“What do you mean, he’s having the coronation in a month?” I said, staring at Andrej. We were sitting in my room along with Sylvie, Therese standing guard at the door, taking advantage of the confusion that permeated the royal palace in those sad days after King Dominik’s death to steal a few moments away for ourselves to discuss things: it was two days after the funeral, in fact – a small, private ceremony which, to my deepest regret, I could not attend, because as a commoner I had no place there. Izaak didn’t even allow his father the dignity of a state funeral.

“It’s as I said,” my friend replied. “I heard him myself, while he was talking with the council of nobles; once the customary mourning period is over, he’s planning on being crowned right away.”

“But he can’t do that!” I protested. “Ever since Kendrik the Second died on the day of his coronation, ever since Izaak the Third succeeded him, it’s been tradition for the new king to wait at least a year after the death of the previous ruler! It’s been like this for two hundred years, and he’s just… Ignoring that?”

“Apparently he is,” Andrej said. “He’s planning to consolidate his power and the support of the nobles as soon as possible. I’m sorry, Erica. I wish there was something I could do.”

“But…” I began to say, then stopped. I sighed. “No, don’t be sorry, Andrej, it’s not your fault.”

Well, this threw a big wrench into our plans. Because of the passing of my foster father, King Dominik the Third, I was now the rightful… King? Queen? Ruler. I was now the rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Harburg. Except the only ones who knew of this were Andrej, Sylvie, and myself; we hadn’t come up with a plan to make everyone else recognise it yet. And if Izaak got crowned before we managed to do that, it would be all over. He would be seen by everyone as the king. Izaak Abendroth Helmut von Harburg the Fourth. And there would be no way for us to overturn that: the crown was a powerful symbol, one that would make even the most die-hard rebel think twice before challenging its authority. We needed to get that strength, that symbol, so that we could rally the people, if not the nobles, and finally remove Izaak from power.

Sylvie was having the same train of thought as I was. “We have to think of something. There must be some way to prove Erica is queen,” she said.

“Is there something like that?” Andrej asked. “After all, all we have to go on is my word, and Erica’s; even you didn’t hear the king name her his heir directly.” He sighed. “I doubt anyone except our closest friends and allies will take us at our word. But there’s no official record, no official document that proves her inheritance; it would be nice if there was some way to prove it just like that, just like magic, but there isn’t.”

His words passed through my mind; I ruminated on them, as Sylvie and Andrej continued having a back-and-forth. A way to prove it immediately, to everyone, that I was the rightful ruler of Harburg. In a way that couldn’t be disproven, nor dismissed out of hand. Something clearly visible, that would signal my right to rule. That everyone would understand and recognise.

Right, that would involve a miracle. That would involve magic. But miracles didn’t happen often, and none of us were skilled in the art of magic; and we couldn’t very well ask Verdun. Even if we started studying right then and there, it would take us years before we were able to handle the energies Verdun used, it would take us years before we could interpret and read the runes he used, it would--

Wait. Go back on that thought, Erica.

Runes. Glyphs.

Magic.

A way to prove, through magic, I was the ruler of Harburg.

“There is something like that,” I whispered.

Erica and Andrej were talking to each other, but stopped when I spoke up. “What was that, Erica? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” Sylvie said.

“There is a way to prove it,” I replied, louder this time. “And I can’t believe I’ve forgotten it this whole time.”

“Well, what it is?” Andrej asked.

“The Sword,” I said. “The Sword of Kendrik; the heirloom from the very founding of our country, handed down from one ruler to the next.” I saw they were giving me blank stares, so I explained further: “It is said that only the rightful ruler of Harburg can draw the Sword from its scabbard; it’s traditionally part of the crowning ceremony for a new king, too. After being crowned, the new king would stand up, unsheathe the Sword, point it toward the sky, and swear to protect the country to the best of his abilities; in return, the crowd would acclaim the new king as their rightful ruler.”

“Okay. And? How does that help us?” Sylvie said.

“Don’t you get it?” I explained. “Only the rightful ruler can draw the Sword from its scabbard is how the legend goes. Which means that if I can manage to get my hands on it, and unsheathe it in a place where many people can see me…”

My friends were looking at me sceptically. “Are you really sure about this, Erica?” Andrej said. “I mean, it’s just an old legend.”

“Every legend has an inkling of truth behind it,” I replied. “I’ve seen the Sword recently, when it was put on display before the Founding Day celebrations: it had several runes and glyphs inscribed on its scabbard. Exactly like the ones Verdun uses. Exactly like the ones found in the old wing of the palace.”

Sylvie was looking pensive, and she nodded. “Yes, that would make sense. It wouldn’t be unthinkable that King Kendrik the First had his Sword enchanted so that only he and his heirs could use it. Remember the stories? After Kendrik fell in battle, his son picked up his sword and continued the fight. People love that kind of stuff.”

Andrej still looked doubtful, but he didn’t argue further. “Okay,” he said instead. “This is a long shot. It’s a very, very long shot. But I think it’s the best chance we have right now.” He paused, and thought for a bit. “We have to get you the Sword, and get you somewhere you can be seen by many people as you draw it.” He nodded. “Alright. Where is the Sword?”

I grimaced; They weren’t going to like this. “It’s in the royal vaults, of course. It’s been put back after Founding Day, and it won’t be coming out of there until the coronation.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence in the room, then Sylvie said, “Well then, we just have to find something else.”

“There is nothing else,” I replied. “It’s my only chance to prove my right to rule in front of everyone.”

“Erica, I get it,” she said, placing her hands on my shoulders. “But there’s no way we can get the Sword out of the royal vaults, and if we don’t have that, it’s not a chance at all, is it now?”

I sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

“Unless…” Andrej said. We turned to look at him.

“Unless?” I asked.

“Well, the Sword is coming out of the vault, and soon,” he continued. “For the coronation.”

“Yeah, but only on the very day. And it’ll be heavily guarded, up until the time it’s presented to Izaak so he can draw it in front of everyone,” Sylvie said.

“Then you’ll just have to take it from him then and there,” Andrej said.

I shook my head. “I would need to be very close to him at the moment of coronation, and there’s no way he’ll allow me to do that. I’m a commoner, remember? I couldn’t even attend my foster father’s funeral,” I commented with a hint of bitterness in my voice.

Andrej put his hand to his chin and started absent-mindedly scratching his beard. “You know, there’s a chance we can manage that. We could get you on the coronation stage with him.”

“…How?” I asked.

“How do you feel about Prince Julien of Irbia?”

“Prince Julien? I’ve only talked to him once, but I think he’s an idiot,” I replied. “Why? Why do you ask?”

Andrej just smirked in response.

 

After that, life continued as usual for a while: except for the fact that we were all wearing mourning clothes – for us maids, it was a simple black armband over our normal outfit – nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The only thing that was different from previous weeks is that Izaak no longer called for me to join him in his bedchambers; I assumed this was because he was really busy with the preparations for his coronation, and maybe that he wanted to keep up appearances and didn’t want people to see him enjoying himself while he was supposed to be mourning the loss of his father.

The days moved on, seemingly too slow at times, but also way too fast: the deadline, the day of the coronation, was approaching quickly. It was our last chance to do something about Izaak and to save the country. If we missed that… Well, I didn’t want to think about it. Surely Sylvie and the other Children would manage to wrest power from him sooner or later, but that would involve an actual revolution, a popular uprising, and it would be ugly: Izaak had the palace and city guards on his side, as well as the Royal Knights – while they wouldn’t be able to repress the insurrection forever, there would be many deaths. I was not looking forward to that.

Everything changed, however, one day about two weeks before the coronation was to take place. I was cleaning the hallway on the first floor of the noble wing, along with Sylvie, when one of the palace guards came to me, and told me I was expected in the throne room: Izaak wanted to see me. Sylvie and I exchanged puzzled glances, but I complied, and followed the guard. When we reached the throne room, Andrej was standing guard outside; he winked at me when he saw me. I gave him a puzzled look, but we didn’t speak: I went in, and I found myself standing in front of Izaak once again, for the first time in a while. He wasn’t alone in the throne room, a few nobles were present, and Prince Julien, his advisor, and his bodyguards were there, too.

I curtsied, as I always did. “My lord. You sent for me?”

“I did,” the Prince Regent nodded. Then there was a prolonged moment of silence, as the men I was standing before looked at each other. “Prince Julien, are you sure about this?” Izaak asked, finally.

“Why yes I am, my friend,” Julien replied. “Are you doubting my judgement?”

Izaak’s stare said clearly said Yes, I am doubting your judgement, and we are not friends. But he didn’t say anything.

I just stood there, wondering what that was all about, when the Prince Regent turned to me and spoke. “Erica, I’m sending you to Irbia. You are to be wed to Prince Julien.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “My lord?” I said.

“We have completed negotiations on a treaty that will ensure peace between our countries for decades to come, if not centuries,” Julien’s advisor spoke up. “The details are finalised, there’s only a few things left.”

“Traditionally, treaties such as these are sealed with a royal wedding; a way to join the two ruling families, and to ensure friendship between the two countries,” Izaak said. “And that’s where you come in.”

I blinked. “So I am…”

“Yes, you are to be the collateral for this deal; for whatever reason, the Crown Prince asked for you, specifically.”

And also, besides you and me, there are no members of the royal family of Harburg left, I thought.

“Ah, come on now, Your Highness,” Prince Julien interjected. “Collateral is such an ugly word, not befitting someone like Erica. She’s such a beautiful and spirited girl.”

There was another moment of silence, as Izaak stared at Julien, an expression of I can’t believe this idiot on his face.

“My lord…” I began to say.

“What is it?” the Prince Regent snapped back.

“I am honoured that Prince Julien has taken an interest in me,” I continued. “However, there is a detail to be considered: I am a commoner. I do not think it’s befitting for someone from a royal family to marry someone such as me.”

“That is true,” Izaak said, nodding. “And that is why I will restore your noble rank.”

I blinked. “My lord?”

“What I can take away, I can also give back; it’s my royal prerogative,” he said. “Countess Erica von Harburg; how does that sound? Maybe with a second name. I’ll think about it.” He paused, looking at me. “Are you not grateful? I’m being magnanimous here.”

I realised the answer he was waiting for. “Thank you, your highness,” I said, curtsying.

“Not right away, of course; giving you back your nobility and announcing the signing of the treaty will be my first acts as the new King of Harburg. I will announce them in two weeks, just after my coronation, in my first speech to the nation,” the Prince Regent said. “And that is why I need you up there with me.”

Again, I was startled. “Up there?” I asked dumbly.

“Up on the coronation stage, along with Prince Julien,” he replied. “After I’ve been crowned, I will introduce you both, and present my achievement.” He paused, then muttered, “This way they’ll see I’m as good a negotiator as my father was.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, I broke it by curtsying again.

“As you command, my lord,” I said.

“Of course you’ll need to be dressed for the occasion,” Izaak said. “The royal tailors will send for you, to take some measurements.”

That was clearly a dismissal, so I excused myself, and left the throne room. Andrej was still standing guard outside the door, a self-satisfied expression on his face: even though I didn’t know what exactly he did to obtain such a result, what had happened inside the room had clearly been his doing, and I didn’t know whether to kiss him or slap him.

I would later learn he’d taken advantage of the fact that he often escorted Prince Julien around the palace to talk to him; he’d made up a sob story about how he couldn’t stand to see me constantly humiliated by Izaak, and how he wished someone would rescue me from my plight. Julien had apparently jumped to the occasion, decided that he would be my saviour, and asked for my hand from Izaak in exchange for the signing of the treaty, and Izaak had no choice but to accept.

I took a deep breath and made my way back to the first floor corridor of the noble week, when I rejoined Sylvie in cleaning. I gave her a big smile and a thumbs up, and she seemed to understand, though I wouldn’t explain exactly what had transpired until that evening, when we were alone in our room. Her response was simply to nod, and say “I can set the rest of the plan into motion then; I’ll send word to our people on the outside.”

 

Days turned into nights and into days again; time went by, and soon – much too soon for my liking – it was two weeks later. It was the day of Izaak’s coronation.

The ceremony would take place at noon, in the main square in front of the royal palace; a stage had been built specifically for the occasion, raised about two metres off the ground and decorated with red velvet trimmed in gold. On the stage was a throne, upon which the new king would sit once the ceremony was over, and enough space for Izaak and some important guests, which in this case included me and Prince Julien, as well as a handful of Royal Knights – including Andrej, since he was the commander; when I asked, I learned Verdun would be on the stage, too, as a reward for services rendered.

All around the stage there were seats for other dignitaries, mostly nobles and emissaries from neighbouring nations, who’d come to congratulate the new king on the day of his coronation. Around the seats a wooden barrier, about chest high, had been erected: the common people would stand behind it, and it would be manned by a contingent from the palace guard and the remaining Royal Knights, while the city guard would stand at each entrance of the plaza to make sure no one could smuggle anything inside – they didn’t want a repeat of what had happened on Founding Day.

Early in the morning I was collected by Andrej and brought to the royal chambers, where the tailors fitted me with the dress they’d prepared. It was an elaborate affair, velvet, long-sleeved and deep blue in colour, with a long skirt that almost dragged on the ground and made it difficult to move. But that didn’t really matter: I was confident I could move as quick as I needed when my time came.

Andrej was rendered speechless by the sight of me in that dress, as was Prince Julien; I got the feeling that he really was a bit enamoured with me, beyond his desire to play the part of the noble prince who was going to save the damsel in distress. But it couldn’t be helped; I just hoped he wouldn’t take it too badly.

One hour before noon, the ceremony started in earnest. Izaak, dressed in a white military uniform trimmed in gold and with an ermine cloak on his shoulders, marched out of the front door of the royal palace, preceded by the high priest of the main temple of Harburg (who would preside over the ceremony) and followed by everyone else. Finally, once everyone had taken their places, came my target: the Sword of Kendrik.

It was being borne on a brocade cushion by a young page, who placed it on the throne, before bowing and retreating away from the stage. I inhaled sharply when I saw the Sword: as I’d remembered, there were glyphs and runes running up and down the scabbard – I could only hope they meant what Sylvie, Andrej and I thought.

Prince Julien, sitting beside me, noticed the change in my demeanour. “Are you nervous?” he asked, reaching over and grabbing my hand.

“A little bit,” I replied honestly.

“Do not worry, my lady,” he smiled. “As soon as this ceremony is over we’ll be on our way to Irbia, and you’ll be free from Izaak’s attentions.”

Gods, he really believed it. He really thought he was going to save me. I felt a pang of guilt at that; he was a nice guy, and we were just using him. But we had no choice.

The crowning ceremony was elaborate, and it involved speeches, prayers, and blessings; it lasted the best part of an hour. Then finally it was time.

Everyone on the stage was made to kneel down; the high priest grabbed hold of the crown, held it aloft, and placed it on Izaak’s head.

“Long live King Izaak the Fourth!” he proclaimed, and kneeled too.

Izaak got to his feet, walked the small distance to the throne, and picked up the Sword of Kendrik.

That was it. That was the moment of truth. If we were wrong…

Izaak gazed around the plaza; the crowd was silent, waiting for his next move. He grabbed the Sword’s hilt with his right hand and the sheathe with his left, and pulled.

The Sword didn’t budge, and I smirked.

Izaak frowned, and gave the hilt a tug again; still no result, the blade wouldn’t come out of its scabbard. He held the Sword up to his eyes, examining it carefully, as if searching for a hidden lever or switch that would release the blade.

“My lord…” Verdun whispered, but Izaak silenced him with a glare.

The crowd was starting to murmur. What was happening? Why was the king not drawing the sword? It was tradition, after all.

And I decided it was time to make my move.

I quickly got to my feet – or as quickly as my dress allowed me to, anyway – and rushed towards Izaak; he had just enough time to give me a wide-eyed stare before I crashed into him shoulder first, sending him tumbling down to the stage, knocking the crown off his head and the Sword from his hands. I snatched it out of the air, and quickly manoeuvred it so I was holding the hilt in my right hand and the scabbard in my left.

“What the hell do you--” Izaak began, but I cut him off.

“Shut up,” I snapped. Then I turned my attention to the task at hand.

The crowd had gasped when the new king had been knocked to the ground, but now, as they saw me standing there, holding the Sword, they were quiet again. There was dead silence in the plaza.

I closed my eyes to offer a brief, silent prayer to the Gods, then opened them again. I looked directly at the Sword, and I pulled.

At first there was a bit of resistance, but then the glyphs and runes that covered the scabbard seemed to shimmer, and the sheathe and the blade separated.

With a soft, silky sound that nevertheless resounded all through the square, I pulled the Sword of Kendrik out of this scabbard and held the blade aloft, pointed towards the sky.

You could’ve cut the silence with a knife. Everyone was staring at me.

Alright now, I’d done my part. Now all that was missing…

“Erica!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

I smiled to myself.

“Erica!” another voice repeated. “Erica!” a third voice said. And then a fourth, a fifth, a hundred voices joined together, shouting my name.

And that’s when the true magic happened.

Someone didn’t just call my name, but shouted “Queen Erica!” instead; the call was echoed by many others around them, and soon spread all through the plaza.

A minute earlier there had been dead silence; now, a thousand people were acclaiming me as the rightful Queen of Harburg.

Still smiling, I looked down at Izaak, who was staring bewildered at me. No, I wasn’t smiling really, it was more of a smirk, which had a clear meaning.

I’ve won.

Izaak blinked once, then twice, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing; but then he shook himself, pointed at me and shouted, “Guards! Seize her!”

In an instant, Andrej was by my side. “Royal Knights, protect your Queen!” he bellowed.

Almost as an automatic reaction, upon hearing their Commander’s voice all the Royal Knights who were on the stage formed a protective barrier around me, while the others who were on the ground drew their swords and squared off against the palace and city guards, as if daring them to try something.

Shouts of “Queen Erica!” continued to resound through the square.

Verdun hurried to Izaak’s side. “My lord, we have to go,” he said, pulling him by the arm, trying to get him to stand up.

“But…” Izaak began to say.

“Now!” Verdun snapped. Izaak looked at him for a moment, then quickly got to his feet, and the two of them ran away towards the royal palace; before anyone could stop them, they had reached the doors and disappeared through them.

“After them!” I shouted, but Andrej held up his arm to stop me.

“My Queen, no,” he said. “It’s too dangerous, let me handle it.”

I glared at him. “Commander Andrej. After everything those two have done to me, I absolutely will not let anyone else handle it. They are mine. You can come with me, or stand aside.”

Andrej held my gaze for a few moments, then nodded. “By your command,” he said.

I took a few steps towards the royal palace, but soon I realised I was having difficulty running in my dress. I stopped, grabbed the side of my long skirt with my left hand, and thrust my blade through the cloth.

For such an ancient weapon, the Sword of Kendrik was still remarkably sharp; it cleanly sliced through the heavy fabric almost as if it wasn’t there. In short order I’d managed to cut off the skirt of my dress below the knee, giving me much more freedom of movement.

I glanced around and saw Prince Julien staring at me. I smiled; “I’m sorry, but it seems our wedding has been cancelled.”

He blinked, but then smiled in return. “Don’t worry, I fully understand. You’re a remarkable person, Queen Erica of Harburg. I’ll see you around.”

I nodded, then paused for a moment. I turned to the closest Royal Knight: “You and the other Knights stay out here,” I ordered. “Prince Julien is under my protection. See that nothing happens to him. And try to avoid anyone else getting lynched if you can help it.” The crowd was getting restless, and I was afraid they were itching to hurt a noble – any noble – if they could get their hands on them.

“By your command, my Queen,” the Knight said, nodding.

I turned back to face the royal palace.

“Are you ready, Erica?” Andrej said.

“I am,” I nodded. “Let’s go get that bastard.”

Swords in hand, we started towards the palace at a full run.