Metanoia: The Sovereign and the Commander

Prologue

Her heels click against the stone floors; steps steady, confident, and almost defiant. The metal of her armour clinks against each other, a noise that would otherwise be grating but was now a melody. The figure is lithe underneath the heavy coat she wore, strong but with a goddess-like quality. There was a dragon's spirit in her, fierce and devastating, and the wisps of cold breath coming from her pinkish lips lent to the image.

The display makes Severin smile.

"Your majesty, Lady Emmaline Graves of Pagmantazdri," a servant announces as the young knight bends on one knee, a fist over her heart. "Queen Severin," Emmaline addresses, not raising her head. "It is an honour to be welcomed into your court." "On the contrary, my dear, it's a pleasure to have you here," Severin replies, crossing her legs. The action shifts the heavy fur-lined cloak around her shoulders, its carmine shades spilling like wine onto the hard floor. As intended, Emmaline's eyes follow the line of the cloak, her electric blue eyes washing over Severin's finely-tailored suit until their eyes meet. The monarch meets the knight's eyes, their gazes locking for a heartbeat.

Emmaline is the first to look away, a slight pink to her cheeks that she would later attribute to how unused to cold she is. Severin knew better, of course. She knew what she was doing, knew where all of this was headed; those in her court still thought to blame witchcraft, but others who observe better knew it was simply her charisma, her charm — they whisper in the shadows, thinking Severin much like her mother. Perhaps the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree after all.

"What brings you here, Lady Emmaline?" the monarch asks, seemingly oblivious to the flustered state the other girl was in.The knight clears her throat, keeping her head bowed. "I'm sure you have heard of the new ruler of Pagmantazdri," she starts, and her eyes flicker up to see Severin nod. "Were you not the betrothed to him?" "An idle vow, your highness, made in the heights of youth before reality had befallen us. We are older now, and Jakob- The King," - she gulps, trying to shrug off her mistake - "has sought me unworthy of being his consort now." "Ah," Severin muses, tilting her head and resting her elbow on the armrest of her stone throne; her movements are delicate as she places her chin on top of her fingers, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So that is your tale of woe, is it?" Emmaline lowers her head again, keeping any tears from falling. "I apologize it isn't more entertaining, your majesty," she says through gritted teeth.

"I don't mean to be so rude, my dear, but you're still quite incorrect," Severin says, clicking her tongue. The knight's eyes shoot up to meet hers again, the look in them distinctly wrathful. Good, Severin thinks to herself, There's some fire in her after all. "You're not used to being corrected where you're from, are you, Lady Emmaline?" she says, sounding amused as the foreigner stares angrily at the floor, body shaking in an attempt to reign in her temper. She offers no reply, and Severin continues. "No, no, where you're from, you're a commander, aren't you? The Commander of Pagmantazdri and future Consort of the Royal Court. How low you've sunk, seeking refuge in a foreign land, willing to start from the bottom once again." She laughs, and the sound is glorious, draws you in, and yet Emmaline flinches at the hint of mocking in the monarch's voice. The court titters nervously, the closest of Severin's confidants more fidgety, seeming like they knew more than they let on.

Severin straightens up, realigning the impressive crown on her head. Sitting up like that, she makes Emmaline feel impossibly small as she looks down at her. "What if I can offer you much more than refuge or a position in my court, Emmaline?" she says, her voice so soft, so delicate, and yet the hairs on the knight's neck stand up at the feeling that Severin was whispering directly in her ear. "What if I can offer you retribution? Justice? A far superior standing than the scum who deigned himself too good for you once you'd helped him on the throne and gave up your own right to it?"

"I would politely tell your majesty that I think you might be away with the fairies," Emmaline replies lightly, standing up, one hand gravitating towards the intricately carved hilt of the sword at her side. "Everyone in this court knows well that, while you are an impressive warrior yourself, your majesty, the rest of your army does not share your talent. Specaptio's army would suffer should you start a war against Pagmantazdri." "Who said anything about wars and armies?" Severin asks, raising an eyebrow. She smiles, however, when the knight seems adequately confused. "My darling, you've spent so much of your time around men, you've started thinking their way," she says with another of her delightful laughs.

This woman was really getting on Emmaline's nerves. "I am in no mood to play your games, witch," she says, seething. "What are you implying?" "I was merely proposing, my darling Emmaline," Severin tells her, smiling sweetly. The knight blinks, looking around at the others in the court to see if they had all heard the same thing. "I beg your pardon?" "Emmaline, I was asking you to become my wife," the monarch replies plainly, her smile unwavering.

"You jest."

"Not at all."

"You would marry a complete stranger on the grounds of such a petty thing?"

"Others have been married for less."

"I think you decide this too rashly."

"Truthfully, I've thought it through well. You get the satisfaction of rising above this Jakob in rank and in riches, and I acquire the finest warrior in all of Serayah as my Queen."

Emmaline raises an eyebrow. "Acquire?"

"A poor choice of words," Severin says, shrugging apologetically. "But will you accept?"

"I hardly think it's a matter of me accepting and more of how quickly you can convince me of the benefits of your plan," replies Emmaline, narrowing her eyes at the monarch. She was a strange one, and yet, her journey had brought her here, to Specaptio's doorstep. Surely the gods had some sort of purpose for their meeting — that or they're as cruel as others have said. Either way, the idea of another marriage was nauseating, but the promise of revenge was far too tempting.

Severin sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before she looks into Emmaline's own; the latter notices how similar the shades of their eyes are, how her own were simply just bluer whilst the former's were much more grey, like ice. The monarch doesn't speak this time, only gestures for the knight to come forward, and so she does till she stands directly in front of Severin Bensoussan-Vasiliev, 14th Sovereign of Specaptio. Severin rises from her seat, her hand reaching out to caress her cheek. Emmaline flinches at the contact, but she's surprised when she feels the sovereign's callouses. She doesn't flinch when their lips meet, causing a rush of warmth to wash over the knight that ebbs and flows even when Severin pulls away, a smirk on her lips.

"Two things you should know before we wed, my darling," Severin whispers, her voice almost purring. "I am not known as a Queen here. I am a King, and you would do wisely to remember that." Emmaline struggles to find the right words, not used to being rendered speechless before she manages to quip, "And the second thing?" Severin makes a small chuckle, a low, dark sound in contrast to her usual laugh.

"All the rumours about me are true."