I made my brother promise not to tell mom about the hole in my face. He reluctantly agreed, said goodbyes, and went the other way, wanting to check out the castle Perpillon before reporting back to Les Postiers’ post in Montclam. We bid farewell to my fellow Roselandeur and continued on our path.

The travel was rather uneventful, and once in Chartoise, we met a few groups of soldiers on the way. Mostly horse riders patrolling the county, alert. They told us that Comte d’Armas worried the Count of Chartoise might try to sneak back into his territory and cause some trouble. When they saw us, many jeered at Baron Hugo and the young Seigneur of Bourgillet. On the other hand, men knew of Sieur Geoffroi’s fame, and they were delighted.

We chatted a bit, and the riders told us the bulk of our forces were in Fort Soilet. We decided to make a little detour and stop by the Fort for Marion wanted to get back to helping the wounded.

“Comte d’Armas is not so keen on being seen as a conqueror,” Commandant Antoine explained as he greeted us, “hence the men of Armas will, in general, stay here for the winter. Staying out of Chartoise folks’ sight.”

Unsurprisingly, Antoine and his son Gaston, too, recognized Sieur Geoffroi. It appeared that they had met before.

“Of course. Remember that Soilet diocese includes Chartoise,” said Geoffroi upon my comment. “My obligation to Chartoise had indeed led me to be acquainted with Vidame de Soilet.”

“But I have heard the good Sieur is unwell,” said Gaston, worried.

“I believe I am dying.”

Then the Sieur quickly changed the topic, and we sat around a fire and chatted a little.

I noticed carts and wagons coming in with their cargo covered and secured by thick tarps. With the siege broken, Vidame de Soilet was now able to flex his position and bring in the much-needed supplies. I felt a bit guilty. My Anna had not only destroyed what the God’s Warriors had brought to Bourg but also set Chartoise’s camp ablaze, which had been stocked to the brim with enough resources to feed and warm a thousand men for the winter. Anna seemed to be ignorant of the fact that she was the reason why Vidame de Soilet had to restock his Fort in the first place. So typically irresponsible of her, I thought.

But in general, Anna was well received by the men. They still remembered the glorious victory she had brought several nights ago. Anna made a little round by herself and returned with a large bowl of hot stew that smelled and looked great. She squatted down next to me, and Anna and I shared the bowl as we silently listened to the men conversing.

Marion and her kins decided they would stay at the Fort. The rest of us left Fort Soilet to head to Comte de Chartoise’s manor. Led by Sieur Geoffroi, who knew the way, we kept further into the heart of the county. From Fort Soilet, it took us only a day and a half at a casual pace.

Chartoise’s manor was huge. Built with large chunks of stones and thick woods, the manor was about triple the size of that of La Rose’s. The front garden was vast, with patterned mounds and lumps of hardened snow indicating well-designed arrangements of whatever plants that were sleeping for the winter season.

It was well into the afternoon. I had expected columns of carriages parked and waiting, but no, the place was surprisingly empty. Only a few resident servants were out doing whatever they were supposed to be doing, carrying out daily tasks even though their master had fled the county. Sieur Henry, too, noticed the lack of noble people.

“I thought His Lordship has summoned the aristocrats of Chartoise?” he asked Victor when the Vicomte came out to greet us.

“Indeed,” Victor nodded, leading us into the manor, “but in our eagerness, we have overlooked the most basic of the fiefdom. My mistake, to be honest.”

“Which is?”

“That they are obliged to answer their Comte’s call to arms. Many houses are still finalizing successions.”

I was confused.

“Successions, milord?”

“Yes, René,” Victor kindly explained, “the many battles that comprised Chartoise’s army. Who do you think brought all those men?”

“Oh, my…,” I trailed off.

Shit, my Anna had made many noble houses of Chartoise headless.

Aristocrats and their superior lords. I wasn’t familiar with that matter because the Roseland had always answered directly to the King, albeit via letters. And even those letters were rare occasions, as our land was too remote to be of any interest to the Capital. Despite the remoteness, though, I was vaguely aware that our Barony was of special status. Something to do with having voluntarily stepped down from being a marquisat to a mere barony. I recalled having heard from someone. No nearby powerhouses felt comfortable enough to lord over an ex-marquis, or something like that.

I had not thought much about the power structure of the Kingdom until this moment, so the fact struck my face hard. Barons and seigneurs and sieurs had dutifully answered their Comte’s call. Subsequently, they perished, along with the men they had brought, in the battle against a goddess.

###

Chartoise’s servants led us to a series of guest rooms connected by a long hallway. They did not say much but raised some eyebrows when Victor told them that Anna and I would be staying together. It was clear they weren’t happy about the whole situation of having to serve guests in their master’s absence.

“We have faith in Comte d’Armas’ words,” a maid said upon my inquiry, “that the manor will not be defiled nor its servants harmed.

“We are not some savage beasts,” I commented, nodding and appreciating our Comte’s civil decision.

“Thus, we carry on and maintain the house spotless. Until its rightful master returns.”

“I doubt we would stay for long, but in the meantime, we will be in your care.”

The maid just gave a weak smile and left us in peace. Anna threw herself onto the large bed in the chamber and buried herself deep under the blanket. She poked her head out and watched me unpacking what few things I had on me. I also took a good time to change the bandage on my face, applying a healthy amount of the balm Marion had given me. The substance numbed the pain and was supposed to speed up the growth of new flesh. I hoped the hole in my cheek would fill up quickly. I wouldn’t mind a scarred face. In fact, that would be cool as heck. Should make me look appear more hardened -, ah no, I shook my head. I remembered the circumstance in which my face received the arrow. I glanced at Anna. She was watching me with an indifferent look, but when our eyes met, she gave me a quick smile. I was about to say something but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

A maid led Anna and me through the hallway and down the stairs to a large chamber that was Comte de Chartoise’s court. I could hear voices behind the closed door, two men conversing. The maid opened the double door for us to enter.

At the court’s walls hung many colorful tapestries and paintings, depicting the glorious history of Chartoise and the county’s master. Daylight shone through murky glass windows and provided a bit of illumination, aided by many fat candles on ornate stands strategically placed around the stone-walled room. To the left of the door was a large fireplace built in the wall. Heaps of logs were burning, heating the room warm enough for me to forget that we were in winter. To our right, on the opposite side of the fireplace, almost touching the long gold embroidered banner of Chartoise that hung from the ceiling, was a throne-like chair that obviously was Comte de Chartoise’s seat. I was somewhat taken aback by the hefty amount of jewels and leaves of precious metals encrusting the chair because the pompous appearance starkly contrasted with the plain dull armor the Comte had worn on the battlefield.

Our Marco, the Count of Armas, respected his fellow Comte’s absence. Comte d’Armas left the Count’s seat vacant and instead sat in a chair, one of many arranged in a large circle in the middle of the room. He was conversing with a thin, bald man in a white robe, appearance-wise about the same age as the Comte himself. The red circle on the chest told me this man was a clergy of the Circle of God’s Worshipers. Jeweled golden rings on the fingers and two similarly clad young men silently standing ready behind the man were the signs that this person was of some importance.

“Ah, young Lady Anna,” Comte d’Armas greeted us with a broad smile.

Anna put on her lady’s face and did a matching courtesy.

“We were discussing miracles,” the Comte continued, nodding to the man of religion to his side, “the most recent one, in fact.”

The white-robbed man cleared his throat and glanced at Anna. Comte d’Armas quickly stood up.

“My! please do excuse my manners! Your Excellency, the young heiress of the Roseland, Lady Anna La Rose the incredibly ferocious Roseborn.”

“The Roseborn,” His Excellency nodded in greeting.

Comte d’Armas then made a dramatic gesture to present the man. The motions were rather playful, but not in a mocking way. Just good-natured humor to lighten up the mood, so to say. The bald man addressed as His Excellency didn’t seem to mind.

“His Excellency Bishop de Soilet,” the Comte announced.

Anna bowed and made a flurry of hand gestures, greeting the Bishop of Soilet diocese.

“Oh, I have forgotten to mention,” the Comte coughed and nonchalantly mentioned, “the Lady does not speak.”

While translating Anna’s greeting, I could see the young men behind the Bishop not hiding their disgust at the presence of a defective girl in the same room. His Excellency, on the other hand, did not seem to care about Anna’s muteness.

“What a tremendous undertaking it must have been,” the Bishop commented, eying me, “for a mere servant to learn this… form of unspoken words. I commend you, young man.”

“Necessities are often powerful enough motivations, Your Excellency,” I tried to play humble.

“But surely, my lad, motivation alone cannot be sufficient to master a completely new language. judging by the speed, I can tell it is not a matter of simply spelling out the letters?”

“That…,” I stuttered. Wow, with a single look, the Bishop had already grasped the nature of our sign language.

“Your Excellency is observant. Milady speaks by sequencing gestures and figures predesignated to corresponding words. I then form sentences in a more acceptable manner befitting the audience.”

“Which further indicates the quick wit and good memory required. Thus my previous praise stands, my lad.”

“I am grateful for your kind words.”

“Kind, my words may be, but it is God’s generosity that has given you the talent-,”

“Ahem,” our Comte interrupted, “let us not nudge ourselves into a preaching session.”

“As you wish, my Comte,” the Bishop smiled and gave me a secret wink. I realized he had only pretended to switch into the preaching mode all to playfully annoy the Comte a little. The Bishop then cleared his throat.

“Where were we? Ah, the miracles, yes.”

During our absence, Gaston, Vidame de Soilet, had apparently sought an audience with the Bishop. The hunchback chief of Soilet’s God’s Warriors asked for permission to accompany the army of Armas. The young Lady, in particular. To determine the nature of the mysterious power he had witnessed.

“Apparition of ethereal soldiers is a worrying manifestation. I have been told the said… figures slew the living,” said the Bishop. “Yet Gaston had not sensed any evil. Surely, the matter must be investigated.”

He then studied Anna’s face in silence for a minute or so.

“I have been told of a mysterious artifact in your possession,” the Bishop of Soilet continued at last, “a sparkling blade of a sword that unleashes an unimagined power.”

I gasped. Really? Men were rejecting my Roseborn narrative, but instead were going for the magic wand theory?

“I would love to have it examined by our scholars, but unfortunately, the Circle does not have the authority to remove a noble house’s possession. Thus I ask you, young Lady of La Rose. Would you willfully hand it over?”

Anna shook her head and refused right away. The Bishop nodded, having anticipated the answer.

“As expected. I have already ordered Vidame de Soilet to observe the said artifact and its use. He will see to it that the power is not misused. By whatever method, including violence if necessary.”

‘He will regret trying,’ said Anna. I skipped the translation on this one.

“As for the miracle of a dead coming back to life,” the Bishop of Soilet went on, “I have my doubt.”

“Your Excellency?” I blinked, not knowing where this was heading.

“I have spoken to Gaston’s men. It seems no one had actually seen the Lady passing away.”

“Although I would like to believe in miracles, His Excellency’s skepticism is not groundless,” our Comte nodded. He faced me with a neutral expression. “It is all possible that you, René, under extreme stress, had simply mistaken.”

“But my Lord! You had seen the wound!”

“Which had caused me great pain and sorrow, indeed.”

“What does the Lady herself say?” the Bishop inquired, directed at the girl in question.

Anna blushed and shrugged.

‘I remember the agonizing pain. And then I opened my eyes, and I was well again.’

The Bishop waited for my translation, then asked further.

“So you have not met God?”

‘Not recently, no,’ was Anna’s answer, but there was no way I would imply she had, at some point in her existence, met God. I was left with no choice.

“My Lady has not, Your Excellency.”

“Hmm…,” the Bishop was thinking, musing an idea, “so the sword heals, too?”

“It certainly appears to do so,” our Comte chimed in.

“What a shame,” the Bishop shook his head as an honest display of his disappointment. “Lady Anna, the item in your possession is of great power. Such requires to be handled by men more experienced with being responsible-,”

Anna shook her head again. Nope, she wasn’t going to hand over her sword.

I was beginning to understand why everyone was so focused on the sword of Firis. It was easier to understand. Something more tangible than the story of a child born of the roses. And because it was tangible, it could be possessed. That was the main attraction. Something to salivate over. Something one could wrestle out of undeserving hands. This wasn’t to my liking. Everyone was overlooking the wielder. I would have to up my efforts in pushing the Roseborn narrative such that Anna herself became a legend, not her sword. Well, shit, nothing was easy as I hoped them to be.

When the Bishop left, Comte d’Armas tapped on my shoulder.

“I give no flaming fukk about a magical sword, in case you worry that I might try to take it away. Please do tell the Lady so.”

“Milady hears fine, my Lord.”

“Oops. Pardonez,” the old man apologized to Anna. I just watched his satisfied expression. The Comte chuckled.

“Commandant Antoine and his men! Marching alongside me! That is what matters, young lad.”

“And his son, Vidame de Soilet, too,” I reminded the Comte.

“Ah, yes. Him, too, yes.”

“But, my Comte, where are we marching to?”

The Comte came out of his blissful happiness, blinked a couple of times, then gave me a wry smile.

“Oh, have you not heard? Marquis du Sol has sent out a call for arms. His Lordship intends to crush us.”

###

Some more uneventful days went by, during which I was too anxious. Holy shit, a freaking marquisat was coming down on us! Comte de Chartoise had managed to amass an army of a thousand men on a whim. Marquis du Sol would surely be able to field more men than a count.

I had everything packed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I spent those few nights restless, shuffling, and turning in bed with open eyes. This, in turn, prevented Anna from touching herself at night, for which I was thankful that she wasn’t so shameless to do it while I was next to her wide awake. Anna did not say much about my cowardly behaviour, but she clearly was irritated by it. Others, too, must have noticed my shaking hands.

“We still have time, René,” Victor tried to comfort me, “the Marquis will not start his campaign until spring.”

That didn’t make me feel any less anxious. Anna scoffed and shook her head, then assuringly grinned at me. She was missing the point, I thought. What I feared was the very process of things crumbling and leading to such a desperate situation. That experience, to me personally, would bring the full horror. I could handle what would generally come after that, including Anna’s divine intervention and so on. I just did not like to be in trouble in the first place.

Comte d’Armas, in the meantime, welcomed back Sieur Henry. He enthusiastically shook hands with Sieur Geoffroi and was delighted to have the famed knight joining the ranks.

“As for you, Hugo,” the Comte scowled at Baron Hugo, “I do not know what to do with you.”

“Please allow me to remind Your Lordship that Comte de Chartoise pardoned me,” said Hugo, standing stiff but his head held high before the Comte.

Our Comte bit his olden lips and shoot a dagger with his eyes, but after a while sighed and nodded.

“It is sadly true. I have no right to overturn Guimond’s ruling in his own jurisdiction,” then he smirked a little bit. “However, I would like to prevent you from committing the atrocity again. Baron Hugo, you will remain within my eyesight.”

“But my Comte, I am a prisoner of Sieur Geoffroi. The decision shall be his-”

“And so have I decided,” Sieur Geoffroi stepped up, cutting off Baron Hugo, “the Baron will remain within reach.”

“Until my ransom is paid, I presume?”

Geoffroi did not answer but faced Comte d’Armas, handing over the decision.

“The purpose is to keep you away from the common folks while the Kingdom weathers this turbulent time,” said the Comte.

At this point, we were interrupted by a servant coming in to announce the arrival of the guests, the aristocrats of Chartoise. Or rather, what was left of them.

###

Of those lesser nobles who had answered their Count’s call to arms, many died fighting the goddess in that fatal night. Some of those few who survived then fled the county with their Comte. Only a few went back to their lands, but with them, words traveled fast, and the county crumbled. Over a single night, the vast majority of the noble houses of Chartoise suddenly found their respective fiefdom headless. Thank you, Anna, you destroyed a whole fucking county.

As the nobles trickled in, I heard whispered conversations. Cautious greetings were exchanged between those who were unfamiliar with each other. Or suppressed delight upon seeing a face one recognized. On the other hand, deep sighs and murmurs at the sight of some undesirable characters.

To many, this was their first outing. A social gathering, where the appearance weighed significantly. By attending, each and every noble house was making a public announcement. That this person was their new lord.

Those were the lucky families who had had an heir ready in place. I saw some widows who were forced to take over their husband’s places. Some young ladies, too, the grieving daughters. The women, though, had their faces hidden behind mourning veils as was customary.

Their presence was obviously not welcomed. I shook my head as men scoffed and grumbled at the sight of women among the greats of Chartoise.

I turned a bit to see a young seigneur approach Baron Hugo. His face showed a slight sign of suppressed anger.

“My Lord,” the seigneur greeted, “I am glad to see you are alive and well, while, as I have heard, even Sieur Pierre has fallen. And my father, too.”

“Are you implying I should also have died?” Hugo asked sternly.

“No, my Lord. I am though curious. Why is it that a mere Seigneur dies in a battle whereas a baron, such as you, in particular, survives?”

Seigneur Bourgillet stepped in, gesturing his fellow to calm down.

“The Baron had been sent on an errand. On the Comte’s orders.”

“I see,” the young man seemed displeased, but he accepted the explanation. He sighed and went away. I noticed many eyes and ears had been focused on this short conversation. People turned their gazes and heads away as Baron Hugo looked around, his expression daring others to come challenge him. None bothered him any further.

The room quieted down as Comte d’Armas, flanked by Victor the Vicomte, entered the vast decorated chamber. Those who had been sitting stood up to pay respect to the Count who had summoned them. Our Comte sat himself down in the chair that took the 12 o’clock position of the circle of wooden chairs. The aristocrats waited for the Comte, then took their seats. The accompanying servants stood behind their respective masters, remaining in silence but gauging the atmosphere.

I noticed Comte d’Armas had his sword by his side. Victor had his as well, although I had never seen him pull it out of the sheath. The Vicomte cleared his throat, not because he needed to, but as to give a cue. Sieurs Henry and Geoffroi entered the chamber and stood a bit behind the Comte. They, too, had swords visibly hung by their belts. This had been prearranged by Victor, who wanted to send out a clear message. This little display of force ended with Anna entering and closing the double door behind her. She, too, had her divine sword, sheathed and hung at an angle from her belt. Anna stood before the shut door, blocking the exit. I quietly shuffled my way and stood beside her.

There was a tense feeling suspended in the air as the nobles of Chartoise patiently waited for Comte d’Armas to speak. The very man who drove their count out of their county.

“I would not say welcome, for I myself am a guest to Chartoise,” Comte d’Armas started, “but I thank you nevertheless, for answering my unreasonable and ill-timed request to have you gathered here.”

A man dressed in what appeared to be his best stood up and bowed.

“My esteemed Comte, it is but an honor.”

Other barons and seigneurs blurted out similarly sugar-coated greetings and praises. Our old man smiled, nodded in satisfaction, and thanked the audience who were desperate to appease the lord with the sword. But, after a while, the Comte raised a hand to silence the room. He gave the nod to Victor, who then stepped forward with a fat scroll in his hand. The Vicomte unrolled the sheet and began to read.

‘Getting straight to the point,’ I gestured to Anna.

Victor started.

“We, the aristocrats of the County of Chartoise,” he stressed the word ‘we,’ “who acknowledge that our rightful privileges and just duties stem from none other than His Majesty’s generosity and the authority of the Royal Crown, and thus remain humble and loyal servants to the Throne, are appalled by the laughable claim made by those treacherous few in regard to the matter of the rightful heir to the Throne.”

Victor stopped for a second and looked around the room. I saw many faces going pale. He continued.

“Regrettably thus, the necessity has arisen for us to announce and state what would be blatantly and righteously obvious to any sane subject of the Kingdom.”

There was a collective gasp.

“We are deeply concerned by the very fact that this simple, indisputable truth must repeatedly be announced, but alas, it is also our duty, as loyal servants to the Throne, to educate the foolish. Thus we declare. As mandated by the Kingdom’s heritage and countless precedents, His Royal Highness Prince Louis, the firstborn of the royal bloodline, remains the rightful and the sole heir to the Crown. It then follows, naturally, that those who claim otherwise shall be punished by the laws concerning the highest of the high treason.”

Victor then unrolled the rest of the sheet and displayed the long blank space below the words he had written.

“Here is where you sign, if you would please.”

For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. Then they exploded. The uproar was deafening.

###

“Preposterous! What an absurd demand!” they were saying as one, with faces red.

This, too, had been foreseen by Victor. He had prepared appropriate theatrics for us to carry out. Comte d’Armas allowed the nobles to bark like mad dogs for a few minutes, then he nodded across the room to Anna. She opened the double door behind her, making it as dramatic as possible. Heads turned this way, and eyes darted left and right, wondering whether it was permission for them to leave. Anna, however, stood in the way. Whoever wanted to leave the room had to get past her. I stepped aside and put a few feet distance from Anna as to not share the attention.

“You may leave,” the Comte’s voice startled everyone, “after signing the declaration.”

“What if I refuse, my Lord?” a brave man dared to ask. He nevertheless remained in his seat.

The Comte leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms. He was smirking a bit.

“You may still leave.”

Anna cleared her throat and tapped the hilt of her sword. An impatient baroness scoffed, stood up, and made her way towards the open door, but Baron Hugo’s booming voice stopped the recently widowed woman.

“I would advise against approaching that girl.”

“Baron Hugo, may I ask why?” the woman spun around and asked.

“Although it is oh so humiliating for me to admit, I must warn you that this maiden single-handedly dismantled my siege of Montclam.”

The noblewoman ran that sentence in her head, went silent, and returned to her seat. The chamber was briefly filled with squeaking noises as everyone moved their chairs an inch further away from Anna. Nobody was leaving. Instead, they resorted to arguing.

“My Lord,” a young man, perhaps a seigneur, raised his voice, “putting our names down on that would mean signing our own death sentences!”

“Indeed!” another man chimed in, slightly senior both in appearance and demeanor than the seigneur before. “We are not deaf nor blind. We have heard Marquis du Sol is readying to purge you out of Chartoise. When His Lordship soon finds our names on this, then surely none of us would be left standing! Heads will roll!”

All agreed with concerned murmurs and nods.

“Oh?” Comte d’Armas raised his eyebrows. “I gather then that you all are disillusioned by the idea that His Royal Highness Prince Charles is the one to be crowned?“

“Erm…, that is a rather a…,” the nobles stammered, looking at each other’s faces.

Baron Hugo, though, stood up.

“Indeed, My Lord, although I would not agree that I am disillusioned.”

The others hissed and frowned at him to sit back down. Hugo did so but was clearly disgusted by his spineless fellows. Although I wasn’t quite fond of the man, I silently decided to respect the Baron. He at least had the guts to stand up for what he believed in.

Another baron stood up, rubbing his hands. A baby-faced fat man with a head that was already balding despite the youthfulness of his face.

“Surely, Your Lordship recognizes Baron Hugo does not speak for everyone, yes?”

“Well then, what say you?” our Comte leaned forward, curious to hear the answer.

The bald man looked troubled. He eyed others, seeking help, but received none. At last, wiping sweats off of his forehead, he nervously answered.

“The matter of the Throne is… not my-, our immediate concern,” he frantically waved his hands and quickly added, “not that I am saying we-, erm… I do not care. I do, but given the predicament I am in-,”

“Predicament such as right now?” Comte d’Armas jabbed, reminding the baron that the most imminent threat was the Comte himself, not the Marquis. The bald baron went pale and sweated profusely.

“You spineless coward!” Baron Hugo exploded, startling everyone. “What are you afraid of? The Archbishop’s proposed reform is to die for! Where is your sense of justice?”

“But Prince Louis is the firstborn,” another man shot back but immediately coiled as Hugo glared at him.

“Power and befitting duties! As earned! Not inherited!” Hugo was frothing, shaking his fist in the air. This was a man who truly believed. He looked around the room with glaring eyes and continued.

“Do you plan to watch the undeserving continue to fatten their coffers?”

There was a brief silence in the room as the aristocrats of Chartoise tried to read the face of Comte d’Armas. One man broke the silence by clearing his throat and raising a hand.

“My Lord, I am curious, though. Your Lordship would have much to gain if the Archbishop’s reform was implemented.”

“That would mean Prince Charles wearing the Crown,” our Comte commented.

“Yes, indeed. Why do you object, if I may ask.”

Comte d’Armas sat back and rubbed his chin. His eyes narrowed.

“Meritocracy, as the Archbishop would like to call it, has its… merits, yes that I admit. In fact, I practice it myself. Look, a girl and even Treedwellers in my ranks,” he then leaned forward and almost whispered, “I understand the world Guimond envisions for his daughter. But, alas, it will not come. Have you read the proposal thoroughly? Really thoroughly?”

The nobles nodded in unison, but not really understanding where the Comte was getting at. The old Comte sighed, disappointed.

“If you do not see the monstrous flaw in the Archbishop’s proposal, then it is meaningless to further argue with you lot. Please just sign this and leave,” Comte d’Armas waved a hand in the general direction of the scroll Victor was holding up. This was a bit of a bummer for me because I was hoping to hear some more detail.

“But it is not fair, my Lord,” an old lady’s voice protested, “Why only us? Perhaps Your Lordship should sign it first to share our burden?”

“Oh, no,” the Comte shook his head, “my stance is already well-known to many. Furthermore, I am the notary here. My name and seal will certify that each and every one of you has indeed signed this in person.”

“And these two Sieurs,” Victor added, “and the lady at the door, will be the witnesses.”

“Who are these hommes, if I may ask?” asked the lady, obviously not in the know of swordsmanship.

Sieur Geoffroi stepped forward and bowed.

“I am afraid only a few faces in this room will recognize me. For those who do not know me, I am Sieur Geoffroi of Perpillon.”

“And I am Sieur Henry of Tyroux,” Henry added and bowed politely.

There were a few loud gasps, but only a few. I was quite disappointed that the names of the two Lion Cubs had so little effect. Apparently, not many of the nobles in this chamber were familiar with the world of swords.

“And the lady?” a voice asked, meaning Anna.

Heads turned towards Anna. The nobles ran their eyes up and down on the girl.

“Lady Anna La Rose,” I snapped to attention and announced, putting my entire weight into my words, “the heiress to the Roseland, the magnificent Roseborn, the child miraculously born of the-,”

I was interrupted by loud gasps.

“La Rose?”

“Impossible!”

In general, the consensus was that they had not been aware the La Rose family had an offspring.

“Surely, she must be a fraud,” somebody uttered rejectingly.

“The mute whore does however carry the banner,” Baron Hugo silenced everyone before our Comte could say the same thing.

Comte d’Armas nodded, confirming the Baron.

“The young Lady does indeed fly the banner. Even the bloodstain is as depicted in the Books of the Kingdom,” said the Comte, then turned to Baron Hugo and frowned. “Would you please stop referring to the Lady as such?”

“Furthermore,” Victor added, “Seigneur Montclam, whom I believe to be the most knowledgeable in the matters concerning the Roseland apart from the Roselanders themselves, had no problem bowing to the young Lady. Surely that is enough to clear any doubt on the authenticity of the claim?”

“Hold on. Hasn’t the Baron just referred to her as a mute?” a grumpy voice noted just now.

There was yet another uproar as the nobles of Chartoise felt greatly offended by the presence of a defective creature in the same room. Comte d’Armas eyed them with cold eyes. He waved his hand to silence them.

“If I remember correctly, it was not a minute ago that some of you were praising the ideal of recognition earned based on one’s achievements. Yet, suddenly the Lady’s defect seems to outweigh everything else about her.”

The Comte’s icy remark shut up the noisy aristocrats for good. They sank in their chairs, blushing.

“Now, to where we were,” the Comte spoke slowly, surveying the room. “As you see before you, even the La Rose family, one of the founding families of the Kingdom, has marched out of the Roseland to solidify the indisputable. His Royal Highness Prince Louis shall wear the Crown.”

He then smirked a bit and added.

“Surely, I do not need to remind you what a La Rose does to traitors, do I?”

Anna silently made some gestures directed at me.

‘What do I to traitors?’

‘You bludgeon them to death,’ I sighed and reminded her of her own family’s history.

###

In the end, everyone except Baron Hugo signed the declaration. Comte d’Armas signed over the scroll and attached an annex, authenticating that the listed nobles were indeed present in person to put their names down. The two Sieurs and my Anna, too, signed as witnesses.

The aristocrats of Chartoise did not leave. They sat around silently, dejected. Some were pale. Yes, they may leave this room alive, but to what end, though?

“With Marquis du Sol soon marching into Chartoise, we are as good as dead,” lamented a nobleman.

“Perhaps it would be wise to take a refuge somewhere safe?” another wondered out aloud.

It was enough for me to gather that the said Marquis of Le Sol was an avid supporter of the idea of Prince Charles becoming the next king. Or he was at least in line with the Archbishop’s vision. We, the Comte and Anna and everyone, were clearly on the opposing side of the Marquis, who, incidentally, was said to be readying to attack Chartoise come the spring.

“My Lord,” a seigneur fidgeted a bit before speaking up, “what does Your Lordship intend to do with the declaration that we have signed?”

“Copies will be made and sent to all corners of the Kingdom,” said the Comte, much to everyone’s horror, “and I will personally present the original to His Majesty’s Inner-region council at the Royal Court.”

“Oh, the High Chancellor would be pleased, I am sure,” said the seigneur, half sighing, “but the Archbishop-”

“Wait!” a young female voice cut him off. “Where is the Circle? Where is Bishop de Soilet? Why does His Excellency allow this in his diocese?”

Others around the lady shushed her and informed her of the old news that Vidame de Soilet had been defeated. With his worldly means lost, as some were explaining to the young woman, the Bishop had become powerless to do anything against Comte d’Armas. Overhearing this led me to conclude that the aristocrats of Chartoise were not aware of the special mission the Bishop had assigned unto Gaston.

I wondered how the Archbishop would react to his fellow Worshiper’s decision. Wrath, perhaps? No, surely not. Silence, maybe? It was hard to guess, for from what I had so far seen, we weren’t quite fighting evil. Those on the other side, those who supported the Archbishop and Prince Charles, were just like us. Everyday people, who had just slightly different hopes and dreams from us. Shit. The line was too blurry.

Take Comte de Chartoise, for instance. By putting little bits of information together, I came to believe that Guimond the Count of Chartosie was backing the Archbishop’s vision purely for the sake of his Valérie. He wished for a society where, hopefully, his daughter’s exceptional skills and talents would not go to wastes…, or so I thought? I wasn’t so sure because I still had not seen the entirety of the Archbishop’s actual proposal. But why was our Comte opposing it, then? It was so confusing to my clogged brain.

And, look, here was my Anna. A much higher version of Valérie, I dare say. Anna simply ignored her noble shackles, so maybe Valérie could, too? Or was a Count’s name too much of a weight than a mere Baron’s? Speaking of a baron, even Baron Hugo confused me much. The man who had no problem killing peasants left and right. But he seemed otherwise decent. Rough and stubborn, yes, but… quite alright. What was in it for him, then?

‘No matter,’ I shook my head.

Yes, I was curious. I was dying to know why people were fighting in the first place. Why the Kingdom was on the brink of a civil war.

In the end, however, why didn’t matter. What mattered the most was that my Anna should and would triumph no matter what. It was her innate function, on which mortal warriors would, hopefully, begin to rely on. And, perhaps after many miraculous results and stories, it would then become a myth, in which desperate people found hope and courage.

That was the whole idea behind our journey. Elevating Anna. Going from a simple ‘Fear not, for the Roseland’s damsel is with us!’ to the wishful prayer of ‘May the Roseborn smile upon us.”

Because that was all she had left. Anna told me years ago that she had long lost the power to incite wars. She told me it happened around the time when mortal minds became capable of doing an honest introspection. They soon acknowledged all that savagery was driven by their own greedy hunger for power and riches. Mortals then dared to accept. ‘We are responsible.’ Firis thus began to wither.

Oh, no, but that long lost power of Firis wasn’t what I was trying to restore. Yes, I still didn’t fully understand why everyone was fighting everyone, but as long as people were killing each other en masse, so be it. I reincarnated for this. Anna rode a freaking meteor for this. She and I, we left our home to dive into this shitstorm. In order to emphasize her other function and drill it down into little mortal heads. Pray, and she will deliver.