It was around noon when the crowd inside the temple started to form.
The day was sunny, the sky was clear, there was no wind. A perfect day in a long time and just for the right event. Mother was there, in front of the temple watching as the guest arrived one by one. She stood with her court ladies, Lady Maria, Diana and Abigail giving out flower arrays to each guest before they would enter the temple. Neftali saw them yesterday while they were preparing it. All the temple children gathered to help make enough for today.
It was quite beautiful to watch but Naftali chose not to participate. Instead she wanted to spend the day with her mother but that was not possible. For some unusual reason the empress refused to see her that day, she refused to see anyone. Instead she was locked in her room the whole morning, Neftali thought she would come out later that day but instead she sent Lady Diana to do the final inspection for today's event.
Getting Diana to tell her what was wrong was impossible so she chose her next victim, Maria, but she was too busy with the temple children to know what was going on. Abigail was her only hope and she didn't disappoint. The two of them are close in age, but because Abigail is older and in the position of the court lady of the empress it is easier for her to mingle and know everything that is going on in the palace. She told Neftali about the rumored meeting that the empress and the emperor had the night before, how the night watch saw them walking together towards her chambers, Abigail was very excited to hear that but also very disappointed when she found out the emperor returned to his palace very quickly. Implying that nothing happened between them.
There was also one interesting thing Neftali found out from Abigail.
Lady Gabrielle was seen going to the King's palace late at night, she apparently went to the strategy room where she met her father, Abigail assumed that is what happened since the guard who told her the story saw them arguing in front of the office before Lady Gabrielle walked away.
In other words, something happened that night that only four of them know about.
Neftali wanted to find out what happened that her mother needed to stay in her room the next day. It probably had to do something with her illness.
Neftali clenched her teeth and took a good look through the binoculars, she never actually returned to Sullivan. The empress looked fine, but ever since the day of the High court assembly Neftali had a feeling something was terribly wrong.
She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. She was supposed to come down to the temple and stand there with her mother. Instead she waited in the lookout for that woman. Lady Gabrielle von Favre, that woman wants something, and it is nothing good. Even a blind man could see that.
Neftali also heard from Abigail that Lady Gabrielle was wondering about the outfit the empress was going to wear to the coronation. Certainly to pick the same coloured dress as the empress. Abigail also told her that Lady Gabrielle's maid was asking around about the empress and her relationship with the emperor.
They are certainly plotting something, the only question was what.
Whatever it was, it is certainly stupid.
"Your Highness," there was a voice behind her, Neftali flinched and almost dropped the binoculars on the floor.
It was Torra, one of the head maids in the Queen's palace. She almost laughed when Neftali flinched. "Your Highness, the empress is asking for you."
"Am I really that late?" Neftali sighed, Torra only nodded her head, she must be very late since her mother asked someone to come and get her. "Do you know where my brother is?"
"Prince Iyan is just about to head to the temple."
"Then I am very late." Torra nodded her head again, Neftali looked towards the temple, she had only one choice if she wanted to get there one time. "Torra, could I ask you to give these back to Sir Sullivan?" She handed her the binoculars.
"Of course, your highness." Just as she answered, Neftali lifted her dress and ran down the hallway. Now she just needs to pray that she doesn't get lost.
*
Prince Iyan arrived at the temple on a horse, riding behind his father and surrounded by Imperial knights that walked in formations around them and in front and back. All in accordance with the tradition he wore only a plain white shirt while his father was in full garment with a gold crown on his head. The sword, Agathon, its gold hilt shone in the sun around the emperor's waist. The sword he is going to use in order to make him the crown prince.
The temple was full with people, many of them he did not know, but they all knew him.
They bowed before the emperor, deep almost to the floor and got up as he went deeper in the temple, to the altar where the High priest stood with an old scroll in his hands.
Mother was on the left standing with her court ladies behind her and Neftali next to her. He saw that she just sneaked up there, making it just in time, mother was scolding her quietly.
He wished she would be beside him now, offering her support, offering a pedestal for the tower of his strength. After all she is the one who chose him for this role, why would it be right for her to crown him officially. Instead, the moment he steps foot in front of that altar she will no longer be a part of his life.
Iyan knew that, nobody had to tell him. He knows what it means to be the crown prince.
The sight in front of his eyes is the exact reality that is about to become his.
His father with the Agathon in his hands and a gold crown on his head, the crown he is now promising to him, his only son. His own father is about to become the only man above him and the only thing left to do is wait for him to die.
His mother is on the left, furthest one away from him. The way she will stay until her husband dies, then, if she doesn't die before him, she will be sent away to look after his grave. She is going to be his mother only in name from now on.
His sister is closer to her father, he is now above her, they are not only just siblings, he is the chosen one and she isn't. Father will probably marry her off for a political matter and he won't be able to do nothing about it. Or give her a small part in the government just to keep peace in the palace. She will probably hate him for the rest of her life.
Iyan took a deep breath, it all made him sick.
*
"I'm here mother." Neftali whispered as she snuck to her place next to her.
"Neftali," Empress took a close look at her. "Why do you have a spider wed in your hair?" She took off a few white spider webs in Neftali's hair.
"Shh, it is about to begin." Neftali chose to ignore her, she is here now that is what matters. But perhaps her brother won't be in a moment.
He stood at the door for a long time, just looking straight ahead. Almost like he saw a monster. But the choir is about to start singing and when they do he needs to move. No matter what he is thinking about he can think about later.
She almost had an urge to go there to push him, drag him to the altar.
He needs to do this.
If he wants to fix anything, he needs to do this small thing.
The choir sang, Neftali held her breath, but he walked. Slowly looking straight ahead at father.
"It will be alright." She whispered under her breath.
The voices of Sister Yelena's choir echoed through the temple walls, they were so strong that she could feel them in her chest. And other than them, nothing could be heard.
The song finished just as Iyan stepped in front of father, kneeling before him with his head down.
The choir got quieter, the High priest opened the scroll in his hands and started to speak.
"With God by my side, with this ancient script that shall not be changed I invite you to witness the choosing of the next ruler of our land."
The old man's voice echoes through the temple as he read from the scroll. The scroll itself was more than a hundred years old, it was kept preserved in the Imperial library for the last two decades since there was no need for choosing the crown prince in this traditional way.
Something little over a hundred years ago the king of Arthenia had two sons, twins. In order to decide which one of them will succeed the throne he created a competition for them. The competition itself was his way of choosing his successor, the prince who was better at the tasks set upon him would get the throne, and to show everyone who he chose the king crowned his son with a sword - Agathon. It was a sword passed down down to every king for generations along with the crown, so as the promise for the crown the king gave the sword to the chosen prince.
The competition didn't stick as a tradition, the kings rarely used it to decide who deserved the throne.
Neftali thought that perhaps it would be fun if she and her brother had to compete for the crown. But she knew that her brother would win regardless. He was stronger, taller and quicker than her. She was smarter but that wouldn't grant her much of a lead. Besides, she is not cut out for the role of the empress. Neftali always thought that, to rule she could, but to lead never. And every county needs a leader, not a ruler.
After all she is the first woman born into the Romanet family and in the imperial family of all, she never had a chance to consider such a decision. Her father never implied that she is completely out of the running for the throne, but he never confirmed it either.
If she were to rule, there is a matter of marriage and bringing another bloodline into the family. Nobody was going to allow that, the ruckus it would cause would bring the empire on its knees. No matter what she could do as the ruler, could overcome that matter.
Neftali chose not to think about it, she did not need to rule in order to make something out of herself.
"Repeat after me, Your Majesty," The priest spoke to her father who was holding Agathon in his hands, drawing it only a little out of its scabbard. The light shined on the metal blade.
"I, Ruler of Arthein," The old man spoke.
Father looked at him for a moment before repeating his words."I, Ruler of Arthein."
It was like the temple got quieter, Neftali felt it in her bones, the sudden cold that appeared in that moment. Like it was a reminder to listen, like that was something everyone was supposed to do.
The princess looked at her mother, she must have felt it too, of all the people she must have. Neftali took her hand, even through both her mother's and her own glow she could feel how cold her hands were. She looked at her face, smiling just a moment before, not like it was frozen in time. Her expression is calm, her eyes are lost somewhere in the distance. Their blue color looked like it was turning gray, her skin seemed more whiter, almost the same colour as her hair.
"Mom?" Neftali whispered and the hands she was squeezing, squeezed back. Mother smiled again and it was like the image before Neftali's eyes never existed.
The priest continued, "Choose this boy, my son, to be successor."
"Choose this boy, my son, to be successor."
"Of my throne, my land and my people."
"Of my throne, my land and my people."
"May his bravery protect us."
"May his bravery protect us."
"May his wisdom guide us."
"May his wisdom guide us."
"May his heart remain pure for the task set upon him."
"May his heart remain pure for the task set upon him."
The priest closed the scroll and sat it on the altar behind him, he dipped both of his hands inside the golden bowl of holy water and took the sword from the emperor's hands. The emperor turned around and did the same. Every drop of holy water that fell down on the floor from their hands could be heard as clear as day.
The priest returned the sword to the emperor.
"Stand up young prince," He said to Iyan, her brother stud up slowly as if something was weighing him down by shoulders. The old man placed his hand on Iyan's forehead, then on his shoulders and finally on his heart.
"You may give him the sword Your Majesty. As you do that, repeat after me." The priest stepped back, now with the chaplet in his hands.
"I give you this sword as promise,"
Emperor started repeating again, "I give you this sword as promise,"
"That you will get the crown that comes with it,"
"That you will get the crown that comes with it,"
"That the people of this land will bow before you,"
"That the people of this land will bow before you,"
"That everything mine will become yours,"
"That everything mine will become yours."
With those words Agathon was now in Iyan's hands, still slightly open, with wet hand marks on its scabbers, the two people who were obligated to promise him power, messenger of god and the ruler of the land.
"Young prince, now you shall answer my question. Truthfully and with your whole heart."
Iyan nodded his head.
"Do you accept this role set before you, Prince Iyan?"
"I accept." Iyan said.
"Now repeat after me."
He nodded once again.
"I Iyan de Romanet, promise to hold and cherish my given tittle,"
"I Iyan de Romanet, promise to hold and cherish my given tittle,"
"To carry it with honor,"
"To carry it with honor,"
"And make sure it is known,"
"And make sure it is known,"
"I accept the will of my father,"
"I accept the will of my father,"
"And his order for me to succeed his throne,"
"And his order for me to succeed his throne,"
"I swear on my words in front of God,"
"I swear on my words in front of God,"
"I shall not break this promise,"
"I shall not break this promise,"
"May angels guard my words and lead me to light,"
"May angels guard my words and lead me to light,"
"Now, Your Majesty, repeat after me one last time." The priest walked behind him and spoke facing the altar. Washing his hands in the holy water. "I chose this boy, Iyan de Romanet, my son,"
"I chose this boy, Iyan de Romanet, my son,"
"And I shall stand behind my decision,"
"And I shall stand behind my decision,"
"May God guide him,"
"May God guide him,"
"May angels guard him as they guard me."
The Emperor's mouth opened, then closed again, he became frozen for a moment, same as her mother was but then, just as she did, Iyan whispered something. She didn't hear him, but his mouth opened. It looked like he said, Father.
"May angels guard him as they guard me." The Emperor repeated.
The priest turned back around and yelled out to the crowd. "I now pronounce Iyan de Romanet, eldest son of His Majesty The Emperor and Her Majesty the Empress, the official heir to the throne! Crown Prince Iyan de Romanet!"
Iyan closed the sword and placed it on his side. Father placed both of his hands on Iyan's shoulders, turning the boy around to face the crowd. "King Iyan de Romanet!"