RLQ - Chapter 16
Chapter 16: The Chosen One
Hearing his footsteps, the Queen looked up.
“I was just wondering if you would come,” Adele said. “After all, I just sent some of your Temple Knights brothers to Whitehall Prison.”
“What do you want with me?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the Archbishop regretted them. They sounded like a young knight arriving for a rendezvous. Noticing this, his tone hardened.
“They will make you pay.”
Adele closed her book and stood up.
She wasn't wearing her usual elaborate gowns. A pure white taffeta dress clung to her waist, outlining a figure like a willow branch in early spring. The sunlight gilded her dress and hair with a faint gold, making her look like St. Catherine on a cathedral dome.
Archbishop Rhodri realized why, sometimes, the Queen gave him a sense of familiarity.
On the dome of the Great Cathedral in Roland's capital, Gelt, the renowned painter Billester spent three years completing a divine revelation mural. In the fresco, numerous deceased saints gathered to witness how God saved the world. Among them, St. Catherine wore a white linen dress, her beauty seemingly not of this world.
The Archbishop hadn't noticed it before, but his recent interactions with the Queen made him realize that the face of St. Catherine in the mural was clearly the Queen's face from when she was a princess.
This wasn't uncommon.
From the past to the present, in many religious artworks, painters would often use royalty, nobles, or members of the Papal families as models. When the Great Cathedral was being renovated, Adele had just ended her exile and was summoned back to the palace by her brother, James. Considering the timeline, it was indeed possible that Billester had seen Adele, and his impression of her was preserved in the cathedral mural.
“So, I want to know,” Adele said, “how much control do you have over the Temple Knights?”
“You won't get me to betray my brothers.”
The Archbishop replied stiffly.
“I need your help, Rhodri,” Adele said directly. “Otherwise, this unrest cannot be quelled.”
“How dare you say such a thing to me?” The Archbishop found it hard to believe. “Do you think I would still trust you? After you exploited my goodwill and launched a massive purge against the Old God Sect?”
Yes, he had been used.
The vague premonition he had felt all along was confirmed at this moment. She was indeed using him, and he, like a fool, had ridiculously worried about her safety.
“Gods above!” The Archbishop couldn't control his anger, blurting out, “I should have let them do it! Let you be dragged to the stake.”
“You know better than anyone what's really going on! Why am I targeting them? I don't care if they hate me to the bone. Whoever is an enemy of Roland is my enemy. Assuming you haven't forgotten that you are a Rolandian, then answer me, is it I, or they, who are betraying Roland's interests?”
The Queen's tone also became forceful.
“Answer me! Rhodri!”
“But you are also stirring up new unrest and chaos. Do you want another 'Spiritual War'? Like in 1552.”
The Archbishop questioned.
1552.
The first large-scale conflict between the New God and Old God factions in the Roland Empire erupted, later known as the "Spiritual War." Many people were sacrificed on both sides during the "Spiritual War," and eventually, both sides had to compromise, but the hatred didn't disappear; instead, it intensified.
Even now, the two factions were like fire and water.
“I've said it before, I don't care if you believe in the New God or the Old God, as long as you are citizens of Roland and abide by Roland's laws,” the Queen said sharply. “I want everyone to let go of hatred, to let people who believe in different gods see each other as brothers and sisters. Don't you understand—?”
“New or old, it doesn't matter!”
“As long as it is friendly, and it is Roland's.”
“You must be insane, you're not even a heretic!” Archbishop Rhodri looked at the Queen as if she were the poisonous snake that tempted humanity. “Only a devil would dare to say such words.”
No one, no one could say such words.
Faith should be devout, it should be inviolable.
God is unique. If not, how could mortals cleanse their original sin? How could their souls be saved? Even pagans have their own unquestionable gods whom they worship.
“No, you are wrong.”
The Queen's voice sounded as if it came from a distant land.
“I am the chosen one.”
“You're mad.” The Archbishop took a step back.
“What if I can prove it?”
The Queen gazed at him, her face overlapping with the saint in the cathedral mural.
The wind blew open the curtains, and sunlight poured into the dusty room, sweeping away all gloom. The Queen was enveloped in a molten gold-like radiance.
Sharp, commanding, and lofty.
“Then…” The Archbishop could barely hear his own voice. “Prove it to me.”
Countless sharp iron lances pointed towards the sky.
The jousting tournament was not canceled due to the Queen's poisoning incident, only rescheduled. This was the will of the Queen and the Marshal of the Empire—the royal family and the government needed a magnificent spectacle to dispel the anxious atmosphere that had hung over the capital since the July Rebellion.
By the White River, splendid tents bearing the crests of various families were erected, and flags and emblems of all colors were dazzling. Young knights entered amidst the dust kicked up by hooves, clad in iron armor, gleaming in the sunlight. Ladies and young women, dressed in their finest, sat on the high platform, seizing a rare opportunity to openly admire them.
Petals were scattered into the White River, reflecting the flags.
Everything looked splendid.
Were it not for the lances, and the fully armed guards among the colorful banners.
“You are taking a risk.”
Prince Arthur sat beside the Queen, speaking softly amidst the cheers of the crowd.
Whether intentional or not, Prince Arthur wore a scarlet coat today, embroidered with the Rute royal family's fleur-de-lis in gold thread, with diamond-studded lace at the collar and cuffs, and silver buttons glittering in the sun. Such attire was, of course, impeccable, but the problem was...
The problem was that the Queen's dress was also scarlet.
The Rute Empire Count sitting on the other side watched them, his heart filled with anxiety.
—Anyone who didn't know would think Prince Arthur and the Queen of Roland were the ones about to be married.
This was not a safe signal, but the rapier that had grazed his neck had taken away the Count's courage. He felt as if he had finally seen the other side of Prince Arthur, the one mocked for being "like a woman"—the dangerous, malicious side—leaving him only able to watch everything unfold.
The Count could only avert his gaze.
Just then, the Count suddenly noticed someone nearby who seemed out of place. He wore a black monk's cowl, his brow bone like an eagle's wing, and his steel-blue eyes also held a hint of displeasure as he watched the Queen and the Prince on the high platform.
The Count thought for a while before recognizing him as the youngest Archbishop in history, Rhodri.
“I heard you also prepared armor.” Adele deftly avoided Prince Arthur's question, half-covering her face with the exquisite gold-embroidered fan in her hand. “Your brother once defeated twelve knights consecutively in a jousting tournament; no one could match him. You must have been there, weren't you?”
“You are being a bit unfair. These past few days, I haven't dared to be distracted for a single minute or second, praying for you. No one else has occupied my thoughts but you. And you?”
Prince Arthur smiled, gazing intently at Adele.
“While you are with me, you are still thinking of my royal brother? I assure you, he is not as handsome as I am.”
His tone carried a hint of grievance and complaint, and coupled with his face as handsome as an angel, any ordinary noblewoman present would surely regret her slip of the tongue.
Unfortunately, he was facing Adele Roland.
The beautiful, iron-hearted Queen of Roland.
She chuckled softly, using her fan to push Prince Arthur's face, which had gotten too close, slightly away: “Have you heard the recent rumors? They all say I am infatuated with you and want to change the marriage alliance partner. As for me? My legendary lovers, if lined up, could stretch along the White River all the way to the city gate. And you? You are still unmarried, unlike someone with a notorious reputation like mine.”
“Are they blind?” Prince Arthur showed a look of disbelief. “Isn't it I who am infatuated with you?”
Hearing this, Adele laughed, covering her face with her fan.
Prince Arthur, this "Sinful Prince" skilled in conspiracy, poison, and trickery, could indeed make himself exceptionally likable when he chose to.
After a moment.
“Actually, for an alliance, there's no difference between a Prince and a King, is there?”
He said slowly, the blue in his eyes looking particularly dangerous.
“That is the most moving thing I have ever heard,” the Queen said, lowering her fan, a smile on her lips.
Her tone was sincere, but she subtly steered away from the dangerous topic.
At this moment, the arena erupted in applause.
The Queen turned her gaze towards it.
A knight in gleaming armor galloped past, his cloak as black as midnight, without any family crest. His opponent tumbled to the ground behind him, hitting the dust with a heavy thud. The match ended as quickly as lightning, because the knight in the black cloak was like a battle blade, striking down his enemy the moment it was drawn.
The herald announced loudly to the crowd that this was his eleventh victory.
The onlookers cheered, and noble ladies threw the flowers in their hands into the arena.
No matter when, the victor is always worthy of admiration.
Prince Arthur narrowed his eyes, recognizing him as that damned commoner, Robert Dalton. Just as the herald was about to announce his next opponent, Prince Arthur suddenly stood up and interrupted him loudly.
“I will be this gentleman's opponent.”
The sharp-nosed nobles exchanged glances, while the commoners, unaware of the inside story, cheered even louder for this more exciting interlude. Strength, challenge—this was the charm of the jousting tournament.
The herald looked towards Dalton in the arena. He lifted the visor of his helmet and nodded expressionlessly.
The Prince left to put on his armor. When he appeared at the other end of the arena, the noble ladies couldn't help but blush. General Dalton was handsome, but his handsomeness was like a blade, cold and sharp. Prince Arthur, on the other hand, perfectly matched the girls' fantasies of a prince on a white horse.
Dalton rode around half the arena.
Finally, he stopped before the Queen's platform and bowed to the Queen: “May I have the honor of entering the field with your blessing, Your Majesty?”
The Queen smiled slightly, stood up gracefully, and took a step down.
Just then, another warhorse arrived. Prince Arthur reined in his horse, also stopping before the high platform. As if he didn't see Dalton beside him, he extended his hand towards the Queen:
“Will you grant me your protection?”
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