Chapter 432: Chapter 429: Royal Marriage

Chapter 429: Royal Marriage

 

  …Three weeks ago… Dusk Valley… The Kingdom of the Valley’s base camp…

 

  The opulent scarlet and black wagon riding through the trampled road between hundreds of hide tents stood out like a mound of gold in the middle of a battlefield, shiny and entirely unhelpful. Yet the one inside was going to change the war to their favor, or so Crow had claimed.

  Marek sighed under his breath. He didn’t want to have anything with city dwellers, Hollow Shaders, or Undergrowthers alike. Still, he had no choice. Events had spiraled out of his control. Dawn and Vaughn had been sent away on some unknown quest. Nokti had returned, but she was no longer by his side, she barely even acknowledged him. Worse, Crow had returned with a massive dragon and had forced the other tribe leaders into submission, but not before crowning Marek king.

  A puppet king.

  Marek hated playing to Crow’s tune but so long as Crow delivered on his promises then he’d play the puppet until the end. 

  Marek gripped his orichalcum spear tightly. Even if that meant marrying the enemy.

  “Hey, boss?”

  Marek glanced at the handsome elf next to him. “What is it, Kyriil?” he answered with a tired voice.

  “Do you think the Thorn queen is pretty?” The elf raised his hands, “Don’t get me wrong, boss, I’m not trying to hit on her, I’m just saying. If she’s like super ugly, are you still gonna marry her?”

  “Her physical appearance has no impact on this marriage alliance.”

  “Sure, sure, but like, you’re still gonna have to fuck her.” The elf tried to nudge the dire man’s shoulder but he couldn’t reach and instead only managed to rub his elbow into Marek’s kidney. “Don’t worry, I’ve had to fuck my share of not-so-pretty lasses, boss. The trick is to not make eye contact and then imagine the most pretty—”

  “—Where is Grim?” Marek interrupted impatiently.

  “Oh. Nokti ordered him to oversee the new mage recruits for the strike team when we breach the shade walls.”

  He glanced pointedly around the empty clearing and the command tent behind them. “So you’re my only bodyguard then?”

  “Crow didn’t think it was necessary to waste any more manpower with unnecessary grandstanding. While I’d usually disagree with such horrid tastes I must admit I am more than sufficient.” Kyriil dusted off his shoulders as if somehow proving his point.

  Gods, Marek wished Grim was here. The Azure axlean with his black pupils and milky white eyes were unnerving to look at but he was surprisingly good company, quiet and straight to the point. Kyriil on the other hand… Marek didn’t know if everyone from the Ivory Realm were a bunch of sleazy idiots or if it was just Kyriil, either way, he’d rather not meet another Ivorian.

  The black carriage rolled into the clearing and the centaurs hauling it slowed to a halt. The crimson doors swung open and an armored guard stepped out. The luxurious blue cape and elaborate gilded designs on his chest plate suggested he was no bodyguard, far from it. An unsightly burn scar stretched across his neck and the better part of his face, leaving only a small patch of grey skin underneath his eyes untouched. The scowling drow glanced around the clearing, searching for any threats.

  Kyriil pulled back in a grimace. “Ugh, what in all the Null Realms happened to him? Poor ugly fucker.”

  “Careful, Kyriil,” Marek muttered harshly. “Notice that black spider crest on his armor? It’s the symbol of the Great House of Loch. He is Alwin Loch, Lord General of Undergrowth’s armies, and the right hand of Lady Thorn. He is an arch-mage and one of the most dangerous drows in the realm. You do not want to cross him.”

  Kyriil furrowed his brow, “Well, how did our friendly arch-mage get such a— pretty face?”

  “I…” Marek blinked. “I actually don’t know.”

  Marek had never heard of Lord Loch bearing any distinct scars, let alone such disfigurement. Ordinarily, burns could be healed with the help of skilled white mages, which no doubt a House as powerful as the Lochs had access to. The burn wounds must have been incredibly grave to have left such scars even after the healing.

  Loch nodded to himself, satisfied by his perimeter search, and turned to the open carriage doors. “Your majesty, the area is safe.”

  At his words a woman of ghostly beauty stepped outside, wearing a long scarlet dress that trailed behind her. Her grey skin was pale, though it seemed to almost glow with health. A black crown sat on her brow and her white hair was tied in a single braid wrapped in silk. Icy blue eyes looked Marek over with an air of interest, like a hunter eyeing its prey.

  Ophelia sauntered over to him until her breasts were grazing his abdomen. She looked up at him with a smirk, “So, you must be the newly crowned Dusk King, Marek of the Cairn tribe, I presume?”

  He nodded stiffly, “T-That’s correct.”

  Ophelia’s eyes were filled with hungry delight. She took a step back and walked around him, sizing him up. “When I heard the rumors of a mighty giant leading the valley barbarians in victory after victory against Hollow Shade I must confess I thought they were exaggerating.” She trailed her narrow fingers over his chiseled arm, “I’m glad I was wrong.”

  “T-Thank— ahem,” Marek cleared his throat, “Thank you, Lady Thorn. If we are doing confessions, then the minstrels’ songs of your beauty were clearly understated.” 

  Kyriil shot him a look of shock and betrayal. ‘You knew she was hot!?’ he silently mouthed behind the woman’s back.

  “However, you got one thing wrong,” Marek went on, “My people are far from barbarians.”

  Ophelia raised her eyebrow, “Did your people not raid and pillage my city a mere few months ago? I’d call that an act of barbarism.”

  “In that case, your House and all of Hollow Shade are filled with barbarians. Did the Ebon Lords not raid these lands from my ancestors and take what they wanted for themselves, carving a piece out of the valley to build their precious city?”

  Ophelia’s blue-grey lips curled up in a wry smile, “I think you and I will get along well, Marek.”

  “Indeed.” He raised his arm and gestured towards the tent door, “Shall we?”

  Ophelia smirked and grabbed his hand. “Lord Loch, stay near the carriage unless I call you.”

  Loch bowed, “As you wish, your majesty.”

  “Kyriil, keep watch outside,” Marek ordered just as the elf tried to follow them inside.

  “Uh, what? Are you serious? Agh, fine,” Kyriil crossed his arms and stood at the tent entrance. 

  Marek and Ophelia entered without another word.

  Kyriil glanced at Loch and nodded, “So, what happened to your face?”

  “...”

  “Not much of a talker, huh? Don’t worry, you can tell me. It was a woman, right? Only a woman can burn a man like that. Must have been quite a pretty damsel, oof, I hope she was worth it.”

  Loch slowly turned towards him, his expression cold. “Perhaps not today, but someday soon you will find your head liberated from your neck.”

  Kyriil grinned, “Buddy, believe it or not, you’re not the first man ‘burned’ by a woman to tell me that.”

 

~~~

 

  The interior of the tent was decorated with magestone lamps and beautiful tapestries from a better time among the valley tribes. A large ornate table and carved wooden chairs sat at the center of the tent. Bottles of wine and over a dozen plates of traditional drow food lined the table to the brim.

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  Ophelia put a finger to her lips, “You know, when I arrived here I was quite disappointed with the lack of fanfare. A queen should be welcomed by a proper retinue. But this, this seems acceptable. Perhaps your people are not so barbaric after all.”

  Marek smiled politely, “I’m glad it is to your liking.”

  “And I could not possibly care less what either of you likes,” a silky chilling voice said from behind.

  Ophelia spun around and spotted the beautiful young man sitting on a lone chair. His opalescent eyes skimmed through an ancient tome in his hands.

  “My lord!” Ophelia dropped to her knees and prostrated herself on the floor, her face buried in the ground. “Forgive me for not noticing your presence sooner!”

  Marek’s eyes widened at the sight. He had never expected the queen to behave in such a manner in front of any man.

  “Sit up, I don’t care for your unsightly apology.” 

  Marek felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of his voice. Then again, he thought, the Monster in the Dark wasn’t a man at all. 

  Caligo snapped his book shut, “What I do care about, sweet, stupid, little Thorn, is why you ordered your soldiers to attack the Hollow Shade guests after your tourney had ended.”

  Ophelia sat up with a grimace, “W-Well, I—”

  “I gave you explicit orders to not directly interfere. And despite your horrendous debacle with the assassins guild and the Gale child you still went against my orders.”

  Ophelia swallowed hard, “My lord, I thought I was helping you—”

  “Silence, I do not care to listen to one more excuse…” Caligo casually stood to his feet and walked over to the trembling drow. He lifted her chin and caressed her lovely face with his thumb. “You have been an imbecile, Ophelia, and that will not do.”

  Caligo pressed his thumb over her right eye, his silver claw digging straight into her iris. Ophelia screamed an ear-piercing shriek and tried to flinch back but Caligo’s hand held her head in place with ease. Blood streamed down her cheeks as her arms flailed around, desperately trying to pull away from his grasp to no avail.

  Marek spun around, expecting Lord Loch to rush inside, sword waving in a vengeful fury. Yet no one came.

  The god slowly removed his thumb from Ophelia’s eye socket and dragged his claw down her cheek, splitting the skin open in a perfect bloody line, all the while Ophelia’s haggard cries echoed softly in the tent. Caligo brushed his thumb and her blood over her lips, then he leaned down and kissed her. 

   “My sweet, stupid, little Thorn, the next time you disobey me I will devour your soul.” With a small flick, he threw her to the ground, then sat back down in his chair. “Marek, stop staring at the door like a fool. No sound shall escape this place unless I wish it.”

  “Ah…” Marek glanced sympathetically at Ophelia, “R-Right…”

  Ophelia curled on the floor and covered her face with her hands. Soft white light poured out from her fingers and washed over her face, closing the cut skin and stopping the bleeding, though no amount of healing magic would save her right eye.

  “Tomorrow at dawn the two of you will marry as is customary in valley tribal tradition. Nokti will work with Lord Loch in coordinating both our armies together. Any questions?”

  “Isn’t it a bit sudden? Should we not properly prepare for the wedding first?” Marek asked.

  “We are at war, time is not a luxury we can afford to give to such things. A proper royal wedding can be held after we conquer Hollow Shade. For now, the chieftains gathered here will have to suffice as witnesses.”

  “What about my bride’s wound? Surely, you do not expect the future queen of our people to marry with such injuries.”

  Caligo crossed his legs and smiled, “I’m sure Ophelia will make sure to be presentable.”

  Marek frowned, “And her lost eye?”

  “Think of it as the price of learned wisdom.”

  “Is that so…?” Marek muttered. 

  “Ophelia, you wish to say something.”

  “I-I… I wouldn’t dare,” she whimpered.

  “Speak your thoughts. I will not pluck your other eye for simply voicing your opinion.”

  “T-Then,” Ophelia glanced at Marek, “If I am to marry this man, it cannot be an equal-standing marriage.”

  Marek blinked, “Huh?”

  “His people may have crowned him the Dusk King but he is still of low birth. The Undergrowth’s nobles will not stand for my marriage with a commoner of the valley. If he was at least an Ebon Aspirant then perhaps they would be accepting of such a marriage, but as of now the ‘Dusk King’ title holds no true power nor authority.”

  “What do you suggest then?”

  “Marek will not marry me as a king but as a consort. The nobles will be willing to accept that. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee the nobles’ support, especially after the war, once the threat of Hollow Shade has been dealt with.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Marek frowned. “You think me unworthy of marrying you? You rather sit on the throne all by yourself?”

  “It is the only way my people will help your people win this war,” Ophelia said defensively.

  “She’s right, at least she would be.” Caligo smiled, “Fortunately, Marek is the son and heir of a Great House, one of the wealthiest in the realm. Marriage between both Houses will be of no problem.”

  “You are of noble blood?” Ophelia asked in surprise. “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “It is a secret and one we will reveal in due time.”

  “...What House do you hail from, Marek?” she asked suspiciously.

  “House Helene,” he admitted.

  “Helene!?” Ophelia muttered in disbelief. She turned to Caligo in abhorrence, “My lord, you cannot possibly expect me to marry a Helene! His House is the reason mine lost the succession war! If it wasn’t for the Helenes’ betrayal at the last stages of the war, the rebellious Houses would have never taken over Hollow Shade! If there is one family I wish to see burned to the ground when we attack the city it is House Helene!”

  “On that, we agree,” Marek said grimly.

   “What…?” Ophelia mumbled.

  Caligo opened his tome once more and waved them away, “Feel free to come to terms with whatever other disagreements you have on the matter outside my quarters. Come dawn, you two will marry, and the final preparations for the invasion of Hollow Shade shall begin.”

 

 

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