Bound by Duty

It is rare for two vastly different kingdoms to maintain a permanent friendly relationship, and even rarer for the rulers of such powers to be genuine friends.

The powerful kingdom of Arevia, surrounded by the ocean on three sides, had bred kings of the de Montoya line for generations. The multi-child monarchy sent its offspring to major cities to maintain constant control, while the heirs to the throne remained in the capital, Felvehone. Their lands were fertile, and prosperity reigned. What they lacked, they made up for in numbers.

Rilim was much smaller, seemingly nestled against Arevia’s land border and surrounded by no man’s land. The Vici—a house mentioned even in historical texts for its descendants unrivaled in the art of war—had settled in the capital city of Ryentalos. In times of peace, however, combat took a backseat, and due to poor fields, the economy could not thrive. So, another way was found; decades ago, special abilities, commonly compared to the magic of old legends, were still in their infancy. For a long time, the rulers gathered the gifted, built schools and facilities, delving deeper and deeper into the possibilities. In this way, they became pioneers of technology, unsuccessfully imitated by other nations.

And it was precisely Lorenzo de Montoya of Arevia and Dolcettus Vici of Rilim who forged such an extraordinary friendship.

In truth, it began with their wives. Like most young ladies, they chose to study at one of the academies in Rilim, where they became closest friends. Even when their paths diverged, they stayed in touch. Both ended up at court, both married heirs, so why not extend their friendship to their kingdoms? After all, there was strength in unity. Their husbands could only agree.

Over the years, their relations grew tighter, but their shared future was forged in tragedy.

Returning from a joint trip, Jeanette de Montoya and pregnant Amelie Vici died when a bridge over a river unexpectedly collapsed. The bodies of the women, their servants, and their horses washed ashore miles away. Mourning struck both countries deeply. Their heads of state visited each other often, sharing a bond that could only be understood by those who had lost their other halves.

Visits, however, were always regular and announced, so when Dolcettus Vici showed up at the doorstep of the de Montoya summer estate unexpectedly and with only a handful of servants, something had to be amiss. Despite everything, Lorenzo joyfully welcomed his friend. Together, they sat down over a glass of wine.

"What brings you here, you old drunkard?" Lorenzo dismissed the servants with a wave of his hand, allowing only an old, faithful maid to stay. He had no secrets from this woman; she had wiped his backside as a boy, and during his mourning, she had made sure he didn't drink himself to death, without saying a word to anyone.

"Well... I'm going to need your help. Things are starting to get complicated."

"Tell me then."

"I will, if you don't interrupt me."

Succession turned out to be the problem. While Lorenzo had fathered six children with the late Jeanette, Dolcettus did not live to see the birth of a second offspring before Amelie's death. He was left only with his firstborn daughter, and women were not welcome in politics. However, the time was coming to yield her place on the throne. Friction was already appearing; trading partners threatened to sever relations if they were to be managed by a woman. Advisors could not take over this function, and there was no other heir. Only one possibility remained.

"That is why, Enzo..." Dolcettus twirled the goblet in his fingers. "I want to ask a great favor of you. You have two unmarried sons. I have known them since birth and know they are good men, and I do not want to give my only child into the hands of strangers." He sighed as the maid refilled his wine.

"You mean a political marriage," the host clarified. A silence fell. The guest was visibly dejected.

"Cet, I understand." The man patted his friend on the shoulder. "Politics is a bloody bitch. But a political marriage... Hm."

"It's only a question, of course; a drowning man clutches at straws. Perhaps I can find some other way."

"Listen to me, Cet. You're right, I have two, even three sons waiting to be wed. I cannot offer you the eldest, much as I'd like to. The youngest roams like a vagabond, you couldn't chain him to a rock... That leaves only Alastair. I like your daughter, and I don't know if I could do this to her."

"Meaning? Alastair, I remember him. A nice, cheerful kid, smart."

"Yes, smart... I had high expectations for him. There were times I wished he were the firstborn." Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. "At some point, he stopped trying. He could have become chief advisor, but after barely two years of study, he decided it wasn't for him. He became a mere orator, started spending all his days in the library. Nothing more. I don't know if that will do you any good."

"We don't need an advisor, but a representative—a face for the contractors. He doesn't need to do anything more than speak, and he knows how to do that. It will help us immensely, and you will find an occupation for your son, Lorenzo. I ask you from the bottom of my heart, because I see no other way out."

Once again, they fell silent. One waited tensely for an answer that could decide the future of his country, while the other wondered if he would really be able to help, or if he might only do harm.

There was no way to know other than to try.

"Who knows, maybe we'll live to see shared grandchildren, Dolcettus?"

After a long conversation, once Lorenzo had dismissed his guest, what remained was to inform the, well, not yet interested party of the decision. It was impossible to predict his reaction, since lately he either politely executed given orders in their entirety, or completely defied them. There was nothing in between.

Finally, he decided to invite his son to see him. The maneuver first required luring him out of the cave he had set up for himself in the library at the main residence. It took two days for him to reach the summer villa.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Alastair took a seat across from the king, in the same spot where his fate had been decided a few days earlier.

"Yes... Some changes are coming." Lorenzo looked at his son seriously. "You probably won't like it."

*A wonderful way to encourage me,* thought the young man.

"So?"

"You will go to Rilim as soon as possible..."

"Me, to Rilim?" Alastair interrupted immediately. His father was right; he already didn't like it. "You're confusing your pups, Ares is the diplomat."

"Let me finish!" the ruler barked at him. His son had been getting on his nerves for a long time; he considered his indecisiveness a weakness. It was not behavior befitting a prince.

Alastair bit his lip. He had already decided it would be best to refuse.

"You will go to Rilim as soon as possible, because we have reached an agreement with King Dolcettus. You will marry his daughter and take over the representative function, along with their name. It is settled."

"I do not agree."

"It is not up for discussion."

"I do not have, and never have had, any intention of marrying. You know that well." He threw a furious glare at his father.

"You were supposed to become the chief advisor and help your brother instead."

"Plans change, you realize that?"

"Of course they do. And that is exactly why tonight you will return to the castle, pack your essentials, and head to Ryentalos. The wedding will take place at the earliest date. This is not a request; it is an order from your king."

"How am I supposed to marry a woman I have never set eyes on in my life?!" For the first time, Alastair felt the cold fingers of panic. Of all his father's whims he had suspected... this particular one had not been among them.

"You have seen her, and more than once, most recently at your mother's funeral. She is the same age as the twins. Now leave, perhaps it will dawn on you that the time has come to support your family and kingdom." Lorenzo dismissed his son with a wave of his hand. He had already conveyed everything he intended to. The conversation was indisputably over.

Alastair had not been in such a foul mood in a long time. He could not back out of an official order.

And of course, he was immediately packed into a carriage. During the several-hour journey, he managed to catch some sleep and thereby avoid a headache from the scramble of packing. He was not allowed to take his books, only assured that Rilim's libraries were much better equipped. There was nothing left but to believe it.

For the final leg of the journey, he was sent only in the company of a coachman, without servants, under the reasoning that the Vici family would take him over completely.

Because of this, he had long hours to ponder.

He was to become a puppet king. Marry a Vici daughter? He didn't even know one existed. He was supposed to know her...

His thoughts drifted back to the funeral ceremony of his beloved mother. He remembered that day very well; that was exactly when he had lost all motivation for the future.

Together with his siblings, he stood politely to the side, holding ten-year-old Ares by the hand. All the children participating in the funeral stood separately, so that their potential wailing wouldn't disturb the adults.

He remembered his father, who had gone gray within a few days; next to him stood the already adult twins with faces tight with grief.

On the other side of his father stood Dolcettus Vici. He hadn't changed over the years. And since his daughter was the same age as the twins, she must have been standing there with him.

But he didn't remember anyone like that there. Damn it...

Four days without any concrete information.

Finally, however, he arrived. Irritated and tired, requiring an immediate bath by his own standards. He was given his room, a meal, and even a temporary valet to help him settle in. Naturally, he showered him with a barrage of questions. And the answers he got?

They were absolutely insufficient. No name, no information about her whatsoever.

Oh, no, there was something. He learned that the royal daughter, according to her house's heritage, commanded all military units, including a guard she had personally selected and trained. When she wasn't at the castle, she resolved problems that ordinary armed men couldn't be sent to handle. Wild raids? Orcs, goblins, other monsters?

What normal king would let his only heir out like that? And a woman at that?

By the gods, however strained relations were in his own family, here he had apparently landed among madmen.

But he quickly scolded himself in his thoughts, clenching his fists until it hurt. Many years of his life awaited him here; he had to accept different customs.

According to Lorenzo's words, the wedding ceremony was to take place as soon as possible. Indeed, preparations began. Measurements were taken, garments were sewn. He saw the wedding dress before the bride did... and before the bride herself. Nearly a week passed, but she reportedly wasn't even in the country. Dolcettus assured him that she was constantly kept informed through their private information technologies, just like King de Montoya. So everything was running according to plan, since even the day had been set? It might seem so.

Alastair just wanted to get it over with.

On the anticipated day, he was woken early—only to be told that due to unforeseen circumstances, they would have to wait a few more days.

On one hand, it was a relief, on the other, a torment again. Even the exceptionally rich literary collection of the castle library did not sweeten these days for him.

A second date was announced, and this time it wasn't cancelled in the morning. The kitchen went into a frenzy, witnesses began to appear as if out of nowhere. It had truly begun.

The chapel bells struck noon.

The banquet guests sat in the pews. The priest, with a slight look of irritation on his face, stood behind the altar, occasionally adjusting the objects standing on it.

The groom stood before the altar, feeling like an idiot. The bells had fallen silent a moment ago, and he was still standing alone. It was humiliating.

Murmurs and whispers began, a scandal was drawing closer—the successor to the throne had failed to show up for her own wedding to the son of a neighboring kingdom's king. At that moment, Alastair wished to sink into the earth forever, or drop dead on the spot...

The doors burst open. A stream of people clad in steel and leather armor poured into the chapel, taking up positions along the walls. Behind them rushed a figure in a more ornate outfit, with the Vici coat of arms displayed on multiple elements. She headed straight for the altar, removing her weapon belt along the way and tossing it onto a pew next to the king. The clatter of metal made many jump.

The bride had arrived for the ceremony. Time to begin.

The priest reciting the formulas made no secret of his disgust. Alastair, on the other hand, didn't know if this was a hallucination, a bad dream, or if stress had simply caught up with him.

He stood face-to-face with a woman who was indisputably Dolcettus's daughter; the resemblance was uncanny. For a woman, she was exceptionally tall; Alastair was certain she was at least his equal in height. Light sand-colored hair tied at the nape of her neck, pale skin, and brown eyes were a pleasant sight.

The unsettling part was the fact that her entire face was covered in specks of blood, which, however, apparently didn't bother her.

Alastair did everything he could to avoid meeting her gaze. He endured until the end of the ceremony, realizing along the way that the friction between the monarchy and religion in this country was more than just a rumor. Binding the hands of the youth with the metaphorical marriage knot represented by a satin sash, the priest hesitated before touching the woman's hand, and genuine revulsion appeared in his eyes. It couldn't have been caused solely by the specks of blood on her skin; it was clear hatred directed at her and what she represented.

Women in power truly did not have an easy life.

The bells rang out again, this time joyfully, bearing the news. The chapel emptied out, the guests moved to the previously prepared ballroom. The soldiers remained in their places, forming the official procession for the newlyweds.

At the first possible moment, however, the woman disappeared—to change her clothes, as one of the soldiers explained. Alastair did not question this answer; it was quite obvious.

He reached the table alone; food and wine were served immediately. Once again, he was just waiting for her.

Not wanting to waste time wandering through the floors, the woman took refuge in one of the guest bathrooms to hastily take a bath and wash the blood off herself. With the help of the maids, she quickly dried her hair.

She noted with relief that the dress prepared by her father did not resemble one of those overly decorated cakes. A plain, simple attire, entirely sufficient.

The return had been planned for a few days earlier. It gnawed at her, as she felt as though she hadn't kept her word, despite the fact that this entire situation had been planned over her head. However, while riding back for the first date, they ran into an unexpected obstacle: a goblin lair, hidden dangerously close to human settlements. It couldn't be left like that.

More strangely, they also found several orcs there. If such a group were to raid ordinary farmers, it would be truly bad.

She was tired. Over the past few days, she had slept next to nothing, trying to get home as quickly as possible. Now she was in no mood for festivities. Go to the celebrants, do her duty, perhaps speak with her newly acquired husband, and go to sleep. That was all she wanted.

Though, come to think of it, his identity surprised her. The flow of information was minimal, so she knew nothing concrete, but then she recognized the kid standing at the altar—the one who, at both funerals ten years earlier, had tried so hard to hold back his tears. He hadn't changed a bit... Well, maybe he'd grown. How much younger could he be? She didn't know.

What was his name... Oh, Alastair. Yes. The whole sibling set started with A.

With thoughts of the sleep awaiting her, she put on only night underwear beneath her dress. She was ready for the crowds of people.

The only thought that didn't leave her was how things would go from here.