The King of Lumeria feared for his legacy. As he often did in moments of doubt, he sought June’s counsel, retreating to her office in hopes of gaining her insight. Both agreed that this Dorakstone remained a troubling unknown. Its properties could take months, perhaps years, to fully understand but reaching out to Yamileth kor Agara might hasten the process. Once again, however, June remained impervious to his charms.

  The matter was brought before the court the following day. After deliberation, the King resolved to send a delegation to Korrath to secure an agreement directly with Yamileth. At its head, he appointed Killian Doremi, a young scholar chosen for both his loyalty and his knowledge of Korrathi customs and history.

  Another piece of news reached the court: the Queen of Mistralis would assume her late husband’s responsibilities herself.

  If June believed so, the King’s opinion was that Lumeria should invest as much as possible in Dorakstone. His people did not see it that way. It was foreign, recent, and poorly understood. Worse, it threatened to make power accessible without tradition. Resentment began to take shape, with small groups leading acts of sabotage against Korrathi imports throughout the country.

  The religious party had begun to demand more and more of the court. They spoke of decay, of moral erosion, of a kingdom that had forgotten its purpose. Dorakstone, they claimed, was not merely dangerous but profane. Its spread was framed as a symptom of deeper corruption. Magic schools were reluctant to evolve as well because using Dorakstone felt like deception to many of the discipline’s sponsors.

  The Queen of Mistralis announced a contest for her succession, open to all. The trial consisted for each candidate to present three gifts before the end of the event: one for the Queen, one for themselves, and one for the people of Mistralis. An entrance fee of 100,000 gold was required. The contest would begin in a month’s time and last for one month.

  When the announcement reached the court, it was met with polite surprise and quiet calculation. Participation was debated, then approved. Influence over Mistralis without bloodshed was an appealing prospect. If Lumeria’s position was growing more fragile at home, it would continue to shine abroad.

  The King chose Sir Isaacs Henry as his representative. His record was impeccable. June Benedict was assigned to accompany him.

  A few days later, a missive from Killian arrived. Yamileth kor Agara was willing to trade a generous quantity of Dorakstone in exchange for the entrance fee required by the Queen’s Challenge. Dorakstone was a scarce resource and Lumeria, confident in its position, believed the Korrathi would be no match for its chosen champion. The King gave his assent, and the deal was sealed.

  The King began to notice June’s absences. Not because her work suffered, it did not, but because he had grown accustomed to her presence. She was no longer always in her office, and when she was, her attention seemed elsewhere. When pressed, she offered no explanations. He could have her followed, but doing so would fracture a trust he relied on more than any decree.

  Her research continued to advance regardless. Proposals bearing her name reached the court with increasing regularity. Several plans involved using Dorakstone to reinforce existing fortifications. The court resisted immediately. Dorakstone carried too much controversy, too many implications. The King argued in her favor, perhaps more fiercely than he should have. In the end, he authorized a handful of test projects, limited enough to avoid becoming matters of state.

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  The opening ceremony of the Queen’s challenge was only a few days away. Sir Henry and June would leave the kingdom for the duration of the event. The King gave Sir Henry free rein in representing Lumeria. Sir Henry was a rather old-fashioned man, but passionate and deeply knowledgeable about Lumeria’s history. With June by his side, the King was not worried about how the event would unfold.

  At the same time, with two of the crown’s most influential figures abroad, several factions saw an opportunity.

  The religious party moved first, calling for increased oversight of magical practices and renewed emphasis on “traditional values”. Committees were formed to review ongoing research, including projects involving Dorakstone. Trade guilds pushed for stricter controls on foreign imports. Senior magistrates called for reaffirming old charters, citing legal ambiguity in recent royal decisions.

  Each motion, taken alone, was defensible. But together, they formed a pattern. Lumeria was not resisting the King outright. It was reminding him that change from abroad wasn’t welcome.

  The news that June Benedict was participating in the Queen’s Challenge on her own didn’t make any sense in Lumeria. Why would she overshadow the crown’s interests and how had she paid the entrance fee? Sir Henry’s letters claimed she was still acting in Lumeria’s interest, she had not forgotten her roots.

  As the final day of the Queen’s Challenge approached, the King departed on an official journey to Mistralis, a diplomatic gesture meant to affirm Lumeria’s presence. He welcomed the opportunity to see Sir Henry and June again after a month apart. This trip was also an opportunity to take a few days from the palace, which had grown increasingly noisy and suffocating.

  On the day of the ceremony, Sir Henry was the first to present his gifts. For the Queen, he presented a ceremonial sword bearing Lumeria’s royal crest, a sign of respect for the crown. For himself, he unveiled a painting of Mistralis crafted by a Lumerian artisan, a tribute from the land of arts. For the people, he proposed the construction of magic schools across Mistralis, sharing Lumeria’s knowledge and prestige in the discipline.

  The next presentation that captured the King’s attention was June’s. Her first gift was a letter, yet it alone was enough to make the Queen of Mistralis tremble. Then came the lighthouse, and the albatross. The announcement of the winner was postponed until the banquet, but the King already felt that victory was out of reach for his country and that the June he loved was slipping further out of reach as well.

  The banquet confirmed his intuition as Lord Dawnsire was declared King of Mistralis. Though the evening offered a rare opportunity to speak with other rulers and dignitaries, nothing of consequence emerged from the conversations. Polite words were exchanged, alliances implied but not promised.

  By the end of the day, only one truth mattered to him. June was not coming back.

  The return journey from Mistralis was meant to be uneventful. Formal farewells had been exchanged.

  A message arrived halfway through the journey. A coordinated uprising had erupted in the capital. The religious party had acted while the court’s attention was fixed abroad. Barracks loyal to the crown were struck first. The conspirators had seized the opportunity of the event in Mistralis to attack the crown directly.

  An ambush halted the convoy. Sir Henry acted without hesitation. The fight ended as quickly as it had begun.

  Returning directly to the capital was no longer an option. The roads were compromised, the chain of command uncertain. With no guarantee of who still answered to the crown, the King made the only remaining choice. He vanished.