2412, Iclis 12, Briss

April pulled at the knots her hair was twisted into. She told her maids to not overdo it, but look at them now. Not only did they almost rip the blond locks off the hairline, her temples felt like they were being squished between two large boulders. Damned servants. She wasn't here for a feast or a ceremony. It's a damned summon from the Seelie Court.

Those old witches were finally good for something.

It wasn't even a full day after she heard of the High Queen's murder. She knew who was responsible due to the work of her spies, but when she received the official summons a few hours later, no one could decipher what it's for. Shouldn't April be the High Queen with her title as the Crown Princess? Why was she strutting across Edgerift's bridges as if she's going to trial?

Maybe it was dread or the nerves, but all sorts of alibis flashed into her mind. Her thoughts shot off in wild directions, each one trying to refute and support each one. It was when she reached the wide doors of the Imperial Palace did she realize how pointless thinking was. Too much of it, and she'd lose her feathers before she even heard the Seelie Court out.

She heaved a huge breath, shoulders rising and falling. The tension remained between her shoulder blades, squeezing until her temples throbbed. Or maybe it was from clenching her jaw too hard. Or her fists. Her hands, no matter how stiff and mechanical, smoothed her periwinkle skirt, erasing whatever crease that arose during her mad flight from Falkirta. Perhaps, the maids had their point. The wind would have shuffled and tangled April's hair to a vulkraine's nest had they not locked it in place.

But she's not flying now, was she? The braids could go.

The red coats flanking the Imperial Palace's gates looked twice as she strolled by with fingers buried in her locks, casually pulling the pins and other decorations out. The satchel bouncing against her leg received those without ceremony. She'd figure out how to fix the stuff inside later. Right now, the Masters would have to hear the sharp end of her mind.

They couldn't even give her a proper week to grieve. That's how professional they were.

Not like April to take them on that generosity, though. The High Queen, while related to April by blood, could go and mess herself. Being absent throughout April's lifetime could do that. She only saw her mother during campaigns in Falkirta, and even there, they never get more than half an hour together. Most of those precious minutes were spent asking each other pointless questions. They needed to show the rest of the island they have the best relationship, after all. It didn't matter if the truth couldn't be more than the opposite.

So, no. April wasn't sad because her mother was gone—through murder, no less. She didn't know the woman, anyway.

But one thing she did know was the loss of an opportunity. Being the Crown Princess came with its benefits. After the High Queen's demise, April would be the one to assume absolute power over Umazure. Every error she saw in the systems on the island, she could correct. Nothing would stop her, and not even the Seelie Court could do anything about it. Her influence wouldn't stop in Falkirta. Not anymore.

When she becomes the High Queen, she'd be unstoppable.

But that's a thought for villains, right? April wasn't one, though. All she wanted was to make life better for everyone. If that's not possible, she'd compromise with the majority. And she couldn't do that if she's blocked at every step and by every power that were.

Her hair fell into a luscious carpet behind her back, the knots having done their work to make it more wavy than it was. Past the arched entrance punched through the tall wall around the Imperial Palace, two more red coats greeted her with salutes and wide eyes. They probably didn't expect their next High Queen to arrive with her hair disheveled and skirts creased.

"Bring me to the Seelie Court," she ordered, looking past the red coats' faces, uniforms, and helmets. They meant nothing to her.

They snapped to attention. "Right this way, Your Highness," the left red coat said. Together, they peeled off the gates and marched towards a huge pair of ornate doors thrown open. What's the point of the guards and the wall if they're just going to boast about how large the doorway was?

The corridors and turns blurred in April's periphery. It's the same thing with the palace in Azorgend—all ornaments and no backbone.

After a few minutes, the red coats stopped in front of another ornate set of doors, this one smaller and more quaint than the one on the palace's facade. Two more guards dressed in those rigid yet ridiculous red coats flanked this new door.

"The Masters are made aware of your arrival, Princess," one of her escorts said. After giving them a brief nod, they sauntered off, leaving her in the care of the other two guards.

She took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders in vain. "Open it," she commanded.

The hinges made tons of wheezing whines when the guards pulled apart the doors to reveal a large auditorium filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, a high, domed ceiling, and curtains of the softest velvet. Sitting in the middle of the room was a large round table filled with the oldest members of the Seelie Court—the inner circle. Beyond it, forming curved lines of chairs and desks, sat the outer court, composed mostly of young advisers and acolytes of advisers who were too fragile on the stem to stand on their own.

She ignored most of them on her purposeful stride inside the hall. The doors closed behind her with a loud and final thud. The key to taking control of a room was to project confidence. She belonged here. This was her birthright. There's no reason for her to be scared. These people? They would all bow to her.

"Your Highness, how nice of you to join us," the man sitting at the farthest tangent of the round table from the door said. She had seen enough sketches and portraits to know who this man was.

"Master Quinxus," April greeted, keeping her chin at a higher level than his. "To what do I owe the pleasure of being summoned?"

It's futile talk—one she would rather do without. Ceremony and tradition would be the death of her. Not like they got better as a sovereign state with them.

"Take a seat, Your Highness," the adviser said, gesturing to an empty seat nearest the door. She wasn't well-versed in Lantegian etiquette, but she knew enough to conclude this wasn't a seat fit for a High Queen. And...did Master Quixus' chair have the characteristic sempervivum pinions on the backrest? Wasn't that honor reserved for the highest sovereign in the island?

It should be enough indication for something much more sinister, but maybe there's a surprise down the road to her favor? Most likely.

She sank to the cushioned chair and had one of the guards push it inside for her. When she was settled, she leveled her gaze at the maroon-robed adviser. "Did you pull me down from Azorgend to ask for my opinion regarding the coronation?" she asked. "By all means, I don't really care what you do with it. Just give me my crown."

If the advisers took offense at her foul mood, then they could go ahead and deal with it. But not a bristle passed across the congregation. Master Quixus' stare merely hardened. His passive stare stayed the same.

"Before we attend to that, let me educate you on the laws placed over the issue of succession," Master Quinxus answered. "In the case of the High Queen's hundred-year term expiring, what's the next course of action?"

April could have rolled her eyes at that. Didn't everyone know this already? "If she left an heir, then the Seelie Court will immediately proclaim them as the next dynasty," she said. "If she doesn't, then the Seelie Court will implement a War of Queens to find the next worthy successor."

"What about in the case of death?" the adviser prodded.

She knitted her eyebrows, a frown pulling at the edges of her lips. What was this witch getting at? "The same rules apply," she said.

"Correct," Master Quinxus bobbed his head. Then, his eyes glinted as if he had been the one who did what he said next. "What about in the case of murder?"

April scoffed. "Isn't that the same thing as dying?" she demanded. They didn't have time for banter. The island outside the Lantegian border was slowly succumbing to chaos after chaos. Calls for the Imperial Palace's aid multiplied daily, and as far as April was concerned, none were being acted upon. The things they're saying about the Sylkrana Dynasty were nothing short of nice.

Master Quinxus smiled—an indication he had pushed her into a corner. It later evolved into a smirk, telling April that he believed himself to be nice enough to not regress to a pathetic verbal flaying despite her haughtiness.

"Not quite, Your Highness," the adviser said, tucking his hands into the wide, maroon sleeves. "At the event of a High Queen's murder, the heir apparent, if she has one, will have to expend justice for the dynasty's sake by condemning the one who sinned."

April's world slowed to a stop, her heartbeat petering out into slow bursts. "You don't mean..."

The adviser hummed, filling out the silence left by April's fading voice. "The Seelie Court cannot grant you the right to ascend to the throne without bringing the High Queen's killer, June Sylkrana, to Edgerift," he said. "He needed to be tried, and eventually face the consequences of his actions."

"Just a trial?" April tilted her head to one side, letting the disappointment and shock chip at her tone. In negotiations like this, it's more important to bounce back than dwell on something that upset her. "Would it be better if we do to him the same thing he did to my mother?"

The last two words washed over the audience like a violent tide. It's what she intended. By reminding them of the connection she shared with the deceased, it'd soften their reasoning for a bit. It'd make it easier to twist around her finger, to get them to let her do what she wanted.

Master Quinxus scratched his chin. "It would be quicker, yes," he said. "But we are a civilized institution. We would not allow another murder, another bloodshed, to occur in the name of the Imperial Palace or the succession."

April tapped a finger on the table. Some splinters stuck into her nails, telling her it's time to shear them off. Again. They just never stop. "How about this—I hunt down June Sylkrana and kill him. Then, we will try him in court or do whatever you advisers do best," she said. "Find him guilty to justify his passing. It's another way to go about this, right?"

Master Quinxus' eyes narrowed. He's thinking. The woman next to him—no doubt, his wife—elbowed him from the side, subtly shaking her head. But April knew the exhaustion floating behind the adviser's eyes. As much as he's focused on making sure the succession went well, the weight of ruling an entire island that's falling apart was taking its toll on him. He wanted this to be over, for April to take more than the Keijuis off his back—willingly, might she add—and April had just given him that instant way out.

Of course, he'd take it.

"Certainly, Your Highness," Master Quinxus said.

"Is there really no other way around this?" April asked. "No other interpretation to the centuries-old law?"

The adviser sighed. "I'm afraid not, Princess."

April looked at her hands, her teeth clamping over her lip. It's a drag, for sure. If they have circumvented the law or made a new one up on the spot, they wouldn't be dealing with this mess in the first place. April had her brushes with death and Pidmena's realm, and she could say she wanted nothing to do with it if she could help it. But if it's for the island's sake, if she could ascend and do everything she had planned to do, she'd go down this path.

That's the path she's born into, anyway.

"Thank you for that information, Adviser," she braced the table's rim and pushed against it. Her chair grated against the marble floor in loud rasps, making at least twenty outer advisers wince. The rest of the inner circle barely batted an eyelid. "Anything else I should know about?"

"You seem to have forgotten one tiny detail," Master Drenice, the woman to Quinxus' side, said. "June Sylkrana is your half-brother."

April drew discordant lines on the table's surface with a lingering finger. "I am aware, Adviser," she answered. "I just don't care."

"But the drawback—"

"I will kill him," April slammed her hand on the splintering wood, her magic rising to a flood under her skin. A fraction of the advisers flinched in their seats. "He should pay for what he did to my mother. I will attain my throne, and if he's in the way, I won't hesitate to get rid of him. It doesn't matter if he's a blood-kin. It shouldn't matter."

But it did—that's the fact that April saw being reflected back at her through the looks of pity crumpling some of the advisers' eyes. They must see her as a desperate witch whining like a flower-child. Not so much. She's fighting for what's rightfully hers, and not even the law could hinder her.

She sighed, forcing her shoulders to ease and her gut to stop churning. "I'll deal with the consequences on my own," she said. "Justice must be dispensed, and I don't mind if it's through my sword."

Before the advisers could ruin her moment, she strode out of the meeting hall. The red coats outside the door jumped in shock when the door swung open from the inside and April stomped out. Silence settled in the space she left, no doubt processing her words and decisions. It might seem foolish, but April had her reasons.

It's not only her who wanted something out of her brother.

She made it out to the bridge connecting the Imperial Palace to the rest of Edgerift in a matter of seconds. At the end, a tall woman dressed in a dark, dress coat and tight breeches waited for April. Unlike her, who was dressed to the ankles in a rush of light colors, the woman only had on two shades—black and off-white. Her brown hair was pinned up in a tight bun as always, exposing her forehead, tanned face, and soft skin.

"How did it go, Princess?" the woman, rather, the Heiress, asked.

April blew a lock of blond hair away from her face. "You will get what you want," she said. "The Seelie Court granted me the permission to remove June off the board. That way, you will have the Virtakios for yourself."

The Heiress inhaled a deep breath. "Good," she said. "Come with me. It's time we finalize this plan."

She offered April a hand, and April didn't hesitate. As soon as she took it, the world swirled and popped. When it stilled, the Heiress let go of April. Instead of staying upright on her own, something about the short travel melted her joints. She sprawled forward, her hands barely catching her weight.

"What the hell?!" she cursed. "Where are we? What did you do?"

The Heiress didn't answer, striding forward. Did she not care if April was able to follow or not? What a witch. April muttered more curses under her breath as she staggered up and tried her best to amble after the Heiress. They entered the most colorful tent within the endless field, and a variety of things greeted them. The Heiress passed all of them by, as if they're common sight, and stopped by an ornate desk.

A sheaf of parchment slammed into April's chest, dropped by the Heiress. "That's information brought by my Magistrate about the whereabouts of your target and mine," the Heiress said, bracing the edge of her desk with both hands. "A summary? He's on his way to Dwanzeig, or if you take longer, he might already be inside."

"And this is a problem for us, because...?" April asked, gleaning displease from the Heiress' tone.

The Heiress drew up and dusted her breeches. Her knee-high boots thumped against the compact soil inside the tent. "Not exactly a problem," she said. "Rather, an opportunity."

Before April could ask what she meant, she raised a hand and snapped her fingers. A swirl of magic erupted between them. Soon, shadows danced from outside the tent, indicating the presence of someone else. What in Pidmena's name?

"Before you leave, I'd like you to meet an ally—someone who will accompany you in your mission," the Heiress raised her voice to a commanding tone. "Enter."

The tent flap rose and fell again, and a girl no older than twelve stepped through. April swore she glimpsed a malicious glint in the girl's eyes—too early for it to be there. What's up with this arrangement? Was the Heiress employing clueless children now? To do what?

"Meet Marin Draswist," the Heiress gestured to the girl who ducked her head at April. "This is April Sylkrana."

The Heiress clapped her hands together in satisfaction. "You will work together for the next leg of our plan," she said.

"What will that be, Peredeira?" Marin asked, not a shred of fear lacing around her voice despite having interjected into a conversation between adults, with the Heiress involved, no less.

"Dwanzeig's fall," came the Heiress' answer, indulging the child.

A jolt went through April. Dwanzeig's fall? This wasn't what she signed up for! No territory would fall under her watch. She opened her mouth and made the effort of stepping forward, when a hard lump slammed in her chest. She sputtered, both from the air knocked out of her lungs and the bewilderment ripping through her gut. "Wh—"

"As promised—a sword hewn out of Dwarven metal," the Heiress said. "I expect you two to be able to give me results. Dismissed."

April wanted to say more, to reason about why Dwanzeig had to fall and who the Heiress thought she was to claim such a preposterous thing, but a dark cloud passed across the Heiress' face, plunging her eyeballs into such abyssal pools. She wasn't looking for an argument. She wanted unconditional loyalty.

Damn that. April wasn't going to bow to anybody.

Something about the Heiress' rigidly straight back and the invisible sparks of magic rising around her told April she wasn't taking no for an answer.

Well, neither was April.

New plan, then. Ride this wave through. And when she got what she wanted, the Heiress would be the first to fall under the might of the Imperial Palace.

Just they wait.