Royal

Royal Raptor

Chapter 1 - A Royal of the House of Breycon

506 years after the founding of Breyconland

“Please state your full name for the record,” the clerk said without expression, barely raising his eyes from the old-fashioned book of bound vellum, his pen already dipped in ink and poised above the open page.

“Sheralie Spenser.”

From her ornate chair at the front of the room, Mel coughed slightly.

“Spenser is the surname of my adoptive guardian,” Sheralie clarified.

“What was your surname at birth then?” The clerk scratched on the vellum and paused, though he still didn’t look up at her.

“Silver,” Sheralie answered.

A gasp or two echoed from around the edges of the chamber, where various members of the Queen’s Council watched from the shadows.

The clerk finally looked up, his brow furrowed. “Please state the full names of your biological mother and father.”

Sheralie hesitated for a moment, then gathered her courage and plunged ahead. “Kana Silver and Luc Mullinor.”

“Impossible!” A stern, white-haired woman in a somber dark gray gown stamped her ebony-handled cane against the stone floor. Murmurs spread through the room, the agitation of the council evident. Then Mel held up a single hand and all sound died away.

“Queen Aston confirmed Miss Spenser’s true parentage before she died. Please continue.” She nodded to the clerk, who scratched the names into the book before looking at Sheralie again, this time with a flicker of interest in his eyes.

“What is your magick classification?”

“I am a Gifted Dynamo.”

The chamber, if possible, grew even more silent. Sheralie couldn’t even hear the rustling of fabric or the scratching of the clerk’s pen.

Then the frowning white-haired woman spoke again. “Is that confirmed?” she asked suspiciously.

“I tested her personally.” Mel’s quiet declaration apparently convinced the older woman. She nodded and settled into her chair, though she continued to frown.

The clerk finished writing and put down his pen, looking over to the priest. The priest cleared his throat and stood, an ornate, hinged box in his hands. “Sheralie Spenser, you have been recommended through lineage and magick capability as a royal of the House of Breycon. We will now proceed to prove your claim. Step forward.”

Sheralie, recalling the detailed instructions the Lord Chamberlain had given her before the proving ceremony, stepped up to the priest. He opened the box and pulled out a small, heavy stylus—one similar to that used in the Spring Renewal. Sheralie gingerly took it from him, and the priest stepped aside, gesturing to a door at the back of the chamber. It was formed of ancient, thick slabs of wood with tarnished hinges and a heavy handle, mottled with age. But the most distinctive thing about the door was the polished oval of black stone set in the center.

“This door is sealed by a royal bloodstone,” the priest explained, his eyes fixed on Sheralie’s face. “If touched by sufficiently Gifted blood of the Breycon line it will release the ward that seals the door.”

A royal bloodstone. A security measure used for special locations in the palace and for the Royal Tunnels, allowing access only to those considered true royals. A record was kept of every enchanter with the ability to do so in the royal chronicles. Officially, the list of living enchanters who could open a royal bloodstone consisted of one name: Mel, formerly known as Lady Black, crowned Queen Melania only one month earlier.

Unofficially, everyone in the room already knew that Sheralie could activate a royal bloodstone as well. After all, it was common knowledge that she was the “hidden princess” who had managed a prisoner rescue in Justice Square by opening a sealed door that led to the Royal Tunnels. But as Sheralie pricked her finger with the stylus and stepped up to the door, she had a moment of doubt. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to open it. Maybe there had been some kind of colossal mistake. Maybe she wasn’t the granddaughter of an exiled prince and a Gifted duchess.

Maybe she wasn’t the only hope for Breyconland’s survival after all.

She pressed the bloody tip of her finger to the stone and felt it warm briefly. Then she grasped the door handle and turned it. With a groan, the heavy door creaked open.

Her tiny flicker of hope vanished with her success. There was no escaping this life now.

The priest cleared his throat behind her. “The aspirant has successfully proven her claim. Do the witnesses agree?”

From behind her, Sheralie heard the chorus of “Yea” from the Queen’s Council.

“Very well.” The priest turned to the clerk. “Please record that Sheralie Spenser, also known as Sheralie Silver, is of royal lineage of the House of Breycon with all the rights, privileges, and duties pertaining thereunto.” The priest handed her a clean handkerchief, and she returned the bloody stylus to him. She pressed the handkerchief to her finger, wondering what she was supposed to do now. The chamberlain had not explained what to do after the ceremony was completed.

Before Sheralie could ask, Mel rose from her chair on the dais at the end of the room. “As Miss Spenser has proven her royal lineage, I have a further matter for the council to resolve before we adjourn. I desire to name Sheralie Spenser as a member of the Queen’s Council.”

A middle-aged man with long brown hair tied back at his neck leaped to his feet. “Preposterous, Your Majesty! This girl, while a royal, is only a child!”

“I am scarcely two years her senior, Mr. Bexley,” Mel reminded.

“Yet you have attained your legal majority, and you have years of experience in service to Breyconland.” The lady who spoke sat to the right of Mr. Bexley. She was well into middle age, with streaks of gray in her black hair, and she kept her voice calm and reasonable.

Sheralie couldn’t help but agree with her. She was the last person who should be a member of the Queen’s Council. She stared daggers at Mel, but Mel was not looking at her. Instead she was calmly studying the rest of the council.

“Does anyone else wish to raise an objection?”

“I do,” grumbled a younger lady with dark brown hair piled in curls atop her head. “It is ridiculous in the extreme to appoint a former convict to the council simply because she has royal blood, especially when that royal blood is tainted.” There were a few mutters of agreement around the room. Sheralie bristled at that. It wasn’t her fault her grandfather was a traitor.

“Your opinion is noted, Miss Callender. However, let me remind every member of this council that the fact that Maxent Breycon is Sheralie Spenser’s grandfather is not to be spoken of outside this room.” Mel’s voice was sharp.

The mutters died away, and Mel stood. “I highly esteem the counsel of each one of you, and as it is clear that you do not yet see the value of Miss Spenser’s input, I withdraw my request to seat her on the council at this time. However,” her fierce gaze traveled the entire room, “Miss Spenser has my complete trust. She is the guardian of the Aegis Stone, and as such, she will have full access to the Royal Archives in order to research how to use it to restore the blood boundary. Also, she is the only war enchanter at this time who has any possibility of standing against the dragons. Any and all information relating to our plans for protection from dragon attacks will be passed to her.”

The middle-aged lady on the right of Mr. Bexley responded first. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

Mel waited until every member of her council had acknowledged her edict. Then she turned to Sheralie.

“Miss Spenser, congratulations on your acceptance into the House of Breycon. Your first duty will be to research the blood boundary in the Royal Archives, starting tomorrow morning. Also, you will join the rest of the Osprey squad as a member of my court.” Then Mel turned and gestured at the middle-aged woman who had spoken so reasonably. “Madam Winstanley is our Royal Archivist. She will assist you with any questions that you have, both in research and with court etiquette.”

Sheralie wanted to groan or cry or scream or throw something at the wall in frustration. A courtier? The last role Sheralie had ever expected—or wanted. But arguing with Mel would get her nowhere. Instead, she sank into a curtsy and answered with her best court manners, “Very well, Your Majesty.”

At least she had a visit with old friends to look forward to. Maybe for one afternoon, she could pretend she was nothing more than a student in Madam Rusk’s school again. Far better than facing her future as Queen Melania’s secret weapon against the dragons.