Better Than That Name (3): The King's Compromise
Having escaped the grand audience chamber, they were led to a lavishly appointed reception room. The space, edged with carved white marble, boasted red carpets, masterpieces hanging on the walls, and an ornate chandelier dangling from the high ceiling—everything so grandiose that one might unwittingly realize it was meant to host the abject poor.
Lenoir sat across from the king at a single black wooden table. The king's green locks and pale purple eyes stirred a faint nostalgia. They perfectly recreated the colors of the royal portraits he'd once gazed upon with regretful blurring. He resembled the fourth king—at least in appearance. But his insidious depths were another matter entirely.
The king spoke with utmost courtesy. "What sort of tea do you prefer?"
"I take no pleasure in overpowering sweetness, so spare the honey. Beyond that, I have no preferences—bring whatever suits you. And provide some refreshments for the lady as well."
"As you command, O sage."
The king's gaze flicked briefly toward Sara. But he did not linger. A quick study, indeed. Lenoir was certain, at least, that the man would cause no needless uproar.
"First, I beg your forgiveness. Please absolve me of the sin of turning from the oath engraved in my blood."
"Tell me why you must."
"Wolves overrun the fold. Ignorant of law and decorum, they know no restraint, and their greed makes them covet even the throne without hesitation."
"For your own safety, then."
"In the greater sense, for this realm."
"You claim your rule serves the public good?"
"I deem it the lesser evil in place of the worst."
His eyes were mild, yet they burned with resolve. The reasoning was hardly inscrutable. It simply displeased.
"A leader ought to embody the best. Yet you humans are a race that spits out only the bitter dregs of self-serving virtue, leaving the sweet poisons behind. Now fallen so low that you must scrape for the least evil among evils."
"A grievous sin, indeed."
"It is so. Know this: the reason I abandoned your salvation lies within yourselves."
His loathing for humanity was no fleeting surge. It had built over ages confronting a species that twisted awry no matter how straightly one set it. There came a day when those ancient resentments crossed the threshold. Long after the mythic age ended, when even three-digit years had passed. In the end, after endless patience, Lenoir had forsaken their redemption.
"Through you, I see the twenty-third king shall be another puppet. You will scheme from the shadows as his steward, using your heir as a shield."
"Yes, shameful though it be, O sage."
"I have no desire for long tales. I wish to dwell no further on this disappointment, you wicked soul. Speak the reason you summoned me to this palace."
"How could a ruler ignore the eye of an unstoppable storm seated in his very courtyard?"
"I have no cause to meddle in your mortal society's greed. Accept it. Uphold it."
"We shall grant the church its charter."
"Let your interference end there."
The kingdom's meddling had been anticipated. Thus, the resolution was simple. He need only exercise his rights as lord. It was Lenoir who had fortified Cremvelheim's foundations. The oath that glorified their blood held validity only under his guarantee. Thus, even if the world forgot the demigods, they could not.
For when dark clouds gathered over their bloodline one day, only Lenoir would dispel them.
There the discussion ended. Anything more would devolve into tedious drivel.
An elderly maid brought tea and confections. Sara, at last, cheerfully banished from her mind the incomprehensible exchanges and savored the sweets. The royal treats embodied the vain history they'd piled up—a peripheral pleasure that ensnared the palate, violently intoxicating to a girl in her prime.
"Urghhh…."
The king smiled warmly at the sight.
"If it please you, might we offer the sweetest confections as tribute to the nascent church, without offense?"
"I cannot demand payment. I have already bestowed much upon your bloodline."
"We seek only harmony and your mercy."
"Then you may do so."
"Huh? What's that about?"
"This one offers to supply the temple with refreshments."
"Whaaat?! Oh gosh… Your Majesty…!"
Sara shot to her feet and bent to bow. Lenoir raised his cane to block her descending head. The tip pressed to her forehead slowly lifted her upright.
"Huh?"
"How dare you bow to a mere mortal king? By your very existence, you outrank them all."
"No, but still, accepting without even saying thanks is super rude…."
"Ahah!"
The king burst into laughter. Sara's words rang true, though. Lenoir felt a twinge of discomfort, yet there was no cause to hinder a breach of mere etiquette.
"Mind you kneel not."
Sara dipped her head in a quick nod.
"Your Majesty shall rue the kingdom!"
"We thank you for your grace, O exalted one. Yet we beseech: spare us the kingdom's ruin."
"Oh, not ruining the kingdom?"
Lenoir squeezed his eyes shut.
* * *
Cremvelheim's twenty-second king, Stevron, leaned against the reception room window, watching Lenoir and Sara depart below. The girl chattered animatedly with vibrant laughter, and Lenoir replied without a trace of the disdain he'd shown in their audience—altogether a heartwarming scene. It evoked a peaceful family outing on a spring day.
"Your Highness."
A count knelt then, voice laced with concern. "The guests have departed. However…."
"You worry? That the demigod might one day return to the palace and demand the throne?"
The count answered with silence. Thus, Stevron could only smile.
"Unfounded fears. Even should the heavens crumble and reform, that one would not desire this seat."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Power means less to him than roadside pebbles."
He stepped down from the sill. "Why would this throne taste sweet to one who forged it himself yet seated another upon it—and deemed even that golden age too ugly to endure?"
If so then, this era was worse. Some called it the age of wolves. Royal dignity had waned, noble greed pierced the skies, and cults sprouting like weeds splintered the people's faith.
Stevron was king in such times. Thus, he knew.
"We cannot but appear grotesque to that one. To he who deems himself the highest apostle, this age is one of sin."
"Then…."
"After ages shunning the world, he reveals himself to me thus—presenting an innocent girl as the goddess reborn. He would not abruptly chase heresies, so it must be truth."
"That girl truly the goddess incarnate? Then the world changes—and greater peril follows…."
"Who knows if such a thing will come."
Lenoir had united humanity toward an ideal, only to abandon them in disappointment when they fell short. His return in the form of a church meant he'd found a way to lead them to that ideal. Of course—he would never compromise. It neared the truth unerringly.
To Stevron, it was laughable.
"Records fade, yet myths were real. And the end times, too. Reflecting on him, the great creators likely deemed mortals need no ideals. Humans may be designed from the start to never attain them. Yet he seeks to lead such a race toward perfection. Pitiable."
Stevron's eyes narrowed, a bitter smile on his lips. He would despair endlessly. Even if he built a church upon that girl, gathered divinity, and dyed the world in distant blessings—it would be the same.
"Paradise shall not come. This land is not granted us."
"You think the demigod unaware?"
"He knows. He simply cannot accept it. Cannot accept, thus cannot comprehend."
The count looked utterly perplexed. Stevron smiled gently and explained.
"How can one comprehend what one does not love? That is his nature. In this long history, he has never once loved humanity. Unless he changes, nothing will."
He who lives to worship his parents' greatness and commemorate them. He who knows purity alone as beauty. He who knows only how to live thus. Such a one's path… Yes, the goddess may return. But the paradise he craves will not come. In sum, the world changes not a whit.
That was why Stevron could accept and serve in silence. Their guardian would preserve this peace while dreaming his dreams eternal.
"Support the temple's construction. Ignore the other cults."
The royal decree fell. Moments later, Stevron murmured.
"The creators were cruel indeed. As that ancient tome said, they abandoned their children after teaching only to revere their parents."
For the first time in ages, Hailerr's ancient scripture came to mind.