The doors swung open, and people with stubborn faces and scowls entered the hall. There were about forty of them. Some were dressed quite lavishly, wearing fur-trimmed cloaks and gold ornaments, others in simple peasant clothing. He understood he was dealing with representatives of various classes and villages. Gorsep remained silent, waiting for one of the loudmouths to speak; each group has its leader, the people who drive the entire spectacle.
He sat back on his throne and waited. Some lost their composure, overwhelmed by the vastness of the hall and the king's majesty. They walked slowly, uncertainly, looking around the room. They weren't the problem; they were dissatisfied, but they could be persuaded. It was worse for those who stood before him with proud faces.Silence continued, people looked at each other. Finally, a man in his forties, dressed in a blue coat, a gray and silver caftan, and tall black boots, bowed and introduced himself in a loud voice.
"Your Majesty, my name is Frazer and I am the owner of five villages and the fortress of Danerol in the western part of Kanror." The eyes of the gathered people focused on him, and the confident aristocrat continued. "We have come here today to ask you, Lord, to change your decision regarding military recruitment."
A pause. Frazer and everyone gathered awaited an answer. Gorsep remained silent.
Frazer cleared his throat, looked around the gathered crowd, and then continued.
"The last war took many young men, we are short of labor. This year has already been difficult, and the next will be even worse if the peasants do not sow the fields and then harvest the crops."
"A typical routine," Gorsep thought, but decided not to drag things out. He adjusted himself on the throne and looked around the gathered group once more. Iridius whispered a few words in his ear, which pleased the ruler.
"I understand your situation better than you think," he began, and absolute silence fell on the hall. "I come from a warrior family. The Equerds, however, not only fight, but also cultivate the land, raise animals, and mine treasures from beneath the earth. All these activities can be reconciled. I am recruiting men to build a powerful army that will march on Fenigrid. 30 men from each village are to report to the castle in exactly one month. By then, they will have managed to take care of the fields and this year's harvest. For the young men to have a chance of surviving the war, a month of training is necessary. The forces of the Equerds, Prenian, and Kanror will be deployed in the fight." The war probably won't last long." Gorsep smiled and rose. "Well, as for your concerns," he said, looking directly at Frazer. "The peasants can be helped. You have five sons, three of whom are of military age, so fewer peasants will be needed from your estates. I hope that the other lords, concerned for their subjects, will follow Sir Frazer's example and willingly join the Kanror army with their sons." Frazer's face paled, then reddened.
"My lord…" the aristocrat began.
"The audience is over," Gorsep said. "One month after that, I expect the young men in the camp."
Gorsep's exit from the royal hall which was silent now. No one murmured, no shouted, and the King of Kanror, accompanied by a legist and four guards, strode contentedly toward the exit. It was a good day; he planned to inspect the armory; he had an appointment with the master blacksmiths and inspected the construction of the siege engines. And now, he would have a shared meal with Dagrana.
She had ordered dinner prepared in the tower just for the two of them. She cared about that, so he would eat and be free. He quickly climbed the stairs and entered the brightly lit room. Light streamed in from six windows, and the view beyond filled Gorsep with satisfaction. "This is all mine," he thought. Even Dagrana standing at the table seemed more attractive to him; her breasts had rounded, she had flushed cheeks, and her belly was clearly visible under her dress.
"Wife, pregnancy suits you, you look wonderful." Gorsep, filled with satisfaction, approached Dagrana and kissed her gently on the lips. In response to his compliment and tenderness, she smiled and blushed.
"You've been working so much lately, I thought a moment of rest would do you good. I had your favorite dishes prepared." Dagrana clapped her hands. The door opened, and a maid entered, carrying a tray of what looked like venison stew.
"You're spoiling me." Gorsep took his seat at the table. The maid, head bowed, placed the steaming stew on the table. Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The maid pulled a kitchen knife from behind her apron and stabbed Dagrana in the stomach. Gorsep screamed, running to his falling wife, who was pressing her hands to her stomach, trying to prevent not only blood loss but also the death of her unborn child. He gently lifted her and pressed his hand to the wound in her abdomen.
"Noooooo!!!!!!" Gorsep blurted out once again. "Honey, hold on!" he whispered to his pale wife. "Guards!!! Bring the elder one!!! And you, you bitch, you'll die..." He didn't get to finish, however, as the maid laughed hysterically.
"Death for treason!" she said, removing her cap. "Know what it's like to lose everything!" After these words, she climbed onto the windowsill, opened the window, and jumped. The guards ran into the room.
"My lord!" The sight they saw left them speechless.
"Bring the elder one, and do it now," Gorsep hissed, blood and his wife's life seeping between his fingers. "Hold on, Dagrano, just a little longer," he whispered in his wife's ear. Dagrana gasped for air, all the blush vanishing from her face. Her lips were turning blue.
"A child," she whispered, "my child… Why?"
"It was Salema. The cursed seed of Domir."
Dagrana tried to say something else, but it seemed beyond her. Gorsep heard only incomprehensible gibberish, his wife fading away in his arms.
"Haleon, I beg you," Gorsep whispered.
When the elder finally ran panting into the tower chamber, the Queen of Kanror and heir to Prenian was dead.
"What about the child?" Gorsep asked.
The elder placed the trumpet to his stomach and after a moment shook his head.
"The child left with her mother, I'm sorry, my lord."