added security.”
Nearing the entrance, a Freean arms man accesses a panel on the wall. An automated door opens to coats and shoes of many shapes and sizes. Entering the room, I find a knee-length black coat, matching gloves, and black boots a size too big, likely more of King Beckett’s late wife’s clothing. Dressed for the cold weather, I leave the palace and walk the distance to the rover craft building.
Inside, the building is large enough to house a rover craft with all the necessary equipment for repairs. The open space is chilly, but spacious enough to fit the arms men from each territory. Everett greets the Freean and Rakian arms men guarding the Iowan soldiers. I listen as he receives updates. I’m disappointed to hear two Iowan arms men attacked two Rakian men, injuring one of them. Both Iowan soldiers were executed, and since that incident, there haven’t been any others.
Sitting on their haunches, their arms tied behind their backs, the Iowan men survey me nervously. Their attention switches to the entrance door when Richter walks in, wearing the Iowan soldier’s garb. Coming to my side, he gives a polite bow of his head. We both face the Iowan arms men, their expressions showing different emotions of confusion, surprise, and hope.
“Your King is dead,” Richter announces. “But that does not mean you must follow his path. Queen Fiora is staking claim on Iowan with no intention of bringing us harm. She wishes to rule Iowan with the same goal of peace and prosperity as she does Anauka. I believe her capable of fulfilling that goal. I believe her far more capable of leading our territory than its predecessor. And with her goal in mind, she has asked me, a blood born Iowan man, to lead Iowan in her stead. She’s a Queen worthy of our respect, a Queen worthy of our loyalty, a Queen worthy of leading Iowan. If any of you men do not believe her capable, speak now.”
Words, whispers, and grumbles pass between the men.
“No woman is worthy of ruling Iowan,” a man in the back shouts, his black hair tousled and his shoulders broad. Two more in the crowd shout their agreement. Richter gestures to Everett. who sends a signal to his arms men, and the Iowan men are plucked from the crowd.
“Execute them,” Richter orders.
The blasts of laser guns whistle through the room. The men fall forward, blood smearing the hard, gray floor.
“Traitor!” a voice shouts from the crowd, but I fail to see the source.
Richter walks to one of the Freean arms men and outstretches his hand, wanting the laser gun. Everett gives a nod of approval, and the arms man hands it over. Entering the crowd, Richter stops in front of a man with a square jaw and sharp green eyes, his gaze cold and angry.
“Only a fool would see my change in alliance as being a traitor. Belore was an incompetent, spoiled, treacherous King who would’ve led our territory into ruin.”
The laser gun blasts a hole in the man’s chest and his body falls backward, the skin around the wound singed, his sharp green eyes now dull and lifeless. Richter points out four more men from the crowd and gives the execution orders. The dead soldiers are carried out while the remaining men are freed from their constraints.
“I believe you men to be of good judgment,” he tells them. “Men I’d be proud to have as my arms men. Each of you has a choice—continue your service to the crown, leave now and find occupation elsewhere, or choose to betray our Queen and die trying.”
A young man steps forward with fear in his eyes.
“If we leave the arms men position, will we be punished or accused of being disloyal to the crown?”
“No, son,” Richter replies. “I’m well aware many of you did not enter the service of an arms men willfully. You are free to leave without harm, should you choose to.”
The young man smiles, relief filling his face. To my surprise, he steps back into the crowd of Iowan arms men and remains there. Two others give Richter a polite nod, then to me before walking to the exit, disappearing into the falling snow. With fifteen remaining soldiers, Richter gives them the orders to re-enter the palace, get a hot meal, then join him in the King’s planning room. Taking my hand, Richter kisses it.
“I’d like to meet with them in private, should you allow it. I want to know if