CHAPTER 291: MASKS OF FEALTY

Masks of Fealty

The Banneret's Ghost

The sun had set a few hours earlier, and the sky had darkened until the first stars appeared, cold and steady. Atop the mansion, where they could see the night spreading over the roofs, five men sat cloaked and silent. It was not a balcony but a flat rooftop, and they carried no lantern nor lit any fire among them. Only the wind moved, stirring their cloaks and cooling the greasy bowls at their side, scraped clean of the meaty gruel they had boiled from their supplies. They no longer cared for rations, save what was needed for an emergency, for the night to act had come.

Nearly all of Kapua lay drowned in darkness. Only a few estates and scattered quarters near the market showed any glimmer of light. Above all, the castle stood brightest, its walls and towers burning like a lone beacon over the empty city.

The five sat in stillness, resting as they had been trained, conserving their strength. Silence held until the lieutenant turned to the Banneret beside him and asked, “Sir, I have a concern. What if the people gather at another gate, not as planned?”

His question drew the squire’s attention, the young man glancing over from where he sat.

The Banneret looked toward the lieutenant but did not answer at once. “That would be a problem,” he admitted.

“If it happens, how should we proceed?” the lieutenant asked.

“Without question, we follow the plan as agreed. However,” the Banneret said, pausing, “if it does occur, then we shall act accordingly.”

“Understood.” The lieutenant nodded slowly, satisfied.

“Like flying the airship, it’s best to ride the wind. If you try to anticipate too much, you’ll end up missing everything,” the Banneret said. It was the closest he could put it into words.

The lieutenant and the squire both nodded.

Silence settled over them again. Only the King’s banner stirred, and distant sounds crept through the streets. The nearby great intersection lay hollow and still. It was not just the evacuation, with barely a thousand remaining within the walls; it was the fear. Fear of unseen accidents that had taken dozens without warning or perpetrator.

People now retired early and stayed behind locked doors, forcing themselves to sleep in case something happened in the night.

Yet to the five men, it was the optimal situation. They could make their move without prying eyes.

Suddenly, the lookout raised his hand and pointed skyward, speaking in a low voice, “There. I see it.”

The others followed his gaze. A small light pulsed in the darkness above, an orb that flashed faintly, easily mistaken for a star. Had they not known to look, they would have missed it entirely.

“Write it down,” the lieutenant ordered, just as a gust swept across the rooftop and tugged at their cloaks.

“Cut, cut, block. Cut, block,” one recited, while another scratched the message onto a prepared wooden plank with the point of his knife. They had learned it from the Dawn’s men, but rarely used it, as airship-to-airship work was uncommon, the Shogunate having only one. They had never thought it could be used this way.

“Sir, the message,” the man reported, kneeling before the Banneret. “Fair midnight, in repeat.”

“What should we answer?” the lieutenant asked.

The Banneret stood motionless, merely closing his eyes for a moment before saying, “Rat in nest.”

After some brief scratching on the wooden board with the knife, the signalman raised the gemstone they had taken from Carcassonne and flashed the reply, repeating it three times. Ɍ𝘼Nɵ𝔟Ɛṩ

And not long after, they saw three long flashes in the sky. “They confirmed the message,” the second man reported.

Then they waited in the dark as the process went on to receive the message.

It was slow, but there was no other option. The city was guarded by aerial ballistas, and if there were mages, they could spot a gargantuan shape like an airship from miles away. That was why the airship flew so high just to send a message. At such a height, even Lord Avery’s powerful downward-looking optics were of little use to gain any reliable accuracy.

“Sir, the message,” the second man reported. “Just three words: bat. Repeated thrice.”

It was enough for the Banneret, who turned to the lieutenant. “Tell the men to ready their blades. Tonight, they’ll drink blood.”

Grim words, yet his men only answered with cold, dangerous smirks.

They were the best of the Lord’s Special Arms Regiment.

Yet they had failed to find the Mountain Clans’ hidden city or their route through the jungle. They had not been there when men fought the Nicopolan and Mountain Clans. They had arrived too late in Kapua to aid the Lord of Dawn in holding the city.

Worse still, they were not in Canardia when Saint Nay’s rebellion broke out. There, their brothers in arms died deaths worthy of song.

Now, the two best teams would reclaim their honor with one glorious battle. For them, completing the mission was the only measure of a man. Survival was a mere privilege. Death was immortality.

They had seen how the Lord cared for the families of the fallen. A death in service was deemed heroic, and the family would receive a steady pension, even a tract of land, far greater than what they would gain if the man died outside the mission. Moreover, one of their kin would be sponsored to the prestigious school for commoners, a certain route to employment within the ruling House’s many positions. For many, it was a sure escape from the life that knew nothing but toil or war.

And now, they waited for the signal from inside the castle, where the Lord of Dawn had hidden his men.

***

Kapua Castle

The King’s chamber was kept dimly lit by a polished silver chandelier, its plates catching the glow of tallow candles and casting a soft, wavering light. With only narrow windows, the heavy scent of musk and incense lingered, masking the reek of tallow and sweat. King Nico drew a sharp breath as he awakened, blinking in the stillness of the chamber he had yet to call home. Even after more than a week, it remained foreign to him, though it troubled him little.

He turned his gaze and was mildly surprised by the warmth of a woman beside him. Her long hair lay sprawled across the pillow, and her red silken dress had slipped from her shoulders, bunched about her hips in careless surrender. Like him, she had drifted into sleep after their encounter. The linen sheets, rumpled and stained, bore witness to their union.

By the dim light of the tallow candle, King Nico let his eyes rest on her lustrous form and felt the satisfaction still lingering in his body. More than mere flesh, she had charm, wit, and a keen grasp of politics. She was not only a warm bed.

Without a doubt, she was a seductress sent by the Mountain Clans to win his favor, but he did not mind paying the price of her company, so long as it remained within reason. And in this, the Lady pleased him. Other women treated his bed as a place of transaction, as if he owed them something for their presence, but not her. Unlike those who pressed and pried, she laid no demands, set no burdens, and knew her place.

Moreover, there was some suspicion about her. A guildless mage in his service had warned him she might be a mage or in possession of a magical item, but King Nico felt such concerns were beneath him, knowing her clans needed his favor. Although the Imperium had dismissed it countless times, many nobles still sought mage concubines, clinging to the belief that such unions might produce mage children. Thus, the myth endured, deaf to reason.

The woman had not introduced herself as a mage, and as King, he was too proud to ask. He knew she would likely lie even to him, for mages often drew unwanted attention. There had even been cases of kidnapping, especially of guildless female mages. They were treated like commodities, sold to the highest bidder. There were potions and conditioning to break their will and bind their minds.

He put a stop to that train of thought and let his eyes wander over her form, finding it tight, firm, and soft in the right places. Had he been a few years younger, he might have taken her again, but age had given him a certain discipline. Still, he knew well enough that he could grow addicted to her.

Shifting slightly, King Nico reached out to take the goblet at his bedside and drank. The water cooled his throat, and only then did he realize how parched he was.

Afterward, he returned his gaze to her, knowing sooner or later his trusted bedchamber maid would arrive, as she always did near midnight, to tend the candle and the hearth, and if needed, to wake the woman and escort her away. The rule said an unranked woman was not permitted to remain asleep beside a King. Such privilege was for a lawful wife. For lesser women, even ladies of the palace, they were to excuse themselves once the deed was done.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

While he could forbid it and allow the lady to stay, it was against all sense to show her such favor after only a single night. There would be whispers of witchcraft, of potions, or worse, rumors that made him look incompetent and foolish. It was better for everyone involved if she be led away.

Even in a nascent kingdom, intrigue ran deep, and all must play their part.

After a while, sensing stares, the lady stirred in her sleep. Her breathing was not soft like courtly ladies, but full and steady, marked by the same vitality he had already witnessed. Her arms might appear delicate, yet there was firmness beneath the skin. Her right palm bore the roughness of one accustomed to gripping steel, whether sword or dagger.

Slowly, the lady turned to him and found him awake. “Your Majesty,” she murmured, and drew her red dress up over her shoulder.

King Nico, the goblet still in his hand, offered her the remainder of the water.

“Gratitude, My King.” She drank what was left.

“You dare drink it without hesitation?” he asked.

She tensed. “Is this a test? Have I failed?”

“No,” he replied. “I only find it curious that you would place such trust in a man you met only hours ago.”

She gave a faint snort. “It is water given by my master to a servant. It is not my place to refuse.”

The King seized her arm and drew her nearer, snatching the goblet and tossing it aside, saying, “Return to sleep. There is still time before midnight.”

She offered a bashful smile and whispered, “But that is a privilege reserved for a queen.”

“If only you had a Great House behind you, I might make you a royal concubine,” he teased, his tone light.

“I’m truly honored. I do have powerful clans behind me,” she replied daringly, her hand trailing along his arm, then to his thigh, where she knew the soreness would linger after such a night.

“I’m sure they are influential. But I’m also aware that yours prefer to lurk in shadows.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Your Majesty is indeed well-informed.”

“Of course. You are an important subject of my kingdom.” He chuckled, surprised at how unguarded he sounded before her. Perhaps it was her charm. He had taken an antidote beforehand, out of habit, and sensed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Gratitude, Your Majesty. My clans also wished me to assure you that we can be your ally as well."

“I am listening.”

“You rule over a vast land and people. On the surface, your power swells like a spring flood. Yet beneath it, there are myriad issues.”

The King found himself entertained. “Go on.”

“You have forges, but no iron. You have farms, but no grain. You have men, but not leaders. These are common troubles for a young crown, but your greatest weakness, I dare say, is that your dynasty is mostly Centurian-led, standing against the Nicopolans, their warlords, and their mercenary ways.”

Her accuracy did not remove the smirk from his face. “And you claim you can be my ally against the very people I freed?”

“You freed people already unbound.”

He was not easily convinced. “Why would they rebel against my crown? Was it not I who broke the warlords’ grip? Was it not I who founded a kingdom, ended their strife, and brought peace to this land?”

“It was indeed you, Your Majesty. But the Nicopolans are proud and foolhardy folk.”

King Nico nodded, willing to listen.

She continued, her voice an intimate whisper, “Given the chance, they will rebel. You need allies. My clans have carried the same resentment for generations. We hold old debts with the Nicopolans.”

The King scoffed. “Mind you, lady, I have issues with every people.” He finally spoke his mind, staring at her with eyes that held the hard pride of a monarch. “That includes your clans as well.”

“My people are not the same,” she replied. “We are not colonizers like the Nicopolans.”

“You share their look, their skin. What makes you different?”

“Because my people were never the masters,” she said. “The Nicopolans were.”

Indeed, King Nico remembered, the Nicopolans had always been the haughtiest. Since his childhood, the Nicopolans, noble or common, ruled with a heavy hand. They cared only for themselves and enforced it at the tip of their spears. Now they would taste their own medicine. To be ruled. To be conquered by the very refugees they once scorned.

Seeing her point taken, she nestled closer, offering him more of her warmth.

He kissed her brow. “Remain at my side. Do not grow envious of others I bed, and I shall reward your loyalty.”

“My clan has given me to you. If I displease you, then you may send me away.”

“If you are a gift, then I intend to keep it.”

His measured words and unexpected courtesy, despite the gulf between their stations, struck her deeply. “I am flattered. But I am no longer young, nor trained in the arts of ladies."

The King exhaled slowly. “Rumor has it another lord even married his own squire. I always found it baffling, but now I think I begin to see his way of thinking.”

“My King,” the lady protested for the first time, “surely you are not thinking of befriending the Black Lord?”

The King merely pressed her tighter to his chest. “I already told you not to envy, neither woman nor man," he teased. "And especially not him. Yes, he is a rising star, but he is not the man who will wear the crown and rule the next Imperium. His star will wane as I ascend higher. After I have taken the land of Dawn, I shall have enough to field one hundred thousand men, and when they see my army, the rest of the Southern lords shall bend their knees. And after that…”

“The east shall do the same,” she ventured.

King Nico muttered, “I doubt they'll be that spineless.”

“So what will you do to them?”

“I…” He met her gaze, then corrected himself. “We shall crush them, and your clans can win their freedom back.”

At that, the lady embraced him, content that her mission had succeeded.

Feeling the warmth of her arms, he teased, “You should ask the price I set.”

“We are your subjects. We shall obey.”

“Bold words,” King Nico replied with a snort.

Slowly, the lady’s hand moved to caress him, but he caught her wrist. “I would, but I need my sleep. There are ghosts I must face tomorrow, lest they terrorize my men any longer.”

“Though few, my clansmen shall assist. We are familiar with fighting in the shadows.”

“I shall gladly take your aid, for my men have been largely clueless, despite its reek of Dawn. I can feel it. He plans something.”

...

The Red Lady

Before the bedchamber maid came, the lady rose from the bed and gathered herself. She drew her garments close, smoothing the silken fabric that still clung to her skin. She wrapped herself in her cloak, hiding any trace of the sheer nightwear beneath. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she slipped on her silken socks, then the woolen ones, before fastening her ankle-high leather shoes.

Her footwear drew the King’s eyes as he remained sprawled on the bed. “Why are you wearing that?”

“My robe? I am rather proud of it,” she replied, misreading his question.

“No. The shoes.”

“Oh.” She feigned surprise. “It is to remind me that my clans are at war, and their survival depends on your aid, Your Majesty.”

The King stroked his chin but did not speak. They had said all that needed saying, and now he simply took in the sight of her form. There was a glint of thrill in his eyes. She felt it too, finding herself meeting his gaze with a shy, fleeting smile. The lady seldom revealed such softness, even to former lovers, and what she showed the King was no artifice.

Before their meeting, with her assistant’s aid, she had bathed and applied an aromatic from the Eastern Kingdoms to her skin and dress.

It cost more than a small chest of gold, and as smugglers, they peddled it tenfold to nobles drunk on their wealth, but little sense.

Many called it the Lovers’ Elixir, yet it was more than a seducer’s trick. It calmed the nerves, slackened caution, and dulled the edge of reason. It neared the strength of the Nectar of Truth, but in aromatic form, needing neither cup nor draught, only scent and touch.

It carried none of the crude lust found in lesser aphrodisiacs and left the victim fully aware, with all their senses and faculties. This made the target believe they were truly in love. In a sense, it was far more sinister, for the victim was convinced their affection was real. Their memories remained vivid and intact, unlike the dream-haze of wine or opiates.

Originally, it was made for the ambitious, to win noble women, to ease arranged marriages, or to steal a rival’s wife. This made its price high, and it was traded in secret. As if its potency were not enough, it also served as an aphrodisiac, sealing unions on the first attempt, ensuring success beyond doubt.

They said it was the hardest concoction to make, for it required perfect balance. Too mild, and the couple would fall asleep. Too strong, and they would grow irritable and prone to rage.

But worst of all, there was no antidote. Even the lady who had used it before held only a meagre resistance. She lost nearly all her usual caution, her venomous tongue, and her sharpened edge. Her rogue’s nature, the same that had orchestrated countless betrayals, softened into a docile, bashful woman who seemed as if she had found her first love.

“Then, I beg your leave, Your Majesty.”

“I hope I made a good enough impression as your King,” he replied with utmost confidence.

“You have, My King,” she answered, offering a curtsey.

He said nothing further, so she turned and walked to the door, opening it softly, leaving the King to his rest.

Outside, the guards did not react, their eyes fixed forward. They were well-trained. From the tone of their skin, they were Centurians.

She closed the door behind her and walked alone at first, until a young attendant, a fellow clanswoman, followed quietly at her heels. A guard with a lantern stood by the nearby stairs and escorted her toward the guest chambers.

They walked quietly, giving her a moment to think. Unlike the Nicopolans she detested, the King was a Centurian. He was learned, as well as disarmingly charming, and his respectful treatment of her, despite her low station, had earned a place in her thoughts. Yet she could not tell if the warmth she felt toward him was truly her own, or merely the elixir’s deceit pulling at her mind and heart.

The few descended the stairs, though not to the lower floors where the servants slept. Guests were housed on the middle level or in separate wings. They had barely taken ten steps from the stairs when a sudden, unnatural stillness gripped the corridor. Her eyes widened, her hand twitched, yet her reflexes were dulled. Before she could grasp what was happening, the guard ahead of her was flung aside by an unseen force.

It was no ghost, for she saw a bolt jutting from his face.

By instinct, she reached for her dagger, but found nothing at her hip. The guard’s body had barely struck the floor when, behind her, the young attendant let out a breathless gasp, almost a cry, before a wrapped pommel struck her back, knocking the girl out. The cloth smothered the sound, landing with a heavy thud. The same strike nearly caught the lady, who turned in time and raised her arm, taking it on the wrist. Pain flared hot through bone and flesh.

She drew breath to scream, but a man in a guard’s attire lunged from the shadows. In a heartbeat, he seized her and drove her to the floor, his forearm pressing her windpipe, leaving only a muffled groan in her throat.

A whisper rose from the dark. “Careful. She blocked my throw.”

“You are no mere woman.” Her captor tightened his forearm over her mouth, forcing her to gasp for air. “Tell me, is the King in his bed?”

Still sluggish from the elixir, she struggled. “I will not answer. You will kill me anyway.”

“She might be a mage,” another muttered as he dragged the victims toward the shadowed corner beside the stone stairs. As they killed the lantern, her captor kept his grip firm, cutting off her breath, showing he knew how to handle mages. Another searched her for a necklace or ring but found none.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from above, halting everything. Likely guards who had heard the disturbance and came to check.

Her captor shifted, taking a harsher hold, pinning her from behind, using both hands to blind her eyes and seal her mouth.

They were trained men, but they had underestimated her.

In the stillness, with the men holding back and hiding, she found a moment to gather her mind. Their Nicopolan accent had already flared anger in her. Whether they were rebels or Dawn’s men, she cared little. Her captor was right to muffle her breath, for it would stop most mages from acting. He had also searched for a necklace or ring, but her clan was a league deeper in the shadow world. None would expect what she carried had been surgically set into her flesh since she was sworn to shadow.

Calmly, she mentally tapped into not one but two Gemstones of Might buried within her. A sudden warmth coursed through her blood.

The gemstone needed no breath.

Her captor did not realize what was happening when she dipped her head forward, then drove it back with all her strength into his face. Bone met bone. He reeled with a grunt, blood spraying from his nose. Groans followed, startled mutters loud enough to reach the guards’ ears.

“What was that?” a guard called.

Another demanded as they rushed the stairs, “Who’s there?”

From above, another voice barked, “Wake the others.”

The intruders had been found.

***