Secrets of the Villainous Empress

Chapter Forty-Nine: Turning Lies True

The Imperial Knight’s Dorm

Bowen Cassian, an imperial knight by the referral of the Viscount Weasly, groaned as his eyelids parted open and the image of the white neatly decorated ceiling came to view.

The halls were oddly empty and silent, with only his breathing and groans present. Though him realising this also brought about the awareness that he was not in his room but still on the corridor floor after a night of heavy drinking. Still, it could not be past nine, yet the only room to produce even the slightest bit of movement was Swipes. A commoner, and as mostly referred to, a maniac.

Still, he should not have drunk that much. Yet, the Viscount had needed some cheering up when he had heard that the engagement plans between his hussy and Tomas were being propagated forward to hinder the Nissian dame’s involvement in Mayflower matters.

As if on cue with his awakened state, loud chatter and footsteps of the knights flooded the entrance.

“QUIET!” he yelled as the mens’ noise added to his headache.

It was not odd that his command went heeded and that the knights' chatter and laughter vanished. After all, he was backed by the Viscount himself.

Of course, the power dynamics favoured Flinn Ophias, a stepson to the Mayflowerian Duke and the former knight Noah Grerret. Still, as they were in the same posse, it was only natural that he, a man sponsored by the Viscount, was next in line as the leader of the knights.

“You, Patrick, come here!” he called a frail-looking boy from a passing group, “Help me up.”

“C-Certainly!” the boy replied before he assisted in lifting him from the floor to his room.

Gods, but his head ached against him.

“Where was everybody?” he asked as Patrick placed his body on his still neatly spread bed.

“The Empress called for a knights assembly.”

“She what? When?” he asked as he slipped his boots off and leaned in entirely in the bed. “Pass me the water.”

“Yesterday night, the butler announced it during curfew, and in the morning, the notice was placed on the boards in the training rooms.”

“Well, either way, I missed it. Does that not mean that the message was ill-delivered!”

“I-I s-see.”

“You see? What do you see?” Bowen clicked his tongue, “Whatever, tell me what was said by the Empress, then afterwards call the butler to my room!!”

Patrick was the weakest of the imperial knights. The only reason he had been accepted was the fact that he had awakened during his examination and had miraculously defeated the knight. However, that was a year ago, and there was still, Bowen believed, a considerate gap between him and the rest of the knights who awoke in their teen years. Therefore, though he was weaker than some, Bowen always took comfort in not being the weakest.

In any case, Patrick was a textile baron’s son and thereby ensured a position in the imperial knights.

“All the imperial knights, save for Jelly Kion, Darius Ferlo, and Raiser Gidion,” Patrick began, “have lost their titles temporarily and are to, effective immediately, redress in the navy knight uniforms.”

“WHAT!?” Bowen frowned, “Why, why have those three been excused?”

“Jelly Kion was assigned to a guest of the Empress, Darius is taking over Raiser’s position as her knight and Raiser himself is on a mission with some navy dressed knights.”

“You mean his faux squad of commoners?”

“Y-Yes.”

“s**t, s**t! Why, why is she acting up!?”

“The Empress wishes to make the- the selection of imperial knights herself.”

“WHAT? That wench can’t even fight in anything but her violin and some arrows!” he said, “all I would need to win against her are some earplugs, or perhaps a better playing virtuoso!”

“B-but during the banquet, the explosion..a-and the d-dead as-sasins she killed in her s-sleep!?”

“Are you really going to believe the ghost stories over facts!? As though you have never in your life seen her for yourself? Gods! Quit being so gullible, Patrick!!”

“What else did the wench say?”

“From next week, all knights will begin their training at four-thirty, and it should end by six forty-five. By seven-thirty, all knights are to head to the cafeteria for breakfast, after which they are to resume their duties.”

“Absurd!! Absolutely absurd. We are imperial knights! She can not just stick us with the blue-uniformed knight regime!! She can not do that!!”

“She did, however, clear that it is only temporary. During one of the training sessions, after she is certain there is some improvement in the atmosphere, She said that she would conduct a few exams, after which she will post the new imperial knights. But the deadline is after the annual exams.”

“That’s…that b***h!!” he cursed, “Some of us have been here for ages, on our way to retire, and she is making us participate in some childish fad with the babies wishing to be knights!!?”

“f**k! I will get the minister of security involved!” he grumbled, then pushed the trembling man aside.

*

       *

            *

The next morning.

Fuscia Greene

“Your, your majesty, please, I do not understand!” Fuscia cried as the knights around her pressed her to her knees on the cold stone flooring.

The morning had been usual, her summoning having been due. She had dressed up appropriately, and like a wonderful little girl, she had waited, only for a sombre-looking Jelly,  who had informed her that the status on her case was still pending, to escort her to the Empress’s office.

Yet still, how had this happened?

Her meeting with the Empress was barely a meeting. It was an interrogation. After which, the Empress called for the magician as though she required a witness.

But Fuscia had not said anything offensive? Had she? She wondered. She could have sworn that she was on her best behaviour. However, amid the ‘interrogation’, she began to lose her sense. She felt as though she was drunk. Had the tea been tainted?

She wondered. It was a safe assumption, as she had literally only just come to.

Jelly had her gaze averted, as though symbolising where her true loyalty lay, the only one on her side was the tower mage, a man she had barely spoken two words to, yet he too, was on his knees powerlessly pleading that the Empress did not cast the spell she wished to on her.

 What spell? What drastic effects would the magic have on her frail body if even the tower magician did not wish to cast it?!

“Your majesty!! Please reconsider!” The tower mage pleaded.

“Reconsider?” the Empress asked the mage, “Reconsider what? My fears? My theories? My instincts?”

“You insult me, Wizard!!”

“She is but a child.” The magician pleaded, “She has done no wrong!”

“No wrong? No wrong?! I should have your head on a pike for professing such nonsense.”

“Do you not mean that she has done ‘no wrong yet’?!” The Empress asked, “We were in the same office where she professed her desire in joining the royal family, were we not?”

-s**t! had the Empress used a truth serum on her?-

 -No! no! no! those were just simply childish dreams!-

“B-but your majesty!! Please, those were just childish musings!! Every poor maid dreams of such luxury!!”

 “Do you think me stupid? I know how coups start!”

“N-no, your majesty!” the magician cowered, “No, never your majesty!”

“Then on with the spell!!” she insisted to the magician, “express your regret by performing the duties I ask you to!”

“Tower mage?” Fuscia called as tears brimmed her eyes, “What hav- what have I done?”

“I am sorry, child, I am on your side. I do not wish to see you harmed.” He replied, finally turning to her.

“Enough of the theatrics, perform the spell! Place the signum on her back!”

“M-magician..?” She called, only this time his only response was a troubled look.

“I am sorry, my child, the Empress believes that you are of the third saintess’s lineage. I am so sorry.”

“No! NO!”

She had not told anyone but Aleu, so how? She reasoned, how could the saintess know??!

“Empress, I- I cannot do this!” the magician bowed.

“Knights! Drag him by his heel!” the Empress ordered, “Strap him onto horses until there is not even a grain of skin left in his being!”

-No!-

-No death, not in my name!-

“Forgive my impertinence, your imperial majesty.” Fuscia said, leaping to the rescue of the mage, “Mage, please, cast the signum!!”

“What?” the mage turned to her, surprised.

“I can not let you die or garner harm in my name. I can not let that happen.” Fuscia reassured.

“B-but,” he began.

“It is alright! All is well!” she said, hoping that she at least sounded braver than she felt because truthfully, none had even informed her on the nature of the spell cast on her.

Or why it was that having a relation to the third saintess was life-defining? None choose where to be born, so why? Why was she being punished?

“Are you certain?” The magician asked.

“Yes, yes I am.” She answered.

Although truthfully, with his second reassuring of her answer, she grew doubtful of her courage. 

Does one die when strapped to riding horses? Perhaps, however, why was that even an option? Why was she constantly pressed between a rock and a hard place?

-Jelly?-

Her gaze turned to her knight, and yet again, she avoided her gaze. It was not as though she did not understand that a knights loyalty was always and ever to their true master, but hope was humorous in such fashion. 

"Go ahead, Magician," she confirmed a thrice time to cease his hesitation.

The knights around then ceased on their spot, and almost instantly, the magician pressed his hand to her lower back.

“I-I am so sorry, child.” He whispered, “I promise I will cast a spell so that none who have no knowledge in magic can perceive it.”

“T-tha-,”

Fuscia had barely finished offering her gratitude when her flesh, where the magician's hand had pressed, seared.

A wail erupted from her throat before she could suppress it, as with each chant, with each stroke of his palm, she felt as though she was cattle; marked by hot iron, only rather than the farmer pulling the hot marking iron away, he proceeded to drag it across her skin until, finally, sweat began dripping down her body and the room grew wobbly. Her cheek plastered itself against the cold stone floor as all her strength left her, was she simply physically weak or was the pain simply intolerable? She was uncertain...

The last sight in Fuscia’s view was the piercing stare of utter disdain from the Empress’s crimson gaze, and for a few seconds, she wondered what sight played from up above the towering throne chair.

It was almost as though the Empress had overheard her conversation with Aleu by the maze fountain. Had she spilt that in her drowsy state? Still, how can a ruler be this cruel to the innocent?