Entry 30: A royal summons

Dear diary,
 
A few days had slipped by since the chaos at the embassy, giving us just enough time to rest up for the inevitable royal summons. The invitation finally came, calling us to the palace in the early afternoon. Naturally, we agreed to go together as a group, because why not? There’s always some comfort in numbers, especially when facing royalty.
 
It’s a sight that never fails to entertain me, watching my friends scramble to make themselves presentable. Each of them had dropped a hefty amount of their hard-earned coin on extravagant outfits, dressed to impress the court in all their finery. Meanwhile, I stood out even more by choosing the same simple black dress I’d worn to the embassy party. No frills, no sparkles, just me.
 
As we approached the palace entrance on Palace Hill, Sir Donovan was already waiting for us. He greeted us with a warm smile, his usual armor replaced by a formal tunic that suited his status. “I hope this visit will be more pleasant than the last,” he said with a chuckle, alluding to the mess we’d gone through last time we were there. He gave us a brief rundown of the day's events. First up was an audience with the king and queen. Then, we’d be officially knighted into our respective orders in a grand ceremony. After that? A party, naturally.
 
We were even allowed to invite guests. Without much thought, I had a messenger sent to Zem and Saphira.
 
After briefing us on the day’s itinerary and sending out messengers, Sir Donovan led us to the royal stables. There, he revealed that each of us was being gifted a warhorse from the king’s personal stock. It was an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise. I suppose if we’re to be knights, we should have steeds to match.
 
I wasted no time and picked out the smallest black horse in the lot. It seemed skittish, but a quick apple from my robes soothed her nerves. I named her Cara right then and there, feeling a connection almost instantly. As I watched the others struggle—some of them fighting for control over their horses—it was hard not to notice Sir Donovan watching us closely, his sharp eyes measuring each of us. It felt like this was more than just a generous gift; this was a test of our ability to adapt, to lead.
 
Once everyone managed to wrangle their mounts and climb into their saddles, Sir Donovan took the lead. We followed him up the winding path of Palace Hill, past the towering marble steps of the Octagon, and across the glittering marble bridge that led to the palace itself. Everything was so grand, almost obscenely so. The luxury, the gold, the sheer excess—it was all in sharp contrast to the reality most people faced in the streets below. It stirred something in me, a familiar distaste for the nobility and their careless decadence.
 
Trumpets blared as we arrived, heralding us like we were something special. We were escorted through a long, richly decorated hallway lined with portraits of the royal family. As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice something unsettling. The last four kings looked eerily similar—too similar. They all had the same sharp features, the same eyes, and even the same scar across their faces. Strangely, the scar seemed to fade over the generations, as if healing slowly with time.
 
A disturbing thought struck me then. What if the king wasn’t who he claimed to be? What if he wasn’t passing the crown from father to son as everyone believed? Could it be the same man, the same immortal being, pretending to be his own descendants? The royals were known for their dealings with the fey. Could our king be one of them? What secrets did this family hide behind their golden masks?
 
As these unsettling questions swirled in my mind, we were greeted by a herald wielding a staff crackling with arcane energy. He moved down the line, one by one, checking each of us for magical items, asking our names and heraldic symbols. I watched carefully as the magical staff seemed to pulse in his hands, its light shifting as it passed over each of us, as if seeking secrets hidden beneath the surface.
 
Once the inspection was complete, the colossal doors behind the herald groaned open, revealing the grandeur of the throne room. The space was breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, polished marble floors that gleamed like water, and rows upon rows of nobles and knights, all waiting for us. As we stepped inside, massive magical projections of our heraldries flickered to life in the air above us, to the sound of polite applause. I couldn’t help but cringe a little as we were led down the long aisle toward the throne, where King Carolus III sat watching.
 
The king was a towering figure—tall and lean, but radiating power. His gaze was sharp, unwavering, like a hawk assessing its prey. As we approached, he stood and gave a small introduction, thanking us for our service to the city, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. But he didn’t linger in the spotlight. Instead, he invited us to share our own story with the court, his eyes glinting with an almost predatory curiosity.
 
One by one, we each stepped forward and recounted our journey, filling the throne room with tales of bravery, magic, and peril. I could feel the crowd hanging on every word, watching with rapt attention. Even the king seemed impressed, though his expression was impossible to read entirely. When we finished, the applause was warm, though I could sense a layer of scrutiny beneath the admiration.
 
Then came the questions. One by one, the king asked us each something pointed, something personal. His tone was polite, but his words were sharp, precise, as if he were peeling back layers to see what truly lay beneath our surfaces. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a matter of royal curiosity. He was testing us, assessing our worth beyond the deeds we’d accomplished. He wanted to know what kind of people we were—what kind of knights we would be.
 
When it came my turn, I chose not to make a spectacle of my magic. I left the grand gestures and fireworks to my brother, Luke, whose mastery over spells always dazzled in moments like this. My magic was more subtle, more restrained—better suited to saving lives and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. There was no need to show off for the sake of applause. The king’s eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than the others, but he said nothing more, moving on to the next.
 
But I could feel it—the weight of his gaze. He wasn’t just looking at us; he was weighing us. And somewhere, deep inside, I knew that this audience was more than just a formal ceremony. It was a test, one we had only just begun to understand.
 
As soon as the questioning concluded, King Carolus gestured to the Record Keeper, signaling the second of his gifts. His deep voice filled the room, carrying the weight of his next pronouncement: we were to be elevated into nobility, granted land to care for—a mark of status and responsibility. I could see the gleam of anticipation in the eyes of my companions, but when it came to me, I did something that seemed to genuinely baffle the king—I refused.
 
The moment stretched out, the king’s brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His gaze fixed on me, as if he couldn’t quite understand my decision. Refusing nobility was a rare thing, almost unheard of. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, but I stood firm. How could I, in good faith, accept a title I had spent so long railing against? I had always been skeptical of the power and privilege that nobility afforded, especially when so many suffered under their rule. It didn’t suit me—not now, not ever. The people of Ravensfield receiving a new home was reward enough for me.
 
The king paused, but eventually, he nodded, though I could sense his lingering bewilderment. With that, he moved on, waving us toward our knightly orders, signaling that the formal audience was done. But something in our deeds must have impressed him, for he promised to attend the celebration following the ceremony—a rare honor.
 
As we exited the grand throne room, heading toward the sprawling cathedral on Palace Hill, Sir Donovan sidled up beside me. His expression was a mix of curiosity and surprise. "Why did you refuse?" he asked, his tone genuinely puzzled. His eyes searched mine, as though he was trying to understand what made me different from the others who had gladly accepted their titles.
 
I smiled slightly, careful to conceal the full extent of my reasoning. "I’m a witch, first and foremost," I said simply, my voice calm and steady. "Nobility doesn’t suit me." That much was true, though I left out the deeper resentment I held for what nobility represented to me. He seemed to accept my answer with a nod, though I could sense his lingering questions.
 
The initiation ceremony was nothing short of grand. The cathedral loomed above us, its massive stained-glass windows casting colorful patterns on the floor as sunlight streamed in. The place was filled with knights and priests, all gathered for this momentous occasion. At the altar, the heads of the knightly orders awaited us, their presence imposing and solemn. We were asked if we followed any specific deity, and only Luke and Alistan stepped forward to name their gods. The rest of us stood in silence, our allegiances less defined by divine favor.
 
The atmosphere inside the cathedral was electric—both reverent and charged with anticipation. As we approached the altar, I felt the weight of centuries of tradition pressing down on us. This was no mere formality; it was a rite of passage, a moment that would mark us forever as knights of Keralon. And yet, even as I stood among my companions, I couldn’t shake the sense that my path remained different. I was a witch, a protector of the downtrodden, and no title or ceremony would ever change that.
 
As the initiation began, I steeled myself for what was to come, knowing that, title or no title, this was a new chapter. One that, despite everything, I was ready to face.
 
The ceremony, thankfully, was short and to the point. We each recited our vows, pledging to serve Keralon and its people. It felt like a formality on the surface, but the weight of those words hung heavy in the air. The priest, garbed in his ceremonial robes, knelt before each of us in turn. When he reached me, he leaned in and asked in a soft voice for us to whisper what we wished to achieve as knights.
 
My answer might seem simple, but there was depth to it: I wish to bring equality, prosperity, justice, and peace to the people of Keralon. The words weren’t grandiose, but they held the heart of everything I wanted. A desire for real change, for something better.
 
As I whispered my vow, a sudden, searing pain shot through my arm. I bit back a gasp, feeling the gods themselves brand me with their mark. It wasn’t just a sign of their approval, but a reminder of the weight of my promise. In return for that pain, they gifted me a small token of magic—a tool to help me fulfill my vows. I could feel it, humming just beneath my skin, a reminder of the power I now held, and the responsibility that came with it.
 
With the ceremony complete, we were led outside, greeted by the deafening cheers of the knights and priests who had gathered. But beyond them, outside the cathedral, was an even larger crowd—citizens, friends, and well-wishers. Among them, I spotted Zem and Saphira, their faces beaming with pride. I broke away from the others and headed toward them, enveloping them both in a hug.
 
I told them everything—the ceremony, my vow, and my decision to refuse the noble title. Zem, always the practical one, gave me a look that screamed disapproval. "Are you mad?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "Refusing such an offer?"
 
But Saphira, bless her, understood me better than anyone. Her eyes softened, and she nodded, her smile warm. "You’ve always walked your own path," she said, her voice full of quiet understanding. "And I wouldn’t expect anything less."
 
That’s why I keep them close. Where Zem sees only the missed opportunity, Saphira sees me—the real me.
 
The party was lively, more casual than I expected for something hosted in the wake of a royal ceremony. It was informal, but the energy was electric. As we entered, I spotted none other than Viviene, the last person I wanted to deal with at that moment. Before I could slip away unnoticed, I saw her approach Liliana, gifting her something of her own. "It’s only fair," Viviene said with a smile, "since you didn’t receive a gift during the ceremony."
 
Liliana seemed genuinely touched, but I didn’t stick around to hear more. I mingled, trying to blend in with the knights and other guests, talking and drinking, keeping the conversation light. It was strange to be in this space—celebrated, respected, yet always feeling like an outsider among them.
 
About an hour into the party, King Carolus arrived, dressed down and looking more like one of the knights than a monarch. His demeanor was shockingly relaxed, like he was just one of us. He moved through the crowd with ease, eventually seeking us out. When he found us, he told us, with a sly grin, that he had another gift in mind. But this one, he said, would require us to pass a test.
 
Curiosity—and suspicion—immediately set in. We followed the king outside, where a group of hooded nobles stood waiting, forming a semi-circle. The king explained that he wanted to see us fight, firsthand. If we succeeded, we’d earn a generous sum of gold to help manage our newly acquired lands. If we failed, though, we’d have to return the warhorses we had just been gifted.
 
My friends seemed eager, seeing it as a chance to prove themselves before the king. But something about this felt... off. Why the audience? Why the test in front of these hooded nobles? My mind raced. Was the king testing us to see if we were a threat? Was this some veiled assessment of our capabilities? I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than just a simple display of skill.
 
And I wasn't sure I liked where it was heading.
 
Seeing the excitement in the eyes of my companions, I went along with their decision to take on the challenge. King Carolus allowed us to choose our adversary—two golems stood waiting, each with its own strengths. After a brief discussion, I suggested we take on the golem with strong resistance to magic but vulnerable to physical attacks. I figured we could handle that with ease, and I was right.
 
The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The golem, though towering and intimidating, was no match for our combined strength. Blades and arrows found their marks with precision, and even the little magic we did use seemed to have some effect. Before long, the golem crumbled to the ground, its massive form reduced to rubble.
 
The king’s applause was almost immediate, his face lighting up with genuine admiration. He congratulated us, his voice filled with pride as if he had known all along we would win. As he lavished praise on my companions, I took advantage of the distraction and quietly reached out with my mind. I scanned the thoughts of the hooded nobles surrounding us, seeking answers to my nagging doubts.
 
What I found left me uneasy. Their surface thoughts were fleeting, erratic, and wild—similar to what I’d expect from the fey, not from ordinary humans. These nobles, or whatever they were, masked their true nature behind the chaos in their minds. The king, however, was another matter. His mind was shielded, completely inaccessible to my probing. No ordinary human could block me out like that.
 
This only confirmed what I had feared. King Carolus wasn’t just allied with the fey; there was a high chance he was one of them. Or something worse.
 
I need to talk to Luke about this. If anyone would understand the gravity of what I just discovered, it’s him. We may have just uncovered a secret far more dangerous than any golem or noble conspiracy. Something is deeply wrong with the royal court, and I fear it’s only the beginning.