The Grantzian Empire had flourished in the ten years since the defeat of the Demiurgos. Some of the commonfolk had regarded the ascent of its first empress with apprehension, but most of those voices had faded with time. Her reign now enjoyed widespread support.
The great city of Cladius, more often simply called the imperial capital, was the pinnacle of human prosperity and one of the oldest cities in Soleil. Its historical buildings were picturesque enough, but the clearest symbol of its prosperity was its central boulevard, the gateway to the empire. Roadside storefronts advertised rare delicacies from all across Aletia, and customers filled the interiors, eager to spend their coin. Out on the street, merchants from across the land hawked their wares from roadside stalls. Mouth-watering aromas filled the air. The city rang with joyous voices. A pair of children hurtled around the plaza, toys in hands, as their mother looked on, smiling.
Above it all, as if to impress the empire’s magnificence upon a thoroughfare grown busier than ever, towered the great bronze statues of the Twelve Grantzian Divines.
Zertheus, the First God.
Mars, the War God.
The Valditte, the God of Beauty.
Corpal, the God of the Forge.
Belvard, the Protector God.
Carall, the Sage.
Orlaga, the God of the Harvest.
Banietta, the God of Commerce.
Vulcan, the God of Arms.
Parla, the God of Medicine.
Urall, the God of Music.
Seldra, the God of Water.
Ten of their number had once been emperors who had made great contributions to the empire’s development and prosperity. The remaining two, both female, had never sat the throne but had nonetheless performed great enough feats to earn a place in the pantheon. Small blemishes marred their carefully sculpted visages, evidence of the years they had weathered. Still, their glory shone through undimmed. From the past to the present, they had watched over their people, filled visitors from foreign lands with awe, and stricken the hearts of other rulers with fear.
One hardly had time to recover before they were greeted by the sight of the imperial palace of Venezyne. A thousand years of history had done nothing to dull its magnificence. The keep hardly seemed to have aged a day. If anything, the centuries had only granted it a timeless quality, inspiring reverence even as it impressed the empire’s strength upon outsiders.
The western quarter of the palace grounds was filled with noble manors. The eastern quarter housed the barracks and training grounds for the capital’s protectors, the Knights of the Golden Lion. On most days, the latter would have resounded with the clashing of steel. Today, however, the training grounds were empty but for two boys. The soldiers stood aside to watch them fight.
“What are you louts up to?” a newly arrived soldier hailed his comrades. “Slacking off?”
Another soldier—a man with a scar on his cheek—waved a hand defensively and gestured to the ongoing duel. “No, no. Nothin’ like that. Prince Leon’s come to train.”
“So I see. Comin’ round a lot recently, ain’t he?”
“Seems like only yesterday he barely came up to my knee, and now he’s swinging a sword about. Makes a man feel old, it does.” The scarred man sighed, muttering something about retirement.
The newcomer shot his comrade a glance. “Shouldn’t the rest of you be up there with him?”
“If Prince Leon’s here, you know who’s on their way. Figured we’d take our lunch while we can.”
“Aye, can’t fault you there.” Grimacing at the thought of what was surely coming, the newcomer sat down with the rest to watch the two boys fight.
“You’re swinging too hard, my lord,” the silver-haired boy said calmly as he fended off his opponent’s assault. “You’ll only tire yourself out. And you move too predictably. You must learn when to back away.”
The fair-haired boy, Leon, only swung his wooden sword harder. Sweat poured from his brow. At last, the silver-haired boy stepped back, letting Leon pitch forward, then brought his own sword down hard. There was a harsh thwack, and Leon’s weapon flew from his hand, spinning end over end until it landed on the ground.
Leon fell to his knees and tipped his head back, gulping in air. With a rueful smile, the silver-haired boy knelt down and held out a waterskin. Leon took it with a grateful nod and tipped the contents into his mouth.
The silver-haired boy looked on affectionately as Leon gulped the water down. “You attack too recklessly, my lord, with no regard for your own stamina. We must work on that. Nonetheless, I commend your focus.”
“It’s not fair, Schwartz. You’re just better than me.” Leon set the waterskin down and pouted. “And why are you talking like that? Can’t you speak like normal?”
Schwartz sighed. “I fear I cannot, my lord.”
“Why not?”
“We have very different stations. However we might talk in private, when we are in front of others, I must use the proper courtesies. Otherwise, they may not respect you.”
“You’re still the chancellor’s son,” Leon protested. “That’s close enough.”
“You have royal blood. The difference remains.”
“Why does that matter? Mother doesn’t care.”
“Only when there is no one looking. She might avoid formalities among family, but in public, you will find that she conducts herself very much like me.”
Schwartz decided to make that his last word on the matter. Leon was stubborn, and once he dug his heels in, he would go no further. He would argue a point forever if need be. It was better to change the topic.
“More to the point,” he said, “you were fighting as though you had something to prove. May I ask why?”
Leon was not usually so aggressive. By all rights, he should have lasted a little longer. Today, however, he had brought his full strength to bear from the outset instead of trying to pace himself. Schwartz pondered for a moment. What had happened in recent days that could have changed him so?
“Is this about your sister?” he said finally.
Leon’s sister had been born not so long ago. His half sister, technically—they shared a father but had different mothers. She was the same to Schwartz, for that matter, who thought she was the sweetest child there had ever been. The first time he laid eyes on her, the day had melted away until all of a sudden, it was night. He could have spent forever watching her, playing with her. He loved her with all his heart—and surely Leon felt the same.
Leon nodded, flashing a grin. “I want to be stronger. Strong enough to keep her safe.”
Schwartz couldn’t help but smile back. “As do I.”
Their new sibling had come into the world with the weight of an empire on her shoulders. For years, the nation had awaited her coming. She was, after all, the firstborn child of the Crimson Empress, making her the heir to the throne. The two boys had trained with renewed determination ever since her birth. The empire was at peace now, but there were no end of schemers and malcontents in the world, and no one could say what ne’er-do-wells might wish her ill. They strove in the hope of keeping her a little safer from harm.
“Then we shall both do our part. There is no need to rush. We shall both be there for her in her hour of need.”
Schwartz extended a hand, and Leon grasped it, pulling himself to his feet. As they looked around, they realized the soldiers around the training grounds had sunk into retainers’ bows. They turned. There stood the Crimson Empress, the chancellor of the empire, and the empress’s elder sister. The boys had only just risen, but they hurriedly knelt.
The crunch of approaching footsteps rang loud in the silence. “Leon. Schwartz. Raise your heads.”
“Your Majesty.”
The pair looked up to see the empress in all her glory looking down at them imposingly. Sweat broke out on both of their brows.
“You have both been training hard of late. You still have much to learn, but your efforts are commendable. I hope to see them continue.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!” They bowed their heads as one.