war hero; he's anything but a coward," he said.
"His Majesty," the princess corrected him in a more moderate tone. Although her annoyance hadn't entirely dissipated, his apologies and change in attitude had greatly eased it.
Gabran surveyed his surroundings before looking at her again.
"Look," he pointed with his hand at the people still gathered around the statue of Eh-Nam. "It seems like more people were watching me today than listening to His Majesty," he said with playful arrogance. "Think about it. If all these people, who are just looking forward to celebrating the Maskirian Week after working hard and honestly, were to ignore His Majesty's 'extremely important' news…"
Taking advantage of the princess's distraction with his eloquent words, Gabran made his move. To the astonished gaze of the escorts, the actor discreetly slid his right hand and gently touched that of Her Highness.
"Does it really matter if those news come from someone else?" he continued. "Even a 'jester' like me?" He flashed a smile. "With a ruby gleam, your lips have cast their spell. Your Royal Highness, in my captivation I dwell. Here's the key to my heart, a treasure so rare. For you and only you, this love I declare." He recited smoothly, causing his recipient to blush.
The nuances of his verses did not go unnoticed by the indignant escorts, who reached for the hilts of their weapons. If he dared to escalate those suggestive advances, it could become a serious offense both to the royal title and the military rank of their boss, punishable by lethal force.
"His Majesty once recounted in one of his speeches that with these verses, he conquered Her Highness Nitzam; may the heavens keep her forever in their glory," Gabran clarified to the princess with sobriety, skillfully defusing the wrath of her escorts. He furrowed his brow slightly and lowered his gaze, remaining in respectful and solemn silence before speaking again, as he had just mentioned the princess's late mother. "His Majesty has quite an imagination, I can't deny that either. It's a shame he doesn’t use more his gift with words for the arts, but today even I was surprised. 'The Abiyr of Cirencre'..." he pronounced with laughter, returning to his mocking tone. "Finally, a new sinister villain to justify his military campaigns! It seems he's realizing that 'Mugnatir' and the 'heretical empires of the desert' were more burnt out than firewood in a fireplace."
The princess rolled her eyes in exasperation. Those comments had broken the brief enchantment the actor had cast upon her.
"Do you think it's funny? Do you see me laughing?" she chided him. "If after all these years, you still think his enemies are inventions to stir up the realm, your stupidity is beyond remedy."
"Perhaps I'm wrong. You might be right, and I could be a poor fool, but then, why don't you let go of my hand?"
"Ah!" Princess Madalin gasped in surprise.
The young actor hadn't lied: her right hand had indeed responded to his previous touch on reflex, holding onto his firmly. Without further delay, she withdrew her hand in an instant, praying that no one nearby had noticed.
"On Ifradi, at dusk, at the Ezrar Hayim theater," Gabran invited her, moving a few inches away from her as he prepared to bid her farewell. "I will dedicate my performance to you. I'll see you there, Your Highness."
A few seconds passed. With a touch of melancholy, the princess averted her gaze to the side.
"Even if I were to accept your invitation, His Majesty would not approve," she said cautiously, avoiding locking her eyes with his.
"And?" Gabran inquired with a smirk, undeterred by such an excuse. "If he tries to get between us, I'll personally go to the Royal Palace and talk some sense into him."
As they continued to converse, someone had approached with firm and steady steps toward the two of them. As soon as they spotted him, the princess's escorts and the passing citizens paid their due respects.
"Your Highness knows better than anyone that I'm not afraid of His Majesty," Gabran continued boasting, ignoring the presence of the newcomer, just like the princess.
At that very moment, he decided to join in.
"You say you're not afraid of me, boy? Take this opportunity to prove it here."
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