Blood of the Crown (The Blood and the Wind Book 1) by A.G. Wicker

Author:A.G. Wicker [Wicker, A.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fulmar Press
Published: 2022-09-15T05:00:00+00:00

The People’s Sovereign

Olivia

The flag of Landridge was lowered to half-mast. The crowds stood behind her and the nobles gathered on the balconies of the Old Aneglin all fell to near silence as the first beat of the drum echoed around her. The quartet at the bottom of the steps beside Olivia played the Skyvern's March solemnly as three children emerged from the doors of the Old Aneglin, all clad in white, a basket of flowers in each pair of hands. They walked straight past Olivia to the priest stood atop the steps, dressed in a most pristine white cloak. Olivia watched him bless each basket, using three fingers to touch each one before kissing his hand, his eyes closed.

But far beneath, the commoners jested and jeered, cursing and spitting at the sight of it all. It was disgusting. But then, she couldn’t blame them really, could she? After all, they were northerners…they had seen first-hand the hostilities of the southerners that had ruled them hundreds of years ago. The Old Aneglin itself was a monument to all of the awful things the old bluecoats had done. The majestic building hadn’t always been an Aneglin – it had once stood as a Parydon, a place for the followers of the Old Deryzi to gather at night’s end. A place as sacred as any. They’d spared nothing, the Weslin, they’d taken it all. It was only natural that the Verenic, at least some of them, still had no room in their hearts for southerners or their ways. The faces in the crowds below her suddenly sung a different song, one of frustration, of struggle.

She watched as some of the commoners tried to clamber over each other, reaching over the barriers. It looked less like a vigil and more and more like a riot. Over to the left, four men had marched past her to almost the top of the marble steps. By their uniforms, she could tell that that they were guards of the Malysor Castle, each with a rifle on his arm. Aren was stood behind them all, at the very top. He looked over at Olivia, giving her a thin smile, then looked away again, to the crowds, a lost look about him.

“Our brothers, our sisters, our elders,” shouted Aren, louder than she’d ever heard him. Many of the crowds went quiet as the guards pointed their rifles up to the skies for their salute. They fired all at once, a deafening crack. The crowds roared louder than ever before. She looked to the commoners, the closest ones to the barriers. The loathing in their eyes as they caught sight of her. Why wouldn’t they loathe her? She was the daughter of a traitor. A traitor of the south.

The bells of the Aneglin rang and she was suddenly scurried away by Cyneric, his giant palm placed firmly around her shoulder. She followed him up the steps to the grand black doors of the Old Aneglin. She turned her head back, catching a glimpse of Aren and Pennyn following behind her, but Cyneric pushed it right back around.

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