CHAPTER ELEVEN
“ALL HAIL, KING KIPRIYÁN”
On the first day of July, which is the Feast of Saint Ioulios the Martyr, the best-attended court in years was held in the Great Hall of Tighrishály Palace. Promptly at tritê, the new Hankyárar, Lord Frigyes Zsitvay, called the assembly to order, and the king marched to his throne in procession, flanked by Prince Arkády, Prince Kiríll, Prince Zakháry (who had arrived via viridaurum from Myláßgorod the previous evening), plus Prince-Regent Andruin and Princess-Regent Arrhiána.
King Kyprianos iii was magnificently cloaked in his best finery, covered with an ochre-and-black linen tunic and shalvar, its only decoration an embroidered Tighrishi tiger. A black silk sash was wrapped tightly about his waist. In his manner and bearing, he was the embodiment of the Kórynthi monarchy.
“All hail, King Kipriyán,” intoned the Hankyárar.
“Hail, King Kipriyán!” came the unanimous response from the throng.
Then the king rose from his throne, and held his hand high for silence.
“My lords and ladies,” the great voice boomed, but was drowned out in continuing huzzahs.
“My lords and ladies,” Kipriyán began again, “I have the honor to announce a grand victory at the Schilling-Ford....”
“What?” mouthed Prince Zakháry to his brother Kiríll.
“...We have met the Walküre,” the king continued, “and he is ours. King Barnim is dead!”
His words were whelmed by cheers.
“His son, King Walther, will soon be dead!”
The rafters shook with thunder, while Princess Arrhiána shrugged her shoulders at Prince Arkády, as if to say, “What’s he doing?”
The king motioned for silence.
“Our great victory did not come without a price,” he said, bowing his head. “My brave boy Nikolaí died fighting the good fight.”
Groans replaced the cheers.
“King Humfried, Prince Ezzö, Prince Pankratz, Prince Norbert,” he added, “they were all destroyed by the evil workings of the Dark-Haired Man.”
Now women and old men at court could be seen weeping openly. Princess Teréza collapsed and fainted where she stood. Princess Arizélla rushed over to comfort her, together with a physician.
“The Thrice Holy Patriarch Avraäm perished from a stytche in his heart,” the king stated.
“And sad to say,” the old monarch continued, “there were many other brave men who perished at the Schilling-Ford while fighting for king and country.”
“Who?” called some.
“How many?” questioned others.
More cries of anguish filled the court.
“But,” he noted, “their sacrifice shall not be in vain. We withdrew from Balíxira to save our men’s lives. Many had been injured by the wicked spells and trickery of the papist-loving Walküri. But we shall soon return. We shall always return, until the persecutors of the True Church have been rousted from the earth.”
Kipriyán looked for Arrhiána and Andruin among the throng.
“Son and daughter, you have done well,” he commended. “I do now resume the throne of my fathers. You are relieved of your service, Prince-Regent Andruin and Princess-Regent Arrhiána,” he noted, repeating the official formula.
“This court is adjourned.”
They quickly led him to an antechamber, where he collapsed from the strain, and was tended by Doctor Melanthrix.