"A conspiracy? A conspiracy between the king and… a Heilen?" Bethrion Feuerlon asks, his face questioning and stoic. His tall stature and his wide built stood out amongst the people occupying the throne room. His eyes were olive-green, and his hair was platinum-blond, akin to the king's. In his side stood Lucas Feuerlon, his younger brother, who carried the same features as him; only their eyes setting them apart.
Lucas had eyes with the shade of a burnt umber—a deep brown color, which he got from his mother. This gave depth to his features, compared to his older brother who looked sharper and colder—a direct copy of their father, the king's uncle, the duke.
"Yes." Sheila says. "But before I may say any word, you are ought to form a pact with me—the Veritas Promise."
"The Veritas Promise… you can't mean…" Lucas mumbles. "One of the Blood Oath spells…"
"Yes."
"What does this mean?" Bethrion asks, turning to his younger brother.
"Oh right… Lucas Feuerlon, Orwell Lotheringwood, and I are the only mages here." Sheila says, counting on her fingers. Her lips curved into a small smile.
"Alright then, let me say this in mundane tongue: you are all ordered to never utter a word about the conspiracy I am about to unmask, with the Blood Oath spell, the Promise of Veritas."
"But this oath is done only with criminals, High Priestess." Lucas argues. "Veritas Promise is a spell that a master bequeaths upon a slave for a guarantee of loyalty. Doing so in a noble family, in a direct line with the king at that—will be an outrage, don't you think?"
Whispers and murmurs filled the entire room—the Feuerlons spoke in a puzzled manner. The duchess who was standing beside the duke, whose face was hard and stern, raised her brow. The duke on the other hand had his gaze fixated on Sheila, and in his peripheral he observed the two renowned mother and son: Lovellia Moscow and Orwell Lotheringwood.
Unbeknownst they are being observed as well, Orwell Lotheringwood focused on calculating Sheila's actions—apprehensive of her motives. He eyed her suspiciously—he felt as if he had expected these events the moment she came to his manor, demanding him to teach Duke Feuerlon's youngest "daughter."
"So… Faustina is a Heilen?" Orwell says, breaking off the murmurs, as the entirety of the hall falls into an eerie silence.
The corner of Sheila's lips curved—rather mockingly from his question. "Yes."
'That was obvious,' was the retort Orwell expected to hear. His gaze wandered from Sheila to the Feuerlon family, who was perhaps—oblivious of the whole façade that has been going on for the month.
"Then Faustina… is not related by any means to the duke, am I right, Priestess?" Lovellia exclaims, asking for a confirmation.
"Yes." Sheila says calmly.
"Then, what are the lies for?" Lovellia asks.
"Well— "
"Hold on a second!" Thundered an angry Bethrion. His thick brows furrowing into a deep scowl. "What is the meaning of this, Priestess? You used the name of the Dukedom to your own expediency? Do you know how heavy of a crime that is?"
"We have our reasons, Sir Bethrion."
"No, that is sheer— "
"If we may intrude."
The High Knights, or the "Knighthood of the Firehawk" says in unison, as they walked towards Sheila; standing alongside her, making their presence known. Orwell had been looking at them for a while now. The moment he and his party (namely Faustina and Lovellia) entered the room, the knights were already occupying the mezzanine, peering from the top of the throne room as they observe unobtrusively until the king casted nusquam.
He knew these knights. Who would not? These are the men chosen by the late king himself, the king's father. These knights come in various origins: noblemen, plebeians, and even mercenary heirs with assassin blood on their veins. He eyed them one by one.
Sir Elvis and Elliot Wainwright. The house Wainwright has been a flourishing manor given that they owned about half of the agricultural lands in Feuersturm, and three different branches of merchant companies. The heir to the title was Elliot Wainwright, the cheerier twin. The one to inherit the family business was Elvis Wainwright, the twin who frowns more often than he could muster a smile. They both possessed a distinct rust-color hair, which was the hue of a burnt brown and red, tousled like a bird's nest.
Lorenz Schmidt. A man who is perhaps the most unusual of them all. He possessed an odd color of locks—purple. It had white edges, and his features spoke perceptibly from a foreign land. His origins were unknown to the public, but being Orwell Lotheringwood came in handy. Orwell loved studying—and so he came across few texts seeing the Schmidt bloodline was one of the mercenary tribes in a pact with the royal family to serve them for hundreds of generations. Although the text did not have much credibility, Orwell only considered this as a matter of prospect.
Captain Roth Adelard. The head of the High Knights. He was distinguishable easily—a deep red hair similar to a burning fire, and a pair of indifferent eyes, the color of amber jewels. The King's Watchdog. For generations the Abelard line, the family of the Earl, have been in service of the royal family's underground affairs. Orwell knew this quite well, since he was quite versed with the Investigatory Ward, who never liked Captain Roth for his 'dirty tactics.' But despite these circumstances, his forefront to the public is quite known to be positive. His lands were evenly distributed to the poor; the Abelard family also is generous with their fortune, donating a considerable amount to every orphanage in various parts of Feuersturm.
The last knight is Abe. There are no traces of his family name or from where he is from. He is the Vice-Captain of the High Knights. Although there are no records, one can make up his origins just from looking at him. He had a paper-white hair, and red eyes. These characteristics can only mean one thing: He is an Albino—the race of Assassins. Like the Heilen bloodline, they are desired by slave traders as well, due to their notorious strength in combat, and their skills for slaughter; given that their genes have been bred for years of killing.
The Knights chosen by the late king was Captain Roth and the twin knights, Elliot and Elvis—their families bound to serve the royal family. But the other two—Lorenz and Abe, were chosen by the current king himself.
In conclusion the High Knights are popular to the public. Noblewomen and commoners alike favor them for their good looks and their achievements—a sighting to a High Knight is very rare, given the fact that they are constantly out for quests and missions. This is why Orwell did not like the High Knights—the crowd is always unstoppable with their presence.
"By the king's command, we are hereby ordered to remain in silence as the Priestess speaks of her affairs. The respect for the High Priestess of Feuersturm must be taken into account. This is law." Roth Abelard says. "Questions will be addressed once the Priestess' business is done and stated, reasons will be laid out as well."
"But— " Lucas interjects;
"Do you not think we have already taken into consideration the burden and the consequences of the actions we took? The king had thought this through." Sir Roth says. "Now what is left for you is to listen."
Silence.
Sheila smiled, and then with a thud of her staff to the floor, the entirety of the room fell into a pitch-black darkness, with nothing but a vast circular hexagram with numerous patterns of mystical language, glowing intensely amidst the darkness.
"Now, shall we begin the Veritas Promise?"