***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Angrod***

It's a new day.

I watch the distant columns of smoke where my drones incinerated a few offensive elements. Frowning, I look down at my tablet. A notification announces the arrival of our transports a little earlier than originally planned, but given the current circumstances, I thought it prudent to speed up our time table.

After yesterday's party, I informed our friends that my coronation likely won't go as smoothly as planned. Except for outright telling them not to show their faces, I did everything I could to keep them and their families out of the line of fire, going so far as to instruct them not to mingle with the crowd and to segregate themselves and their family members away in an easily defensible position.

I think they got the idea that Celes and I expect the coronation to turn into a war zone.

“You always have that brooding expression when you are thinking hard about something.” Celes joins me in front of the sad remains of our bonfire. Stephen and Iris did a great job in building it, but over the course of the night, it burned down until only a charred pile of ashes remained.

If we aren't careful, that might turn out to be the fate of our home.

“Yeah, just wondering if we shouldn't go with Plan C after all?”

“You mean, take our families and run, then blow up the embassy with the whole of the nobility inside it?” Celes runs her fingers through her long hair, playing with it.

“Exactly!”

She sighs. “You know that we need at least a few of them. We have to govern a whole world.”

I gesture at the columns of smoke. “As you can see, we still have enemies outside the City of Light. For them to mount an attack like that... it can only mean that they still enjoy vast support among our subjects.”

Looking at her, I quickly avert my eyes. “You have been planning gentle ways to take over from our parents, but I can't see it happening.”

“You mean that they will simply keep plotting their little schemes.” Celes closes her eyes and sighs. “Yeah. It's likely.”

“You know that there is a solution to all of this.” I glance at her, then force my eyes back to the tablet.

“No?” she replies in a questioning tone and turns to face me. “What are you thinking?”

I look her in the eyes. “I am talking about taking the throne.”

“Well, that was the plan all along?” She frowns, her forehead wrinkling cutely.

“Not like that. I am talking about taking the throne. Together.” I wait for her to get the idea, but she clearly doesn't follow my train of thoughts. “Both of us know that my uncle and my cousin are just a diversion. They were biding their time up until now, but the closer the date of my coronation comes, the clearer it is that they will try to challenge me at the first opportunity.”

I tilt my head, wondering if Celes would go along with my idea of using force. “Even if we do this fair and square, I doubt that our enemies would honour the outcome of a duel. As long as the old rules remain they will keep challenging me.”

She finally stops frowning, understanding where I am going with this. “You don't want to play their game. Instead of honouring the traditions, you will strike them down whichever way you can, taking the throne by force if necessary. You know that doing such a thing will cause a lot of spilled blood.”

I shrug. “Our parents played the de-escalation-game for decades and look where it got them with these people. We have other worries than some blind-sighted mortals. Our enemies are summoning a god. I say we stop fooling around and put our foot down. Take off the gloves and show them what immortals can really do. As long as we work together, we fulfil Seria's wishes and-”

Celes places a finger on my lips to shut me up. “Okay.” She puckers her lips and takes a step closer. “But you still owe me a proper date. And stop behaving like that.”

“Behaving like what?” Did she really just say okay? I expected her to fuss around, but I guess that the situation is bad enough for her to accept that we have to take action.

She casts her eyes downwards, smiling as she studies my reaction. “Like yesterday didn't happen.”

I groan. So, that’s what she is thinking about! I hoped so much that we could avoid this topic. “I swear that I don't know what got into me, but you kept pushing my... Ahem!”

Yeah. She definitely went past merely pushing buttons.

“Nono. It's fine. A little more forceful than I planned it to be, but I am content that you stopped fighting it.” She links arms with me. “I certainly won't complain.”

For some reason, I feel a warm feeling welling up inside me, knowing that Celes has my back… and other things. “So... you have no complaints about slaughtering anyone who dares to oppose our rule?”

“Ah, maybe not everyone...”

“But most?”

“Let's be harsh, but not overshoot the goal.” She sighs. “I have a feeling that if I allow you to decide, we will end up with just a handful of followers.”

I snort. “Better to do it right once than to have regrets later.”

««»»

“I look like a penguin in this!” This isn't right! I am about to fight for my life and I look like some opera singer from Italy!

“This is the traditional garb for the coronation. No chance to get around it,” my mother explains, her voice calm and expectant at the same time.

“Wonderful. At least we can please the audience.” I stretch a little, feeling the fabric stretch around my shoulders. “This will rip during the fight! I will be butt naked on the throne.”

“That would be bad. I will go and fetch you my old robe! It should fit you just fine,” Nicosar offers and runs off.

I let out a heavy sigh, wondering what Rose was thinking when she chose this suit. “I am going to be the king of the fucking world and I can't get a suit that fits.”

“You remember the right words to take the crown from the priest?” Ireth interrogates me again. She asked that very question for the fourth time and I am becoming agitated. It's very likely that we won't even get that far in the ceremony, so why bother?

Celes and I talked about the situation and we decided not to tell our parents. They are already on their guard, so letting them in on our plan that both Celes and I intend to go apeshit at the slightest provocation won't change much. The only real difference will be how to handle the fallout.

“Yes. Hereby, I take the throne and swear to protect the country and its people. Not that hard to remember. Much more important, anything new about our brethren?” I ask with a displeased tone.

“No. But I am sure they will come, even if I didn't officially invite them,” Ireth explains, her voice turning toxic with displeasure.

The door flies open and Nicosar storms in. “Here, try this. I wore it just once for my own coronation, so it should be fine.”

I take the old-fashioned robe from Nicosar and inspect it. It's mostly red with golden ornaments and it comes with a sash. Deciding that complaining won't get me anything better, I try it on and surprisingly, it fits!

Seeing that it's just the right size, Nicosar nods proudly and pats my shoulder. “Ho! Not bad. At least this proves that you are my grandson. You have the same physique as my younger self when I took the throne.”

“I suppose your coronation back in the day went well. There isn't a single sign of damage to the robe.” I study the exquisite material and the fine, black sash which goes along with it.

“Oh, no. Hahaha.” Nicosar waves a hand to dismiss me of my false notion. “Didn't you notice that my ability also restores my clothes? Those noble pricks tried their best to kill me. They even blew up the throne beneath my royal ass!”

“Hmpf. Yeah, I suppose killing you was a waste of their time.” I bet they just gave up once they got tired. But to think that they blew up the throne? Now I know what to look out for.

Looking at myself in the nearby mirror, I nod. At least this outfit isn't so close to the opera style. “I will be off then, I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“What? No, the coronation is in half an hour! How do you suppose you can get anywhere within a few minutes!?” Ireth wants to stop me, but I already teleported, abandoning any intention of withholding my true capabilities as an immortal.

The world around me distorts and reforms again. I am in my facility and in front of me is our newest asset, powered by the focus prism which I got out of our little dungeon run. The fusion reactor hums with cold efficiency. The sphere-shaped machinery hangs in the centre of the room, held within a web of pipes and cords like a spider in its web.

Currently, a sizeable part of its power generation is redirected towards the city.

Three workers are busy with adjustments. They are very concentrated and have their backs to me. “Ahem.” I clear my throat to make myself known.

They turn around, shocked to see me here. The older one, a man who I often work with steps forward. “Prince! Shouldn't you be at the coronation!?”

“I just need the equipment real quick, then I am off again.” I point at the control box they were working at. “That gives access to the main power supply line, am I right?”

“Yes?” Another one who I don’t recognize answers with an enquiring voice. “Be careful. One touch and you turn crispy.”

“Step back, I just need a second.” All three step back and I take a look at the circuit box. Using telekinesis, I remove a cover with a ‘High Voltage!’ danger sign.

The main power distribution line which I am looking at is under high strain and has to be checked for problems very often.

But it's no problem, the workers were just replacing the old fuse. Everything in my facility is built with redundancy in mind.

There are at least two replacement systems for everything and we are switching the ones in use on a regular basis to ensure that nothing fails due to ageing or stress.

I lower the heavy plate with the red warning sign to the ground and inspect the power line which hums with static energy. “Hah, it’s so nostalgic to stand right next to some good old tech.”

One of the workers behind me can’t stand watching me playing around with potentially life-threatening equipment. “That's dangerous! You need the right protection if you want to work on this, Prince!”

“I know. Don’t worry. This is mage business.” I feel the energy which is running through the cables and reach for it. Before I touch the power line, a spark springs for my palm, dancing with the promise of death for any normal person.

Concentrating, I form a spell matrix to convert the electrical energy into a form which my body can store.

Instead of allowing it to fry me, I absorb the power and convert it to mana, guiding the energy into the core of my being. A little bit of smoke rises from my fingers and I cut my nerves with telekinesis, setting up a Regeneration to counteract the damage this method of gathering power causes. Sparks of electrical energy wander around my body as the lights flicker.

Sucking the energy out of living beings may be the best solution to gather power. Like the Meltheims are using a sacrificial ritual to power their summoning circle. But that’s only a quick and dirty fix. For those in the know, it's way more convenient to convert mana from another source of energy, like I am doing now.

The method is risky, so I waited until the last moment to be sure to walk into the fight with every ounce of power I can hold. Unfortunately, Markorn is a real talent and will still have much more mana at his disposal. I also assume that he won’t be the only one who got a power-up. It would be unreasonable to assume that our enemies would use their knowledge only once if they already got it to work.

This should even the odds.

After a minute of gathering power, I pull my hands back. My fingertips are charred and burned by the energy, but they heal quickly, the damaged parts flaking away.

It's hard to control the conversion process without slipping up. The risk lies in failing to control the Conversion spell, it’s spell matrix is constantly torn out of shape by the power which is raging through it. Had it failed, I would have been fried like any normal person who is stupid enough to reach into a high voltage power line.

The lights come back online.

Seems like I drained a little more than the systems could handle. I didn’t expect this body to be capable of holding so much power. Maybe it’s connected to the fact that the people of my bloodline have an exceptional affinity for wielding magic?

I turn around and look at the three pale-faced workers.

“Ar- Are … you okay?” The older one steps forward, searching me for signs of damage.

Seems like they already saw their heads being lopped off for allowing the prince to commit suicide.

“No problem, I just needed a little more power than the system could handle.” I look at the now completely charred circuit board around the power line. “I am sorry. You will have to do a little more work than you anticipated.”

“N- no issue. We will work overtime,” another one of them offers.

I smile and wave my goodbyes. “Be sure to clock-in the time so that you get paid for the effort.” There are no refunds in my company.

Then I teleport back to my room where I am instantly greeted by my mother.

“Where have you been!” she barks. “Don’t pull off a stunt like that! I almost had a heart attack when you vanished!”

“I am sorry.”

“We had a short power outage here,” Nicosar states, clearly expecting me to give an explanation.

“I just paid a short visit to my lab.” I walk to the door and leave for the throne room. “Don’t worry. Everything went as planned.”

Nicosar and Ireth follow me with grim determination, unhappy with me leaving them out of the loop.

I am sorry, but I think it's for the best. They would be horrified if they knew what Celes and I intend to do.

When I arrive at the entrance to the throne room, I can see Celes with Katrine and Arthur. I wave at them and walk into the large hall.

Those present are mostly nobles from Tirna. No wonder; why should a Stricc noble visit the coronation of the king of Tirna? Which doesn’t mean that there are none of Arthur’s and Katrine’s followers. The most important ones are present, but they are holding themselves in the background. Which is for the best.

Everyone is looking at me. Searching their faces, I can find a wide range of expressions. Expectancy, loathing, wariness, disapproval. Most seem indifferent, but that may change any second once things get hot.

Facing my family, I give them a quick nod and make my way to the throne where a priest of the church is waiting for me. The old man is clad in a white robe with a purple scarf, looking regal and worldly at the same time in its simplicity.

The hall is completely silent as I walk through the passage which is held free of the crowd by my guards. There must be over two hundred people here, filling the hall to its capacity.

While I am on my way, I identify some familiar faces in one of the corners. I identify Sandra, Gabriel, and the Cygnus siblings along with their parents among the spectators. Winking, I direct a regal wave of my hand at them.

Even though I am looking, I can't find Markorn or Seredorn. It’s too bad that I know Seredorn just from the pictures which my mother showed to me. The man was smart enough to never show his face at the embassy. When he went into exile, he also gave up on his right on the throne.

Since Ireth became Tirna’s regent because of my father’s death she was able to rule in my stead, using her power in a kind of legal grey zone. She would be within her rights to expel my uncle from the city, had he given her the slightest reason to do so.

The problem is that with my ascension to the throne, anyone with power and recognition may be able to challenge me. Theoretically, the lowest peasant could fight his way into the embassy and challenge me for the right to be king, had he the power to do so.

It is unlikely that such a thing could happen, but that’s, in fact, the law which Seredorn is likely counting on. He surely used some of his supporters to sneak himself and my cousin into the coronation ceremony.

Arriving at the priest beside the throne, I nod to him and he starts to address the audience.

“Nobles of Tirna! We are all here today to...” I stop listening to the boring speech and scan the crowd for any problematic individuals.

Mother and grandfather took a place in the first row of the audience, for once not ascending to the throne themselves.