Chapter 17: Royal Family

The royal carriage carried us through the castle gates without slowing.

Apparently traffic laws, social hierarchy, and the concept of waiting in line all became optional once enough gold lions were painted on the side of your transportation.

Guards stationed near the entrance recognized Nemris immediately.

Spears rose.

Gates opened.

People moved aside.

Meanwhile, I sat across from her in my expensive new clothes pretending I had not been sleeping topless in an inn less than two hours ago.

Growth.

We passed through the outer castle grounds and continued toward the largest structure at the center of the complex.

I had seen the palace yesterday.

At least, I thought I had.

Turns out the section Zeria occupied had been only one part of the royal complex.

This building was larger.

Much larger.

The kind of structure designed by people who looked at ordinary mansions and said, “Yes, but what if we wanted visitors to feel financially inferior before entering?”

White stone climbed several stories upward.

Golden decorations traced the edges of enormous windows.

Long banners bearing Inizio’s roaring lion hung from the upper balconies.

Dozens of soldiers guarded the front.

I leaned toward the carriage window.

“I’m starting to suspect the king lives here.”

Nemris looked at me.

“That is the royal palace.”

“I was making an educated guess.”

“The royal family occupies several buildings inside the castle grounds.”

“Of course.”

I sat back.

“Nothing says family intimacy like needing directions to visit your relatives.”

Nemris ignored me.

The carriage stopped before a massive staircase.

A servant opened the door.

Nemris stepped out first.

I followed.

The royal palace doors stood ahead of us.

Two enormous slabs of polished wood reinforced by decorative gold metalwork.

Each door bore a carved lion large enough to make actual lions feel insecure.

Guards opened them.

I stepped through beside Nemris.

And immediately realized yesterday’s corridors had apparently been the budget version.

This hallway was enormous.

The ceiling rose several floors above us.

Tall white pillars lined both sides, each wrapped near the top with golden designs resembling vines and lion claws.

Sunlight entered through towering windows and reflected from a floor polished so smoothly I could probably have checked my hair in it.

My boots sounded small against the stone.

Nemris walked ahead with the effortless confidence of somebody who had grown up here.

Knights stood everywhere.

Every intersection had guards.

Every large doorway had guards.

Pairs of armored soldiers occupied alcoves along the walls.

Some carried swords.

Others held spears.

Several wore heavier ceremonial armor covered in gold.

Nobody moved unnecessarily.

Only their eyes followed us.

I leaned slightly toward Nemris.

“Does the king always have this many people watching his hallways?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know hallways rarely attempt assassination?”

She kept walking.

“The guards protect those using them.”

“I understood the concept.”

“Then why ask?”

“Conversation.”

“I preferred silence.”

“I know. That’s why I keep challenging it.”

Her tail flicked behind her.

Victory.

The walls were covered with paintings.

Not decoration for decoration’s sake.

History.

Large portraits and sprawling scenes stretched between the pillars.

Kings being crowned.

Armies marching beneath golden banners.

Battles against creatures I could not identify.

Lionkin generals standing on ruined walls.

Treaties signed around enormous tables.

One image showed a city burning while a crowned warrior raised a sword.

Another depicted dozens of ships landing along a rocky coastline.

Entire generations of Inizio had apparently been painted, framed, and hung up so visitors could receive several centuries of political propaganda while walking to lunch.

I slowed near one painting.

A Lionkin king stood beside an enormous dragon.

Not fighting it.

Talking.

I pointed.

“Friend?”

Nemris glanced over.

“King Yoras negotiated the Pact of Scales with the southern Dragonkin clans.”

“Useful neighbors.”

“They were not neighbors at the time.”

We kept moving.

Another painting showed a queen standing above kneeling soldiers.

Another showed Spriggans flying over a battlefield while Lionkin cavalry charged beneath them.

That one caught my attention for obvious reasons.

Actual Spriggans in old artwork had glowing wings spread behind them.

The markings across their backs were visible beneath the magical wings.

My copied markings currently hid beneath my new coat.

We turned into another corridor.

Even wider.

Red fabric banners hung between the paintings now.

More guards.

Definitely getting closer to somebody important.

At the end of the corridor stood another pair of massive double doors.

Probably the throne room.

But before we reached them, something on the left wall caught my eye.

I stopped.

Nemris continued several steps before noticing.

She turned.

“What is it?”

I did not answer.

I was staring at a painting.

Different from the others.

Older somehow.

Not actually ancient, because the colors were too clean and the frame too perfect.

But the style was different.

Simpler.

More solemn.

Two figures stood at the center.

One was a female Lionkin.

Golden hair.

Crown.

Armor.

Sword resting point-down between her hands.

The other figure...

I stepped closer.

Male.

No animal ears.

No tail.

No visible Spriggan wings.

No markings that I could see.

Human.

Or a Spriggan painted in a way that hid every identifiable Spriggan feature.

But I knew.

Something about the proportions.

The clothing.

The complete absence of Beastkin characteristics.

My chest tightened slightly.

Nemris came to stand beside me.

She followed my gaze.

“Is something wrong?”

I pointed toward the painting.

“That man.”

“What about him?”

“Who is he?”

Nemris looked at the image for a moment.

Something changed in her face.

Not much.

But enough that I remembered what Zeria had told me.

Nemris loved this subject.

Humans.

Ancient humanity.

The Unbound Race.

Her professional mask remained firmly in place, but I noticed the faint spark behind her eyes.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“This painting is called The Pact.”

I glanced at her.

“The original?”

“No.”

Nemris shook her head.

“The original is thousands of years old and too fragile for public display. This is a royal copy made several centuries ago.”

I looked back at it.

The human and the Lionkin queen stood beside each other.

Not master and servant.

Not ruler and soldier.

Equals.

Behind them, armies gathered beneath different standards.

Smoke darkened the distant sky.

Nemris continued.

“The painting represents one of the most famous legends in Inizio’s history.”

“Legend?”

“A time when our kingdom faced the greatest war it had ever known.”

Her voice had changed.

Slightly faster.

More alive.

Oh.

Zeria had not exaggerated.

Nemris really did love this stuff.

I resisted smiling.

Mostly because I wanted information.

“Who were they fighting?”

“Several neighboring kingdoms had formed an alliance against Inizio.”

Nemris folded her arms while studying the painting.

“The records from that era are incomplete. Some historians argue the war began over territory. Others claim control of trade routes. A few surviving texts suggest religious conflict.”

“So nobody knows.”

“Not precisely.”

“History.”

I nodded.

“Thousands of people kill each other, then nobody remembers why. Very efficient.”

Nemris glanced toward me.

“You joke about everything.”

“Only things that deserve it.”

Her eyes returned to the painting.

“Inizio was losing.”

That got my attention.

“Badly?”

“According to the surviving records, the capital itself was expected to fall.”

She pointed subtly toward the Lionkin queen.

“Queen Reyna Goldmane ruled at the time.”

I heard the surname.

Goldmane.

My eyes moved toward Nemris.

Golden hair.

Lionkin.

Goldmane.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

But I said nothing.

Yet.

Nemris continued.

“Then a human appeared.”

She said human differently.

Not fearfully.

Not reverently.

Fascinated.

Like somebody finally discussing their favorite mystery.

“He allied himself with Queen Reyna.”

I looked toward the painted man.

“Just one?”

Nemris nodded.

“One.”

“And that changed the war.”

“It ended it.”

I slowly turned toward her.

Nemris was looking at the painting with open intensity now.

“According to the legend, the human fought beside Inizio and destroyed the enemy’s strongest forces in a matter of days.”

“Days.”

“Some versions say three.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“That seems inconvenient for the enemy.”

Nemris almost smiled.

Almost.

“The alliance collapsed immediately afterward. Several rulers surrendered without another battle.”

I looked again at the painted man.

No visible weapon.

Just simple clothing and one hand extended toward the queen.

Not threatening.

Not triumphant.

Almost casual.

The painting did not show a conqueror.

It showed a partnership.

“The Pact,” I murmured.

“Yes.”

“What was the pact?”

Nemris hesitated.

“Unknown.”

“Of course.”

“The original agreement has never been found.”

“Fantastic historical recordkeeping.”

“There are theories.”

“I’m guessing you know all of them.”

Nemris looked toward me.

I smiled.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Lady Zeria told you too much.”

“She told me enough to know you secretly enjoy this.”

Nemris’s expression tightened.

“I do not secretly enjoy history.”

“You just spoke more in thirty seconds than you did during our entire journey here.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“Barely.”

She started walking again.

I remained beside the painting for one more second.

Queen Reyna Goldmane.

Human ally.

Thousands of years ago.

Her surname was Goldmane.

Probably no connection beyond dynastic ancestry.

Probably.

But suddenly the royal family had become much more interesting.

I followed Nemris.

She did not explain whether Reyna was her ancestor.

I did not ask.

Questions were multiplying again.

Excellent.

My life had become a subscription service for mysteries.

We approached the double doors.

Four royal guards stood on each side.

Eight total.

All wore heavier silver armor than the soldiers in the halls.

Gold lion crests covered their chests.

Two crossed spears in front of the entrance.

Nemris stepped forward.

“Lord Commander Nemris Goldmane. Bringing Caled Morningwood under royal summons.”

The guards looked toward me.

Then at Nemris.

The spears separated.

The enormous doors began opening.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Because apparently dramatic entrances were legally required in monarchies.

A wide throne hall appeared beyond them.

I stepped inside.

And immediately understood why the corridors had been so large.

They had been preparing visitors for this.

The room was enormous.

A red carpet ran from the doors to the far end like somebody had killed the world’s longest curtain and laid it flat.

Knights stood on both sides.

Hundreds?

Maybe not.

Felt like it.

Rows of silver armor lined the carpet from beginning to end.

Every knight stood perfectly straight.

No talking.

No shifting.

No scratching noses.

Only their eyes moved as Nemris and I walked past.

I kept my expression neutral.

Internally?

Slightly less neutral.

Nothing says welcome like passing through enough armed soldiers to invade a medium-sized country.

“Cozy,” I murmured.

Nemris heard me.

Naturally.

“Behave.”

“I’m walking.”

“For now.”

We continued.

The throne platform waited at the far end.

Three thrones.

The central one was largest.

Golden.

Lion designs carved into the arms and back.

Two smaller seats stood on either side.

Not tiny.

Still enormous by normal-chair standards.

Just less aggressively royal.

I could already see the people seated there.

My attention went first to the man in the center.

The king.

Had to be.

He looked older than Nemris.

Not elderly.

Maybe somewhere in his fifties.

His long golden hair carried streaks of lighter color around the temples.

A trimmed beard framed a stern face marked with several faint scars.

Not decorative scars.

The kind earned by someone who had spent time around sharp objects operated by hostile people.

Blue eyes watched me carefully.

Very blue.

A golden crown rested between his lion ears.

His clothing was formal but built around broad shoulders.

Dark red fabric.

Gold embroidery.

A mantle lined with pale fur.

He looked exactly like what a Lionkin king should look like.

Which was either excellent genetics or extremely committed branding.

Then I noticed who sat to his left.

Zeria.

She had one elbow resting against the arm of the smaller throne.

Her chin sat in her palm.

Barefoot again.

Naturally.

The Great Sage of Inizio looked less like the kingdom’s second most important person and more like a girl waiting for someone interesting to arrive at a boring family dinner.

The moment she saw me, she smiled.

Not royal.

Not dignified.

Just Zeria.

I almost smiled back.

Then I noticed the woman on the king’s other side.

Queen.

Definitely.

She wore a crown.

Helpful clue.

Golden-blond hair fell in elegant waves around her shoulders.

Her skin was pale.

Brown eyes.

Lion ears.

Long tail.

A beautiful gown flowed around her in layers of cream and gold.

Her expression was stern, but differently from Nemris.

Nemris looked stern like she expected somebody to confess.

This woman looked stern like she already knew the confession and was deciding whether it bored her.

Elegant.

Controlled.

Beautiful.

And familiar.

Very familiar.

I stared.

Then looked at Nemris walking beside me.

Then back at the queen.

Then Nemris.

Queen.

Nemris.

Oh.

They looked almost identical.

Not literally identical.

Age separated them.

Different eye color too.

But the resemblance was ridiculous.

Same facial structure.

Same nose.

Same shape around the mouth.

Same general expression of being mildly unimpressed by civilization.

If somebody told me Nemris had been created by taking this woman and turning the military settings to maximum, I would have accepted the explanation immediately.

Nemris continued forward without reacting.

I almost asked.

Then decided maybe revealing my inability to identify obvious family relationships was not the strongest possible introduction to royalty.

We reached the base of the throne platform.

Nemris stopped.

I stopped beside her.

The entire room went quiet.

King Blue Eyes studied me.

Then spoke.

“So.”

Deep voice.

Calm.

Authority without needing to shout.

“You are Caled Morningwood.”

I gave a polite bow of my head.

“Correct, Your Majesty.”

His eyes sharpened slightly.

“I am pleased you accepted my summons.”

Accepted.

Interesting choice of word.

I decided not to mention the swords involved.

“I’m Caled Morningwood. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The king nodded.

“I am Viar Goldmane, King of Inizio.”

There it was again.

Goldmane.

Painting.

Reyna.

Nemris.

Viar.

Definitely royal bloodline.

Viar gestured toward Nemris.

“I see you have already become acquainted with my second daughter.”

My brain stopped.

Second daughter.

I looked at Nemris.

Then at Viar.

Then back at Nemris.

Oh.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Lord Commander Nemris Goldmane.

Second daughter of the king.

Royal princess.

Nobody had mentioned that.

Not once.

Zeria had casually spent an entire conversation explaining Nemris’s childhood dreams and somehow skipped over the tiny detail that she was literally royalty.

Nemris looked at me.

My expression must have betrayed something.

Her eyebrow lifted.

I slowly smiled.

Later.

We were definitely discussing this later.

King Viar continued.

“I hope Nemris treated you appropriately.”

I looked at the princess currently dressed like an armored declaration of war.

“She did.”

Nemris gave me the smallest suspicious glance, probably expecting more.

I behaved.

I deserved a medal.

Viar then gestured toward the woman seated beside him.

“This is my wife, Queen Milfy Goldmane.”

Milfy.

I looked at her.

There was no reaction from anyone else.

So apparently that was completely normal here.

Fine.

Different world.

Different naming traditions.

Still.

Milfy.

The universe had jokes.

I bowed again.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

Queen Milfy inclined her head.

“Likewise, Caled Morningwood.”

Her voice was smooth.

Measured.

Then something happened.

Her eyes traveled over me.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

A small smile appeared.

Meaningful.

Very slightly amused.

I recognized that look.

Oh no.

Ma’am.

Your husband is literally sitting beside you.

Please maintain royal discipline.

I had a documented effect on women.

Still, kings felt like a category where testing that ability might reduce life expectancy.

Thankfully, Viar did not seem to notice.

Either that or royal marriages operated under rules I had not yet received.

Before I could investigate that dangerous topic with my imagination, Viar gestured toward the remaining figure near the thrones.

A young woman stood between his throne and the queen’s side of the platform.

I had noticed her earlier.

But only partially.

Now my attention settled properly.

Golden hair.

Lion ears.

Pale skin.

Pink dress.

Delicate posture.

Hands folded neatly in front of her.

Then she looked directly at me.

Blue eyes.

My brain hit a wall.

Blue.

Those eyes.

I knew those eyes.

My memory pulled up an underground cage.

Golden hair.

Dark mask.

Combat shorts.

Blood.

Sweat.

An irritated Lionkin woman accusing me of holding back.

The Merciless Lioness.

No.

Surely not.

The young woman’s eyebrows tightened.

Barely.

Recognition.

There.

She recognized me too.

Well.

That answered that.

King Viar smiled proudly.

“And this is my first daughter.”

Oh, this was getting better.

“My heir and Crown Princess of Inizio.”

The young woman stood straighter.

“Princess Leyra Goldmane.”

Leyra.

The missing First Princess the guards had been searching for yesterday.

The Merciless Lioness.

The crown princess.

The king’s delicate daughter.

All one woman.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Neither of us said anything.

Her expression screamed silently.

Mine probably did too.

You.

Her eyes narrowed the tiniest amount.

Yes, me.

Then she moved.

Elegant.

Perfect.

Leyra lowered herself in a graceful bow.

Every movement was delicate.

Controlled.

Soft.

Nothing like the woman who had been hammering Rockkin into decorative gravel.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Caled.”

Her voice.

I nearly experienced physical whiplash.

Soft.

Gentle.

Sweet.

Where was the woman who had growled at me inside a cage?

Where was the voice shouting that everyone around her was weak?

Where was the person threatening to beat challengers into structural damage?

This woman sounded like she apologized to flowers after picking them.

I bowed before my facial expression could betray me.

“The pleasure is mine, Princess.”

My voice remained stable.

Professional achievement.

Without the mask, I could finally see her entire face.

Beautiful.

More beautiful than I had realized.

Fine features.

Soft lips.

Bright blue eyes.

Golden hair framing her cheeks.

Nothing visibly screamed underground fighting champion.

She looked like a painter’s idealized version of a royal daughter.

Which was impressive considering I had watched those same delicate hands attempt to explode my skull using Light Buster.

Viar looked toward her with obvious pride.

“Leyra is everything a crown princess should be.”

Leyra smiled modestly.

I fought for my life internally.

Viar continued.

“Graceful. Educated. Intelligent.”

Accurate, potentially.

“She was raised to embody the dignity expected of Inizio’s future queen.”

Leyra lowered her eyes.

“Father.”

Soft again.

Dear gods.

“She has never cared for combat,” Viar continued.

I nearly choked on my own lungs.

Never cared for combat.

Right.

Absolutely.

Yesterday I had personally watched her challenge an entire underground arena because her previous opponent had disappointed her.

“She relies upon intellect rather than strength.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Hard.

Viar smiled proudly.

“A delicate rose, but one whose thorns are wisdom.”

Leyra’s eyes flicked toward me.

Warning.

Do not laugh.

I smiled politely.

“I can see that.”

Her eyes narrowed by approximately half a millimeter.

Only I noticed.

Queen Milfy reached for Leyra’s hand.

“Our pride and joy.”

Leyra turned toward her mother.

Her entire face softened.

She placed her hand gently over Milfy’s.

The movement was flawless.

Princess.

Perfect princess.

She smiled sweetly.

“Mother.”

I stared.

Then I had to look away before my face betrayed me.

This woman had spent last night wearing a mask, fighting illegally in an underground cage, insulting spectators, demolishing challengers, and enjoying every violent second of it.

Now she stood beside her parents looking like she might faint if someone raised their voice too loudly.

Her posture.

Her expression.

Her voice.

Every tiny gesture.

Perfect.

Not one crack.

Not one accidental hint of the Merciless Lioness.

Damn.

She was really good at this.