The last continental war took place four hundred and thirty years ago, ending not because of peace, but because of exhaustion.
For thousands of years, the six kingdoms: Aurellanza, Olyndros, Valerion, Sylvatica, Xylos, and Bastione had drained their treasuries to prove their dominance over each other. Each had their own armies of knights and mages to fuel their endless conquests.
To cast spells, mages drew mana from the atmosphere. Yet after millennia of magical bombing, mana levels had fallen so sharply that no more war could be sustained. While a few high-mana ley lines remained, most lands were left deprived of mana. Ferramonte was the worst of those such lands.
It was the 'Mana Sink' of the continent. A geographical trash heap, where the six kingdoms dumped their criminals and exiles. In that wasteland, no spell could be cast and no crop could take root. The only thing that flourished there were gruesome monsters.
One day, a young man decided to settle there.
Though Ferramonte was a death trap, it was sitting on a fortune of mineral veins. Legends claimed the man could feel where the veins lay. He gathered a following, digging up quantities of metal and crystals that the rest of the world could only dream of.
Soon, he began exporting to the six kingdoms. He became so influential the six kingdoms dreaded him. His mines outweighed anything in their own territories. All mages needed his crystals for their spells; all knights needed his metal for their swords. Then, with the timing of a master executioner, he halted all trade.
At the subsequent summit, the young man laid out two non-negotiable conditions:
First, he would be recognized as a King, and Ferramonte as his sovereign kingdom.
Second, whenever a Ferramonte king asked, a kingdom of his choice must provide a princess to be his wife.
The six kingdoms were enraged, but their greed won out eventually. No king was suicidal enough to try mining the Mana Sink themselves. A princess was delivered, and the trades resumed in peace. That was how Cassian I Malaspina became the first King of Ferramonte.
Hermi had first heard this story from her mother, Ruminia. Ruminia was brushing Hermi's hair by the hearth, and Hermi was only six.
"And what happened to the princess, Mama?"
"They say she was terrified," Ruminia had whispered. "She fell ill immediately after the wedding and passed away just months later."
"What did the King do then?" young Hermi had asked, her voice small with sorrow. "Was he sad?"
Ruminia had given it some thought, then leaned down to her daughter. "I don't think he was, my dear. He asked for another princess the next morning."
From then until now, seven generations of kings had reigned over Ferramonte. For reasons known only to them, they all took the first king's name.
Cassian I, Cassian II, Cassian III… Never had young Hermi imagined she would one day marry Cassian VII.
Hermi stole a glance at her husband from the carriage window. He was riding slightly ahead, his horse as black as his armor plate. The journey had been long and tiring, yet he had always treated Hermi with reverence. He had shown no signs of being an abusive husband, or a tyrant king.
Compared to his predecessors, Cassian VII surely took his time in asking for wives. Though he was thirty this year, before Hermi, he had only had two wives.
As if sensing Hermi's gaze on him, Cassian turned toward her. As he did, his face instantly softened into a warm smile. His horse slowed, and the carriage caught up to his pace. Through the window, Cassian asked,
"Would you need anything, my Queen?"
"Nothing at all." Hermi withdrew her gaze. "I was only admiring the view."
The carriage slowed, until it came to a complete stop. The door swung open, and Cassian joined Hermi in the small space.
"I notice you've been admiring the view quite a lot," Cassian said. "Or is there something you wish to tell me, but feel reluctant?"
Hermi kept her eyes fixed firmly on her lap. His garnet eyes were frightening enough to look at, but he was now, once again, studying her with keen interest.
"If there is anything at all, I shall not keep it from you, my King. We promised to be honest with each other in the witness of the Elemental Gods, did we not?"
Hermi's answer seemed to please Cassian. He pulled her onto his lap, chin resting atop her head. His words poured into her ears, sweet as pure honey.
"That is what I wish to hear, my wife. Always remember, I devote myself to you, Herminia Solari."
Hermi's body went completely stiff. Weren't those the very words Cassian had been uttering since the moment he arrived?
He had told her in the tea garden, at the dining table, at the altar. When they were tangled in bed, he had kept repeating the same thing.
Not "I love you." Not "I adore you." Not "I admire you."
But "I devote myself to you," followed by her full name.
"Should we find a village to rest early?" Cassian's voice came again. "The sun is setting, and we haven't been intimate since our first night."
Hermi's ears burned a vivid red, more from dread than from fluster. The very thing she feared most had been spoken aloud.
For the past two weeks, Cassian's troops had always been nearby. With brief stops along the route, her husband had refrained from touching her. He let her sleep alone in the carriage, and Hermi had been relieved. But now, it seemed she could no longer avoid her wifely duties.
"There's a small village ahead, beyond this forest," Hermi said. "We could stay there for the night."
Cassian seemed surprised by her answer. "Your studies at the palace must have been extensive. You're even familiar with the farthest reaches of your kingdom."
"It is expected of a princess to be well educated, my King," Hermi replied with a smooth lie. She couldn't admit she knew this place so well because she had lived here her entire life.
"I imagine your air magic training was just as rigorous. All kings pride themselves on raising their daughters to be the finest mages in the kingdom."
Hermi looked over her shoulder to see what expression Cassian was wearing. Had she heard him wrong, or was there something faintly sardonic in his tone?
Either way, she reminded herself to be more careful in front of Cassian. Ferramonte kings were known to possess an uncanny ability to discern whether a princess was truly royal. The six kingdoms had, many times, attempted to send fakes in place of their princesses. They all suffered twenty years of discontinued trade.
Otherwise, her father, King Maximian, would never have desperately hunted down his bastard daughter. Hermi felt a small measure of relief knowing true royal blood flowed in her veins. However, she was far from being Aurellanza's finest air mage.
Meeting her gaze, Cassian lifted her chin. "What is it? Would you like me to kiss you?"
Now, Hermi was genuinely flustered. She turned away from his grip. "N-no, it's not that…" Her gaze slipped out the window, and the fluster faded at once.
Her voice suddenly turned urgent. "Please, could we stop over there, just for a moment?"
Again, Cassian did not hesitate to oblige her. "Of course we can, my Queen."