Chapter 20.3

Author's Notes: 1,774 words

The Dragon King slouched in the chair in his room, propping his legs on the table and peering out the narrow window onto the desolate city below.

He sighed and squinted his eyes. Wielde tried to pretend there was an eager parade of loyal followers marching past, sounding trumpets and carrying the royal colors. It had worked when he was ten. Instead, there was still an abandoned street, there was still a man in tattered clothes sleeping beside an alleyway, and all of the flags were almost white with age.

Somebody knocked at his door. "Your Majesty," said one of Wielde’s bishops, "Seres would like you to see him."

Of course. It was always him seeing Seres, never the other way around. A few years ago, he would have wondered who was running the country. Now, he knew for certain it wasn't himself. Grumbling, Wielde pulled his legs back and stood up. "I will find him myself," he said, walking across the room and taking care not to trip over the robe that streamed behind him. He had to remind himself to stand up straight, to avoid the bishop's criticism. "He always stays close to the throne room."

Sure enough, a short walk down the stairs of the tower where Wielde's room resided (the bishop had fled on Wielde's approach, since few dared get in the way of the King) led Wielde directly into the left side of the imposing throne hall. Seres reclined on a seat set towards one of the massive stained-glass windows to the right, scanning through a manuscript.

Standing at the bottom of the steps, Wielde raised his chin and waited for Seres to look up and notice him. Not a response. Wielde, grumbling, stepped across the hall, walking onto the blue carpet that extended up towards the elaborately-carved, massive wooden thrones. The black stone absorbed most all of the light, so that even the windows to the side cast a weak glow on their surroundings. Seres had propped a table where a candle still smoked faintly - he must have lit it when he had been touring the building's defenses, Wielde thought, or some other boring task.

"Hello?" Wielde said at last, standing in front of Seres. He stamped his foot as Seres's eyes poked above the paper.

"Yes, hello," Seres replied gruffly, setting the paper on the table and placing his hands on his knees. "How have you been?"

Wielde scoffed. "As if you care. Just get to the point."

"Who do you want to crown you?" Seres said, standing up. "The King decides."

Baffled that he would have a decision in his own coronation (and not be shut out of the meeting halls where the bishops planned it), Wielde stammered. His robes shuddered as he pulled on his collar. "Maybe my cousin?" he said at last.

"Any reason for that?" Seres said, raising an eyebrow and pulling out a thin smile.

Wielde blushed and raised his voice. "She is the best, friendliest soldier we have; it would show the people -"

Seres leaned back in his chair. "We don't have any people," he said, sitting rigidly. "I've already been told that you take a great deal of interest in her." The smile stayed.

At times like these, Wielde despised Seres's know-it-all attitude. It was justified, as the latter had numerous informants spread out among the city, and Wielde knew that even his slightest breath would reach Seres's ears eventually. It also made sure that Seres came across as the superior man. "N-nonsense!" Wielde said, raising his arms dramatically. "She merely shows her talents. Is that not something to admire?"

To Wielde's surprise, Seres smirked. Turning his head towards a corner of the hall, Seres said, "He is smitten. I hadn't thought Wyandanch's royalty kept it in the family."

Wheeling around, Wielde watched as a lady in a black suit appeared from the darkened corner, striding confidently. He knew he had seen her before, usually whenever Seres had received some report that had been "confidential" enough for Wielde to be pushed out of the room, but he had never heard her speak a word. But there was a first time for everything.

"After that mess with our young King's grandfather, it makes sense," the lady said, voice slightly deep. She stepped past the fuming Wielde and stood behind Seres's seat, her arms stretching down the embroidered front.

Wielde scowled, stamping his foot. "Is that why you brought me down here?" he said, cheeks turning red, voice jumping up another octave. "To taunt me?"

While the lady withdrew from her spot, Seres stood up, clapping his hands momentarily. "You almost sounded like a king there," he said, cupping his chin in his hand and nodding. "You still sound like a child, I'm afraid. "Yet, you'll be happy to know we approve - she will coronate you."

"Seriously?" Wielde took a step back. He blinked and composed himself, pulling up his chin. "I mean, it is good to see you finally honoring your King."

Seres's smile widened. He steepled his fingers. "Even better," he continued, "you can then coronate her."

He couldn't resist. Jaw dropping, Wielde struggled to find the words. "You want me to make her the queen?  That could only mean -"

"You will marry her," Seres finished, walking towards Wielde. On stopping a couple feet away from Wielde, Seres pointed towards the ceiling. Wielde's eyes followed, capturing the sight of a mural that he had seen countless times in his meditation sessions with his bishops. A man holding a gleaming sword fending off a dragon that was attempting to encircle The Pillars. The spare hand of the man held a bag that spilled out gold coins, falling onto a few men with dragon heads. Wielde knew the meaning; it symbolized Wyandanch's garnering the favor of the compliant dragons and crushing the rebellious ones.

Spreading his arms wide, Seres gestured towards the design. "We need another general to lead this land. I'm growing old, and I have a wife and children to be with. She’ll account for your weak heart and lack of talent with the sword, and maybe you’ll be the ones to finally crush the heart of the Alliance!"

A coldness seeped from the back of Wielde's head as Seres spoke. "In other words," Wielde said as Seres finished speaking and looked down, beaming, "You believe that she can carry on your legacy. You want her to unite the Confederacy, and leave me sitting at home and trying to peddle the policies you think are too merciful and too stupid."

Seres laughed. "How wise of you! The coronation will be in a month. I'll see to it that my family attends."

"Anyone else?" Wielde said, walking towards the thrones. "Or will it the quietest coronation in two thousand years?"

This had little effect on Seres's mood, as Wielde saw when he sat on the ground in front of the thrones and watched Seres's unconquerable smile. "My wife would love to see her distant cousin crowned, and I believe she and our children can arrive in time. Eurynome and Trevonn are still devoted to their search, but I imagine they could be coaxed to see a good show. We should have dignitaries soon enough -"

"Who?" moaned Wielde, burying his head in his hands. "The only countries that care for us are far away. How is it that you can pull all the joy out of my coronation? I will still be your puppet."

Now Seres sounded tense. "A month is enough time," he said, a twitch at the edge of his mouth. "And your birthday isn’t a secret. The date of your crowning has been a secret for years, for security’s sake, but they’ve known it will be by your 18th birthday, and many have been here for quite some time. You are no puppet; you are a King."

Wielde had little interest in angering Seres by suggesting that the two were not mutually exclusive, so he looked around for something else to say. "If you already knew," he said, placing a hand on the floor and pointing to the lady who hid in the darkness. "Why did you bring her?"

"Formality," the lady said before Seres could speak, stepping out of the shadows. "He also believes that I could serve as a spy."

"Why?" Wielde said, shoulders slumping. A spy for whom? "And what is your name?"

The lady smiled. "I'm Veta, and I'm the personal guard to the Lord of the Rats. Seres hopes that giving me to you will keep the old Lord happy."

Wielde had little interest in the rat people; he knew they kept to themselves, lurked beneath the city, and always had a tenuous relationship with their human neighbors. The rats considered that their slavery under the dragons had been replaced by slavery under the humans, which made diplomacy interesting. "So be it," he said. "Will the 'old Lord' be in attendance?"

Veta looked away. "He's ill. Hopefully for not much longer. I will come in his place."

"That could either mean that he lives or dies," Wielde said, eyes drooping ever further.

"Yes," Veta said.

"And who will succeed him?" Wielde said, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly while still sounding laconic.

Veta shied away. Seeing this, Seres leaped into the conversation, stepping forward. "That is irrelevant," he said quickly. "The coronation is in a month, the marriage will be shortly before it, and you have much to prepare for."

"I suppose so." Wielde stood and turned around, observing the thrones. "I will be sitting in the King's seat. For the first time in eighteen years, it will not be empty anymore."

"Your father was a good man -" began Seres in a voice that sounded so nauseatingly fake to Wielde's ears (though he would later wonder if he imagined it, much as it fell in line with Seres's normal degree of contempt).

Wielde, in that moment, spun around. "He was a reckless blowhard who abandoned my mother and left her to fall into madness, literally and otherwise. In eighteen long years, Wyandanch has been picking up the pieces, and now the picture is almost complete. I would like to finish it myself."

For once, Seres was speechless, outstretched hand frozen. Wielde's cheeks burned, and he felt tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he sprinted towards the staircase. He made his way up the stairs - due to his inability to see anything beyond a hazy blur, he collided with them, and spent a few seconds pushing himself up - vanishing in a wave of blue.