The King of Conflict

I warned him against it.

I urged him with every energy I could muster to take a different path.

I left the country so the ritual could not be completed properly.

If he were not my king, my next sentence would be “And yet, the bastard summoned me home for the wedding, and the magic pulled in me so strongly that I could not resist.” But I cannot, because a true bastard would have no power to compel me home.

The jerkwad…

I found myself returning within hours of receiving the letter. Luckily I had just enough resistance to make sure things were put away, and the kids settled with a family member. On Spouse’s side of the family. If the letter didn’t specify them, then they would be free of the compulsion, and this one would be awful in its results.

The king had declared that his daughter was of an age to be married.

And he had picked what he claimed was the perfect husband for her, a young man worthy of the custody of the kingdom.

I had done the casting. I had read the runes. I fed the sacred fire the proper material, said the words, fed bit of hair clipped from the heads of prospective bride and groom.

Have you ever seen a sacred fire sputter, burn itself out, and eject gouts of foul-smelling smoke, choking every witness? And that was before the sudden rain storm caused the roof to crack and spill water into the chamber, and then the small meteor struck, collapsing that singular building into rubble.

A sign of good fortune, the king declared.

I asked him who was the magic user here, and was he blind? And that declaration would hit a lot different if he weren’t still coughing acrid black smoke out of his lungs.

He used what little air left in his lungs to spit some invectives at me, and I grinned.

“That’s one,” I said cheerfully.

And I’d left the kingdom within the hour, only to be unceremoniously dragged back.

As befits my station, I was presented in full court. My return was heralded as another sign, and of course the marriage was to be sealed within days.

Which I was supposed to officiate.

I smiled again, stepped up onto the dais. And in front of a shocked Court, I smacked the King full across his face.

His face may have turned purple, but the red mark of my hand stayed the same color. I had put enough magic into the action as to make it permanent.

And I grinned again. “That’s two,” I said cheerfully.

I was expected to officiate in the chapel, which had been cleared of rubble.

I was expected to restore the sacred fire.

I was expected to put a love spell on the princess, so she would accept the marriage. Apparently things were not so rosy in Paradise for the alleged lovebirds, and Darling Daddy wanted things to go smoothly at the nuptials.

Since none of these things were couched as direct orders, I could cheerfully refuse any and all efforts to coerce me. Cheer was woefully thin on the ground, so I figured it was my bounden duty to restore as much as possible at such a fraught time.

But I did go and visit the princess, since I was her Magic Godperson.

I figured she’d be in quite a state, but I didn’t expect her to be barricaded in her rooms with her ladies in waiting, with a secret passageway leading right to the kitchen.

Once she realized I was back, I was smuggled in through the tunnel, with a lovely lunch for everyone in the suite.

Over crisp finger sandwiches, I learned that the prince’s main wooing strategy was to grope whatever was within reach, no matter the audience.

I was told that the prince’s attendants were mostly interested in mining rights, tree thickness, tax systems, and martial strength.

I ascertained that the self-defense training, that I insisted all females in the castle learn, had come in quite handy. The healer was raking in quite a nice packet of extra pay for the scrapes, bruises, broken bones, and curious cuts inflicted on the foreign dignitaries. His salves, freshened with a touch of my magic, were selling at a premium. Of course I was getting a cut of the profit.

And I had a wicked, terrible idea.

I grinned again.

“My dear, please don’t hit me, but think a minute. Would you like to get married? The old way? With the full ceremony? If your Father-King is going to demand traditional things, should he not have the full experience?”

I have taught this wonderful woman well. When she thinks, concentrates the formidable weight of her mind to a problem, most wise problems tremble and shuffle out the door. The best ones apologize on their way out. This problem, I swear, was gibbering in terror as it ran outside with its hair on fire.

The princess grinned.

The king was delighted beyond his wildest dreams when the princess agreed to the match the next morning, and I agreed to officiate. He gleefully ordered the ruined chapel be decorated with flower garlands, and the hideous Traditional Wedding Dress be removed from storage. It had locks up the back of the torso, and was stiff as a clam shell.

Thankfully the Traditional Prince Suit was just as hideous, with the locks at the armpits and waist. He would be wheeled in on the Traditional Wheelbarrow, and slid into place with the Royal Lever.

With no walls, there was barely a barrier between the invited guests and the city folk. By tradition, any kingdom citizen could come and watch from the castle’s grounds.

I paraded grandly down the aisle, carrying the old Tome of the Ancients. We’d gone to a slimmed-down version during my predecessor’s time, but if the King wanted his Tradition, by all that was holy, he would get it.

There was a moment of apprehension in the King’s eyes when he saw it, but was quickly erased by the pride beaming from him of Tradition Adhered To. It glowed brightly above the red hand print, spilling from his eyes.

And I cast the first rune, inscribed the circle.

By the time the bride and groom were wheeled in, through the archway I made in the warding circle, the older folks were recalling that the traditional ceremony is five full hours. I rather hoped the older courtiers had remembered to take a garderobe break beforehand, because not many bothered to wear the Traditional Relief Bladders in their Traditional Underclothes.

By the time I got to the Ceremonial Censors, sprinkling holy water on anything that was sitting still, the King started to shift a bit. When I finally got to sprinkling holy earth, the fidget became a wiggle.

So when I turned to reach for the bronze bowl of holy air, the King whispered, “Hey, can you speed it up, I really have to pee!”

I grinned. “Is that an order?”

He glared at me, eyeballs swimming in a yellow sea. “Yes!”

I grinned again. “And, that’s three!”

I turned back to the bridal couple, robes swirling dramatically. I flicked fire at them from my fingertips, made some swirly sigils in the air. “You’re married! Good luck with the mob!”

The bored-out-of-his-mind prince refocused his eyes on me. “Uh, what?”

I dismissed the warding.

A series of sudden clicks split the silence. The locks on the princess’ dress popped open, and she sprinted for the back door, now a ruined archway. Her attendants’ seeming of pretty girls blurred into the mailed, armored, and sword-carrying mercenaries I’d hired to protect her, and they formed a menacing wedge that caused people to melt out of their way.

The citizens poured in.

I grinned, and stepped back. The prince, trapped in his traditional suit, was helpless as he was wheeled away with the crowd.

The king turned to me. “What is this? Save him!”

“Sorry, King. You got your three orders, as is traditional. I am no longer forced to do your bidding, so you can go whistle. You wanted a traditional wedding? Well, here it is – with the commoners carrying away their new overlords, to be ransomed or fought back. Just as has been traditional, except your own father put a stop to it, because he and his bride actually liked each other.”

“You must stop this!”

“Nope.” I ducked a pitchfork, and it glanced off the very powerful shield spell I’d set about myself. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone is thrilled with your policies and orders anymore. The princess has already gotten to your chair in the throne room, so she is now safe from the mob. You, on the other hand-”

The king screamed for his guards, but they remembered the old rules, and stayed out of the way. He was captured with only a little bashing, and dragged out wailing. A few of the more unpopular courtiers were also rounded up and carted off, while the rest screamed and bemoaned the ruined ceremony.

I helpfully pointed out the entire prince’s retinue, so they could unwillingly join their fearful leader. The crowd was most enthusiastic, now knowing I wouldn’t blast them to smithereens for being traditional. They also wouldn’t know that I and the princess urged them to do this, through our various contacts.

Myself? I waited till the chaos died down, and asked the guards to shepherd the remaining guests to the throne room.

Where the princess was waiting, wearing the crown of the Queen.

Oh, her mother would have been so proud! I discreetly boosted the light around her to make everything a bit more dazzling, and she gave a tremendous speech on unifying the kingdom against foreign influences. And greed. And controlling fathers who lost their common sense to greed.

It was splendid.

I was soon re-confirmed in my office as High Mage, and took my seat to the left. I cast the runes on the spot, and her modifier of “the Peacemaker” was proclaimed to her audience.

And it would be. She would get three wishes from me, after all. Likely more, because all she had to do was ask, and I would do it. Because she was a smarter baked good than her father ever was, so the magic was worth doing.

The prince? Never saw him again, and our new Queen certainly didn’t care to ransom him. I heard their ship sailed away a few days later. Maybe they were on it. I doubt there will be any dire repercussions, since he was only a fifth son.

The former king? Working in a scullery, last I heard. He knows the rules, same as I, and Tradition is a two-edged sword when it comes to fate.

Now that things are settled, Spouse and I sent for our kids. I’ll make sure they arrive safely. And I’ve started the hunt for an apprentice. My kids aren’t big into magic, something about liking results they can see. That’s fine; some days I agree with them. I’ve tucked the Big Traditional Book back in to the treasury, so it’s nearby if needed again.

But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy my Tradition-free magic, and the fate we’ve earned.