When the day of the funeral came, there was general grief in the capital. All the nobles of the kingdom gathered in the capital to attend and support Oren, who would become the regent until the Archduchess's child was of age and could rule. There was a precedent for this, so nobody objected to the idea.

  The ceremony was being held in the throne room because it was the largest place in the castle and that was the reason every Archduke or archduchess funeral was held there, maids and soldiers were all over the place trying to make everything perfect for what was going to happen hours later, giving it the final touches.

  Oren smiled, looking at everything prepared and without noticing. He was right in front of the coffin where Adrian was being held. He didn’t like this one bit. Even with magic to stop the later Archduke from decaying, the sight made him restless because it looked like he was just sleeping. It wasn’t the same magic they used on his body, which consumed a lot more because it preserved even the body heat that he still had at the time of his death, but it still made him uncomfortable.

  With everything prepared, the doors were open. One by one, the nobles entered, paid their respect for the late Archduke, and greeted Archduchess Judith, sitting on her throne with a sad expression while looking at the coffin holding her tears, as more and more nobles entered.

  There were murmurs among the nobles talking about the future of the kingdom, and there was a small congregation that talked of Ariadne as a successor but the majority had already made up their minds about the matter, they were persuaded by other nobles and gave a good case for the Marquess because of his position as advisor. Oren walked over and stood next to the coffin, and faced the crowd.

  ‘Today is a sad day, but not the end for us, I will do the best I can to educate my grandson or granddaughter while taking the responsibility to lead the kingdom forward, it will be hard but with your help, we will reunite again at the coronation of our future leader and remember this day.’ He put his glass up high.

  The only group that didn’t raise their glasses was the one in the right corner. The others all raised and cheered, shouting the name of Oren. He was explained by this, and a big smile crossed his face.

  But a tremendous sound of a crack in the doors made everyone turn around and right after the double doors of the throne room flew to the sides almost hitting some that jumped to the ground to protect themselves, there stood a Chatzi female with a beautiful blueish black hair and the same tone applied to the thin fur that the Chatzi had on their ears and some parts of their bodies.

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  Using a black dress, she started to walk forward and those close noticed how tall she was, towering above all of those around making her stand out they simply ignored those behind her an A-Dam male with the same tones as hers for his hair, wearing an all-black attire with a silver belt, another Chatzi female was to his side but was wearing an all-white dress with blue details.

  They all opened the path for them just because of the presence that was emanating from her; they couldn’t explain, but someone looked behind him and was confused by those in the corner who had one of their hands closed and touching their lips gently while bowing their heads slightly.

  Oren was taken aback, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the figure approaching him. The sudden change in appearance startled him, and he instinctively stepped back.

  ‘Ariadne… is that you?’ Oren exclaimed.

  ‘Who else would be? I came to claim my throne by right.’ She raised her voice.

  Her words echoed through the throne room, surprising everyone not with her claim to the throne but with her identity. She was Ariadne, the daughter of Adrian and the Duchess of the Border. Her appearance had drastically changed, and her stature was now imposing. Murmurs and whispers spread among the nobles, shocked by the transformation.

  ‘My dear, I don’t know what happened to you, but there was already a vote, and I will be the regent until your brother or sister is born, and as far as I know, your appearance could be the latter stages of your disease.’ Oren smirked.

  Ariadne’s face didn’t move an inch, what he said didn’t affect her at all, she was looking at the coffin her father was in and didn’t notice that Oren approached her but when she did her eyes were filled with rage and with a swift movement; Ariadne pulled the handle of the hero’s sword and as she swung with just one hand at Oren, the blade materialized like many times before and became its full form the moment it hit the Marquess.

  ‘Well… that happened.’ Edmund sighed.

  It was so fast that the “whoosh” could be heard by even the person close to the entrance where Ariadne came from. It startled everyone and silenced them for a moment until the lifeless half of the Marquess hit the floor, making a noblewoman scream.

  ‘Murderer… ‘The noblewoman pointed at Ariadne.

  Edmund and Eliza moved to the side as Ariadne turned around revealing her look of complete disdain as she scanned the crowd and a quick smile the moment she saw those at the back in the corner, she found it interesting that they had never met before but she could feel the connection they had with her just by looking.

  ‘Did you all think I would fight for the throne by gathering political allies and forging new alliances, maybe making deals with those with more power, giving them a better hand than they had with him, play your stupid little political game?’ She looked around with anger in her tone.

  Edmund looked at Eliza for a moment and she looked like a stone statue, completely unfazed by what Ariadne had just done, he sighed again scratching the back of his head, thinking that saving most of them as he wanted, could be more difficult than he thought.

  ‘I’m God!’ She shouted, raising her sword high.

  The group in the back immediately got on their knees and started praying, making those around them uncomfortable. The ones at the front looked at her sword, and their eyes widened.

  ‘Is the hero’s sword…’ A nobleman at the front pointed at her sword while trembling.