DF223 - Ladies First (Elara) (Patreon)

The attack had probably started by now, but Elara wasn’t there to see it. She had fled the people who wanted to kill her family and put her on the throne, towards her aunt, who probably wanted to kill Elara’s father. He’d tried to kill Syrelle after all, and stolen her throne.

Elara wished there was a faction that didn’t want to kill any of her family, but that appeared to be too much to hope for.

Elara and her escort had ridden north-east by a circuitous route, hoping to meet up with what her father would call the rebel army. They, and she supposed she, now that she was joining them, referred to it as the Queen’s army. The instinct to call it the Loyalist army had been quashed, as that was how the King’s forces referred to themselves.

Loyalists versus Usurpers and Rebels versus Loyalists. It was strange. Everyone was loyal to someone, yet their opponents were damned for different sins.

Having crested a rise, Elara could finally see their destination, a great host of soldiers, probably as miserable as she was, if not more so. They had ridden hard to reach the army, camped in darkness with cold rations to hide from any Tiatians that might be pursuing them. Elara wasn’t used to such privations, but she had gone on hunts before that had similar restrictions. Odran Tressault, the Rose Circle courtier who accompanied her, wasn’t as hardy.

“Is that them?” he asked wearily. “Have we reached them at last?”

“We have,” Baron Valen was in better shape than both of them, but even he had no breath to spare for pleasantries.

They paused for a moment to look down at the camp. Evening was approaching, and cookfires were starting up, both on this side of the valley and on the opposite one. Elara wasn’t sure—the banners were too far to see—but she thought that hillside was where the enemy was camped. Her brother and a host of people she knew from court in Bures. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d chosen the right side.

Baron Valen led them down the hill, answering challenges from outriders and then the guards on picket duty. Finally, he led them through the sentries guarding a gate in a hastily raised pallisade.

After a discussion with the guard captain, Valen left the pair to refresh themselves in a tent while he left to report. His men were ordered to deposit their cargo with the Quartermaster before finding their accommodations.

A camp chair wasn’t exactly designed for sinking into, but anything that let her rest her aching legs was a luxury Elara had missed. Odran joined her, wincing as his muscles protested.

“I don’t suppose this camp has a bath,” Elara mused.

“A queen must keep up appearances,” Odran replied. “As challenging as it would be, I’m sure her staff manage to provide her with one. And she could hardly deny the use of it to her heir.”

Elara didn’t want special treatment, but she did want a bath. Even a cramped wooden tub would be heaven right now. She let herself fantasise about the feel of hot water on her skin while she tried to avoid slumping off the chair.

She had no idea how long it was before Baron Valen returned.

Have I learned to sleep sitting down? she wondered. Or did I just black out for a moment?

She didn’t have time to consider the matter because Valen spoke as soon as he entered.

“The Queen will see you now.”

Elara nodded acknowledgment and forced herself to rise. She thought she saw some respect for her stamina in the baron’s expression.

“You, too,” he added to Lord Odran, holding out a hand to help the man up. Elara could have asked for assistance, and in the wilderness, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but she was back in civilisation now. Holding the hand of a princess would be a breach of etiquette for a baron. A minor one, easily excused if there was need. If she were too weak to stand on her own.

She wasn’t.

She nodded at Baron Valen. “Please lead us to her Majesty.”

The baron bowed and held the tent flap open. Elara stepped through and tried not to let her exhaustion show on her face. He started leading her through the camp.

It was not a route that a princess should take, but protocol sometimes had to bow to circumstance. Instead of walking along a wide avenue lined with flowers, Elara strode carefully along a path that was barely there. A line cut through the camp to her destination, but it was choked with injured soldiers, guy lines from tents and piles of supplies scattered about. Elara ignored it all, focusing on maintaining her composure.

Finally, she reached a tent, larger and more grand than all the others. Guards surrounded it on all sides, keeping careful watch. The ones closest to the entrance watched Elara.

“Baron Talem Valen of Selvarin, here to present Princess Elara Jiro,” Valen said. The captain nodded, clearly expecting them. He stepped aside, and Valen led her through.

Even Royal protocol had to yield to circumstance. Queen Syrelle had no throne to sit on. There were chairs in the tent, chairs that—Elara noted with a pang of longing—looked much more comfortable than the one Elara had just been sitting on. However, Queen Syrelle had elected to stand to receive her guest.

“Queen Syrelle.” Not ‘my Queen’, as that would be presumptuous until Syrelle had accepted Elara’s allegiance. Elara dipped as low as she could in a curtsey and bowed her head.

“Rise, child,” Syrelle commanded. Elara did so and met her Queen’s—her Aunt’s—eyes.

“Ah, little Elara,” Syrelle said. “You’ve gone and grown up.”

“It’s been fifteen years, Auntie,” Elara said cheekily. “I even got married.”

“I heard about that,” Syrelle said with a smile, allowing the informality. “And I was sorry… to hear how it ended.”

“The Tiatians told me that Father was responsible for the assassination.” She said the words without emotion. She still couldn’t process the idea.

“Ah, that must be painful. Come here, child.”

The queen embraced her. It was strange and familiar, both at once. Elara felt the tears well up, but kept them back, holding onto her aunt for support.

“Let me look at you,” Syrelle said. “And you, you should do the same.”

Elara knew what she meant. She was being given permission.

Syrelle Kalond, Level 27, Widowed, 1 brother, Loyal to: Zamarra, Human, Hidden Queen, Enemies: Ranon Kalond IV, Tiatian Empire, Elitran Empire

Inspections could be falsified, Elara knew. But seeing the words felt like confirmation of what she already knew in her heart. This really was her aunt, returned from the dead.

“Ahh… after all this, your primary loyalty is still to family?” Syrelle said.

Elara felt the blood rush to her face. There was a certain kind of embarrassment in talking about her loyalty with someone who was her Aunt and her Queen.

“That includes you, you know,” she said. “And it’s not like I’ve even sworn loyalty to you.” The yet went unspoken, but Elara felt the weight of the purpose of this meeting hanging over her.

“What do you do when your family are at odds?” Syrelle asked.

“Then… I’m torn. I know Father can’t stay in power after what he did to you—and what he might have done to me. But I don’t want him to die.”

Syrelle sighed. “He’s my brother, as much as he’s your father. But he won’t step down unless he’s forced.”

“I know. I could support exile or imprisonment, but… I realise that might not be possible. We’re unlikely to succeed unless he dies.”

“We,” Syrelle noted, and Elara blushed again.

“But the rest of my family… they can be left alive, right?”

Syrelle frowned. “I don’t expect your mother to take part in any last stands. She should be able to retire with dignity. Your brother, though, was wounded in our last battle.”

“I heard,” Elara said faintly.

“He still shows up in your inspection, though, so he must still live.”

“Oh! That’s good news!”

Syrelle nodded. “Wounded is best; it should keep him off the battlefield. But we were discussing you.”

Elara grimaced. “I feel I should tell you, the Tiatians want to put me on the throne as Provincial Governor.”

“Because you were married to that prince, I suppose. You didn’t accept?”

“I chose the side with the greatest chance of letting my family live.”

“I imagine they would like to tie up loose ends. We’ve heard rumours, and Tiatian soldiers have shown up on the field—has Ranon really sold out his kingdom to them?”

“That was what they told me,” Elara confirmed. “Once the fighting has stopped, they plan on arresting him for the death of Prince Amastan and replacing him with me.”

“How very like them. I’m sure they’ll profess to be shocked when the evidence comes out.”

“This compromises me, I know.” Elara looked at the ground. “If you… don’t want me to be a part of your court, I’ll understand.”

“On the contrary, my niece. Having you at my side gives me options to use against the Tiatians.”

“But I’m—”

“Hush. I know where your loyalty lies, no matter what throne they would have you sit on. And as long as they have hope of obtaining you, they’ll seek diplomatic solutions instead of military ones.”

“Then… may I swear my fealty?”

“You may.”

Elara stepped back and sank to her knees. “My queen, I swear everlasting fealty and service. To serve you in peace and in war is my only wish.”

Syrelle laid her hand on Elara’s head. “I accept your oath. Check the Classes you have available.

Elara blinked, confused. Why would she…

Her answer came as soon as she looked.

“Really? I should take that?”

“It is only Tier Two, and so it is technically a downgrade,” Queen Syrelle said. “But I hope you will accept it nonetheless.”

Elara might have taken that as an order. An order that, even coming from the Queen, would have been out of line. No one but you could determine your path. But Elara knew it was an offer. A gesture of trust.

Are you sure you wish to break the Dissident Noble Class with 11 levels remaining?

Yes. Elara thought.

Breaking Class. New Class selected: Crown Princess (Tier 2, Rare)

“There you are,” Queen Syrelle said with satisfaction. “Now, as my heir, let us introduce you to my commanders.

*

While Elara and her Aunt reunited, the Queen’s war council had been receiving reports from Baron Valen. When the Queen led Elara into the command tent, the looks on the faces of her commanders told her the news was not good.

“Just what tidings have you brought me, Elara?”

“Um, well,” Elara said nervously. She let Duke Ariman do most of the talking, only adding details that Baron Valen had missed. As the duke spoke, Queen Syrelle’s face became darker, to match her general’s expression.

“So where does that leave us?” she finally said.

“To a large extent, it depends on whether Kirido can hold,” Duke Ariman said. “If it cannot, it leaves us trapped between two armies.”

“There’s no question of that, surely,” a count said grimly. “Not against the forces described.”

“Ah, Lady—that is, Kelsey, I mean—the Dungeon Lady—she expressed some confidence that they could see off the Tiatian forces.”

Elara shrank into herself as the entire assemblage looked at her. She was supposed to be able to handle councils such as these, but the ones she had attended before had more tables and chairs and fewer dirt-stained men.

“How?” Count Brankil asked abruptly.

Elara swallowed nervously. “She spoke of tricks that were up her sleeve. Some of them, she revealed, like an unlimited supply of ammunition and guns. Bigger and better guns. Others, she kept to herself.”

“It’s unnatural, a dungeon taking sides in mortal politics,” one of the counts muttered.

“Nevertheless, we can’t afford to refuse its aid,” Queen Syrelle countered. “Duke Arimen, your thoughts?”

The duke frowned. “We need to defeat one army before the other closes on us. I would have said that army needs to be the one closest to us, but Kirido might hold the key to our overall victory.”

“Then you are saying we need to move south, escape the army in front of us, and relieve Baron Nos?”

He nodded slowly. “It won’t be easy, but if we march tonight and leave a delaying force behind, we could do it. They won’t be expecting it, that is for sure.”

“Then make the preparations,” Syrelle ordered. “We ride tonight, and let us hope the gods ride with us.”