Chapter Thirty One
Feared and Beloved

 

The world, Vera realized, looked different from high up. The city, the Capital, spread out below her. The concentric circles of its walls, and the houses built between them according to a pattern that made less sense with every passing year. With the sun down, she could see lanterns moving through the streets. It was like watching candles float down a stream. 

“Not bad,” Aesling said. “You know. For humans.” Vera smirked. “I’ll grant you that the view from up here is… pleasant.” The ‘up here’ Aesling was referring to was the King’s quarters’ balcony. They were wearing a gorgeous green dress that had been specifically chosen because it went with their eyes so well, flowing gently in the evening breeze.

“I assume it’s to remind the King every morning who his subjects are,” Vera mused. 

“More likely,” Clarus said, “it’s so that could look down at his domain or some such.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. “The Kings who built the Palace, and the city around it, were conquerors first and foremost.” 

“Is that why everyone just calls it ‘The Capital’?” Vera joked. She knew almost nobody called it Coalis. Clarus rested his chin on her head as they looked out together. 

“Most likely. I know that’s why they named their kingdom ‘The Kingdom.’ They were great warriors, if their histories are to be believed, but great poets they were not.”

“Nobody named it afterwards?” Vera looked behind her with a skeptical smile, which Clarus promptly planted a kiss on. “How dare you,” she giggled. 

“Just like that,” Clarus said. “Anyway, plenty have tried. It was ‘Fortitudo’ for a generation or two, but it didn’t stick. ‘Nativitatis’ didn’t even survive for two years. Someone tried to name it the Kingdom of Lucis after himself, but he was beheaded after six days.” He smiled sheepishly. “The Country’s history is a bit of a mess.”

“I’ll say,” Aesling laughed.

“Lucis?” Vera asked. “Like Lucius? Like your father?”

“Yes,” Clarus said. “My father was actually Lucius the Twelfth. I am, I’m happy to say, Clarus, First of my name.” He looked back at the city. “Maybe you can name it?” 

“The Vera Queendom,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t hate the sound of that.”

“Feared around the world,” Clarus said, “she ruled with a stern yet gentle hand.”

“Feared and Beloved,” Vera corrected him. “She brought about an era of peace and prosperity.” She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. He smiled faintly like lilacs, his shirt of a material softer than any she’d ever felt, let alone before she’d been moved into the Palace. “I think I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’ll be more than happy being ‘Vera the Quiet, Queen Consort to Clarus the Bright,’ if it’s all the same.”

“I don’t believe for a second that you,” Clarus said with a little kiss on her nose, “will fade into anything as obscure as that.” He raised an eyebrow. “That goes for both of you. Although after the attack, it’s probably best the general public isn’t aware of Aesling just yet.”

“We did the same when I was with Clarus,” Aesling explained after taking over the reins for a moment. “The scrutiny would have been unbearable, so we decided to hide my existence. From everyone.”

“Including my father,” Clarus said. “He wouldn’t have understood.”

“I don’t like the idea of hiding you,” Vera said, slipping back forward. “But I see the wisdom in it.”

“Regardless, I’ve never met any two women, any two people, as capable as you two are. Together? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t take the world by storm.” He smirked. “Although I’d like to enjoy peacetime for a while.”

“I wasn’t planning on starting any wars,” Vera laughed. “But I’ll keep it under advisement regardless, your highness.”

“You had better not call me that after tomorrow,” Clarus said. 

“I’m nervous,” Vera said. Clarus kissed her softly, and then gently held her against him.

“There’s no need, love. First of all, the ceremony is very difficult to ruin, I promise you. My great-great-great-grandmother set a precedent, and with it a very low bar to clear.”

“What did she d—”

“She burned the palace down,” Clarus said matter-of-factly. “She dropped a candle on her dress and, while running outside to the pond, she lit up the banners and several guests.”

“Oh Saints, I shouldn’t laugh at that,” Vera said, absolutely laughing at that. 

“And beyond that, there’s not a soul in this city that does not think you’re worthy of the throne,” Clarus continued. “I think some of them consider you more qualified than myself. You did slay the Cavean, after all.” Vera just grumbled, unwilling to admit defeat. “And finally, if someone decides to oppose your coronation and our marriage, I’ll be happy to duel them.”

“You are, and will ever be, my hero, Clarus,” Vera said. She was only kidding a little bit. “I just hope I’ll do well.” 

“I know you will,” Clarus said. “You’ve been deserving of the title of Queen since the moment we met. All we’ve left to do is formalize that fact.”

“If you say so,” Vera said. “Are you sure there isn’t more I should do? The official words are… sparse.” She’d been rehearsing the coronation ceremony with the majordomo. Despite the actual ritual apparently taking over three hours, she had only a few sentences she was expected to repeat. 

“I am sure,” Clarus said. “The words were shortened after my great-great-grandmother forgot her lines.”

“Don’t tell me she also set the Palace on fire,” Vera joked.

“No, she stabbed the Godsman,” Clarus said. The noise Vera made was distinctly unladylike. The two of them spent a few minutes chuckling at things they shouldn’t, before relaxing into each other’s arms again. “Anyway,” Clarus continued, “you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“If you say so, love.”

“I would ask that you do not stab any officials or burn down the Palace, though.”

Vera nodded sagely. “It’d be frowned upon.”

“Exactly.”

“But in keeping with tradition.”

“True.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself. I’ll ask Aesling for help.”

“I appreciate it,” Clarus said, and he finally stepped away, leaning on the balcony railing and looking out at the city, the moon bright in the night sky. “It’s strange,” he said. “It feels like I’ve been fighting for so long, this peace feels… unreal.”

“I’m sorry,” Vera said. For Clarus, the war had never ended, after all. His slumber had gone by in the blink of an eye. His magical sleep, though it had capped off the war for the rest of the Kingdom, had been a gambit. He’d closed his eyes to violence, and he’d woken up to it. “But you can rest, love. Please do.”

“Sadly,” Clarus said, “I can’t.” Vera raised a curious eyebrow. “Sadly, there are one or two more things that need my input for tomorrow that I’ve been putting off.”

“Well then go do them,” Vera said, scolding him with a playful swat on the shoulder.

“I would have expected you to try and keep me here!” Clarus laughed.

“Well, for one, this way you’ll be back in your room, and our arms, sooner.” 

“Royal We?”

“Practical We,” Aesling said with a wink. 

“And secondly,” Vera continued, “it’s not every day I become Queen. If there’s something that still needs to be done, I’d rather it be done sooner rather than later.”

“As you wish, my Princess,” Clarus said with a deep bow. “I will attend my duties, then find my way back to you, as I ever will.”

“You’d better,” Vera said, and then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss that briefly, but brightly, set the night aflame, and then she let him go. “I love you.”

“I adore you, Vera, Aesling,” Clarus said. “If every star in the night sky came down right now and burned a hole through the earth itself, it would be like a candle compared to even a fraction of my burning love for you.”

“You,” Vera and Aesling said together, “are ridiculous. We adore you. Now go!” They laughed. Clarus’ perfect grin drew their gaze with him all the way out the door, until it closed behind him. 

“What a fool,” Ash said. “Our perfect fool.”

“Ours,” Vera said, sighing wistfully as she leaned against the banister. “How’d we get so lucky?” 

“All thanks to you,” Aesling said. “For which I’ll never stop being grateful.”

“You’ve already done more for me than I could ever repay you for,” Vera said, “so don’t you start.” She smiled into the evening air. Spring had warmed the stones, and it was taking a wonderful moment to lose its heat.

“How touching.” The voice set Vera’s teeth on edge. She frowned and closed her eyes. She was not going to permit tonight — or tomorrow, for that matter — to be ruined by something like that. 

“Quiet, you,” Aesling said to the Cavean, but Vera nonetheless allowed herself to slip into Aesling’s grove. They stood next to each other in the clearing, the Cavean on its knees in the shadow between the trees, a desiccated form, barely recognizable as something even resembling a human. “It’s been attempting to free itself all night.”

“I know,” Vera said, “I can feel it, gnawing at the back of my mind. Did it make any progress?” Aesling shook her head as she kneeled in front of the faceless thing. 

“No,” she said. “My bonds are too strong. But I can not shut it up, no matter what I do.”

“You can not cage me forever,” the Cavean said. “I contain the power of infinities.”

“Yeah, you seem plenty contained,” Vera said. “At the end of the day, you were never more powerful than us.” 

“Wrong,” it snarled. “I will survive you both, and I’ll wear your face as I burn this wo—”

“I told you to be quiet,” Aesling interrupted. 

“One day,” the Cavean said, ignoring her. “You may keep your guard up forever, but one day, you’ll realize the power contained in my very being…”

“And you will break out, yes, yes,” Vera said.

“No. You will be desperate and alone and afraid. And then you’ll have no choice but to come to me.”

“Over my dead body,” Vera snarled. 

“It may very well come to that,” it said, and Vera could swear it was grinning, despite not having a mouth to grin with. “You have had a taste of power, Vera, but this woodland sprite’s magic will fail you, in time. And when it does, I will be here. Waiting. And th—” 

“I think I can silence it for a while,” Aesling said, talking over it, “but not indefinitely.” She stood up and joined Vera again. “At the very least I can shut it up for the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Ash,” Vera said. “I’m sorry you can’t officially marry him.”

“Don’t worry, this is much better than simply existing in his head,” Aesling grinned.

“Does he know?” Vera and Aesling turned back to the Cavean. 

“Does Clarus know what?” Vera asked, her voice sharp. 

“That the one who killed his father lives inside of the body of his Queen to be.” The usual gravel in the Cavean’s voice had given way to something more viscous, like tar. “Does he know, Vera, that I will always be with you? That every time he holds y—” Vines and moss grew over the Cavean, its voice muffled. The growth was already blackening as its monstrous presence eroded Aesling’s magic.

“Get some rest, Vera,” Aesling said. “And don’t listen to it. All it wants is to upset you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said. “Yes. You’re right.” She looked at the Cavean, no longer visible as it was covered in plants. She stepped out of the grove and back into the real world. 

The evening breeze had become cold, and she wrapped her arms around herself. When she went back inside, the cold came in and stayed with her, all the way until Clarus found his way back to her. By the time they fell asleep, the Cavean’s words were barely a bad memory. By morning, she’d forgotten about them. 

She was going to be a Queen, after all.