by Aengie Scevity
Imperial Princess Phosphoria of the Zekzterian Empire is desperate to survive the inevitable culling of her father’s harem, when an opportunity arises. In the conquered land of Great Leven, her dying brother is an heirless king until Phosphoria wins the right to his throne.
To secure her rule, Phosphoria announces a tour
of the country and trials for her hand, but when servants and nobles alike are
murdered, she discovers that the harem she escaped might just be the key to
stay the infighting. However, a queen’s harem will be no easy feat as the lords
of Great Leven will never accept the proposal and Phosphoria is unable to lie;
she is Blessed by the Owlbear, forced to see and speak only the truth.
Further complications arise from rebels loyal to
the usurped royal line, and the reappearance of the true heir: the Lost Prince
Osbeorn Auber of Great Leven, whose coming was foretold in omens upon the wind.
By marrying many, Phosphoria runs the risk of
marrying the murderer in her midst, but she must fight tradition if she is to
succeed against the rebels, the murderer, and the lords of Great Leven itself.
As for Osbeorn, he must come to terms with the darkness of his past before he
can look to the future of his country.
Chapter One
The Imperial Princess Phosphoria of the
Zekzterian Empire was at a disadvantage. She was three years younger, two hands
shorter and many pounds of muscle smaller than the Imperial Prince Magnos.
Trying
to breathe through the pain in her ribs where her brother’s quarterstaff had
struck only moments ago, Phosphoria watched Magnos carefully, the two circling
each other. Their father – Emperor Moldavos the Manticore of Zekzteria, Sultan
of Oenisia, Czar of Kaluk and King of the Spice Isles – watched impassively
from the podium. The audience followed his lead, mouths shut, the silence only
broken by loud wooden clacks as Phosphoria and Magnos tested each other’s
guard.
No
one had expected either Phosphoria or Magnos to reach the final combat of the
tournament for the foreign throne of Great Leven. Magnos was her father’s
seventh son, the second oldest to self-nominate for the position and was known
as a slow fighter who was struck more quickly than he could strike back. Today,
though, today he wore an expression of focus. In the preceding quarterstaff
battles with his brothers Sodan and Alum, his size gave him the advantage of
reach and it was that advantage that might be Phosphoria’s downfall.
Phosphoria was the second surprising entrant
to reach the final battle, a princess in a battle of princes, but, she reminded
herself as Magnos swept his staff at her knees, she had her reasons.
Twenty years ago, her father had conquered
Great Leven and gifted it to Hydar, First Prince of Zekzteria as a test of his
worthiness. Now though, Hydar was wasting away with no heir to succeed him.
Unwilling to cede Great Leven back to Levenian rule, Moldavos had decreed that
the worthiest of his other children would relinquish all Zekzterian titles and
become their brother’s heir.
Phosphoria had seized upon the opportunity
like a woman dying in the desert seizes a half-empty waterskin. It didn’t
matter that Great Leven was plagued by sporadic uprisings. It didn’t matter
that she would have to leave everything she knew to rule in a country that
despised her race. It didn’t matter that blocking Magnos’s powerful overhead
strike with her staff sent shock shimmering down into her shoulders. The only
thing that mattered was that she escape the Imperial Harem and the culling that
would come after her father’s death.
When Phosphoria was ten, she had witnessed an
execution – she had watched as a man presided over the executions of his
father’s second wife and all of his own unmarried siblings. Before that day,
Phosphoria had never thought about what the future held for her as a daughter
of the Imperial Harem, but in the years since she had spent a lot of time
thinking, a lot of time planning and a lot of time training.
Now, possessing a sharp mind and a strong
body, both honed by determination and hard work, now was the culmination of her
effort. Magnos was strong and Magnos was big but Magnos had never fought
Phosphoria before. She, however, had spent the last twelve years becoming
accustomed to fighting men bigger and stronger than herself. If she lost to
Magnos today, the best she could hope for was to be married to a minor lord
before her father died and his second son Hellos executed the Imperial Harem to
secure his claim. But if she won, Great Leven was hers and she would no longer
be the Imperial Princess Phosphoria of the Zekzterian Empire.
She would be Queen of Great Leven.
Phosphoria retreated a step, her quarterstaff
held forward to maintain the distance between her and Magnos, and shook her
head to clear the sweat gathering on her brow. The sleeveless wrap-top she wore
was sodden, plastered to her back with perspiration; the loose breeches cinched
at her waist and ankles fared little better.
Magnos spun his quarterstaff before him, his
thick fingers making short work of manipulating the wooden pole as he advanced.
He had not yet broken a sweat but wet blood glimmered against the deep bronze
of his face from a viper-quick strike Phosphoria had landed earlier. He was one
of Phosphoria’s larger brothers, tall and powerfully built and had forgone the
wrap-top in favour of airflow, the deep golden tone of his chest and back on
display. Phosphoria’s eyes were locked on his chest, watching for the slightest
telltale moment that would give away his next movement.
A twitch near the top of his pectoral muscle:
there. Magnos’s grip on his quarterstaff shifted slightly before he swung the
weapon overhead in another powerful overhead strike. Phosphoria blocked the
strike and dropped, rolling to one side in a single movement, Magnos’s staff
sliding off the tail end of her own to punch into the ground in a spray of
sand. Twisting, still on her knees, Phosphoria whipped her weapon back up and
over Magnos’s, jabbing it into the centre of his chest in a ploy designed to wind
him.
Magnos exhaled in a wheeze and lashed his
staff through the sand, striking Phosphoria in the calf before she could dodge,
the attack landing with dense thump heard around the arena. Immediately,
Phosphoria began to lose the feeling in her lower leg, the hindrance only
worsening as she tumbled backwards to gain some space and rise to a standing
position.
Her brother’s guard was still down as he
gasped silently, no air entering his lungs. With Phosphoria’s leg rapidly
becoming more and more useless, she needed to end this soon. An overhead strike
was a dangerous gambit against someone the size of Magnos but she was unlikely
to get another opportunity. Lunging forward on a foot without sensation,
Phosphoria swept her staff overhead, aiming for Magnos’s temple.
Abandoning proper form, Magnos brought up the
short end of his staff at the last moment, Phosphoria’s attack glancing off the
butt of the weapon to instead connect with his pronounced trapezius.
Magnos grunted, fingers loosening and grip
becoming clumsy, his movements slowed. Relentless, Phosphoria whipped the
weapon from Magnos’s trapezius to under his ear, the blow landing with a
painfully loud rap. Magnos’s eyes lost focus as he sunk to his knees but
Phosphoria was unremitting, batting his throat, his temple and the knuckles of
his hands in four quick strikes.
Magnos dropped his weapon, swaying on his
knees as Phosphoria kicked it away, her own pressed sharply under his chin,
seemingly holding him aloft.
‘Do you yield?’ Phosphoria asked. Despite the
fear and adrenaline at this penultimate step coursing through her body, her
words were plain. Her breathing was rough, her ribs were on fire and one leg
was numb below the knee but her grip was steady.
Her brother lurched forward, as if in search
of his quarterstaff but instead came to rest facedown in the sand.
From the corner of her eye, Phosphoria saw
their father, the Emperor Moldavos, raise a single finger, allowing healers to
rush the arena. She smartly brought her weapon by her side and bent to one
knee, bowing low as she waited. All she could hear were the healers tending to
her brother and the pound of her own heart in her ears. From the corner of her
eye, magickal flame glimmered – a sign of the healers’ work. Seconds turned to
tense minutes, as her father the Emperor deliberated silently.
Moldavos’s voice rang out as clear as ever,
the tones precisely clipped, the voice of an educated man. ‘As Emperor of
Zekzteria, Sultan of Oenisia, Czar of Kaluk and King of the Spice Isles I grant
victory to Her Royal Highness, the Imperial Princess Phosphoria of Zekzteria,
Blessed by the Owlbear. Stand, Princess Phosphoria.’
Masking difficulty, Phosphoria rose, one foot
completely numb. Another minute passed in silence as her father studied her,
his fingers toying with the staff of his ceremonial war hammer, the weapon
glowing with a potent fire, invisible to all without the Eye.
‘Princess Phosphoria, do you offer yourself
as heir to the First Prince of Zekzteria, His Majesty, King Hydar of the Seven
Realms of Great Leven, contingent upon his death?’
Phosphoria bowed, releasing a tense breath.
‘Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.’
‘Do you swear upon your blessing by the
divine Owlbear whose mark you wear scarred into your brow, to relinquish all
Zekzterian titles, styles and claims to the Zekzterian Empire and to rule the
Seven Realms of Great Leven in independent alliance to the Zekzterian Empire?’
Phosphoria straightened, her stance proud. ‘I
do, Your Imperial Majesty.’
‘Then in accordance with your divine promise
and witnessed by all gathered here today you will be stripped of your title
effective upon your arrival in Great Leven, whereby you will gain the title Her
Royal Highness, Princess Phosphoria of the Seven Realms of Great Leven, Blessed
by the Owlbear.’
Moldavos stamped the butt of his ceremonial
war hammer into the stone flooring twice, indicating the end of the
proceedings. ‘As the Manticore wills it,’ he intoned.
‘As the Manticore wills it,’ Phosphoria and
the audience repeated.
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