Deckard smiled. “Youmade this possible,” he concluded. “Without you, Evylin and I would not be here. You all made the difference in my life. And I will endeavor to deserve your support from this day forward.”
A crowd of proud, kind gazes met Deckard’s speech. Ilain and Calyn wiped at the wet corners of their eyes. Surprisingly, Thom, too, seemed to be fighting tears. He sniffled, and Brea patted his arm teasingly. Ethenn held his head high, a soldier honoring his commanding officer. Vayden and Reyana smiled, the father’s arm around his daughter’s shoulders. And Evylin...
At his side, Evylin looked up at him with undying love. She squeezed his arm. “You made the difference for us,” she said softly. “Without you...wewould fall.”
Recognizing the line from his speeches in the Shires so long ago, Deckard chuckled lightly so that he wouldn’t cry.
Mercifully, the clerk, Gisele, chose that moment to arrive. There would be no grand procession to the throne room. Just their small party, walking through the arched halls of the Allminous Palace, as the oligarchy had agreed to call it.Allminous. The ancient Allundan Gaelic for “Allore’s land.”
They entered the throne room alongside the other chancellors and commanders, along with their retinues. As each party stepped into the grand hall, they found hundreds already assembled. The crowd filled the center of the room, gazing in awe at the entering oligarchs. The troop joined the crowd as witnesses to the coronation, while Brea stayed with Deckard and Evylin, serving as their guard.
Gisele guided the trio a few more feet to the right and pointed to the staircase leading up to one of the daises. “Here is the throne of the Loclight Province,” she said with a smile. “Archminister Essen and Minister Maarsh are already here.”
While Deckard had originally been surprised that they would host the archminister within Loclight, they’d been informed that both archministers would return to the original capital cities. Though the true capital of Allund would be Aulton, the most populated cities were still Loclight and Mouroc. With each new archminister elected, they would also move to the respective cities as representatives of the people.
At the base of the dais, Deckard hesitated. The staircase, wide enough for two, felt like a threshold. If he ascended those stone steps, he would accept their nation’s fate. It didn’t seem right. He was a lowly captain from Nettershire, a farmer’s son with a slow, painstaking military career ahead of him. How had he gained the favor of a nation to become its ruler, albeit one of sixteen?
But Deckard wasn’t the same man he’d been when he embarked on his journey. He wasn’t just a farmer’s son. He was a Mage. And he wasn’t alone. He had his wife beside him andhis family behind him. He hadn’t reached for this position of authority; the duty had been offered to him.
And he would serve his people with his entire heart and body until the end of his days.
Together, Deckard and Evylin ascended the dais.
Archminister Essen and Minister Maarsh welcomed them at the summit with warm smiles. They exuded a regal presence in elegant black and gray robes adorned with colorful brooches akin to those worn by the clerks.
“Please,” Archminister Essen said, stepping out of the way, “take your seats.”
Deckard and Evylin gazed beyond the ministers toward the vacant thrones on the dais. Crafted from the same ivory stone as the palace and adorned with ebony velvet cushions, the weight of what was about to unfold struck Deckard like a cascading torrent.
Evylin gripped his arm tighter, and a surge of compassion washed over him. She knew his fears, his hopes, his dreams—every self-ambitious desire that drove him and caused him to doubt himself. Her touch was her offer of strength, her reminder of how she would not let him fail during this momentous occasion. Deckard glanced down to see the creamy light streaming through the room, turning her eyes the most vibrant amber.
“Jonn,” she whispered affectionately. No further words were needed.
Deckard inhaled deeply and guided her to the thrones. Brea and the ministers trailed behind, moving to stand beneath a black banner adorned with eight gold and silver stars at the back of the dais. The emblem of Space.
Once all the thrones were occupied and the room was full to nearly bursting with witnesses, Archministers Essen andDudleye—positioned on the directly opposite daises—advanced to request silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Archminister Essen announced, her voice resonating throughout the hall, “we extend our sincerest gratitude for your presence here today as we commemorate the inception of our great nation. Following years marked by struggle, conflict, and diligent labor, we have triumphantly witnessed the fall of the oppressive monarchies of Blount and Ephren, heralding the dawn of a new era characterized by liberty rather than tyranny and suppression. Today, we formally invest our newly appointed leaders with the authority to govern and safeguard our collective interests.”
Dudleye continued in her stead, stating, “With careful consideration and profound trust in the magical members of our society, the Administration of Allund has selected our new sovereigns. Bonded Mages and Warriors, who have demonstrated their fidelity and honor, shall be inducted as the servants of Allore, as preordained at birth.”
Applause and cheers resounded throughout the hall as the archministers withdrew. For a brief moment, Deckard was surprised at the unanimous public approval of the royalty. However, he realized it was not the royals they approved of. None of the magical individuals poised to be enthroned would wield absolute authority. They were highlords and highladies, akin to the nobility, entrusted with a parcel of land to steward and ensure the well-being of the populace. The success of their governance would be contingent upon the efficacy with which they attended to the needs of the people.
They were not to be supreme rulers. They were safeguards and champions, and they answered directly to their people.
Deckard reached over and took Evylin’s hand, seated on his left. She turned to him, her smile a wellspring of hope and joy. No matter what lay ahead, they were about to embarkon an extraordinary adventure, one that would require their lifelong commitment. It was a journey they would gladly endure together.
“Esteemed citizens of Allund,” Archminister Essen declared to the tumultuous assembly, “let the coronation of our sovereigns commence.”
Two ministers advanced to the left of their dais as a clerk, bearing a marble box, ascended the stairs to the thrones of Doorstunds Province. The chancellor and commander rose from the opulent red velvet cushions. The crimson banner positioned behind them bore intricately embroidered gold and silver flames. Both individuals wore expressions of joy; the man was adorned in a crimson and black uniform and the woman in an elegant ruby gown.
The troop had met the replacements taking the role intended for Ethenn and Ilain earlier in the week. Highlord Commander Vecent and Highlady Chancellor Pol Haadge were a striking duo of opposites. Pol bore golden curls, pale skin, and a flame-bright personality (though much more sweet-tempered than Ilain). Vecent’s cedar-brown skin and stocky build revealed his Setshire heritage, while his reserved demeanor exuded temperate wisdom. Though the pair had not been in love upon their marriage, they seemed to genuinely admire one another.
Deckard smiled as the clerk approached the ministers, Daulton and Rowana Calder, and subsequently opened the box. The Calders extended their hands to retrieve the insignias contained within. Meanwhile, Pol and Vecent stood, and the general of their guard watched attentively from behind the throne.
“I, Interim Minister Daulton Calder, hereby charge you, Highlady Chancellor Pol Haadge, to lead the Doorstunds Province of Allund with your wisdom and insight.”
Pol dipped her head in a humble bow as the minister draped a thin gold and gem-encrusted chain with a small ruby pendant over her neck.
