Chapter 2

Fettlesham, Barony of Hopton, Kingsheart

As his procession approached Fettlesham, Edmund surveyed the town square. Another boring town, not even a baronial seat. Once again, he wished the Key would work on a wider range and not require him to travel from town to town to gain the loyalty he needed.

Still, it was a king’s duty to sacrifice for his people, and so he sacrificed.

At least Baron Danby had prepared properly for his visit, making sure that the proper displays were in place and the snow cleared.

“Your Majesty!” Danby dropped to one knee as Edmund’s destrier came to a halt. “We are honored beyond measure by your presence. We are your most loyal servants, now and always.”

Edmund gave a grunt as he dismounted, allowing his household guard to form a protective semicircle behind him. Twenty men in pristine mail and surcoats bearing the gold lion of his family, their weapons polished to mirror brightness.

Beyond protection, they were a sign of his station, ensuring everyone knew exactly where the power lay here.

“Baron Danby,” Edmund acknowledged with a brief glance before he looked past the kneeling man to the crowd of perhaps three hundred souls packed into the town square.

“My lord, if I may present...”

“Later,” Edmund cut off whatever introduction Danby had prepared.

He had no interest in the local gentry’s fawning presentations, especially Danby, the pampered son of a minor noble who’d managed to talk his grandfather into giving him a peerage for some minor accomplishment.

“Certainly, my lord. We have prepared everything as requested,” Danby stammered, gesturing toward the wooden structure. “Along with wine, proper seating for the local lords...”

“I’ll stand alone on the platform,” Edmund said, walking past the stunned man, sending his guards to form a barricade around the platform, both for his protection and to keep away the more annoying nobles hoping to gain his favor.

He climbed the steps slowly, dramatically, knowing all eyes were fixed on him. He could never explain to Gavric that beyond what a king did was the perception of what was done. That ruling was as much display as actual accomplishment and that, if things were presented in the right light, people would form whatever narrative you needed them to.

Reaching the center of the platform, Edmund raised his hand, bringing silence among the people. He let the moment stretch, his blue eyes moving from face to face in the front rows, making sure they knew he saw them.

Letting them connect with their king.

“Good people of Fettlesham,” he started. “I come to speak about a shared purpose. For too long, the Crown has ignored you, the good people of Sidor. Has not recognized the shared triumph. The shared purpose. That ends now. The Crown needs you, the heart of our kingdom, now more than ever as we face together the greatest trial since my ancestor united the scattered kingdoms of our continent into a single whole.”

He paused, letting his words sink in while he focused on the artifact hanging around his neck. He wasn’t sure if he had to focus on it to make it work or not, but it was difficult not to think about it. It was like he could feel it digging into his soul every time he gave one of these speeches.

Not that he was going to stop. His armies and coffers were both filling up thanks to it. He would deal with the consequences.

“Your ancestors stood firm when the warlords spread over this land. They held on when creatures poured across the River Mark and ravaged this land before Cynewulf established his short-lived kingdom. You, each of you, are their worthy heirs. The same blood flows in your veins. The same courage beats in your hearts. And it is that heart I am here to address today. We are facing enemies more dangerous than raiders, warlords, or maw-spawned demons. Today, we face men who should be our brothers but instead want to tear our kingdom apart from within.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, fear and anger mingling, more than would usually affect normal people like this. These people, or at least their ancestors, had been conquered time and again. They lived under the rule of bailiffs, barons and kings. They only cared about their children and their crops.

The rest of the world could burn for all it mattered to them.

But now they were incensed. Not just incensed. A woman near the front began to weep softly, in a level of despair that was normally reserved for much more personal things.

“So I ask, what would become of us?” Edmund continued. “If Sidor were no more? If there were no more Crown forces to guard the roads? Who would protect your daughters from bandits if ambitious lords divide the realm between them? Who would ensure that grain reaches your tables when every baron keeps his own stores? This is their vision of Sidor, a land without a rightful king. Where every baron is his own man and every inch of this country is prey every time these lords bicker and fight. There is one man above all others who bears the guilt for this suffering. My own brother. Aldric Whitton.”

He paused, letting the moment hang, the words float in the air.

“It was Aldric who murdered my nephew, our young King Serwyn, a boy of sixteen years, cut down like a dog during sacred peace negotiations. My nephew’s blood stained his killer’s hands. The boy who should have grown to be your king now lies cold in his tomb. The ancients themselves delivered justice upon this murderer. Sir Alistair Everwood took vengeance for us all, cutting down the kinslayer where he stood.”