I stood on the bridge of the Enterprise with Allyson. Glancing around, I watched the flight crew members control the vessel as the airship descended toward the cathedral’s airfield. Outside the windows, I could see the crowds swelling, spilling in from the streets to gawk as the strange ship gracefully landed.

  “Good work, everyone,” I said. The crew gave me a crisp bow.

  As I left the bridge, I turned to both Allira and Allyson.

  “Are you ready for our guests?”

  “Couldn’t we just go by ourselves?” Allira muttered. “I hate crowds.”

  “I’m with you on that, my dear,” I said. “But it wouldn’t look good to just shoot north on our own. Allyson, where did you place the Princess?”

  “Master, she’s in the stateroom closest to your suite. Her brothers are across the corridor from her.”

  “Good, good. And lock the bridge door again.”

  “Yes, master.” Allyson’s tone was light, but I didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked back toward the sealed bridge hatch. The ship’s heart had to stay untouchable.

  The side hatch opened, the ramp extending smoothly to the ground. I stepped out with Allira, Allyson, and two crew. From the crowd came Archmage Veralt and Prince Theodore.

  “What a magnificent vessel, brother!” Theodore bellowed, sweeping me into a hug. I returned it, and he immediately caught Allira up in his arms as well.

  “Ah, Sister Allira! Keeping this one out of trouble?” he teased, leaving her faintly blushing.

  “Prince Theodore,” I said, “will you be sharing a cabin with Ajax, or claiming your own stateroom?”

  “We’ll share,” he declared.

  “Then you’ll be in stateroom nine, across from Princess Theresa. Leave your things by the ramp, my people will handle them.”

  He glanced at the two maids nearby. “And who are they?”

  “My maids,” I said with a grin. “Don’t underestimate them, they’re tougher than they look.”

  The Archmage leaned on his staff, the faint creak of old wood echoing in the cold air. “As for me,” he said with a rueful smile, “these bones are past their traveling days. General Kitch and a few of his officers will go in my place, if you’ll have them. And I’d like two history mages aboard as well: Deana Parryw and Harley Woodwarde. Oh, and Mage Samual. It would be… instructive for them to see what a real airship can do.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Veralt. It would have been fun traveling north with you,” I said sincerely. “What are Parryw and Woodward like?”

  He gave a small, exasperated chuckle. “Pure academics. Between you and me, they always seem to get a mysterious illness right before an expedition leaves. So imagine my shock when they volunteered for this one. I nearly dropped my staff.”

  “Ah,” I said with a crooked smile. “Desk squatters. Well, as long as they can keep up and stay out of the machinery, we’ll get along fine. Anything to worry about these two?”

  “Just so,” Veralt said. His tone softened, but a note of warning crept in. “But David, I’ll be honest. I don’t trust them entirely. They’re loyal to knowledge, not people. That’s why Samual’s going too. He may look young and act as though he’s still tripping over his own robes, but the boy has a spine of steel. He’s been my assistant for two years now. If trouble comes, he’ll have your back.”

  I nodded, recognizing the seriousness in the old mage’s voice. “Understood. Then I’ll make sure he knows the layout of the ship. And if your two historians try to open anything, they shouldn’t…”

  Veralt’s grin turned sly. “I’ll leave their education in your capable hands.”

  “David!”

  The cry sliced through the roar of the crowd like a bell. Heads turned, voices faltered, and then Princess Theresa broke through the line of onlookers, skirts gathered in her fists, hair flying loose in the wind. She ran straight for me, her light-blue dress catching the sun in flashes of silk and motion.

  Before I could say a word, she collided into me, arms wrapping tight around my neck. The world went silent for half a heartbeat, then came the soft press of her lips against my cheek.

  I slipped an arm around her waist, instinctively lifting her off the ground. Her laughter bubbled out as her legs kicked once in the air before I gently set her back down. “I missed you,” she said, breathless, the words tumbling out like a confession.

  “Wasn’t it just yesterday that we saw each other?” I asked, noticing she was nodding.

  For a moment, the airfield froze. The hush that followed her kiss wasn’t silence; it was tension holding its breath. Every noble, every guard, every priest saw it. And I… let them. Because in that moment, it wasn’t politics. It was her. Then the murmurs started low at first, then spread like wildfire across the gathering. A princess embracing him? In public? That rumor would race back to the palace faster than the wind could carry us north. I can imagine her father’s expression now.

  I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled. “Are you ready to go?”

  Her answer was silent; she simply extended her free hand toward Allira, signaling her trust through her gesture.

  “Arch Mage, I’ll see you in about a week. Take care,” I shouted to the mage, as he waved back to turn to walk through the crowds. “Let’s go then,” I said softly, guiding her up the ramp. Her grip on my hand didn’t waver.

  Allyson, Allira, and another young woman, her attendant, by the look of the polished manners and sharp eyes, followed close behind. Inside, the hum of the ship replaced the noise of the crowd. I led Theresa through the main corridor, pointing out the compartments as we passed.

  When we reached her cabin, she paused just a moment before rushing inside. She observed the elegant furnishings, the polished brass fixtures, and the wide berth bed with childlike joy. Then, smiling, she bounced twice on it, the mattress groaning in protest.

  “I think she approves,” Allira murmured dryly from the doorway.

  Theresa only laughed, smoothing her dress. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice soft with wonder.“This is Veronica, my attendant,” she introduced as the other woman began unpacking.

  “Welcome aboard,” I told her. “Princess, if you’ll follow me just to that door.” I pointed down the hall. I stopped and looked back at Veronica. There was something, but I didn’t know what it was. I will have to check it out later.

  Veronica leaned curiously out of the cabin to watch us go, but I pushed through the double doors. Inside, Theresa was already hugging my wives in the seating area.

  “As you can see, Princess, this is our suite,” I said.

  “Master, everyone is aboard,” Allyson reported.

  “Excellent. Let’s get moving.”

  “Yo!” a voice called. I turned to see Theodore and Ajax pushing in behind me.

  “Just finishing showing Theresa around,” I told them. Theodore barreled past, eyes wide.

  “David, what an airship,” he breathed.

  “Allyson,” I said, “assemble everyone in the front lounge.”

  The lounge was already filling, guests pressed to the windows as the ship began to rise. Allyson and Allira moved through the crowd, checking heads.

  “Master, this is everyone. Except your family.”

  I faced the group. “Hello. If you don’t know me, I’m David… Earl David Robertson. Welcome aboard the Enterprise. As you can see, we are currently leaving Eldros and heading north. We expect to reach the site to search for the vaults sometime around noon tomorrow.” This caused some murmurs among the crowd. “During this trip, I do have a few ground rules: these…” I tapped my knuckles on the armored frame of a combat golem. “…are my soldiers. Please don’t tamper with them. They will not appreciate it. Second, some areas are off-limits: the bridge, the engines, the cargo. They’re sealed and guarded. Otherwise, the mess deck is open any time you’re hungry, and this lounge is yours to enjoy for snacks and relaxation.”

  I let my gaze sweep across them. Standing in the back, Bishop Varent loomed beside another priest, his expression tight, unreadable. He gave no greeting, only a stare sharp enough to remind me the argument at the cathedral wasn’t finished.

  “As I said, we’re bound north for the vaults,” I continued. “By noon tomorrow, we’ll be in the region. Until then, enjoy the trip. Any questions, direct them to the crew or my wives. They’ll reach me.”

  With that, I turned and headed for the rear cabins.

  ————————

  Veronica quietly slipped from the stateroom, smoothing her skirts as she made her way down the corridor toward the lounge. Her boots softly clicked on the polished floor, each sound amplified by the silence of the airship. The hum of the engines faintly pulsed through the walls, steady and alive, like the heartbeat of a giant.

  She kept her eyes forward, but her mind was restless. So this is the vessel that has everyone whispering… it doesn’t feel like a ship. It feels alive, watchful. And him… Earl Robertson. No, David, they call him so casually. When I scanned him earlier, I might as well have been staring into a void. No aura, no presence, nothing. Yet when I brushed past him, there was something about him. He is here, undeniably so, and that unsettles me more than if he were blazing with mana.

  She reached the lounge and found General Kitch near the wide windows, his hands clasped behind his back as the forest raced past below. Officers lingered nearby, speaking in hushed tones, but they fell silent when she approached. Veronica pushed through the group of men and stopped at the General’s side, mimicking his posture as if they were enjoying the view. Other officers moved closer to listen to what the General was saying.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Lieutenant,” the General said without turning his head, his voice calm but weighted, “What is the condition of the Princess?”

  “She’s settling in, sir. I passed her near the aft, she was laughing at something the Earl said, her guard just slightly lowered. With her brothers and his family around her, she looked… safe.

  “Did you sweep her quarters?”

  “Yes, sir. No magical devices, no hexed charms, nothing suspicious. I placed the barrier crystals as instructed.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “But I was not able to observe the aft cabin directly. The Earl took her inside, and the doors were closed before I could enter.”

  Kitch gave a short nod, not surprised. “We’ll assume she’s well-guarded then. What do you think of the Earl?”

  “On the surface, he is intriguing,” Veronica continued carefully. “When I scanned him… nothing. It was like trying to read a blank page. I brushed against him deliberately, just to be sure he was truly there. He was. Solid as stone. But the women around him are formidable. They carry themselves like weapons. I wouldn’t care to face them.”

  “The one with him just now looked delicious,” the sergeant muttered under his breath, his grin vanishing as the General’s head turned.

  “Calm yourself, Sergeant,” Kitch snapped, his voice low but sharp. “That ‘woman’ was General Allira Robertson. She could snap you like a dry twig and finish her tea without spilling a drop. I’ve read the reports. Enough to make me flinch, and I don’t do that often. Do not underestimate her. And remember, the latest reports say that there are also two High Mages among his household. Do not test them unless you have a death wish.”

  The soldiers stiffened, backs straight. Silence pooled in the lounge, broken only by the ship’s soft thrum and the whisper of wind sliding past the hull.

  The General’s voice dropped colder still. “The standing order is unchanged: protect the royals, observe the Earl and his family. Do not provoke. The King wants to know what kind of man his daughter is marrying. That is our duty. Nothing more.”

  The captain cleared his throat. “General… the rumors of that duel. Were they true?”

  Kitch’s expression darkened, memory weighing on his face. “True enough. Our host cut down two High Mages with a blade. Two. In the heartbeat it takes most men to decide to act, they’re finished. How does a man take down a fire mage with a sword? Not only a fire mage, but also an earth mage. That, gentlemen, is why the King loses sleep. Because if a man can do that, what else might he be capable of?”

  The room fell silent. Veronica’s breath caught in her chest. Two High Mages… gone in an instant. He looked so ordinary sitting among his wives, so human when the Princess hugged him. But no human does that. Not even close. He’s something else. And if the King fears him, then perhaps we all should.

  She slightly inclined her head toward the General, signaling that the report was finished, and then turned to leave the lounge. The officers moved aside, but in her distraction, she almost bumped into a tall figure entering from the opposite side.

  “Pardon me,” she said quickly, stepping back.

  The man steadied her with a gloved hand before pulling it away. His robes identified him as one of the mages Parryw or Woodwarde; she wasn’t sure which. His eyes, sharp and amused, lingered on her a moment longer than courtesy required.

  “No harm done, miss,” he said smoothly, his voice tinged with the rhythm of someone accustomed to teaching. “This ship is full of new corridors and surprises.” Veronica gave a polite nod, suppressing the shiver that ran up her spine, and slipped past him into the hall.

  ————————

  Mage Harley Woodwarde watched the young maid glide out of the lounge, her steps light and precise. He tugged the glove tighter over his hand, the leather creaking softly as he adjusted his grip.

  The marvels of this place still unsettled him.

  Across the room, his colleague Deana Parryw leaned casually against the bar, chatting animatedly with the maid stationed behind the counter. Or instead at her. The maid wasn’t responding beyond polite nods, her expression serene, her gaze flicking constantly across the room, cataloging everything.

  “Deana,” Harley said as he approached, “whatever you’re trying to do to get that maid’s attention isn’t working. She’s not listening to you.”

  Parryw gave a humorless little laugh. “Oh yes, she is. She’s just not responding to anything beyond her duties. A perfect wife, really. I wonder if the Earl would consider selling one of these precious things?”

  Harley chuckled, swirling his drink as he looked around the lounge. “It’s a shame. Look at this place, Deana, this is a treasure trove of knowledge. And we’re only seeing what the Earl allows us to see. Imagine what else lies beneath the surface.”

  “I know,” Parryw murmured, eyes gleaming behind his spectacles. “I want to drink it all in too. The design of this ship alone makes it fly smoother than any cathedral vessel. These constructs respond like living beings. It’s as if he built a soul into the metal.”

  “How does he make them?” Harley muttered. He took a long pull from his glass, the ice clinking sharply. “No one has ever crafted such seamless synchronization, not even Veralt.”

  Deana’s tone sobered. “And you know he’ll never just give that up. Not after what happened with the duel. Two High Mages were defeated, and he didn’t even break a sweat. Whatever he is, he’s beyond us.”

  Harley’s lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile. “Maybe. But there’s always another way. We can wait for opportunity… or make one.”

  Deana’s glass met his with a soft clink. “True, my friend. True.”

  ————————

  Bishop Varent sat deep in the lounge chair, swirling the remarkable drink one of the maids had brought him. Through the viewport, the northern fields unrolled in a quiet sprawl, dotted with villages that looked no larger than chess pieces on a green board. So this is what the Earl sees every day from his vessel, Varent thought. From this height the land seemed fragile, almost dreamlike.

  The Bishop had flown before, but those airships were cramped coffins with sails and noise flying tombs waiting for their passengers to stop breathing. This vessel, by contrast, felt alive, as if it belonged to another age altogether. He had resisted coming at first. It was reckless, dangerous, beneath his office. Yet curiosity gnawed at him until he relented.

  What is he hiding? The scriptures were clear: engineers were wicked, their brilliance a veil for corruption. But this one, David Robertson, was nothing like the old sermons painted. He was courteous, strangely transparent. Too transparent. Either the Church had been wrong for centuries… or the engineer was skilled enough to hide his rot under charm and spectacle. How can he be faithful to the Gods if he didn’t put himself through these trials to find the truth firsthand?

  Priest Landan returned from their stateroom and bowed. “Your Grace, I swept our quarters again. Nothing out of place, no hexed items, no sigils, no enchantments. Simply a clean, well-prepared room.”

  Varent frowned into his glass, then took a slow sip. “Too clean. Too simple. It cannot be this easy. What else?”

  “The soldiers are here for the royals, as expected. Two mages for historical research. Several adventurers of middling level. The golems are stationed precisely where the Earl said they would be. There is a sealed stateroom at the rear, guarded by another construct. I intend to speak with the adventurers, see what they’ve gleaned.”

  “Good. Learn all you can.” Varent set down his glass, staring at the reflection of the pale sun on the liquid. His fingers flexed against the armrest, restless. “As for me… I think it is time I confront the Earl directly. If there is rot, I will see it in his eyes.”

  Bishop Varent followed the maid into the Earl’s private sitting room. The air here felt different, warm, almost domestic. The scent of tea and parchment was heavy in the air. Four women were gathered close, each with their own quiet poise. One leaned against Robertson himself, her hand resting where his own had settled protectively over hers.

  The Earl stood when Varent entered, smiling as though welcoming an old friend rather than a wary churchman. “Please, sit.”

  Varent hesitated, his eyes sweeping the room. These women did not orbit him like courtiers, nor did they fear him like servants. They belonged at his side. He lowered himself into the offered chair, uneasy at how natural this scene looked.

  “Do you want anything, Bishop? Water? Something stronger?” Robertson asked.

  Varent’s throat was dry. “Yes, please.” He took the drink a maid brought, noticing her quiet efficiency, the way she seemed more like a soldier than a servant. Nothing here was quite what it seemed.

  Across from him, Marlena moved a carved piece across a strange board. Robertson countered her casually, one arm wrapped around the red-haired woman at his side.

  “You have changed…” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

  “Yes. We are expecting,” the woman said softly, smiling despite her weary eyes.

  Varent’s pulse quickened. Declined by the gods, yet here she was, glowing with child. His drink soured on his tongue. “There are more ways in heaven than the mortal mind will ever know,” he recited, though the scripture felt like ash.

  Robertson smiled faintly. “Every answer I find only leads to new questions tomorrow. Tell me, Bishop, what questions weigh on you most?”

  Varent met his gaze. Blue eyes, steady, impossibly calm. “What are you?”

  The air in the room felt still. His wives glanced at each other, but no one spoke. Robertson leaned forward. “If I tell you, can you swear never to talk about this outside this room?”

  Varent drew a breath. “I will give you an oath that I can never break.” He murmured the words, feeling the power bind his tongue. “Now, speak.”

  And Robertson did.

  Not a demon. Not a deceiver. An offworlder from a realm where machines eclipsed magic and knowledge climbed to heights once damned by scripture. A professor, a builder, a solver, a teacher. He spoke of weapons that could erase kingdoms… and the restraint never to use them. Of quests from the gods: to seal rifts, find vaults, protect.

  Each word struck Varent like a hammer to faith. Engineers, the cursed, the ruin-bringers. And yet here he was: holding a woman with reverence, her belly round with his child. Another laughed beside him, content in defeat at their foreign game. They trusted him. Loved him.

  Was this wickedness? Or had the Church been blind?

  “By the gods,” Varent whispered, gripping his cup to steady himself.

  Robertson met his gaze. “Would I ever harm them? Never. I am not that kind of man.”

  And Varent believed him. Against every sermon, every line of scripture, he believed him.

  “May I speak with you again?” Varent asked quietly, almost pleading. “Privately. As we have now.”

  “Anytime, so long as your oath holds. There are those out there who might take what I tell you and bend it to their own purposes,” Robertson replied, his voice calm as still water.

  Across the table, Marlena pouted at her loss. “David!” she huffed, resetting the pieces.

  Varent leaned closer, curious despite himself. “What is this?”

  “A pure evil game,” she muttered.

  Robertson chuckled. “It’s called chess. A game from my home. I can teach you, if you’d like.”

  ————————

  Edmund sat behind the store’s counter, staring south as the caravans trundled by, the world still turning, unaware that a storm was brewing far to the North East. Wagons creaked past in a steady stream, laden with goods from the capital. Ever since the trouble beyond the capital had been resolved, trade had returned to normal, and prices were finally coming down. The war effort was fading into memory.

  The door opened with a jingle, breaking his reverie. Heavy boots crossed the floor. Edmund looked up to see Bertram Harengraves lugging a wooden box to the counter. The man set it down with a grunt.

  “This came from Eldros for you, Edmund,” Bertram said.

  “Thank you. Who’s it from?” Edmund asked, peering at the seal. The handwriting stopped him cold, Seraphina. “Twelve days ago… from Eldros,” he murmured. “That girl gets around.”

  He pried open the lid with a small bar. Inside lay a folded letter resting atop several neatly wrapped parcels. He opened the letter and began to read, lips moving slightly as his eyes softened.

  “All good, I hope?” Bertram asked.

  “Yes.” Edmund smiled faintly. “My little girl went to Eldros to get a blessing for a child.”

  Bertram straightened. “A grandchild? Well, congratulations!” He turned toward the door, then paused mid-step. “Wait… when did she get married?”

  Edmund didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the box again and drew out a small pouch, spilling its contents onto the counter. Twenty gold coins gleamed in the sunlight.

  Bertram frowned. “Edmund, what’s going on here?”

  “What are you asking?”

  “This,” Bertram said, pointing. “That’s a small fortune.”

  Edmund smiled. “A care package. Twenty gold coins from my daughter.”

  Bertram blinked. “All right, then. Who did your daughter marry?”

  “You don’t know him,” Edmund said lightly. “He was here while you were stationed up north.” But the truth was, he didn’t really know him either. Not yet.

  Bertram folded his arms. “Try me.”

  “David… David Robertson.” Edmund’s smile widened with pride. “You may know him as the Earl of Brakenreach.”

  Bertram just stared. The Earl, the same man he’d seen at the wall? Was this Seraphina’s husband?

  “You know Elen will have a fit when she hears this,” Bertram muttered.

  “Yes,” Edmund said with a knowing sigh. “I know that very well. I was waiting for David to return before sharing that. How about an ale?”

  “Gladly,” Bertram said, easing onto a stool. “Did I ever tell you I met the Earl at the wall? He was there when the final battle was fought. I heard it was he and his wife who stopped the invasion.” He took the tankard Edmund handed him and drank deeply.

  “Seraphina? My Seraphina?” Edmund asked, startled.

  Bertram shook his head. “No, Allira. Allira Robertson. A general in the army. Beautiful woman. Terrifying commander. You should’ve seen how she held the line that day.”

  “You didn’t see Seraphina there?”

  “No. Only the Earl and his wife, Allira. Maybe Seraphina was in the capital. But she’s safe, you got her letter, didn’t you?”

  Edmund looked again at the parchment, at the neat script and the name she signed it with: Seraphina Robertson. The name felt both familiar and foreign now. Who are you becoming, my girl? He wondered. And what kind of man did you marry?

  Bertram patted his shoulder. “She’s safe and well off. And with that pile of gold, she’d better start saving for that child.”

  Both men raised their tankards, clinking them together before taking long, reflective swigs. Edmund wondered what his other daughter and her husband, the local baron, would think of all this. Bertram, for his part, thought of his wife and how she’d react when she heard the news.