TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 27 (RAW)

Chapter 27 - Plotting, Cookies, & Banditry

"Diversity has never been the strength of the Empire; it is tolerance. For how else could we govern a realm, nay realms, of disparate peoples? In the Empire, all are citizens, all are equal and bound by the same laws that govern all."

- Emperor Thaddian IV.

One of the wonders of holding such a privileged position was watching people practically hop to do your bidding in hopes of currying favor. Such as, for instance, having armor made and swiftly delivered to her. It was most convenient.

Not so convenient, however, was trying to squeeze into armor tailored to Seraphina's previous measurements. Standing amidst Eloise's elegantly decorated chambers, she felt the constriction intensify, especially around her chest where Miriam was tightening a strap of the brigandine. Her things were being squished, making things a bit uncomfortable; she was growing and maturing far too quickly.

Eloise sat tentatively on the edge of her ornate bed, concern etched on her delicate features. "Are you certain this is truly necessary?" she asked softly.

Seraphina took in a deep breath, allowing Miriam to secure the final strap. With a slight grimace, she turned to her lady-in-waiting. "It's something I anticipate, though I'd be pleasantly surprised if it doesn't occur," she replied. "Besides, think of this as an outing—a practice for the future when we might have to go on campaign. Why else do you think Kellan has been training us?"

Concern deepened in Eloise's eyes and her pretty frown crossed her face. "I thought you said it was for our self-defense, in case we found ourselves in trouble..."

"Exactly, and the best defense is a strong offense," Seraphina pressed on, overriding the girl's protests. "It is our duty as subjects of the Crown to ensure the heir to the Kingdom of Aranthia is protected!" she declared, sweeping her arms in a grand gesture.

Internally, Seraphina was of two minds about the whole affair. Her mother had told her that Prince Velens was journeying now to the Sariens Duchy to formalize his engagement to her. Naturally, things would not proceed so smoothly.

For one, a group of ‘bandits’ was set to ambush the Crown Prince's entourage. These so-called bandits were actually disenfranchised peasants who had formed an anti-monarchist faction. They were supported by nobles and wealthy families who had lost prestige and power when Elidion ascended the throne. These disgruntled nobles, in turn, were secretly backed by the Empire, which sought to destabilize its rival and neighbor, Aranathia. Notably, by accepting sponsorship from the Empire, Eloise's family was likely aligned to a degree with the anti-monarchists.

Taking in the de Laney girl as her lady-in-waiting, she had undoubtedly prompted the current royal family to try to secure their ties with the de Sariens sooner and more concretely than with a mere verbal promise. No doubt, this was why the Crown Prince was rushing to her father's estate to formalize the engagement.

But why was she helping Velens at all? The answer was simple. The bandits would fail, leading Velens to escape wounded and fall into a river, only to be carried downstream and found by Este Lize, who would nurse him back to health. It was so clichéd and trite that it annoyed Seraphina to no end. Who had written such a plot? she wondered.

A part of her was tempted to aid the anti-monarchists. With Velens gone, one more potential obstacle would be removed. The problem was explaining her actions to both them and her own followers. It would get messy. Then, of course, there was the option of doing nothing and letting fate play out. But to Seraphina, that was not an option at all.

So she decided she would save the princeling—not because she had any feelings for him, of course, but to prevent his fateful encounter with the witch. I was also an opportunity to cover herself in glory and have Velens indebted to her. Two birds with one stone, as it were. Still, she knew she would have to deal with him in the future. In one way or another.

For a moment she envisaged a future scenario, the beautiful girl who saved the heir to the Kingdom only to be betrayed later… it made for a powerful narrative. It made for a just casus belli.

Seraphina shook her head, pulling herself from the thought. The girl glanced around Eloise's room, noting that the girl had taken up the study of Alchemy at her suggestion—suggestions that Seraphina herself had been given by her mother.

"Earth magic combined with Alchemy—the fruits of the dark soil and hard rock will serve you well, my daughter. You should learn of these things," her mother had mysteriously declared over breakfast one fine morning.

Unwilling to dirty her own hands with chopping up herbs and mixing monster bits, she decided to have Eloise learn Alchemy instead. She had expected the girl would need some persuading, but Eloise was overjoyed at the mere suggestion, the mere idea, of being allowed to study Alchemy which was typically a realm dominated by men.

And that had been all it took to get Eloise experimenting. Just a quick purchase of a few dog-eared books from the cranky local Alchemist Jurgens and some nice words of encouragement to the girl. In the space of just a few days, the girl's dressing table and nearby environs had been transformed into a chaotic workspace, strewn with scattered notes and various alchemical instruments. She would have to get the servants to help tidy up this place.

While Eloise was still processing Seraphina's declaration, a hesitant knock sounded on the door.

Eloise's lady-in-waiting moved to answer, but Seraphina beat her to it. "Come in!" she called.

Though the black-haired girl might have felt ruffled by the display of dominance, she hid it well, a natural smile still fixed on her face.

Ibn hesitantly entered, his demeanor as tentative as if he were stepping into a lion's, or a monster's, den. He gave the two girls a weak smile, uncertain and anxious about what the next few minutes might entail. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, a slight tremble visible in his movements.

"What is it that you... er... um... wish of me, Lady Seraphina?" Ibn asked with the utmost caution.

Lady Seraphina de Sariens stood with her hands on her hips, gazing at the boy with emerald eyes as hard as granite. "Why, Ibn, with that attitude, I'd suspect you've done something wrong!" she remarked, laughing prettily at his discomfort.

"No, no, Ibn," she said, patting his head as if he were a cute dog, even scratching under his chin. "I wish to reward you."

The boy blushed under her attention, any negative thoughts he had of her melting away like wax under a hot sun.

"This is a little something I made... I hope it's to your liking," Seraphina said with a sweet smile, retrieving a small parcel wrapped in pink ribbons from Eloise's cluttered dressing table. She moved with care, so as not to disturb the array of alchemical equipment—alembics, calcinators, retorts, and other miscellanea.

Ibn's eyes fixed on the parcel warily, as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Ibn. I just made you some cookies!" the blonde girl laughed. "Open it up, have a bite, and tell me what you think!"

Ibn gulped nervously.

"Oh yes, Ibn, do tell!" Eloise encouraged, touching his shoulder.

For a moment, he felt as if he'd been lured into an ogre's lair. Under their expectant gazes, he could do nothing but open the parcel, revealing perfect golden cookies. Of course, he'd heard stories of the Fae and their tricks with food—it was probably all an illusion, the biscuits' true nature something like coal.

He reached for a cookie, closed his eyes, and took a bite. A subtle explosion of flavor blossomed in his mouth. He could taste rare Caru nuts, coarse wheat flour, and a creamy texture all intermingling to create perhaps the best cookie he'd ever tasted—not that he'd had many cookies before.

And that was fortunate, for Seraphina had ensured these were the exact type of cookies Este Lize had made for Ibn in the original story. The cookies he was eating now were not made by her directly—her first batch had been unsatisfactory, so she'd delegated their creation to Catherina—but in spirit, she had made them herself. 

*****

Seraphina knew she needed a different sort of mount to face the upcoming challenge—something that was a weapon in its own right. And that was her father’s warhorse, Kicker.

The Aranthian equivalent of an expensive sports car.

She could not help but smirk wryly at the unimaginative name her father had bestowed upon the stallion. Duke Anatoli had a remarkable lack of creativity when it came to naming. Kicker, a destrier bred for war, was a towering sixteen hands of raw muscle, intelligence, and aggression. His coat was sleek chestnut, gleaming under any light, and his mane flowed like a dark river. An aura of barely restrained power surrounded him; the stallion looked every bit as dangerous as his reputation suggested. The beast was infamous in the stables for biting stablehands and delivering kicks that had sent more than one groom to the infirmary.

Veteran stablehands had tried to warn the young Lady Seraphina about the devil in horseflesh, their eyes wide with genuine concern. They whispered tales of his viciousness, of how even the bravest among them approached his stall with trepidation. They insisted that Kicker allowed no one but the Lord Duke Anatoli to ride him. But Seraphina would have none of it.

After all, the key to improving Skills in this world was novelty, and what could be more novel than riding a new horse—especially one as formidable as Kicker? With her features set in lines of determination, she strode purposefully toward the stall, her boots echoing against the cobblestone floor. The scent of hay and leather filled the air, but beneath it lurked the metallic tang of challenge.

She reached the stall door and paused, locking eyes with the snorting warhorse that fixed her with his dark, intelligent gaze. The moment stretched—a silent battle of wills. The stallion pawed the ground, nostrils flaring, muscles rippling beneath his glossy coat.

Steeling herself, she entered the stable with an air of authority, her hard emerald eyes never leaving the stallion. Kicker snorted, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her with suspicion. The space between them was tense, crackling with an unspoken challenge. It was as if the very atmosphere held its breath, waiting to see who would make the first move.

"Enough of this nonsense," she muttered, stomping her foot hard against the stable floor with all her considerable Strength. The impact reverberated through wood and stone, causing the walls to tremble and dust to drift from the rafters. Kicker shied back, startled by the sudden quake, his nostrils flaring wider as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Panic flickered in his eyes, but there was something else—a spark of recognition. The scent of the girl carried traces of his master, the Duke, giving him pause.

But the hesitation was fleeting. Instinct and training kicked in; the stallion prepared to rear up and lash out at this impudent human. Muscles coiled like springs, ready to unleash fury. Before he could strike, however, Seraphina moved with all her considerable speed. Her hand darted out like a striking viper, delivering a firm slap to his muzzle. The sharp crack echoed in the confined space. The shock of the action froze him, and in that moment, she seized his forelocks, pulling him down with a Strength that belied her slender frame, forcing him to the stable floor.

The proud warhorse trembled, his fierce spirit warring with an unfamiliar feeling of submission. Seraphina's grip was unrelenting but not cruel, her calm gaze boring into his. Her breath was steady, her heartbeat unwavering—a stark contrast to the chaos within him. Against all the odds, the warhorse wanted to bolt and flee from this horrid situation.

Slowly, Serphina’s other hand produced something small and sweet. A sugar cube was forced into the horse’s mouth, then another. Kicker hesitated, his confusion palpable, but the sweetness overwhelmed his resistance. The granules melted on his tongue, a simple pleasure cutting through his turmoil. By the fifth sugar cube, fear and aggression melted away, replaced by cautious curiosity.

"You're a good boy," she said softly, her voice honeyed but edged with sharp steel. The tone transcended language, transcended species, and Kicker understood. There was praise in her voice but also a dire warning. He recognized the authority, the strength, the unyielding will.

The stallion snorted, a low whinny escaping in reluctant assent. He would obey—for now.

"That's better," Seraphina murmured, releasing her hold on his forelocks. She stepped back gracefully, allowing him to rise. The tension between them had shifted, and as she rubbed his muzzle, Kicker felt something strange—a forgotten sensation from his youth. Happiness. Pure, unguarded joy at this little human's regard. Even animals, it seemed, were not immune to the girl’s unbridled Charisma.

For the first time in years, the warhorse felt pride not born of dominance but of connection. Seraphina smiled, her touch gentle now as she admired his Strength and beauty. Kicker, for all his fire, found himself lowering his head to her, an unspoken truce forming between them. He quested for more sugary treats from those delicate porcelain hands, his massive frame seeming almost docile.

"Good boy," she repeated, her smile widening. "We are going to do so many great things together, you and I."

With a fluid motion, she swung herself onto his back with ease, mounting the mountain of horseflesh bareback. The warmth of his body radiated through her, the power beneath palpable. With a soft kick, she guided him to start moving.

As they emerged from the stables, the sunlight glinted off Kicker's fine coat. Together, they made an imposing sight—a warrior princess and her warhorse, both exuding an aura of raw physicality and strength.

"Have Kicker saddled with half-barding. I will be leaving within half an hour," the blonde girl commanded the gaping stablehands from atop her mount, her voice firm and carrying. The stablehands exchanged astonished glances before scrambling to obey.