A black carriage rattled down a stone road, surrounded by buildings and bustle of people. Turning right and left, weaving around buildings and tight streets, it eventually passed a gateway of an inner wall. Iphis watched the ‘Golden Street’ from her window and nodded to herself as everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Before her unfolded a place where human culture gathered and bound together into something noble. There were paths of brick, crystal lanterns that lit the darkness, whiteness of stone, buildings of three floors and above, and statues adorning every empty corner. Lifelike, eerily so, those animals, women and men, watched, their colourless eyes inviting to sit, relax and admire the sight.

Having recently expanded into the north, the Merchant Guild ascertained the flawlessness of its land and formed a maze of economy oiling the wheel that was Froset. In its presence, it wasn’t unusual for this place to be filled with the kind of people looking for something to buy or invest, or just empty their pockets on rare or otherwise useless articles that the wealthy so loved. Carts filled with spices, meats and rare jewellery clogged the streets daily, bustling crowds following them with the hunger of wolves, only to be disappointed by the route it took. And although now it was pure silence, musicians often performed here, be it in hopes of getting hired or just for the sake of satisfying their thirst for art, and an uplifted mood naturally took place.

Today, however, there was nothing like that. Instead, every corner was filled with soldiers, every stone had been checked and groups of nobles openly chattered about politics and state secrets, as if the beautiful parks were reserved only for them and that no one they didn’t want could overhear them.

This state was the proof that not even the richest guild, with power close to self-governance, could oppose the ruler of the land who for this day took control of the place. Anyone uninvited were forced to close their shops and leave, while those that refused to would get arrested for trespassing and penalized as the high court – someone appointed by the Lord – wished. Obviously, no one dared to rock the boat and end up in the dungeon with their property confiscated, and the process had been carried out with remarkable speed, even if the guild allegedly ‘approved’ it. In reality they had no other choice but to comply.

This ‘reservation’ was done in preparation for a sole event – the coronation of Margareth Anworth, the soon-to-be Duchess of Jaetia. It was argued to be the most important occurrence in a monarch’s life and had to be faultless as to not bring any shame for the years to come. The safety had to be guaranteed, the specialness of the occasion had to be preserved and no expense was to be spared.

The latter Iphis continually had to rack her brains about. The treasury was literally packed full of gold, undoubtedly in case of war, and splurging some of it out shouldn’t have been that big a problem. In normal circumstances that is. The problem lied in her own court, and not the nobles, but the incarnation of evil that was her ‘Court Mage’.

For all she knew of this being’s character - and she felt like she knew a lot, having been with him for months – making a bad decision, in his standards at least, could spell her doom. If she spent money carelessly, she knew he’d say something along the lines of, “That gold was for the future, now die,” and burn her alive. This sight, smell and her unavoidable screams had become a frequent visitor to her dreams, and although she kept reminding herself that she was worth something to him and that killing her would be foolish, she never thought it couldn’t happen.

There was nothing she could do and, at least for now, she decided to work hard, harder than ever before, in hopes of appeasing him. This she eventually managed to do, solving piled up issues and working out the absolute minimum to be spent for the occasion. About 2000 crowns, an amount that shook her lower-class attitude to its core.

In her experience, a commoner barely made a single crown a month and it wasn’t unusual for them to trade in silver coins, ‘sers’ in short. This was enough for the daily necessities of a single person, a few days of lavishness perhaps. In other words, more than a lifetime of wage will be spent on food and entertainment for a single day. When going through the financial records, she gawked at the number still left.

In this delirium she accidentally suggested to throw some gold towards the peasantry and, as one could guess, it was immediately shot down by her right hand, Mannie, as a waste of resources. It’s not like she felt indebted to the puny humans or anything, it was simply her mind working on half-baked knowledge, as she expected that showing generosity would raise her popularity among the populace. After a long lecture though, she found out how stupid that train of thought was.

Although there was something akin to a parliament, even if it held no power and was but an empty privilege for the influential, the Saunier Kingdom, ever since its founding, stayed an autocracy, a country where the opinion of the lower class was meaningless and the head of the state held all power.

Increasing one’s popularity brought the merit of lessening the risk of a revolt, something that, if needed, could be quelled with a show of force. For priority sake, these masses had to be neglected for a while. Because of this, she chose the Church of Maximilian the Great and not the Church of Holy Jericho for her coronation, as the latter was exclusively visited by the poor, and openly wielded her power. All just to appease the truly important.

From within her carriage she watched the white temple towering towards the sky. Maids hurried around her, like small dogs eager for a treat, or fearful of getting disciplined. A golden mirror ended up in her hand, taking her eyes off the church as she took a glance at herself. The face inside didn’t show emotion as it smiled, and the bell rang.

Wide open gates beckoned her inside to take the power prepared for her.

***

Bells rang one after the other, bringing some of Magus’ senses back. He stood leaning over a railing overlooking the ceremony below as the world sped up according to his placid mindfulness.

Under colourful rays of stained glass, priests in white robes and golden etching walked, sprinkling water on the ground and filling the air with fragrant smoke. People stood and watched from the aisles, the enormous pillars holding the stone roof above their heads and marking the border they weren’t allowed to cross.

On the right were the nobles of the Duchy: counts, viscounts, barons, and the members of their family. Each more impressive than the last, dazzling, powerful and beautiful. As they stood and forged smiles, pride rivalling that of lions escaped from their eyes, some surpassing even those, as if they were but kittens. Small, naïve and foolish, their children watched everything unfold from within grasp of the adults, just like a wild puppy would look and learn from their parents that were in the middle of a hunt, oblivious to any possible danger.

Although one couldn’t begin to count the number of these great people, it still fell short in comparison to the vastness on the left.

Knights, commanders and generals - people of might – stood with their chests out in utter, purest form of pride. They came wearing their armour, specially preserved not for the battlefield but occasions like these. Many gilded in gold, even the coloured rays struggled to compare to their brilliance. Their full plate created an aura of invincibility while the powerful helms and blades showed off artistic beauty, and the kittens facing them couldn’t stop dreaming of being like them, even if just a little, blind to reality of those weapons and their purpose.

Magus’ empty sockets flared under his mask. This sight was not his first nor last, but he couldn’t quite tell where or when he had seen anything like this.

Animals in clothing… Are you proud…? Happy? How much longer will you last? This lie and everything… This eagerness…? I’ll…

The bell rang one last time and people hushed their voices. The undead broke his thoughts and observed.

What came was the sound of footsteps against brick, followed by trembling of nobles and quivering of metal plates. They saw something incredible, something that forced their bodies into a physical response. An image even their blue blood deemed special.

It was Iphis, she had entered.

Her royal robe swallowed petals felling from the ceiling and dragged in its infinity. Her pale face diverged among all that red and her dark hair prolonged the bewitching moment. Confidently, she walked down the nave, enduring the gaze of her subjects, and approached a platform at the far end of the church.

Gracefully, she knelt down on the steps. The light of the setting sun hit her through the round window and the onlookers breathed out in awe to her beauty. Priests took this as a sign and began the ceremony.

A bald man in all white and with a lethargic face stood in front of her, arms spread out, blocking the rays, and pointed towards the two servants by her side. He spoke in a tone men of faith tended to adopt.

“Sirs, I here present unto you Margareth Anworth, your undoubted sovereign.”

Although a mere bishop, his tongue did not let him down once as words flowed by heart from him. The coldness echoed as he continued.

“Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service; are you willing to do the same?”

Barely a moment after his words the chamberlain and constable knelt and shouted, “God save the Duchess!” Then the knights and everyone else followed up with, “Gods, grace her reign!”

The church boomed from their voice. They remained on their knees and the bishop continued.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the Dukedom of Jaetia and Makin Islands, of your possessions, and other territories to them belonging or appertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?”

“I promise to do so.”

Her voice, in this large space, was hushed and quiet, like that of a small animal. A complete contrast to the burst of hundred men. Yet, not one missed her words.

“Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements? Will your mind be clear in every matter of the state, and the states belonging, and never cloud against pressure or outside threats? Will you in your entirety devote yourself to your people and the words of God, as did those before you?”

“I will perform, and keep, the things which I have here, and before, promised. So help me God.”

The bishop bowed his head and beckoned her towards a wooden chair. In a stride, she sat down and with a straight back waited.

In silence, four knights surrounded the wooden throne and held a canopy over Iphis’ head as the bishop carried out the anointment. Those knights were the people Magus, with much struggle, picked out after Viktor’s death to help Iphis in her reign.

He could not create intelligent undead, but they, just as he, existed. Records of liches, bone lords, death shades and vampires existed, proving the vastness of the world as the list continued to grow. But just for now he had to rely on the living with intelligent tasks.

When the anointment finished, the four without whom the realm could not prosper, and he had to keep an ‘eye’ on, returned the canopy and knelt in front of the throne.

First to stand was Julius Sehne, or ‘the Black Knight’, responsible for the law and military logistics.

He knelt on the steps before Iphis, who was now covered in a golden robe, muttered a prayer and left a ceremonial sword by her feet.

“By the Duke’s will,” he said and returned to others.

After him came Mannie the chamberlain, her teacher and manager of the realm. Unlike the others he was the weakest, smallest and oldest, but in those aged eyes lingered wisdom surpassing even physical might. Without a word, he left a pair of silver spurs.

The last two were true warriors, both by aura and movement.

In three fluent steps the knight in white plate arrived at Iphis’ feet. Not a sound was made from his ‘stroll’.

“Addenoid Dagett at your service.”

With the gentleness of a maid pouring tea he placed a pair of white bracelets and left.

The last one stood. A complete opposite of the graceful knight, he stomped over to Iphis in his clunky armour. He was the tallest human Magus has ever seen, in height surpassing even Iphis whom already towered many of the nobles. Muscles bulged under his armour and his dark green eyes showed immense confidence in his skill.

“I swear my Herculeans to you,” the giant man said, loudly, his voice befitting his image, and left a leather saddle.

When they returned to the other knights, noble children formed into a group and began singing while the priests burned incense more than ever before.

The bishop came up the steps, his fragile legs shaking from stress and exhaustion, and slipped an emerald ring on the fourth finger of Iphis’ left hand and passed her a golden orb.

The priests then spoke a prayer, replaced the orb with a golden sceptre and a rod with a dove. Again she held those, one in the right other in the left, still as a doll while the bald priests played their game.

Knowing the process already, Magus’ attention shifted from the ceremony towards the light coming through the glass. His vision blurred as something akin to imagination sprung in his empty skull and the crown landed on Iphis’ head.

“God save the Duchess!”

Trumpets rang and the nobles roared.