The royal ship Caelestis, pride of Isolara's fleet, cut through the emerald-blue waters of Marinova Bay like a silver blade tearing through velvet. Its sails, swollen by the breath of the winds, pressed against the dawn sky as the city awoke in hues of gold and azure.
Marinova, the pearl of the Maritime Republic of Marellia, rose like a colossus of marble and amber, sculpted by the calloused hand of centuries of trade and conquest. The docks, crowded with merchant galleys and caravels of haughty prows, exhaled the salty perfume of the sea, mingled with the scent of exotic spices and fresh fish. Watchtowers, crowned by lighthouses that spat crimson flames, cast stern gazes over the horizon, while the city's red-tiled rooftops glittered under the rising sun.
As the Caelestis docked, the Blue Coast Fusiliers stood waiting in impeccable formation, their navy-blue uniforms adorned with silver epaulettes that shimmered like serpent scales. Their red shakos – coloured by the blood of defeated enemies, some whispered – rose like crowns of war, while the muskets slung over their shoulders gleamed with iron promises. The guard captain, a man with a furrowed chin and eyes cold as frost, bowed before Queen Luna Caelestis, whose white cloak, embroidered with silver thread, billowed like sea foam.
– Your Majesty – he growled, his voice roughened by salt and battle. – The Maritime Senate awaits your presence.
Luna, her bearing as serene as the moon that bore her name, acknowledged him with a slight nod, followed by her officers. The procession advanced along the Liberty Causeway, an avenue paved with stones brought from the four corners of Terra Solara, flanked by banners whispering the names of forgotten heroes. The people of Marinova watched in reverent silence as the Fusiliers' footsteps echoed like war drums.
In the distance, the Maritime Senate rose like a forgotten temple of Nerevia, goddess of the seas, storms, and the fates of sailors. Its black marble columns were swallowed by reliefs of nereids and krakens. The bronze doors, engraved with maps of the known seas, yawned open like the jaws of a leviathan, ready to swallow the destinies of those who dared cross them.
At the centre of the hall, elevated upon a platform of ebony and mother-of-pearl, rested the curule chair – a throne without a crown, carved from the hull of the first ship to fight for the Republic's freedom. Upon it sat Luciano Marinos, Doge of Marellia, with the posture of an old sea lion. His sixty years weighed on his shoulders like rusted anchors, but his eyes, sharp as daggers, still glinted with the flame of one who knew the weight of power.
Around him, the Republic's elite clustered like a school of hungry fish: consuls with honeyed voices and clenched fists, senators whose rings told tales of stolen fortunes, Praetors whose swords never slept, Aediles who measured the world in silver coins, censors with tongues sharp enough to slice reputations, and Quaestors who knew where every piece of gold was buried. All listened. All calculated.
And among them, like a pearl among sharks, stood Luna Caelestis – a queen without a throne, exiled by the hands of her own blood.
– My Lady – the Doge boomed.
– Your Majesty – Luna corrected.
– Ah, yes, Your Majesty – the Doge amended, his voice a thunderclap muffled by the salt of the years. – We seldom receive company of such lofty stature. I shall be direct. Marellia does not forget her friends. Nor her enemies.
A crooked smile crossed his face, marked by scars the sea winds had not erased.
– Your cousin, the Usurper, has joined the Burning Empire of Solterra. Eryx Caelestis believes fire burns hotter than the sea. – The Doge's gnarled fingers tightened on the arms of his chair, his knuckles creaking like rigging in a storm.
A murmur swept through the assembly, like waves breaking against cliffs.
– I propose you join our fleet – Luciano continued, raising a hand to silence the whispers. – Not as a refugee, but as a warrior. As a queen. Together, we will crush Solterra, drown them in the depths, and restore what is yours by the laws of blood and salt.
Luna's eyes, cold as the moon over a midnight sea, fixed on the Doge. She knew what lurked between his words: Marellia granted no favours without price. But the fury burning in her chest told her this was her hour.
– And what would my place be in this... campaign, Doge Marinos? – she asked, her voice soft as the tide before a tempest.
Luciano smiled, revealing teeth yellowed by time.
– At the helm of your ship, beside my captains. Show Marellia you are still a daughter of the waves... and Solterra will learn to fear your name.
The silence that followed was heavier than the air before thunder.
– I thank the Senate, and Your Excellency, Doge Marinos – Luna said, her voice gentle as the tide lapping at hulls, yet with iron in its depths, – but my sword has but one target: the Usurper who stains my name and my family's with treacherous blood. Eryx Caelestis will fall. The rest... is sand swept away by the tide.
The Doge studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod. The Senate was no place for tender negotiations – it was a sea of knives, and everyone there knew how to swim. Everything would now be decided by vote: the senators would determine whether to ally themselves with Luna Caelestis, provided they deemed her useful for the war to come.
The voting was swift as a dagger to the back. Gold coins changed hands beneath tables, glances crossed like drawn swords, and when the final vote was cast to the wind, the decision was made: Marellia would go to war, with the Caelestis lending its strength.
The city bells tolled, their echoes ringing like a summons to the goddess of the deep. The Republic's banners, adorned with the white seagull soaring over azure waves, fluttered from masts like predators scenting blood. Luna and her officers withdrew from the Maritime Senate and made for the Caelestis.
As they crossed the Courtyard of Shells, their footsteps echoing over mother-of-pearl mosaics, a voice sliced through the air like a cleaver through flesh.
– Queen Caelestis. A word, if I may.
It was Sofia Perladoro, Senator of Economy and Trade. She stood like a tower among her courtiers, clad in a wine-red silk gown worth more than a merchant ship. She was the very embodiment of Marellia's wealth. Her raven hair, braided with gold thread, gleamed like the coins she controlled, and the smile curving her lips was as sharp as a moneylender's blade.
– Senator Perladoro – Luna acknowledged, keeping her voice neutral. Perlaria was the richest city in the Republic, and Sofia, its governor, was not a woman to be ignored.
– I admire your determination – said Sofia, her long fingers toying with a necklace of black pearls, – but a queen without a throne is like a ship without sails: beautiful, yet at the mercy of the currents. Perlaria can offer you… favourable winds.
Luna folded her arms.
– And what winds would those be?
You know why the Senate sought your aid, do you not? Not for your noble cause, nor the royal blood in your veins. It is for the power they would gain by taking your ship.
Luna did not move, but her eyes darkened like the sea.
– Explain.
Sofia let out a low laugh, like the clatter of coins on marble.
– The Doge and those old sharks in the Senate have no interest in lost crowns. They mean to avoid war with Isolara's fleets. To do so, they plan to hand you over to Eryx as a bargaining chip once you've won them victory over Solterra. And your Caelestis… ah, that majestic ship would become the new pride of the Marellian fleet.
Luna tasted the bitterness of disappointment, but not surprise. She had suspected as much. After all, what kingdom shelters royal exiles without ulterior motives?
– And why would you tell me this? – Luna asked. – Are you not part of that same Senate?
Sofia smiled, and this time there was no sweetness in the curve of her lips, only the cold glint of an unsheathed dagger.
– Because the Senate is rotten to its core. Luciano Marinos is an old dog who only knows how to snarl, and those men and women who call themselves rulers are but leeches sucking Marellia dry. Perlaria sustains the Republic, yet others decide its fate. That… displeases me.
She stepped closer, the sickly scent of jasmine and amber enveloping Luna like a trap.
– I propose an alliance. I will secure you ships, gold, and allies to reclaim your throne. In return, once your crown is secure, you help me purge the Senate… and place my son, Matteo Perladoro, as Doge.
Luna studied the senator's face – the shameless ambition, the razor-sharp wit, the determination of a mother willing to burn the world for her son. She was dangerous. But perhaps necessary.
– Tell me, Senator – Luna said, her voice as soft as the whisper of waves against a hull, – what stops you from betraying me as the Senate intends? From handing me to Eryx and keeping my ship, just as they plan?
Sofia did not flinch. Her lips curved into a smile that did not reach her eyes.
– Ambition, of course – she replied, as if it were obvious. – The Senate offers you nothing but the rope for your neck. I offer you a throne. And yet… I understand your caution.
She made an almost dismissive gesture with her hand, and from behind the courtiers emerged a slender young man, with hair as dark as his mother's, but with shoulders still narrow, the kind that had never borne the weight of a crown. Matteo Perladoro, heir to Perlaria, was no more than eighteen winters old, but his eyes already burned with the fire of one who knew that blood and gold were the same coin.
– My son – announced Sofia, with a pride that did not mask the firmness of her decision. – He will serve under your command as a junior officer. He will learn from you. And if I betray you… well, you will hold the future of my house in your hands.
Luna studied the boy. Matteo did not tremble, but his rigid posture betrayed the awareness of the game into which he had been placed. A hostage. A guarantee. A price paid in blood to ensure loyalty.
– So be it. Victória!
Victória, who until now had been listening intently, stepped towards her queen with steady steps and the military precision that had been instilled in her during the long months spent aboard ships.
– Yes, My Queen?
– Matteo Perladoro will be under your command. Teach him what you know about leadership, about war, about loyalty – Luna's eyes met the boy's, and in them she saw not fear, but determination. – If he becomes even half of what his mother promises, he will be a man worthy of ruling.
Victória studied the boy with a gaze she had seen Livia use on new recruits, the kind that made even the hardest of them shrink. Then, she gave a brief nod.
– He will learn. You have my word.
Sofia did not protest. Instead, she inclined her head, satisfied. The pact was sealed.
And so, as the Caelestis prepared to set sail, carrying with it not only a queen in search of vengeance but now also the heir to the richest house in Marellia, Victória knew that the chains of fate twisted once again.
Treachery still hung in the air like the scent of sea spray. But this time, Luna carried knives hidden in her sleeves as well.