Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.

  Leonidas and Synthra marched behind Aylar into Dawnhaven’s gates ten minutes later.

  The Queen-Potentiate strode along with purpose to her gait, flanked by Verity Durandal’s Lance of Dawnguard as they made their way into the bustling afternoon populace of the Prosperity Quarter.

  The moment they entered, the crowd parted with a ripple of shock, and more than a few of the Alterans present goggled at the sight. The posture, stance, and attitude of the Dawnguard were by themselves shocking enough: honor guard formation, not capture, with clear signs of protecting the as-of-then Princess-Royal—as far as the people saw her—despite the blue colorations that still adorned their gilded plate.

  Aylar herself strode with her head held high, shoulders back, and right hand resting on the pommel of her sword. She looked magnificent to Leonidas: a symbol of martial pride, Royal decorum, and embodied leadership, with her golden hair awash with light in the afternoon sun.

  At his side, Synthra walked with her arms folded, staring resolutely ahead while she tried to ignore the saturation of people and staring faces bearing down on them as they strode past. He moved to her side quietly as they walked, dismissing his helmet with a whisper of Intent and murmuring to her softly.

  “You’re too tense,” Leonidas said gently, voice lost to everyone but her with the hubbub of exclamations rolling through the crowd.

  “I hate being looked at by so many people,” Synthra muttered back, her golden eyes moving to lock with his. “Even in the trials, the attention…”

  “I get it,” he said honestly, keeping his [Psionic Focus] on alert as they moved away from the gate and deeper along the Main Thoroughfare of the Quarter. “But this is a moment of triumph, Synthra. You’re not just an Adventurer anymore.”

  Synthra narrowed her eyes at his words, then looked away and grimaced.

  “I’m not yours yet, Achilles,” she huffed quietly.

  “That isn’t what I meant,” he said without the usual surge of embarrassment, tone faintly amused. The trials had changed them all. “You’re part of the future Queen’s Party, Synthra. You’re a [Kingdom Founder]. Whatever we were before we left for the Rite, we’re not that anymore. We’re bigger than that now, and I think we both know you’re the closest thing Aylar has to a best friend at this point.”

  Synthra paused at that, and her eyes returned to him hesitantly, before shifting to lock onto Aylar.

  “...maybe,” she said finally, while some of the tension bled from her shoulders. “You may be right, but it still feels…”

  “Like a lot, I know,” he said quietly, reading the stress in her mind-glow, and the faint underscore of her feeling exposed under so many eyes—unshielded before the judgment she pretended not to care about.

  “I’m used to being watched,” Synthra muttered, “but not like this. It feels bigger than us. It feels like expectation, and I hate expectation. I’m not here for their—their amusement or validation.”

  “No,” Leonidas agreed, “we’re here for Aylar.”

  The Sorceress paused at that, and then, after a moment, she nodded.

  “...we are, but it still feels like they’re waiting for something. It’s making my skin itch.”

  Leonidas appraised her after she spoke, noting the feeling of strange isolation that rippled across her mind-glow, and before his own doubts could restrain him, he reached out to slide his arm around her shoulders.

  Synthra stiffened at the action and turned a glare on him immediately, only to falter when Leonidas gave her a warm, genuine smile.

  “You didn’t forget already, did you?” he asked her quietly.

  “Forget what?” she demanded, though she didn’t pull away.

  “The trials, the conversation, the clarity,” he said to her with a ripple of anxiety and self-controlled confidence.

  Synthra’s eyes widened a moment at his words, and her cheeks flickered with a blush as she looked away again.

  “That’s meant to be a thing for later, after you finish everything with Aylar,” she mumbled.

  “I know,” he agreed without denial, “and I intend to make that more official soon enough, but aren’t you the one who went on and on about not being afraid of the future anymore?”

  Synthra snapped her gaze back to him yet again and then tossed her hair.

  “You’re confusing clarity with momentum, you idiot,” she said in a hiss. “You’ll undermine your whole—”

  “Synthra,” he said to her warmly, cutting her off with a confidence and certainty he’d found blossoming within himself after the Rite. “Right now, we’re still just Party members. We’re courting, yes, but we’re not just that either. I like you, and I like Aylar—more than just like, I think, but that’s another discussion. I hate myself for it; it feels wrong, but not accepting the feelings just seems idiotic to me at this point.”

  The Sorceress’ eyes glimmered at that, and she remained silent, seemingly letting him proceed.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be ready to really accept this weird dynamic, but in this moment, before anything else, we’re friends, and we’re comrades—so if I want to comfort you, while also enjoying the feel of you against me… hell, is that so bad?”

  Synthra hesitated at his words, then, after a moment, tentatively slid herself out from under his hold and instead wrapped her left arm around his right, pulling herself closer and walking with him as if he were an escort, rather than walking under his arm’s embrace.

  “...I suppose it’s alright,” she said finally. “But if you grope me, I’ll set your head aflame.”

  Leonidas blinked at her words and then let loose a genuine laugh.

  “You got it.”

  The procession continued through the Prosperity Quarter unimpeded, with the crowds stepping out of its way as the Princess led the march toward the looming towers of the Castle at the city’s heart. Leonidas kept his attention focused as he walked with Synthra, both enjoying the Sorceress’ proximity despite his guilt at that enjoyment, and keeping a weather eye out for threats to the Queen-Potentiate ahead of them.

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  The one time Aylar had glanced back, she’d done so with a flicker of wry amusement at seeing Synthra clinging to him, and her mind had rippled with quiet approval before turning back to watch the path ahead. The tacit, unspoken acceptance and permission had been appreciated more than Leonidas could put into words—settling the residual stirrings of his uncertainty more aptly than words alone could have.

  When they reached the border between the Prosperity Quarter, the Residential Quarter, and the Royal Heart, however, the situation changed.

  The first warning was the large mass of people blocking the thoroughfare, facing away from the approaching Lance escorting Aylar and toward something Leonidas couldn’t quite see, given the amount of towering orcs and other Nyrfenn species that were interspersed among the crowd.

  The second warning was the way the crowd rippled when they did notice Aylar’s march, peeling back against the walls as if terrified of being caught between a confrontation.

  Leonidas and Synthra had stepped up by wordless agreement to properly flank Aylar when they’d noticed the issue, and Leonidas himself had been on the cusp of summoning his helmet and moving the Swordmaiden behind him when the crowd had finally parted in full, and the reason for their uncertainty had been made clear.

  Ceruviel and Uriel stood with what seemed like almost every single Red within the Royal Guard arrayed behind them, joined by two full Lances of the Duskguard in flanking positions. Bardulf and Parnym stood near the Duchess, looking both relieved and faintly overwhelmed by the staggering show of force.

  The moment that Aylar’s company had entered the large square that bordered the Dawnhaven Arena, where Ceruviel and Uriel had assembled, Leonidas understood why tension had ratcheted: the citizens had seen blues marching toward a wall of reds and expected a bloodbath.

  Instead, what they got was a revelation.

  The Royal Guard and Duskguard dropped to their knees as one when Aylar entered the Square, and their fists slammed against their hearts, filling the area with a thunderous clash of steel on steel. In unison, their voices cried out, filling the sudden silence with a tumult of roaring sound.

  “{ALL HAIL THE RECOGNIZED QUEEN!}”

  Leonidas let out a tense sigh of relief at the demonstration and looked down at Aylar, who stepped forward in silence following the proclamation. Her eyes moved first to Bardulf and Parnym, who waved at her with paired smiles, and then toward Uriel and Ceruviel, who regarded her with both calm patience and fiery pride, respectively.

  “Welcome home, Queen-Potentiate,” Ceruviel said loudly in English, setting the tone for the reunion in a way that was pointedly inclusive for the numerous Terrans in attendance. Leonidas felt himself smile at its strategic brilliance.

  “Thank you, Dusk-Lord Latherian,” Aylar said in turn, her voice projecting effortlessly as she wielded her royal training. “I am pleased to see you, and so many of my loyal supporters awaiting me on this auspicious day. Rise, all of you.”

  The Royal Guard and Duskguard stood as they were bade, and Aylar looked over them before turning back to the Dawnguard, whose mind-glows Leonidas could feel dancing between hope and abject terror.

  “I was given the good fortune of being escorted here by Verity Durandal and her brave Lance,” Aylar said smoothly, diffusing the tension before it could ratchet to any major degree. “After a brief discourse at the forest’s edge, the Lance-Master took it upon herself to ensure the safe return of my companions and me to the City-Proper. I am most grateful for their loyalty and support.”

  Verity herself stepped forward at the words, and the Dawnguard joined her, spreading into neat rows and promptly lowering themselves to their knees as Uriel Aventus stepped forward in kind, his gilded warplate shining with reflected sunlight.

  “Is this the truth of the matter, Verity?” the Dawn-Lord asked simply, his aurum gaze rolling over his subordinates with a pressure and intensity that were entirely built on presence alone.

  “In the most part, my lord Aventus,” Verity answered in perfect English, once more subtly reinforcing for Leonidas how easily the Haelfenn could adapt to foreign dialects. “To my shame, I must confess that we were initially there to remand the Queen-Potentiate into custody, by orders of the Prince-Royal, for treason.”

  The blunt admission sent a ripple through the Royal Guard, Duskguard, and the watching civilians, with more than a few cursing at the revelation and jeering when it was delivered.

  In response, Leonidas turned and raised his sword, unleashing a blister of scarlet lightning to dance around it.

  No words, no command, simply that—it was enough.

  Recognition, if it hadn’t already existed, spread through the crowd, and they quietened quickly.

  Sometimes the implication is stronger than the spoken word.

  Another lesson from Ceruviel, and when he turned back, he saw the Duchess smiling at him faintly in approval.

  “So you, under the orders of the Prince-Royal, took your entire Lance out of position to ambush the lawful Queen-Potentiate in order to satisfy Braedon Eldormer’s ambitions?” Uriel asked after the din had silenced, his gaze still steady upon Verity.

  “That is correct, my lord,” the Lance-Master said without excuse, her head still bowed.

  “Yet you come here in escort of the Queen-Potentiate, as her honor guard—how?”

  “Enlightenment, Dawn-Lord,” Verity responded again. “Earl Latherian gave us pause, made us question what we were doing, and when we realized the folly of our actions, it was Her Majesty who recognized our sincere regret and bade us act as her escorts to correct the trespass. I only did what I believed my honor demanded of me from there.”

  Uriel’s gaze lips downturned just slightly at the bold admission, and his gaze rose to Leonidas, who smiled back faintly, and then settled finally on Aylar.

  “Is this true, Queen-Potentiate?” he asked simply, voice laden with intent.

  “It is, Dawn-Lord,” Aylar replied steadily, turning her gaze toward Verity. “Despite the coercions of my brother, Lance-Master Durandal realized the error of her actions after a… compelling demonstration from Archon Leonidas—” she used the term with intent, Leonidas realized, reminding everyone of his status and role “—at which point the Lance-Master disabled two of her own Dagger-Masters that sought to attack the Archon, and pledged her aid in assuring my safe return.”

  Verity bowed her head lower at the words, as did the rest of her Lance, and Uriel turned back to them in silence.

  Before he could say more, in a twist of surprise, it was Ceruviel who stepped forward.

  “They made the right choice, Uriel,” the Duchess said with no care for formality, her musical voice ringing through the area. “I can feel the terror in them, and the satisfaction as well. This lot has given their loyalty to Aylar. Boneheaded and moronic as the initial adherence may have been—” Leonidas saw Verity and several others wince at that, as Uriel’s eyes flickered with forced patience “—in the moment, they ended up choosing the proper path. Punishing that self-awareness is pointless.”

  Uriel’s lips thinned at the Dusk-Lord’s words, and he appraised the Dawnguard force for several more seconds before letting out a quiet sigh—one with enough force that his aura rippled in a way Leonidas was positive was entirely intentional. The sheer power of that latent expression was enough to chill his blood for a moment.

  “In light of the Dusk-Lord’s statement and the Queen-Potentiate’s words on your behalf, I will overlook this incident. This time,” the Dawn-Lord said pointedly, “and this time only. I expect a far greater clarity of judgment from my Dawnguard, and especially my officers. What happened to the two Dagger-Masters in question, Verity?”

  “They have been restrained and left with the Royal Army, my lord. I did not wish them to sully Her Majesty’s march.”

  Uriel nodded faintly at that, and glanced back to Ceruviel, who turned and pointed out a Dagger of the Duskguard—one led by a stern-looking Haelfar woman—and nodded to Uriel’s words.

  With a clasp of fists to chests, the ten-elf formation peeled away through another entrance to the square, no doubt to remand the two officers into custody as Ceruviel turned back to them all.

  “Well then, now that we’ve gotten all of that bullshit out of the way,” the Duchess said in complete defiance of the moment’s prestige, “I think our Queen-Potentiate has a bloody throne to park herself on.”

  That produced another boom of steel on stone as the Royal Guard and Duskguard Lances smoothly parted behind the two Regents as Ceruviel announced their implicit consent. When they did, the pair of Venerate-ranked Regents themselves turned to gesture Aylar onward toward the palace, Uriel with a formal dip of the brow, and Ceruviel with a naked grin of approval.

  “By your lead, Your Majesty,” the Dusk-Lord said formally.

  The tension broke when she did, and when Aylar strode forward, it was to the building roar of approval from the crowd.

  She had left the City as a Princess fighting for recognition.

  And now, at last, Dawnhaven embraced her as its Queen.

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