Countess Lynette ap Cadell de Luxeuil stared at the mossy granite of the stone circle as she sat outside her expanding cabin. For a noblewoman from Ceredigion, this was probably the least impressive stone circle she had ever seen. The formation was little more than a ring of two dozen jagged, uneven rocks, which reached up to about chest-height.

But in the end, size didn't matter, only the function it served.

The stone circles had many nicknames: faerie rings, Tylwyth crossroads, Sidhe pathways, et cetera. They were ruins of a bygone era, infrastructure built by an ancient race. The era recorded in the Book of Invasions had long passed. The Faerie Lords had returned to their otherworld realm, but the legacy they left behind lingered on.

Nor were the circles mere decorations. They were built according to the ley-lines. Some stood at major junctions, now enveloped by cities and citadels. Others sat at mystical locations of exceptional magical power, sacred to followers of the Druidic faith. The one she guarded lay at an unusual intersection -- an outbound fork in the local ley-line.

Their purpose was to function as transit hubs. It was an ancient magic, an art lost to most, but not all.

A faekissed Princess of the Empire, Lynette thought to herself. A true scion of the Faerie Lords.

The late emperor Geoffroi had married the daughter of some obscure count, so it had gone unnoticed by most. Yet through her, the royal line of House Gaetane acquired one of the lingering bloodlines of beings from the Otherworld.

The Princess was an autumnborn. They had awful springtime allergies that even magic failed to suppress. If memory served, Sylviane looked downright miserable during the outdoor ceremony of Lynette's traditional Ceredigion wedding, in May.

Lynette had been raised under the cross. She believed in the Holy Father and had never converted to the Druidic faith. But even amongst the Trinitians of Ceredigion, there would always be a soft spot in their hearts and minds for those of fae lineage. The faekissed represented a connection to their ancestors, a bridge that could connect modernity with ancient history.

It was an odd sentimentality. The Faerie Lords -- or 'Tylwyth' as they were called in Brython -- were anything but just. The Seelie Court proved impulsive and chaotic, while the Unseelie Court stood callous and demanding. They were legendary in many aspects, yet being good rulers had never been one of them. It also didn't help that they occasionally kidnapped human children to be raised among their own kind, leaving behind a changeling surprise for the poor mothers.

Regardless, the common peasant would be ecstatic to have an empress of fae blood, however diluted it might be after countless generations. Nevertheless, Lynette was the educated daughter of a count. She had to ask herself the important question first:

Would a faekissed -- an immature princess only twenty-one years of age -- truly be good for the present dilemmas facing Rhin-Lotharingie?

Gabriel might be a pretender, but he was also shrewd and cunning. His charisma had seduced even the Papal Inquisition, whose Knights Templar he threw into the grinder like pawns. Even his organizational prowess had proved itself in seizing the crown, as nobody in Alis Avern even realized what was happening before he dealt the fatal blow.

A pretender that could best Emperor Geoffroi, who had been monikered 'the Great'. Perhaps Gabriel really could bring salvation in Rhin-Lotharingie's hour of greatest need.

But if that's the case, then why is he just sitting there in Alis Avern!? Why isn't he heading south, toward the front lines that push ever closer to my homeland?

Lynette's fists were still clenched when a sentry called out:

"INCOMING AIRBORNE FORMATION!"

Then, fear pierced the air as the cry turned shrill.

"PHANTOMS!!!"

Weichsel might be a nominal ally of the Empire now, but no veteran would forget the terror that struck deep into Rhin-Lotharingie during the War of Imperial Succession ten years ago. The dread was further heightened as Knights Phantom dove down from the clouds behind the white-blue flames of an Oriflamme Paladin.

Crown Princess Sylviane led the charge herself. And behind her followed ten royal armigers and several hundred Knights Phantom. These were the finest soldiers of both Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie. There was no chance that Lynette could fight them and win!

The Countess could feel her nape hairs stand up in cold sweat. Nevertheless she pulled her longbow off her armored back before crying out:

"FORM UP! AIR DEFENSE!"

She had no air cavalry, no rangers. Her band of largely militia archers was led by only thirty professional armigers.

She had accepted this mission from Duke Hugh in place of her bedridden husband, who was still recovering from a riding accident. It seemed an easy task to curry favor from one of the most powerful families of Rhin-Lotharingie. But now, Lynette was certain it hadn't been worth it.

Against an Oriflamme and three hundred Phantoms, her men didn't stand a chance.

But to her dying moment, Lynette would never be as surprised as when the burning chevron that soared straight towards her -- a scalpel about to take the head of the commander -- shot back up in an acrobatic loop before braking to a hover above the camp.

"SOLDIERS OF RHIN-LOTHARINGIE!" The Princess' magically amplified shout reverberated across the air.

Hundreds of bows rose. Countless arrows were aimed for release. Yet the Cerulean Princess paid them no attention as she addressed the camp with all the authority of a true sovereign.

She did not yell following those opening words. She did not bellow for attention or gesture with melodramatic theatrics. Instead, her magnified voice began slow, calm, and methodical, even as they rang with the confidence of the Holy Father himself:

"I am Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane. But I come to you today, not as an aspirant for the throne, or royalty demanding of your obedience, or even a commandant calling upon your service. I stand before you, as a woman of the Lotharin plains, a daughter of her forests, a comrade to all who stand shoulder to shoulder on the front lines of our faith, and most of all -- a paladin sworn to uphold her duty to kingdom, empire, and the Holy Father."

The entire camp had fallen to an eerie silence. Even the birds of the nearby woods fell quiet, their attention enthralled by the burning figure in the skies.

"Even as I speak before you now, the evil hordes of Cataliya advance through our countryside," Princess Sylviane then made her first gesture, finger pointing sharply to the southwest as she gradually built up her tone. "Those slaves of corrupt tyrants from the demon-tainted continent know no honor, no faith. They were trained from boyhood to obey, to submit as blindly to their immoral masters as they do to their false prophet. They follow orders without question -- whether they be to pillage the homes of our countrymen, or to slit the throats of our sons and ravish the innocence of our daughters! They would even desecrate the holiness of our faith and the grace of our Lord and Savior who died for the world's sins!"

Lynette had yet to hear any tales of atrocities from the south. Unlike her simple-minded soldiers, she would not be so easily agitated by such an eloquent canvas of blood and debauchery. But Her Highness did have a point:

The Cataliyan Ghulams were raised as slave-soldiers before being given their freedom upon entering the professional ranks. These were men who knew no fear and harbored no ethics. Under a chivalrous lord, they might maintain discipline and stay their hand. But it would take only one order, one sinful moment of man, before the tears of women and the blood of children ran a new river to the sea.

Unfortunately, humans sinned aplenty, especially among the infamous decadence of the south.

Without independence, without both military power and legal authority, the various Lotharin cultures would have no way to defend themselves. They had learned under centuries of brutal Imperial occupation what it felt like to be subjugated people, who must prostrate themselves before the whims of foreign rulers.

"The Caliphate comes with chains and yokes to enslave our society, our culture, and our faith." The Princess then closed a fist before her chest. "Our nation sits upon the brink of disaster. Our land calls for our every aid! Tens of thousands have answered! Yet even as they drench the fields in foreign blood, the armies of this so-called 'Khalifa' continue to attack, to advance, to threaten our families, our lands, our way of life! In this struggle for the very existence of our identity, we must unite! To turn and face our common foe, not to squabble among ourselves for crowns and power and gold!"

From the corner of her eyes, Lynette could see that all but a small fraction of her soldiers had completely forgotten about their weapons. Their bows now hung loosely to one side as their spellbound stares transfixed themselves upon the Oriflamme Princess. Many, like her, even nodded along in agreement, as embers of patriotic zeal burned within their eyes.

In the span of just moments, the charisma of this twenty-one years old girl had enraptured the thoughts of several hundred men.

"It is for this reason that I come before you," Her Highness continued on, her rising fervor working itself up into a shout once more. "Our ally, King Leopold of Weichsel, warden of the Trinitian March, has pledged his support in the name of the Holy Father! His first wave of men and supplies ride with me, to reinforce our southern lines which so desperately need all aid! We come before you for passage, to gate south for the salvation of our realm! I care not for whom your loyalties are sworn. But if you have any pride left as a protector of Rhin-Lotharingie, YOU WILL STAY OUT OF OUR WAY!"

For a brief second, Lynette felt the air knocked out of her lungs as the intensity of the Princess' final words struck home. To notice her own swelling hopes and unmasked guilt, to realize that her command was on the brink of mutiny, to visualize the crowning halo of light surrounding that burning-blue hair...

The floating figure before them no longer seemed a mere girl who happened to draw the straw of royalty.

She is an Empress in the making.

On that day, Countess Lynette became the first Rhin-Lotharingie commander who swore an oath of fealty beneath the banner of Crown Princess Sylviane.

She was joined soon after, by all six-hundred-and-forty-three of her men.