XII | ALEKSANDR THE GREAT
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Celvene now saw the pointed black tips of the towers peeking above the rows of brick buildings and houses.
A wave of relief washed over her as she realized she likely wouldn't be recognized, especially with her cloth mask snug against her face.
She'd almost made it to the castle's front gate, so even if someone did notice her now, she could run to the guards.
She just had to hope they wouldn't turn a blind eye to her.
She yanked her hood further over her head, brushing a few strands of her hair to the side as she bit her lip. Nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach as they approached the castle. In front of it was a small merchant's circle, each stall covered with various items, from weapons to fresh meat.
A short woman with pasty skin and a brown bob cut was holding up a crumpled white newspaper, cupping a hand over her mouth as she yelled, "New ruler of Aizasea found, but she's a woman! What does this mean for our lands? Should she be allowed to become queen?"
"Ignore her, love," Khamisi said upon seeing Celvene roll her eyes, giving her a light pat on the back.
He tipped his hat up, casting a knowing glance behind him.
"She's trying to rack up sales for her paper.
But it's not working," he called out over his shoulder.
The woman met his gaze, scowling as she increased the volume of her fervent shouts.
But a moment later, a cry, the splashing of water, and the rumbling of hooves made Celvene turn back around.
When her eyes settled on what had happened, the woman had fallen into a muddy puddle, her papers flying into the air.
A horse-drawn carriage ignored her as it galloped into the distance.
The woman shook the mud off with a grimace.
Khamisi's hand tightened around her shoulder, but she ripped herself away from him, approaching the woman.
Sure, she'd tried to sell her papers with a headline degrading Celvene, but Celvene hoped it was just a cheap tactic to boost her sales.
Times were hard, and sometimes, drastic measures had to be taken just to survive.
Maybe others wouldn't find exaggerating the truth in a newspaper headline as drastic, but Celvene knew every citizen hid behind a thin veil of confidence so they wouldn't break down crying when they didn't make enough money in a day for a hot dinner.
And regardless, the woman needed help.
She bent down and gathered the dirtied papers in her hands, shaking off the mud as best she could. They were undoubtedly ruined. Judging by the woman's lack of sales, she wasn't going to be able to afford to print new ones.
Holding the papers in one hand, she stood and offered her other hand to the elf.
She turned her head away from the woman as she took Celvene's outstretched hand and pulled herself to her feet; perhaps it would help her reputation to show she had good character, but some people would assume Celvene only helped to boost her reputation and image as a prospective queen.
And that was not the reason Celvene helped her.
"Thank you," the woman murmured, eyeing the ruined papers. Celvene could've sworn tears lined her small eyes. Her voice wavered as she said, "The elite never look where they're going. They ruin everything. Their damn heaps of Nusmi must be clogging their ears so they can't hear, either."
"Yeah," said Celvene. She cast a quick illusion spell, and when the blue magic washed over the woman, the mud caked over her body vanished, as did the slop covering the papers. "Keep an eye out for any more unwieldy carriages. I've heard horses are hard to tame."
"I'll try my best," the woman said. "I'd... I'd pay you, but I'm a bit light in the pockets right now. I can pay you with a feature in my paper. It will help you get a better job, or a promotion, if that's what you're after. What's your name?"
Celvene bit back a sigh, weighing her options.
She could refuse and protect her peace, but be seen as rude in a special way, or she could accept and embarrass the woman.
But maybe embarrassment was exactly what she needed to become a more respectable reporter, regardless of how tough it was to make sales right now.
In Celvene's opinion, honesty was a far more respectable means of making money than lying and exaggerating to create a head-turner.
Against her better judgment, she replied, "My name is Celvene." Without waiting to see the woman's response, she bound away, falling into step with Khamisi once again.
"That was nice of you," he said, keeping his head forward. The castle was near. With a chuckle, Khamisi continued, "I wouldn't have done that. She deserved what she got for spreading such a nasty headline."
"I would rather not forge my throne on actions akin to Aleksandr's. Kindness goes a long way."
Khamisi hesitated. "And if he denies you? He doesn't seem very..."
"To deny my claim to the throne is to defy the very essence of this kingdom's magic. Let him try. Fate will find a way."
Khamisi nodded but stayed silent. Celvene shoved her hands into her pockets as they approached the drawbridge to Virion's castle.
It was a building of sharp edges and jagged spikes, obsidian gleaming in the gray moonlight.
A small, winding river rested below the drawbridge, extending out to the rear of the castle.
The towers were armed with marksmen surveying the streets.
Celvene imagined they'd positioned extra security after a lackluster performance caused the king's death.
But now, they didn't have anyone to protect.
Even though the castle was right near the sea, hot, humid air swirled around her, an uncomfortable contrast from the rest of the city.
She imagined it was to keep the king and his staff comfortable in a city that could freeze over with ease, though Celvene was unsure why he couldn't have extended that courtesy to the rest of the citizens.
In comparison to keeping a spell going permanently, blanketing a wide radius would be a breeze.
They crossed the drawbridge, Celvene's shoes clicking in a gentle ballad of patters against the smooth obsidian. Two guards were stationed out front, brandishing large spears with helmets sitting atop their heads. They glanced at Celvene and Khamisi before looking at each other.
After a moment, one of them cleared her throat. "What business?" she asked, her armor clanking against itself as she shifted from one foot to the other.
"We're here to see Aleksandr," Celvene said dryly. She was surprised the king's army didn't recognize the heiress to the throne, even if she was concealing her identity, but she preferred it to be that way. The fewer people who knew who she was, the better, for now.
"And who might you be?" The other guard tightened his grip on his weapon as his masked gaze penetrated through Celvene. "We're not letting anyone into Virion's castle. He was assassinated. Security has been on high alert ever since."
Celvene fought the urge to roll her eyes as she looked skywards, the tips of her eyelashes brushing her skin. She pulled her mask down, a tight scowl etched onto her features. "I'm aware he passed. I'm the one who wielded his sword in the ceremony to replace him."
The male guard squinted, as if studying Celvene's bare face. He tilted his head, a twinkle of recognition in his eyes, but he still said, "Well, I'll need to perform a decloaking spell on you. You know, to make sure you aren't an impostor, sic?"
Celvene fought off a defiant grumble. He took his time drawing the rune.
As his fingers glided through the air, the rune solidified and shifted to a pale blue before he cast the spell.
The magic formed into a blue wave and passed over Celvene, who did nothing but shiver as a cold draft followed the magic.
"Is that enough proof for you?" she asked.
The guard's eyes widened, like he hadn't expected Celvene to be real, before he almost dropped his weapon in shock, gulping.
"Oh! Of course, of course. My bad. My bad, my lady.
" He dropped into a low bow before hitting a lever on the wall.
The spikes blocking them from entering the castle groaned as it shifted upwards and disappeared.
Celvene raised an eyebrow as she walked through the entrance, Khamisi right behind her. I thought no one here was receptive to a female leader.
More guards decorated in heavy silver armor were strewn about, marching back and forth with the tips of their weapons pointed towards the ceiling.
None of them spared Celvene attention. She felt small strolling through such an enormous castle—the ceiling touched the sky.
The stained glass roof bathed the castle's interior in rays of varying blues and golds.
Columns lined the interior, the black obsidian shining in the low light.
A chandelier hung above them, glittering yellow and white as each crystal twinkled.
Small braziers lined the velveted carpet leading up to the king's throne, crackling low in the quiet hall.
Tapestries swayed as Celvene passed them, the soft fabric knit to show all the past heroes of Fellstride posing in different positions of glory.
As they approached the throne, Celvene saw the man lying in the velveted seat.
His long legs were draped over the side of the obsidian armrest, and he stretched his arms into the air.
His shoulder-length gray hair was stringy, flopping behind his neck in messy waves.
Seeming to hear Celvene and Khamisi, he angled his head towards them.
His piercing eyes met Celvene's, and crinkled with disdain in an instant.
Aleksandr.
A dangerous smirk played on Aleksandr's lips, the contempt alight in his vermillion eyes contrasting his smile.
The color of his eyes reminded Celvene of spilled wine, with the overbearing sugary scent of moon apples lingering in the air.
Aleksandr's lips, although stretched in a smile, were mirthless and flat, and Celvene met his grin with a frown of her own.
He held Celvene's gaze, as if testing her patience.
She curled her hand into a fist, determined to not give into his games.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Virac? Have you finally decided to attend to your new duties?" Aleksandr asked, voice sickly sweet. His gaze flicked to Khamisi, and his head tilted. "And who is your friend? I wasn't aware the castle was accepting more unwarranted visitors."
Celvene raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. She ignored his second question; she wasn't going to drag Khamisi into this. "Tending to duties is putting it strongly. I'm not giving up on becoming queen so easily."
"You? Queen?" Aleksandr breathed out a chuckle. "No. Allowing you to become a servant is more than enough."
"And what right do you have to the throne? Nothing stronger than mine."
"My right is that I am next-in-line. Virion trusted me as his general, and he had no family to pass the crown to. I am this kingdom's most intellectual mind, and I intend to put that to use as king."
"As a past colonel, I met with various military commanders and generals from around Fellstride," Khamisi said from beside her. "I never met you. When were you promoted from a soldier to general? No man rises the ranks that quickly."
"Oh, I have my ways. Tell me, is it true Khezzintis's army was so weak that it was brought down with one demigod's hammer?"
Khamisi bristled. "Of course not. If you're implying we were weak, we were anything but. Our forces stood down for the safety of civilians. But it was an honor and a privilege to serve my city."
"And were you that thrilled when you were forced to enlist in the army after your fourteenth birthday?"
"Well, no, b—"
"Anyways, Celvene," said Aleksandr, swiveling his gaze to meet Celvene's. "You have no qualifications to become queen. What exactly is your job?"
She pursed her lips before tightening them into a thin line. Aleksandr would laugh at her, but there was no point in lying. The castle had records of everything. "I'm a circus performer. In Painted Sky."
She failed to mention that she wasn't a circus performer, per se, even if that was what she called herself.
She was rubbish at everything—running the gambling lines, playing musical instruments, and more—but Korvin hadn't cared.
Many in Aizasea considered Celvene to be exotic—with her eyes, people thought she was unique, and that meant people paid good money to see the pretty face wave a baton.
When not exciting the crowd to bet on how high the trapezist could make it, she'd often been thrust into the ring to show off her magic, and by extent, her face.
It was an easy way to make Korvin money. But her heart had never been in it.
"Precisely," Aleksandr said, chuckling. "A circus performer? We do not need a clown leading this city. This is a time for ruthlessness. A strong fist. Someone who will bring this kingdom Noriya's heart."
She fought back a bark of laughter; Aleksandr was a clown himself.
"My background grants me a skill set I'm certain you don't have.
I know seven domains of magic, I can fight a ursen bear with nothing but my hands, and I can naturally move like I've been hit with an acrobatics potion.
To add, I know plenty of people who would put you to shame in combat with no experience, general.
I'd adapt to any position in this castle with ease. "
She was lying, of course, but Aleksandr didn't know that.
She'd ripped the abilities of her coworkers into the circus and claimed them as her own.
Aleksandr didn't know what she was capable of, and Celvene doubted he'd be itching to check if she could fight a bear with no weapons.
And the warier she could make him, the easier it would be to get a leg up.
"I'm sure your trapesing would terrify an enemy on the battlefield.
" Aleksandr was silent for a moment before raising his hand and leaning against his palm.
"I won't give up on you just yet, little doll.
Why don't you go meet Tycho? He's the head of services.
I'm sure you two will get along swimmingly, if you spare him your inane nonsense.
" Aleksandr's eyes flicked to Khamisi. "Oh, and you?
Leave. You were not granted permission to enter this castle. "
Khamisi glared at Aleksandr, but he said nothing. Celvene didn't blame him. She didn't know what games he would pull if Khamisi, a complete nobody, continued to question his authority. And it was Celvene's place to—she was the one with the crown at risk, after all.
"What are you waiting for, boy?" Aleksandr rolled his eyes. "Leave, or a guard will escort you out. They are not as kind as I am."
Khamisi opened his mouth to protest, but Celvene bumped him with her shoulder, and he shut his lips. It wasn't worth arguing with Aleksandr, and she didn't want Khamisi to risk getting in trouble. The boy turned and walked away without a word.
Celvene went to follow, but Aleksandr clicked his tongue, and she glanced over her shoulder. "What?"
"If you're going to be a servant of this castle, and by extension, of these lands, you will need to learn how to respect your superiors. That includes your king," Aleksandr said. A smile tilted his lips. "Kneel."
"Excuse me?"
"Have you dirt in your ears? Kneel."
"I will not kneel. You are not my king," snarled Celvene.
"If you want to stay in this castle and not be thrown into the dungeon, you will do as I say. Otherwise," Aleksandr gestured to a guard, who raised his weapon, "you will find our cells are quite cold and wet."
Celvene's scowl jumped from Aleksandr, to the guard, back to Aleksandr. It darkened into a lour, but she forced out a simple, "Fine.
" And with that, she lowered herself to the ground, dipping her head.
Her cheeks burned, and she curled her hands into fists, but she remained still for a few beats before standing.
Behind her, she could hear a muffled gasp.
Khamisi's footsteps had stopped a moment prior, but Celvene had assumed he'd already left.
For him, along with the people Celvene needed to convince of her worthiness, to witness this embarrassment was pathetic.
If she wasn't already kneeling, there was a chance she would have collapsed into a ball to avoid looking at anyone.
Aleksandr was clearly making it his goal to embarrass Celvene. Perhaps he thought if he was successful, she would leave. But she wasn't going to give up so easily, and he would learn that soon enough.
"Good." Aleksandr smiled. "You're capable of listening. I suppose it just takes some... persuasion. Go. You'll find Tycho on the second floor, near the staircase," said Aleksandr, waving her off. Satisfaction was palpable in his honeyed voice. "I have important matters to attend to as king."
Celvene almost snapped back an insult about him not being king—not now, and not in the future—but she decided silence was the smarter choice. Without another word, she walked out of the throne room, crossing her arms.
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