18.2

Dirk and Zyrdicia entered the Great Hall together at precisely midnight. The glossy black leather of his new cape billowed behind the prince. Not that many people noticed his attire. The moment the pair entered the room, all eyes were on the woman at his side.

For the first time since Zyrdicia's arrival in Aparans, she was not clad in black. She had humored Dirk's choice of dress. Happily, it would be the last truly formal occasion she had to endure in Karteia. She rather liked the unexpectedness of the dress' effect, though. Once every decade or so, it was amusing to shock people in such a manner. The garment's hue perfectly matched her eyes, the Northern colors, and the bunches of snow orchids filling the room. She was the point where the color in the room seemed to coalesce and have unexpected, secret meaning.

Dozens of nobles stood enraptured, watching them. She noted Tristan standing near the center aisle through which they would pass. He nodded almost imperceptibly as he caught her eye. She ignored him, focussing instead on her sensory perception of the mass of people in the room. This time she was prepared for the onslaught of thoughts and smells from the crowd. She was slowly getting used to it.

"Hi," Dirk greeted the crowd with an air of condescension as they entered. He led her across the room.

A cleric waited, the final marriage contract spread before him on an ornate table. To the cleric's right, the king's crown sparkled in the torchlight from its place on a black, velvet cushion. The cleric briefly invoked gods the couple standing before him had no use for. As an afterthought, the old man smiled slightly, then added an invocation to the Landeshexa, thanking Saxarba for blessing the North with strength and prosperity.

Her back to the audience now, Zyrdicia arched an eyebrow crossly in disapproval. These people still had not learned how to properly pay reverence to her divine alter ego. Reading her expression with uncanny accuracy, Dirk shot her a glance that warned her to hold her tongue.

The old cleric began, "With this signing..."

A deafening crash of shattering stone interrupted the attempt to commence the betrothal ceremony. A second and third thunderous crash followed. Dirk looked around, alarmed. It sounded as though the castle were under attack.

A guard rushed into the great hall, "Lord Blackpool! A demon! At the outer wall! With a cannon! We're under siege!" The room erupted into chaos then as panicked wives shrieked dramatically. The guard struggled to catch his breath and handed the astonished prince a piece of paper, "We received this with one of the missiles."

"Surrender the monocles or die. -Vulkar"

"They dare to interfere!" the prince whispered angrily. "Vector knows how much I loath this undead barbarian. He will pay for this."

Zyrdicia read the message over Dirk's shoulder. She smiled slowly, altogether unperturbed. "Excuse me a moment. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"Vulkar will find me much more persuasive than the idiots who summoned him."

"Stay here! He's very dangerous."

"To halfwits who don't know how to deal with his kind, perhaps," she replied, her eyes twinkling. She disappeared. After she left, there were no further assaults upon the wall.

Zyrdicia reappeared a moment later, with the contrite demon in tow. Dirk recognized the creature immediately. At least eight feet tall, clad in bright red armor with metal wings and a great, horned helmet, Vulkar was a fearsome sight. The prince's last encounter with the monster still left a foul taste in his mouth.

"What are you doing, bringing that beast into my castle?!" Dirk hissed to Zyrdicia. "Vector no doubt summoned him to kill us!"

The undead barbarian stood deferentially before the prince, then fell to one knee, bowing its head. The entire room gasped at once at the sight.

"How is this possible?" Dirk whispered, transfixed by the image of Vulkar kneeling before him.

"Hierarchy," Zyrdicia winked. "Apparently Vector and Bethel expected me to want to fight him tonight. Since I'm not dressed to play rough, I thought it better to simply command him."

"May I rise, Magnificent One?" the demon intoned cautiously, its deep, infernal voice echoing in the room.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Magnificent One."

"Apologize for the rude interruption!" Zyrdicia prompted, thwacking the beast's armor-clad stomach with her hand loudly as it stood up.

The demon shot her a contemptuous glance but did not dare disobey. It was entirely at her mercy. Vulkar growled reluctantly, "Most esteemed Lord of the North, I am very sorry for attacking your castle and disturbing your celebration." The demon turned to Zyrdicia, then inquired politely, "May I return to Hell now, Magnificent One?"

"Not yet. Bring me the heads of those responsible for your summoning. You may take their souls when you kill them." She paused, then added, "if they have souls."

"With pleasure, Magnificent One."

"You aren't quite done," she coaxed quietly as though speaking to a misbehaving child. "What else did I require you to say?"

Vulkar glared at her resentfully then bellowed, "Hail Karteia! Hail Blackpool! Long live the new king!" The demon disappeared in a flash of red smoke.

Dirk's eyes blazed. He had never had a mighty demon bow before him. He liked it - a lot. He was certain she had done it to play to the audience present. She could have dispatched the entity out of sight and been done with it. Instead, she had brought the creature back solely so that the gathered nobility would see it bow before their leader. It was the sort of gesture that endeared her to him. No one else in the world could please him so. Their eyes met for a long moment. The glance said more than words possibly could.

No one in Dirk's life had ever bestowed upon him the sort of power-filled gestures of affection that she did. Every act of magic from Bethel had to be manipulated or bargained for. Dirk liked this new state of affairs. In his mind, it was precisely what he deserved.

An awed silence hung over the room. The lords and ladies of Karteia stared at the couple reverently. Dirk could have declared himself a god at that moment, and the gathered nobility would have simply smiled in agreement. The sense of power was breathtaking. It overshadowed every perception other than Zyrdicia's nearness.

The rest of the event passed with the perfect surreality of a dream. She signed the contract with exacting poise. She gracefully slid through a promise of obedience with nothing more than a mischievous, sidelong glance out of view of anyone else but the near-sighted cleric. The wedding ceremony segued smoothly into an equally perfect coronation. It was the only time in Dirk's life that anyone would ever see him kneel for anything. As the cleric proclaimed him king, he was certain he would wake up any moment. It seemed too perfect, too sublime to be real.

When the platinum crown came to rest upon Dirk's head, the old cleric again invoked the useless gods. At the precise moment of invocation, a sudden flash of violet light exploded in the air above the old man. The monk looked up in the air uncertainly, his brown hood falling back to reveal a hairless head. The snake rune of the Blackpool sigil hung in the air, outlined in magical light. Through its center, an image of a waved-bladed dagger appeared in a darker hue.

"The gods have spoken!" the cleric gasped, certain he was witnessing some miracle. When Dirk arose, the magical image exploded in a dazzling display of light, showering him with enchanted sparks that seemed some sort of anointed blessing.

The nobility collapsed in a chaotic sea of bows. Several people fell to their knees. "Hail Karteia!" someone shouted joyously. The cry was echoed a hundredfold. The new king turned to the woman standing slightly behind him. Her smugness was barely constrained. She had orchestrated the unexpected magical trick masterfully, and she knew it.

Dirk held out his hand to her. She put her hand in his and moved to his side. The volume of cheers grew deafening. The crowd exuded a fanatical degree of joy.

At that moment, a new nationalism was born in the North. The royal couple represented every hope of greatness Karteia had ever had, every promise of victory and glory. They represented their nation's superiority, its divine right to rule all of Aperans.

"The sound of power," Dirk breathed inaudibly, basking in the zealous roar. He had never in his life been revered thus. His subjects had always feared him, but this was something quite different.

Dirk raised the hand that still clasped the fingers of his queen. The decibel of cheers rose perceptibly. He had no desire to stay to receive their well wishes. All that he had ever dreamt of accomplishing on this night had already come to pass. No cloud hung over the coup - everyone took it as right and just that Dirk should be king while his father yet lived. Any suggestion to the contrary would have stirred those present into a murderous frenzy.