"Violleta Vonville."
"What? Your Majesty, surely–"
"You are not very closely related to me. You are the descendant of Vanya Vonville and you have attained a significant amount of popularity among the common folk."
"Yes, but–"
"Our first phase of business is concluded. I summon Lady Jessica le Fay for our second."
Oh for fuck's sake, he doesn't even bother listening to me!
Lady Jessica enters. "Greetings," she says. "I am here to brief you about the Seraphim."
"You claim that the Dollmaker is one of them?" Archduke Luxor asks.
"Yes. Lilith, one of their most powerful."
"I still don't understand. What is a Seraphim?"
"Truthfully, they are a very mysterious race. Their number has always been low–we estimate that at no point has their number exceeded a hundred. But even the weakest of them can match a Class IV mage."
"How do they survive then?" Madam Fron asks.
"To answer this question, I must bring upon another race–we call them the Twisted. The Seraphim employs the Twisted as their file-and-rank soldiers. They take upon many forms; some insectoid, some humanoid."
The black masses that Merango showed me, huh?
"The Twisted themselves are equally mysterious. We believe they used to be a sentient race twisted–hence the name–by the Seraphim, but some of our scholars think they are no more than the latter's creations."
"Then, does this mean that the Seraphim are active again? I thought they were destroyed," Madam Fron says.
"We suspect some of them hid themselves in pocket dimensions while they rebuilt their strength," Lady Jessica explains.
"Okay, we need to understand the scale here. How many of them are there?"
"They renewed their assaults several centuries ago. At that time, one could expect several thousand Twisted per invasion. Their numbers have swelled to several tens or hundreds per invasion nowadays, and one can expect to be invaded once a month or so."
"And they're attacking by using the same portal techniques that you used?" Madam Fron questions.
"Yes. We learned it from them in ancient times, after all."
"Can you predict where they are striking?"
"We can, at least to an extent. They can pierce our worlds easily, but to transport a large army they need obelisks made of Blackstone, a mysterious material. By knowing where these obelisks are, we can predict where they'd attack from."
"Hold on a minute there," Madam Felicia says. "Then why not destroy those obelisks?"
"They're almost always very well-protected, either by defensive spells or their surrounding environment, well-hidden, or both. For example, deep oceans are usually common spots."
"Very well. You may leave," King Arthur dismisses her.
"What do all of you think?"
"We can't afford another war. Especially not in the aid of such a formerly hated enemy. The common folk won't have any of it," Archduke Windwood says slowly.
"Right. It'll take years, if not decades, to mellow their opinion."
"Internally, however, we have to prepare," Madam Fron adds.
"I concur. Thus concludes our second phase of business. The meeting ends."
With that finished, only one more grand event awaits us. Everyone, everyone, wants to see the trial of Princess Seira. Apparently, access to the courtroom has been traded in black markets (before Madam Felicia, thankfully legally, crashes into them).
Lita and I, officially, act as Princess Seira's wardens, with our hands handcuffed with hers to prevent her from escaping. She keeps her head down, not even daring to look at us. The trial begins with chit-chat from all sides: the judges, the persecution, and the defence (the latter is mostly useless, honestly).
As the persecution reads off the long list of Princess Seira's offences, she resigns herself in shame even while several members of the nobility jeer and insult.
"I'm sorry," she whimpers to Lita and I, almost crying.
"It is not us who you should apologize to," I say. Lita twitches. "Also, you know how this trial will end, don't you? Why so nervous?"
"Because she feels guilty, Vio," Lita answers. "Right?" The princess weakly nods.
Time comes for the princess to deliver a speech. The handcuffs are unmade, but a barrier surrounds her.
"It all began perhaps six or seven years ago, when an Imperium agent approached me with his offer. I'd like to lie to all of you, like I lied to myself, that what I decided was for Irvine's good. That it was Irvine's only hope to survive and thrive once the Imperium won."
"But the truth is that I was simply an avaricious and envious princess. I saw my father–a wise and well-liked king, and I sought to replace him. So I struck a pact."
Insults are hurled and silenced. "I began to put up an innocent and naive cover. I funneled our own monetary reserves into theirs. I took over and sabotaged the Imperial Guard programme. During the Imperium's invasion of Al-Azhar, it was I who directed the allied armies into the desert."
"Every single act of sabotage was at my command. I built a cabal of like-minded nobles, using them as my faces so as not to draw attention to myself. Ultimately, I hatched a plot and managed to get rid of my father."
Even more insults–and maybe several rotten eggs–are thrown. Madan Fron–unfortunately somewhat violently–puts a stopper.
"Just when I thought my plans had come to fruition, loyalists in Irvine managed to retrieve my father. But all was fine–I thought. If Irvine had prevailed I would have pretended to be a loyal, naive princess who was tricked by her devious advisors. If otherwise, I'd become the ruler of Irvine."
Her hands tremble. As her nefarious plans come to light, Lita and I glance at each other.
Her plans run this deep? Honestly, if we hadn't had the full might of the Order, we would have fallen into her traps!
"Then the unthinkable happened. For whatever reason the two sides made peace–and I was terrified. Then the Dollmaker offered me refugee and I foolishly accepted."
She sweats even in the cold room. Her legs tremble badly, and she resigns herself back to her seat.
After a half-assed defence by a team of lawyers, the judges deliver their sentence.
"N-no, m-make it stop!" Princess Seira whispers.
"Huh? Hey, you okay?" I ask. One of her hands clench her chest so tightly the fabric of her clothes nearly tear apart.
"I-I'm so sorry ...."