Trapped in Another World With No Magic

There is something to be said for the peace that comes with the unchanging. The sounds of battle can become a sort of home for a warrior, so that only the truly chaotic pulls their attention to that which may turn the tide of battle. The melodies of an orchestra can become static and familiar, such that a single missed chord is like an expensive ceramic set shattering on the floor of a banquet.

And a woman snoring can become as meaningless as a mole on the small of her back; utterly forgettable in everyday life.

Naturally, Yaulander’s wife sleeps in her own room on almost all nights when they aren’t in need of putting on a show for the politics their marriage is steeped in. He has no hatred for her, but no real love for her either, other than to know that the child in her belly is his.

However, something odd causes his eyes to open, and though his mind is foggy from just waking up, it still calls out to him that something is off.

Having recently been nearly-assassinated, which is certainly neither the first nor last time such a thing may be, he has been a bit on edge. But, it’s not the sounds of battle outside, since everything is silent. It’s not the creaking or groaning of a floor board, since not a single assassin is present. It’s not a distant storm, nor a mouse in the walls.

Everything is as quiet as can be, the way the night sky itself seems to be when all other things have gone still.

It’s then that he makes the connection. The silence is what has awoken him. He sits up wearily, his stately room completely silent and devoid of life, save for two, himself and one other. And, this one other is not one of his mistresses or maids sleeping in the bed beside him.

It has been days since he has been surrounded by a silence so pure, he can hear his own heartbeat at a normal pace. He’s not afraid, but it is odd. Silencing spells exist, but his instincts aren’t detecting any sort of intruder in his room. Zuzia should be right outside his door, so no one could easily get into his room.

But, he knows exactly where to look.

His gaze travels to his left, where a young woman sits in a chair at the bedside. She is fast asleep, her head hanging limply in front of her as if she died on the spot. But, her shoulders and head bob slightly with every breath. She is apparently of the Archoneldwyn race, or at least descended from them, due to her tan skin and dark hair, as well as her elf-like pointed ears. For the last few days, she has not fallen silence once, as an innate skill of hers grants her enhanced magical abilities towards certain spells, but only so long as she continuously chants them, which her skill supports. The very fact that she’s asleep is odd, since she has slept barely an hour per day while she attempted to heal Yaulander of his collective wounds.

He is just about to say something as he starts to rub the sleep from his eyes when he makes a realization.

He can see his whole hand.

Even with his hand spread across his face to simultaneously massage both sides, he can see his middle, ring, and pinky fingers in his left eye, and his palm and wrist in his right.

Yaulander twitches, holding his hand out in front of his face. He closes his right eye, and he can see just fine.

He closes his left eye, and still, he can see just fine.

There is no blurring, other than a slight disconnect between his eyes from him having grown used to the blindness in one eye, but this clears up almost immediately now that his mind is relaxed about the restoration.

The Grand Prince scrambles out of bed and rushes to his standing mirror. He fervently studies the reflection of a blond man looking back at him. Just to be sure, he covers each eye, and no matter which he covers, he can clearly see his face.

His face.

Grand Prince Yaulander kos Strylaph’s handsome face, unmarred by pockmarks or scratches after being sprayed in the face by some kind of poison weaponized by Zuzia. Not a single blemish remains. And, most importantly of all, his blue-grey, deadened eye has restored to its natural, perfect shade of blue.

A wave of emotions washes over Yaulander, the likes of which he has never felt in his entire life. To attempt to describe them would be an injustice to the scope of these feelings, all of which are positive and center around relief, pride, joy, and anything else that could possibly be associated with the realization that his eye and his face have both been completely restored.

There is only one explanation. Only one thing that has been done differently in the last few days. Healers from all over the Empire were useless. By the time scar tissue has formed, it is too late to reverse the damage.

He was told this countless times.

And, even though he was clearly lied to by mages who either did not want to or otherwise failed to study to the extent required, he doesn’t feel a shred of anger or resentment.

Instead, he feels…

Yaulander’s gaze snaps to the woman sleeping in a chair, peaceful in spite of the uncomfortable position, having likely finished her spell to satisfaction, and having exhausted herself doing so, she fell unconscious almost instantly.

But, the swirling emotions cause Yaulander to stumble a step forward. He is in disbelief, and yet, it is as it always should have been.

No, rather, it simply took time to find true talent.

It may have been mere coincidence, but he can confirm it in every possible way he knows how.

He has been healed. His skin is smooth, his eye works, and his body is completely healthy. Since the attack, he has been exhausted, bruised, and all around pained by the attack. But, simple words and odd body paint have restored his rightful sight and beauty.

And, it’s all thanks to one person out of the whole Empire.

No, the whole continent.

His feet carry him before he can even think, but his mind is in total agreement.

With this surge of overwhelming joy and passion, Yaulander rushes to Mri’kala’xen, the archoneldwyn healer where she sits, and he all but launches her out of her chair with a shove that is perhaps a bit too aggressive, but is safely aimed for the bed.

It naturally catches Mri’kala’xen by surprise to suddenly be shoved while she’s asleep, and she cries out in fear and surprise.

But, this woman has nothing to fear.

Not anymore.

She is still surprised when she finds herself on Yaulander’s bed, and he’s standing directly in front of her, all but towering over her with his intimidating aura of raw and noble power.

“Y-Your Majesty!?” gasps the young woman on her back, but Yaulander swiftly leans forward and captures her head, kissing her with the most passionate kiss he has ever given to anyone.

Never has he been so relieved, so happy, and so madly driven in his life. He feels like he has truly been given a second life, one in which his few mistakes are singular hairs out of place or an errant pen stroke due to a broken quill.

He embraces Mri’kala’xen as he kisses her, and she hums, surprised by the sudden ‘attack’, and unsure of how to respond exactly.

Mri’kala’xen knows her station. She is fully aware of her status as a slave, even if she is, by tradition, dressed more like nobility with all of the adornments she was sent with.

She may have been a gift from the Sykkanna of some region or another of the Peypaboa Empire, but it was Mri’kala’xen who tirelessly, at one single instruction from Yaulander, worked herself beyond exhaustion to cast the first and only spell capable of healing Yaulander’s months-set scars, which were deemed impossible to heal.

Every single thought of the failures and the anger he felt turns into one more passionate kiss as his arms embrace her. Her legs shift from fearful squirming to more relaxed acceptance as he continues to kiss her, and the Grand Prince can only think of the amazing blessing he has received.

When he finally breaks their kiss, Mri’kala’xen is already panting along with Yaulander. He slides his hands up her arms to pin her wrists to the bed for the moment, and he stares into her eyes.

Her deep, ocean-blue eyes stare back at him, and all at once, Grand Prince Yaulander kos Strylaph is certain.

He teases with a carnivorous growl in his voice, “You’ve done a very dangerous thing, Mri’kala’xen. I hope you’re ready.”

The young woman with caramel-toned skin and her beautiful dark blue eyes replies with her silky, whisper-like tone, trembling only slightly from nervousness because of their difference in stations, “Y-Yes, your Imperial Majesty.”

Yaulander grins eagerly.

He would never dishonor the deal he made for the wife he respects, even in the absence of love, since her role is to maintain domestic affairs of the Grand Principality and to birth the future heir.

That is why he always used the various methods and spells to prevent conception with his random and inconsequential paramours. He respects his wife, especially when her own libidio is minimal, and she respects him enough to let him slake his carnal thirst as needed.

Even if he had been in normal form during his treatment, expending his built up energy where he desired, he doubts anything would change about this moment.

For, it is this woman, Mri’kala’xen, a gifted slave from the Peypaboa Empire, that gave him back everything he had lost and was assured many times would be impossible to reclaim.

His wife is the Grand Princess of Strylaph.

But, that doesn’t mean Mri’kala’xen’s talent, commitment, beauty, and innate skills should be overlooked.

And, in this moment, Yaulander wonders if he is actually feeling the thing described as ‘love’.

***

Zuzia opens her eyes with a massive stomach ache. She groans a little as she looks around herself. She’s in the private quarters Geirahoel showed her to last time, and where she would have needed directions to again. She can hardly remember much of anything from the night prior, other than the fact that the last thing she does recall is being ambushed in the bath by Ryuogriar.

The Polish woman flushes sheepishly at the thought, and she touches her own body. She’s clean, but she’s also completely nude under her bedding. And, sleeping next to her is the goofy Angel that only joined them later.

It’s all slowly starting to come back to her, but she has a pounding headache as well, and she sits up to try to sort out what she remembers.

Okay… Now I know why Daniel complains about it… thinks the brunette as she rubs her belly. Or rather, Ryuo complains that he doesn’t hook himself up to a tube to promote a potential for endless life, if it’s that convenient.

She looks at Amalaskae, who is sleeping peacefully once more next to Zuzia. The young Polish woman isn’t upset about what happened, per se. She knows it may seem hypocritical, but who is she to resist the whims of God’s angel?

It is Ryuogriar, specifically, that makes Zuzia feel a little guilty. She accepted the words because of many factors, but some part of her feels bad that she might have accepted Ryuogriar’s temptations out of malice towards Daniel. If he doesn’t know, then Zuzia took part in something unacceptable.

I need to apologize to Daniel as soon as I can…

Zuzia leans over and kisses Amalaskae’s forehead. She doesn’t want to drag Amalaskae in too close again either, since the foolish divine servant would risk her precious life for Zuzia.

And, worse, she would play into the hands of that greater evil that only teased its existence during the Centerhold incident.

The Polish hiker gets dressed in the outfit laid out on the ottoman at the end of the bed. It’s a fancier dress than she likes, but it looks to be simple enough to put on for herself.

More importantly, it’s surprisingly soft material, like some sort of cotton-lycra blend, but with a more silk-like lightness.

“I’d prefer a shirt and pants, but I guess I didn’t clarify that completely with Geirahoel.”

She does her best to make the dress look decent, which comes down to just above the floor, and her socks and shoes are equally comfortable.

Thank god they don’t expect me to wear heels. Then again…

Thinking back on it, Zuzia hasn’t really paid much attention, but she can’t recall seeing anyone in the Fievegal wearing high heels, corsets, or a few other notoriously uncomfortable historical fashion trends that she would associate with the approximate era they’re in.

And, from what she saw in the Imperial Palace and the women in Yaulander’s entourage, those trends are very much alive and well everywhere else.

Would Daniel have outlawed such things? Or would he have simply pushed for them to relax in favor of modern designs capturing the appearance?

Her current dress isn’t exactly a modern dinner dress, but she can see some of the designs of much more recent trends. It’s closer to a Gothic Lolita design, in the strictest sense, only because of the subdued colors, the pleats, and the ribbons at her breasts adorned with…

Zuzia halts.

A green emerald nearly the size of a golf ball adorns the center of her chest, and it takes every shred of her being not to rip the dress back off of herself in a panic.

Zuzia has worn pretty clothes, of course. She attended a few weddings for her friends, visited high-end restaurants with a dress code on rare occasions, and one time she attended a black-tie dinner with her work colleagues for a fundraiser.

But, as she finally studies the little adornments and stitchwork, she realizes the dress she’s wearing could likely buy an unreasonable amount of Poland.

“Nope! Nuh-uh. I’ll take the scraps of whatever I was wearing before. I am not going into debt for something like-WAH!” Zuzia flinches back just as she’s starting to take the dress off, only to find one of the Fievegal’s golems standing in front of her.

She recognizes this one, because she serves as the Prime Minister of the Fievegal, apparently, but also, in a lot of ways, the head maid and mother hen to the Fievegal when Aramellianna and Ryuogriar are on break.

“X-Xyreko, right?”

“Correct. The dress suits you well. Geirahoel’s taste never ceases to impress.” She touches the bow on the front that is holding the emerald.

Zuzia whines, “No! I can NOT accept this!”

“You must, your Highness. Ryuogriar has made it official. You are, henceforth, and formally upon your coronation, Grand Princess Zuzia kos Spolskia. To dress you in anything less would bring shame upon the Fievegal.”

The honey-haired brunette stares at Xyreko, completely and utterly speechless.

The golem then takes her by the arm, saying, “Come, come, your Highness. There is still time to apply makeup if you wish. We shall allow her Divine Grace to rest.”

Zuzia looks back at Amalaskae, who is grinning as she sits in the bed. The Angel waves at her warmly, but the Polish woman simply wants to cry out for help.

Xyreko doesn’t force makeup on her, but she does bring Zuzia to a specific place that seems to be on the ground level of the Citadel, which Zuzia has seen very little of. The Hangar, which has a separate entrance roadway from the ground, is actually several stories off of the ground.

It becomes quickly apparent what’s about to happen when they pass a main hallway where a bunch of people are gathered, as if waiting to enter a convention or something. They aren’t standing in lines, and the Citadel’s massive, dragon-sized hallways actually afford a great deal of space for seating and catering for the people while they wait.

Zuzia whispers as Xyreko leads her to some sort of back entrance, “Xyreko! Wait! You can’t be serious! What’s going on?”

“You’ll be attending the first formal audience of the Fievegal since earning our Sovereign status from several nations.”

“Wait… Who’s doing what now!?”

“You’re attending.”

“I’m NOT part of Daniel’s harem! I will shred this dress right now if you don’t stop and explain!” Zuzia finally yanks her hand away, which she could have done at any time, but she was swept away by Xyreko’s pace, and a couple of teleportation pads later, she would have been completely lost in the castle if she simply tried to run away.

Xyreko explains, “It will be easier to establish you as Grand Princess if we do so before it’s widely known you ever were not. It’s quite simple, really. This will demonstrate that you’ve always been a Grand Princess of the Fievegal, and you have been indisposed any other time we have made public appearances.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit NovelPhoenix for the authentic version.

“Back all the way the hell up, back up again, and then keep backing up! I am NOT a Grand Princess because I will fight to the death to not be in Daniel’s harem! I refuse, and you will have to kill me to change that!”

Xyreko lets out an exasperated sigh. “I am well aware of that fact, your Highness. No harem status is required. Ryuogriar made you a Grand Princess as a reward for your deeds in aiding the Fievegal, and obviously, protecting Daniel and Hekate, among other things. The list is quite impressive if you’d like me to…”

“No! Thank you! I’m sorry, but just no! I don’t want to be a Grand Princess! I thought she was joking about giving me a noble title when I made the joke originally! I expected Baroness, or even just an honorary Lady! NOT a rank one step below Empress!”

Xyreko stares at her silently and stoically for a moment, unfazed by Zuzia’s panic. The Polish woman is clutching her head, saying, “It’s stupid! If Daniel thinks he can buy me off…”

“No such thing has occurred,” insists Xyreko. “It is a reward. A gift. And, more importantly,...”

The golem pauses for dramatic effect, which works. Zuzia has to stop to look at her, lest she die without hearing the answer. And, had the Citadel’s caretaker not done so, she would have heard the words without absorbing them.

Xyreko finishes calmly, “If you possess a rank of Grand Princess, you will be of higher technical rank than Grand Prince Yaulander of the subordinate Grand Zenkon Empire, which will be a legal technicality. Even if the legalities make the Fievegal and the Empire equal, that still means your rank equals his. Any threats, dire insults, or otherwise heinous behavior will be treated as extreme offenses and answered accordingly. You don’t have to live in the Fievegal indefinitely nor even participate in the majority of our events. You will be allowed to roam freely with your mercenary friends to your heart’s content, and so long as you don’t abuse it, you may invoke the name of the Fievegal for your protection.”

Zuzia continues to stare wordlessly. No words can form. It’s like her Broca’s area evaporated. She can hear words, she can make sense of what Xyreko is saying, other than it doesn’t make logical sense. But, she can say nothing in return. She is too stunned to even think, let alone speak.

The true problem is, Xyreko is right. Giving Zuzia such a high rank almost definitively proves that the Fievegal is a giant bubble, impressive from the outside, but dangerously precarious and prone to vanish in an instant, simply because of decisions like this. Like Daniel and Hekate, Zuzia is the furthest thing from nobility. She doubts she could find a single aristocrat among her ancestors. She never cared about that, but it’s absolutely appalling to suddenly imagine the fate of thousands or millions in her hands.

For a moment, her disgust towards Daniel’s awful decision fades. Just thinking of the weight of the Grand Princess title, if she were to take it seriously, is making the rock in her stomach from a very specific kind of milk start to bubble and ache once more.

Xyreko reiterates, “Even if the… presentation was mischievous and sudden, this is truly to protect you, Zuzia. As I said, our expectations for your role as Grand Princess will be as minimal or as committed as you desire. But, it is intended as a… mmm… bulletproof vest, yes?”

Zuzia sighs. “Political armor, is it? Because of the giant target painted on my back…” She touches her neck, where a literal slave collar was bound to her flesh.

Xyreko replies matter-of-factly, “Yes. So, please, just accept, play along for now, and you will be properly respected and rewarded for your great deeds.” When the golem turns around to continue towards the door she’s heading towards, her tone shifts to a quieter, more mischievous tone. “And, just because it is amusing does not mean it is meant to humiliate you or anything. It’s simply enjoyable because you resist so much.”

The Polish woman watches the golem walk for a moment, still struggling to accept the suddenness.

Xyreko notices and pauses to look over her shoulder, waiting quietly.

Zuzia groans, rubbing her face in disgust. She lifts her dress to quickly catch up to Xyreko, asking, “Is it too late for a little pruning? I want to redo my hair. This is too… plain. And, I don’t really want to wear makeup, but…”

“Your complexion is darker than the current cosmetic trends aim for, but Daniel has insisted against the use of face whiteners in the Fievegal because of an ingredient called…”

“Lead. Same stuff he’s probably using in the cheap bullets. So, he’s just running around spitting on trends left and right, huh?”

“His intentions are to protect the Fievegal, at least, from trends that Earth identified as harmful. ‘Learning from blood already spent’, as he puts it.”

Zuzia takes a breath and exhales, feeling a little more comfortable for the moment. She figured that was the case. He’s a big softie towards his mistresses, it seems, so he has actively pursued comfort and safety over keeping up with the ever-fickle trends of fashion.

Xyreko then finishes the thought about the need for makeup, “You are naturally beautiful in general, and Doephluev will be present, so your own sun-kissed complexion won’t stand out. Daniel would likely push for the Fievegal to become isolationist before making Doephluev or Kera’tai wear face whitener to meet the standards of beauty for anyone else, and he doesn’t seem to care much about other typical options, aside from personal preference.”

Zuzia nods. She’s fine with all of that. She didn’t waste money on a ton of makeup on Earth, since she wasn’t trying to attract fellow tax accountants from her workplace, and the deer and wild boars on the trail were obviously not on the menu.

Unless literally on a restaurant menu.

I could really go for a good Gulasz right now… Or pierogi…

Zuzia shakes her head clear. “Just my hair, then, if you can. I would do it myself, but I want it to look acceptable… So…”

Xyreko nods once and opens the door, showing an inner preparation room. Inside are a handful of Ladies in Waiting, standing by as if waiting specifically for her.

“This way, your Highness,” offers one of the women that Zuzia doesn’t recognize. She gestures her towards a wardrobe with mirrors, jewelry, and various tiaras present.

“O Jezu…” mumbles the brunette, terrified of the prospect of being decked out in a small country’s national GDP.

“Try to enjoy yourself, Grand Princess Zuzia,” teases Xyreko as she exits the room. “It’s not every day you get whisked away to another world and become royalty overnight.”

The door closes with a resounding thud, and Zuzia feels more trapped than when she arrived in what felt and looked like a dungeon. The Ladies in Waiting all seem to be eagerly grinning like she’s a feast just for them.

A feast of exercising their carefully honed talents to make an impression via Zuzia’s appearance.

And, unfortunately, their efforts are reliant on Zuzia, a commoner among commoners with no shame or hangups about that fact.

But, certainly, she has a total acknowledgement of the disaster this is likely to be.

Little does she know of the walking potential calamity heading towards her at present.

***

“Why do I have to wear this stupid stuff and do all of this!? Daniel is still recovering!”

Hekate’s complaints are loud, but fall on the deafest ears around; Ryuogriar’s.

The dragon carries Samael and Fal, while Wenlianna, Aramellianna, and Doephluev walk with them. Erimaya is also walking alongside Hekate, but will likely have to return to Mornistae soon. Her decoy is functioning, but since Heralesse and Rikuto know about it, the chances of slip-ups only increase the longer she is away.

Aramellianna replies to Hekate’s frustrations, “Because, your Greatness, this is part of being Empress. You may not care for the ritualistic nature of it all, but your vassals are counting on their voices reaching you, even if it’s superficial at most.” She smiles at the feldrok teen who is looking back at her attentively. Hekate knows she’s not at all prepared to be a ruler, and the Fievegal’s founding was done entirely on a whim. As she’s learning though, the more powerful she is, the more impactful her whims become.

Wenlianna adds, “You know this was always my least favorite part of being a noble, too. If it means anything.” She walks gracefully, since she has finally recovered from her apparent mana-related illness.

Ryuogriar reaches over and straightens Hekate’s crown, which does have a fitted shape and chains that go around her ears to allow their natural movement for the most part, but that also means it’s not entirely stable on her head. “Regardless of anyone else’s perception of the Fievegal or our rulership, you are the Founding Empress of the Fievegal. Your words are law, your actions are your tools, and your mannerisms are the first and most important demonstration of our beloved Emperor’s cherished state of being; freedom. It has been through the Fievegal that I, too, understand the value in removing the power of words alone, because one who lives in fear of words has no business worrying about dragons or goblins.”

“Th-That said, please be respectful, at least,” urges Erimaya. “Even if the Fievegal’s stance is that actions matter more than words, making connections through respectful behavior is important.”

“But, remember you are the sovereign of the most powerful nation in the known world right now, even if we are small,” reiterates Aramellianna. “Do not bow your head easily, do not agree to unfavorable terms, and do not let anyone speak down to you. You must bear your fangs, politely, calmly, and fearlessly, if you are to grasp the respect you deserve.”

“Are we really sure I should be the one doing this? We should wait for Daniel to be better. I don’t think I can… I mean, I think it’d be easier to just conquer everyone! I can’t… be mean and nice with my words!” Hekate’s courage starts to falter. It’s not that anything in the audience chamber can hurt her. Quite the contrary, if it were to turn into a battle of superpowers, Hekate would be the last one standing with near certainty, even if it’s mostly surviving cataclysmic attacks that have immeasurable collateral. It would be her relative ‘comfort zone’ because she somehow survived Morthybargaron’s sovereignty over the Dragon’s Keep.

Speaking words of poisoned honey, when she messes up words all the time, is not something she is confident she can handle. Daniel isn’t very good at it either, but he’s pretty good at reading insincerity in people’s words, and replies with sincerity or overt sarcasm as required, no matter how ‘rough’ that sincerity or sarcasm might seem.

Aramellianna does her best to reassure Hekate with a cold hard truth, but one that she seems confident Hekate can overcome. “Your Greatness, the greatest act of growing up is to step out of the shadows of our protectors and become able to truly stand beside them. I went through this as a young Grand Duchess just as you are now, and it was… challenging… when Yaandrestarr passed…”

“Mother…” murmurs Wenlianna, placing a hand on the Grand Duchess Senior’s forearm.

But, Aramellianna restores her composure quickly, placing her hand on her beloved eldest daughter’s. “However, it is because he helped prepare me that I was able to uphold my duties. I am here, now, because I know in my heart that it is my duty to help make the Fievegal mighty and invincible, and our Empress is already indestructible. She simply needs to be able to stand on her own. Though unfortunate, Daniel’s current convalescence is a good opportunity to train you properly for your duties while less… forgiving protectors can watch over you.”

Hekate looks up at Aramellianna a little nervously, but the brunette’s expression is gentle, even if it is on the stern matron’s rather stoic face.

This does reassure the ravenette a little, and she takes a deep breath to psych herself up.

“Mała?” asks a familiar voice that captures the young Empress’s attention from ahead of the group.

The feldrok teen knows her ears are disproportionately big compared to a shenwulf, gatonine, dattakorien, or even the goblins, who have the next proportionally-largest ears. But, Daniel has said that he finds them cute and expressive, and Hekate is proud of her ability to hear all kinds of things. So, she pretty easily recognizes voices because it’s the first thing she knows about a person, even if she can’t yet see them.

The only hiccup this time is that there is no one Hekate recognizes ahead of them. Only a single woman in a seemingly-simple, elegant ‘Fievegalita’ dress that Daniel worked with Geirahoel, Aramellianna, and Aramellianna’s contacts to achieve a fusion of subtly-extravagant usage of new techniques, wealthy materials, and a fusion of designs Daniel liked from Earth. The woman’s shining, honey-colored brown hair is braided into a beautiful single braid that drapes down her front with the interwoven golden jewelry similar to what the Stalvaltan ladies wear in their hair, with Wenlianna adding a tiara to her own as an Empress. The stranger’s neck is adorned with emerald-colored jewelry, but also a few distinctly amber-hued brown gems that match her eyes and to break the ‘monotony’ of having too many gems of one color. White gloves adorn her hands, and a shimmering blue-green cummerbund hugs her waist, with the excess fabric tied in a large bow and hanging from her right hip.

For her part, the stranger is showing as much surprise at seeing Hekate, apparently.

Hekate is wearing her super-expensive crown, of course, which has humongous –and heavy– diamonds of various colors scaled away from the center as a rainbow to flaunt the various methods Daniel has to force them into existence. But, she’s also wearing a large mantle that increases the apparent width of the petite teen’s shoulders, hides her own expensive, pearl- and diamond-adorned dress, and her white, jewel-studded knee-high boots. Hekate is also wearing the purple-colored gloves that Treia made for her, but with ribbons snugging them on her wrists and adorned with gems, in case Hekate shows her hands. The mantle is a second one Geirahoel made in order to make Hekate look bigger and more intimidating, but none of her outfit pieces do anything to increase her height, other than the soles of her boots, which have a normal, contoured sole, rather than raised heels. Rather than the childish flowers that her birthday present includes, Hekate’s ‘Sovereign’ cloak is a bright purple color with a cuddlewool trim along all of its edges and carefully dyed to look like what Daniel calls a ‘snow-leopard’, since they presumably don’t exist on Zenkon, other than the appearance traits appearing in some dattakoriens, and the closest thing anyone knows about are the deiracores that live in the southwest near reeffjord. The dye process is something that Geirahoel essentially invented for Zenkon with Daniel’s help, making it almost impossible for anyone to replicate without knowing the actual process itself.

Most likely, only the merchants most familiar with cuddlewool to begin with would be able to discern the fact that it’s dyed, other than anyone who is able to recognize the smell shortly after it’s made.

Finally realizing that Hekate is likely difficult to recognize, were it not for her black hair and big ears, she finally pieces it together, since the stranger is wearing a tiara that is simpler than the one Wenlianna is wearing, but still denotes her as some sort of important royal.

“Zuzia?”

Zuzia laughs softly as the group approaches, and Hekate dives into a hug with her. The two cuddle for a moment warmly, surprised at how each of them can be beautified nearly beyond recognition.

Ryuogriar clears her throat. “My dear, precious ladies. Your Highness, Grand Princess Zuzia kos Spolskia, and your Greatness, Hekate fell Lawson, please remember that we are about to hold an audience for foreign dignitaries, our own allies, and anyone else whose appointments are today. I’m not asking you to wear a mask, but I am asking you to play the part for now. Respectfully, your Greatness.”

““That’s why I’m the last person who should be here!”” exclaim the two young women. Both Hekate and Zuzia look at each other, somehow momentarily having synchronized almost perfectly on this one fact, and they both blush, while Wenlianna, Erimaya, and Doephluev snicker.

Doephluev replies, “I will gladly become the Sovereign Empress if you wish, Hekate…”

The feldrok teen looks at her, but doesn’t know what to say. She actually isn’t attached to the Sovereign Empress title at all, so it is a tempting offer in a way.

But, Ryuogriar shoots it down immediately. “Absolutely not. The reason none of the rest of us have resisted Hekate’s role as Sovereign Empress is because the Citadel itself is her birthright. If the Fievegal is to be seated in the Citadel, it is most appropriate that the eldest rightful heir hold the throne.”

“And, what if an older feldrok heir appears?” asks Doephluev pointedly. “Are we to hand over everything to them?”

“Of course not. The fact remains that Hekate founded the Fievegal alongside Daniel by capturing the Citadel. If an elder ‘heir’ were to try to present oneself to us, it would only be after their own failure to capture the Citadel under their own power, and thus, their appearance would only be an attempt to steal away the power Hekate earned.”

“D-Daniel did most of the work,...” murmurs Hekate bashfully.

Ryuogriar simply smiles and straightens Hekate’s mantle next, since it got a little agitated by her hugging Zuzia. Fal and Samael are both awake at the moment, but peacefully behaving themselves as she holds them both against her left side. They will be leaving Fal in his crib inside, just to be safe, but Ryuogriar is absolutely planning to flaunt her child in front of the audience.

“I understand Daniel, but why are the other,... uh,... Empress Consorts?... Are they not joining us?” asks Zuzia, unsure of the formal way to address the rest of the harem.

Ryuogriar replies simply, “This audience is a formal one, but more specifically intended to demonstrate that Hekate is the true power, and that we are very busy in the wake of the mana fire with all of the logistics we are sending out. Truthfully, though, it is in equal parts to demonstrate that you are one of our high ranking nobles, and to give the others a chance to rest.”

“Mother asked me to attend in order to justify her own attendance all the more,” adds Wenlianna.

“Yes. The Fievegal is understandably pushed to our apparent limits,” adds Aramellianna. “So, it is simultaneously forgivable that not all of the Imperial Family is present, so long as we show a good-faith attempt to grant any petitioner the fullest-ear of the Fievegal we can. Having Hekate alone could be viewed as an insult not because of her age and inexperience, but because her Sovereign status alone does not overshadow the fact that the Fievegal has chosen to have a large Imperial Family that shares a great deal of the authority and duties. What I ask Hekate may be unfairly biased against if she does not like wine, for instance, or she dislikes the color orange. The implication with as many of the Empresses as we can spare, as well as our Grand Prince and Grand Princess, is that there will be a council on any one topic, such that no decision will be made in haste on the whims of one person, at least not without objection.”

“I’m not that petty,” pouts Hekate softly.

“Please forgive any implication that you might be, your Greatness,” replies Aramellianna sincerely with a polite bow of her head and her hand on her chest. “I was simply using you as an example for how it might be perceived. The same might be true of a more typical Royal Family consisting of just the King and Queen. They Queen’s voice may temper the King’s biases, and vice versa.”

“I didn’t hear anything about a Grand Prince,” interjects Zuzia. “I am not marrying anyone right now. I don’t care if it’s just for show. I can take my…”

“Please calm down,” interrupts Ryuogriar. “The Grand Prince is Neith. Neith gur Lawson, the Emperor’s adopted brother by law, as well as Empress Geirahoel’s actual brother. You, if anyone asks, will be acknowledged as the Emperor’s adopted sister, unless you change your mind about…”

“Nooope!” Zuzia is swift, but her voice cracks awkwardly making this objection, blushing and averting her gaze from the platinum dragon matriarch.

“Then, adopted sister it is.”

“I want to be Ma-, er, uh, her Greatness Hekate’s adopted sister, if it’s all the same to everyone.” She scratches her cheek and looks at Hekate. “If that’s alright, Mała.”

The feldrok teen smiles. “Sure! That… actually makes me happy.”

Ryuogriar grins. “Done.”

“Very good,” adds Aramellianna warmly. “I’ll update the Imperial family register as soon as possible to remain accurate.”

Zuzia and Hekate both sigh. They’re being swirled around a whirlpool of new things far above their heads, and all from positions they never thought they’d occupy.

“I assume there’s like thirty chairs in there for us, though, right? How am I to know where to sit?” asks Zuzia.

“Don’t worry about it,” replies Doephluev. “Just sit next to Neith, and you’ll be fine. There are the right amount of seats, so it won’t be too difficult.”

Zuzia takes a breath and exhales deeply. She nods, replying softly, “Thank you, your Grace.”

Doephluev smiles and dips her head in a grateful nod.

“If everyone is ready, we can enter,” states Ryuogriar. “Dear Princess Erimaya, you may remain in the staging room here, or Balamae can escort you to your seat alongside Grand Premier Kalegrynten. I would happily accept you at our side, but until we can formally accept you into the Fievegal, it will need to wait.”

“I understand,” replies Erimaya happily. She then takes Hekate’s hands. “You’ll do great, Hekate. If you’re in doubt, tilt your head back and sit or stand up straight to give yourself time to think. A slow answer is better than a fast mistake.”

“I couldn’t put it better myself, your Highness,” replies Aramellianna with a smile.

“If you need help, just tap your index finger to your other hand three times,” replies Wenlianna as she demonstrates holding her hands folded together gracefully, and then tapping with her index finger like a simple, subtle tick. But, it’s easy to spot, especially for the people who will be sitting next to and slightly behind her throne.

Wenlianna explains softly, shooting playful glances at the retired matriarch of the Stalvaltan family, “Yanidere and I used to use this trick with each other all the time.”

Aramellianna simply gives a somewhat stiff smile, saying nothing. Her daughters have turned out to be excellent aristocrats and representatives of their family legacy. She could ask for no greater honor. And, from her silence, it seems that she has her own secrets to ‘cheat’ the system and survive on the battlefield.

After all, Hekate and some of her closest friends and family are about to enter a battlefield that the Fievegal is not the insurmountable beast they are when swords and shields are the instruments of their strength. Or, more accurately, unprecedented firearms and vehicles.

Hekate makes a joke to try to boost her own confidence, though it might not be in the best taste. “I guess… If I mess up too badly here, I’ll just have to conquer everyone the Hekate-way.”

Thankfully, everyone chuckles at this, and Zuzia decides to take on the big sister role she hopes to at least be helpful at.

“Yes, Mała. But, let’s just start with that one extra step today.”

Hekate grins. “Krod poku kroku.”

This causes Zuzia to return a wide, affectionate smile of adoration. She cups Hekate’s cheek approvingly. “Close enough, Maleńka.”

Hekate narrows her eyes at Zuzia, recognizing the word as some sort of evolution of the nickname she already knows, but suspicious of what it could mean.

“You better not be referring to a specific part of me…”

“I swear it’s a term of my most esteemed admiration, Maleńka. More-so than Mała could ever hope to be.” She then takes Hekate’s hand and bends over to kiss it. “And, I’ll be right by your side, my precious little sister, whether it be in there where we’re both going to struggle against the hard way, or conquering the world the ‘easy’ way.”

Hekate blushes up at her as she smiles, glancing at everyone else who smiles and nods.

Aramellianna then says tenderly, “If you’re ready, your Greatness, we shall enter by rank, with you at the lead. You must tell everyone when to sit, and by your order, we shall obey.”

Ryuogriar nods in agreement, and Hekate bobs her head in understanding. She’s finally ready, because she is surrounded by people who are ready to help her muddle through and be the best Empress she can be.

That said, since Zuzia and Aramellianna are effectively last due to being the only two non-Empresses entering the audience chamber to sit slightly below Hekate’s level, Hekate only barely catches it at the last moment while those two are still outside.

“‘Krod room step’, indeed…”

Hekate decides to remember that. She tried to be a good little sister, which she has never been before, by mimicking the new elder sister she admires. But now, that adoring big sister is teasing her about it.

Yes, Hekate will remember that.

The Feldrok Empress silently vows to have her revenge.

Appropriate revenge worthy of a darling little sister.

***