Chapter 2
* * *
The Emperor of Murenas had three sons and one daughter. When his firstborn son died of a fever before he was three months old, the Emperor swore an oath to the seven gods: grant him another child, and he would dedicate that child to their service.
The next child born was Etienne.
But when the Emperor looked upon his healthy new son, he found he could not bear to give him up. So he swore another oath: to offer Etienne would leave Murenas without an heir, darkening the empire’s future. He would dedicate the next child instead.
And so, Ezekiel was born.
He was a strikingly gorgeous and brilliant boy. For a time, the Emperor considered sending Etienne in his place. But a promise was a promise. Upon his eighteenth birthday, Ezekiel became a Holy Knight of Udal, god of storms, thunder, and truth. The sacred Sigil was seared into the flesh of his neck, and his soul became the property of his god.
He had thought that was the end of it.
“Ezekiel, I’m going to need you to do me a favor.”
Crown Prince Etienne had summoned him three months ago. News had just reached the temple that the youngest princess, Genevieve, had nearly torn the imperial castle apart in her rage at being betrothed to a decrepit sorcerer. Ezekiel had assumed Etienne was simply calling on him to soothe her; young Genevieve had always listened to him.
He was wrong.
“I need you to escort Iris.”
The name, spoken so casually from Etienne’s lips, sent a dizzying shock through him. It was a name he had buried deep in his memory, one he never expected to hear again.
“Who… is Iris?”
“Do not play dumb, Ez. You know who. Iris Quillucsia, the daughter of Baron Quillucsia.”
Ezekiel fell silent, acutely aware of his brother’s observant, calculating gaze.
Etienne offered a placid smile. “Have you already forgotten being shipwrecked during your leave all those years ago?”
“…You mean that Quillucsia,” Ezekiel managed to say, forcing a tone of dawning recognition, as if the name were a half-forgotten relic he had just unearthed.
Etienne shrugged. “I suppose with all that has happened, a memory from five years ago might seem distant. But it was only five years, Ezekiel.”
“I remember. But… why is Miss Quillucsia involved in this?” Why, he wondered, was he suddenly being ordered to escort a woman from a family so minor it was practically invisible? He knew his eyes must have betrayed his shock, and he knew Etienne would not have missed it.
But his brother merely smiled. “Genevieve would rather die than go through with it, so what is a brother to do? I suggested our proud father adopt a daughter.”
Ezekiel’s fists clenched at his sides.
Etienne continued, unperturbed. “An adopted daughter is still a daughter, after all. I originally looked into the collateral branches of the family, but any girl of imperial blood was either already married or still in the cradle.”
Ezekiel stared blankly.
“Then I remembered him. The ‘Lame Baron.’”
That was what everyone called Baron Quillucsia. The reason was simple enough. He had once been an unlanded knight at the imperial court who, by a stroke of luck, had saved the Emperor’s life—or rather, had thrown himself under the Emperor as he slipped on a marble terrace. The act had shattered the knight’s leg, leaving him with a permanent limp. The young Emperor, in a fit of performative generosity, had granted him a barony and a small fiefdom. The title, however, was one of the Emperor’s own lesser holdings, destined to revert to the crown upon the baron’s death. It was an act of breathtaking pettiness.
“In any case, it is not as if anyone will question us passing her off as a distant relative. The title was originally His Majesty’s, after all.”
“But she… if my memory serves, she must be over twenty by now,” Ezekiel ventured, though his memory was anything but faint. He knew perfectly well she was twenty this year.
Still smiling, Etienne idly flipped through a stack of documents. “Any other girl of her stature would have been married long ago, but her family’s poverty seems to have prevented it. Quite lucky for Genevieve, would you not say?”
The tale of a poor noblewoman missing her chance at marriage because of a lack of a dowry was a common one. But was that the real reason? Ezekiel doubted it. He could not voice those thoughts, however, so he changed the subject.
“But surely you cannot force a young lady against her will?”
“Who said anything about force?” Etienne slid a document across the desk. Ezekiel, who had been standing with his hands clasped behind his back, leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Miss Quillucsia’s signature. The adoption is already finalized.”
“…When on earth did you…?”
Genevieve’s tantrum had erupted just a week before Ezekiel was due to return to the capital.
Etienne chuckled. “This is why money is so wonderful. I used magic. Teleportation magic, to be precise. It is outrageously expensive, but well worth it. Genevieve will not be getting any new dresses for the next six months, but I imagine she would prefer that to the marriage.” In other words, he had sent the imperial messengers via magical means. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find a replacement before Genevieve tore all my hair out?” he added with another laugh. “And teleportation is not instantaneous, you know. It took two full days to sort everything out.”
Two days. That was all the time it had taken for Iris Quillucsia to agree to marry a complete stranger in the princess’s place.
“But the cost of sending a messenger back and forth is one thing,” Etienne continued. “Sending at least two people, including the young lady, was simply too much.”
He continued. “To make matters worse, the Commander of the Imperial Knights refused. Said it was beneath his dignity.” The proud commander had balked at a two-month round trip to the backwoods, citing the need to defend the empire during a time of war. But the real reason was obvious: escorting a commoner girl, adopted solely to be married off to a sorcerer, was an insult to his pride. “And just then, the amount of the annual donation our dear father makes to the Temple of Udal happened to catch my eye.”
“Ezekiel.” Etienne beamed at his younger brother, the one who had been sacrificed to a god. “You will do it, will you not?”
* * *
When Shanka heard that the Commander of the Imperial Knights had refused the escort mission out of pride, his immediate reaction was, “What, and we have no pride?”
“We got paid,” Millena retorted.
“Do the Imperial Knights not get a monthly salary?”
“If you have a problem, take it up with the priests.”
“Quiet,” Ezekiel finally snapped, his patience worn thin. He was concerned the sorcerer in the carriage might overhear them.
“Yeah, yeah.” Shanka chuckled and bowed his head.
The relationship between sorcerers and the temple was notoriously poor. Sorcerers were an arrogant lot who openly mocked faith in the gods, which naturally did not endear them to the devout. It seemed, however, that such theological differences vanished in the face of a hefty donation. Ezekiel had gathered that Etienne had subtly threatened to reduce the temple’s funding, and the High Priest of Udal had promptly agreed to dispatch personnel. Rather than sending his haughty priests, however, he had assigned twelve Holy Knights, led by their commander, Ezekiel.
Their mission was to escort ‘Princess’ Iris Quillucsia—no, Iris Colette Murenas, as she would soon be known—from her family’s lands. The journey from the Quillucsia fiefdom to the capital, Lenat, would take a month and ten days at a full gallop. Upon their arrival, she would be wed to Marquess Kazakov. The Emperor was quite pleased with Etienne’s solution. He had been terrified the sorcerer would become offended and break his contract. Having the Emperor’s own third son, the Commander of the Holy Knights of Udal, personally escort the bride would make for a very impressive display.
"Besides, Ezekiel, I hear you are acquainted with the girl,” his father had said. “So is this not a good thing for everyone?”
A flicker of resentment burned in his chest, but Ezekiel remained impassive. There was no point.
