Applause crashed like summer thunder, and Medith dazzled them again. New-faced nobles wore a strange glint, itching like moths circling an untouchable flame.
She missed nothing. Her face stayed calm as still water, yet her heart sighed like autumn reeds. Same banquet, new faces; the old harmony had blown away like morning fog.
Those pasted smiles sickened her, a sour wind from her past life. Wrecked carts warn the ones behind; if Paris rules like this, the crash is only a matter of time.
But he didn’t care, like a torch burning in a gale. Otherwise he wouldn’t press so hard, so fast, like a blade drawn in daylight.
The feast crested like a swelling tide. Cups rose and clinked, laughter scattered like beads. Power nobles crowded in, banners on their sleeves bright as plumage, and they pressed Medith with “wine punishments” like nets.
Their aims forked like a river. Some hinted at beauty, fishing for a night’s harmony like hunters with soft snares. Some toasted stiffly, pledging loyalty in shadow and light, begging not for alliance but not to be counted as foes.
Talant and Haidra drifted among them like cranes over a reedbed, tasting currents of faction. The palace churned with under-ice rapids, while the streets outside were lantern-bright and simple as bread.
Tonight, songstresses, dancers, circuses, and opera troupes set up like stars across the city. The palace gave them rooms and meals, and promised to double their takings, coins falling like spring rain. The artists laughed till their eyes shone like crescent moons.
People sat shoulder to shoulder in wide halls, cheers rising like larks. Joy moved through them like warm wine.
As the hours slipped, the mood reached a cliff edge. After this ridge it would all trickle away. Paris, silent on the dragon throne, pressed the armrest and rose like a serpent uncoiling.
“Everyone! I have something important to announce. Please hear me.” He lifted both hands, and, rare as winter blossoms, spoke in respectful tones.
Noise snapped off like a cut string. Nobles froze mid-gesture, faces set like carved masks, and turned to Paris as reeds turn to wind.
Medith stood shoulder to shoulder with Talant and Haidra, three sky maidens stepped down from clouded terraces. Yet her willow brows knit; the smile on her flower-bright face stiffened, reading a storm behind Paris’s half-smile.
“General Medith was personally named one of the glorious paladins by Elyu Ogathas,” Paris said, voice smooth as lacquer. “Her bond with our Eunomia runs deep. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. She has saved hundreds of thousands, and even lifted our national strength.”
“But such a legendary hero still hasn’t received a worthy reward. Doesn’t that make Eunomia look faithless, like a tree without roots?”
“Indeed. Aside from an honorific, there’s been nothing,” someone called, words like tossed pebbles.
“That won’t do. General Medith marries beauty to strength, a once-in-a-millennium ally for Eunomia. We must bring out a fitting reward,” another chimed, a chorus like wind through pines.
Clamor swelled, some voices true, some echoing like hollow gourds. The hall shimmered like heat over stone.
Ice struck Medith’s chest before thought. Her color drained, her body trembled like a leaf, and her eyes widened, refusing the shape of what dawned on her.
Those on the dais saw it clear as moonlight on water. Corners of their mouths lifted, the smile of a snare springing shut.
“Your Majesty, I—” Medith began, but Paris pointed at her like a spear.
“The General, exalted as she is, cares nothing for worldly crown and scepter,” he said, warm as velvet. “She loves the art of war.”
“If so, I name General Medith the Grand Director of Military Drills.”
“The General may freely enter our training camps, all military sites, like a falcon through open skies. She will receive our millennial doctrines of war, and intelligence on Regido and the Divine Stone.”
“You need only come to the palace once every three months. Instruct my Dike Guard, the Erene Guard, and the Heavenly Dragon Corps in training, tactics, and formations.”
“What say you, General?”
“Ah!” Talant couldn’t help the breath that broke from him, a note like a snapped bowstring. The nobles burst into uproar, a pond struck by hailstones. No one expected Paris to be so blunt, so ruthless, forcing Medith to the cliff’s edge in a handful of words.
Accept, and she would raise his army with her own hands, feeding a tiger that would one day turn and bite. Even if he showered her with secrets and steel, she wouldn’t dare take them, like poisoned fruit.
Refuse, and under so many eyes, she would spurn a duty fit for an ally. Faces would sour, calling her proud above the clouds, ungrateful even for a king’s rich offer. It would gift Paris a blade of pretext, honed and ready for revenge.
