A History Lesson for a Tyrant

Once my hair had fully dried and I was properly dressed, Viktor escorted me to the manor's magnificent entrance hall. There, awaiting our arrival, was his uncle.

Viktor’s posture was rigid, his voice imbued with a formality that felt practiced. "Natalia, permit me to introduce my mother's brother, General Julian Gathersword." He then turned to the other man. "Uncle, this is Natalia. My wife, and your new queen."

The General, a man of considerable height and slender build, possessed an unnerving stillness, a quietude that seemed to absorb the sound around him. He bent to press a fleeting, dry kiss to the back of my hand. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady," he murmured, his voice so faint I was certain it would be lost in any room with more than the three of us.

"The pleasure is mine," I replied. I studied him, noting his dark complexion and the length of his limbs, and found no trace of Viktor in his features. The family resemblance, I concluded, must have come entirely from his father's side.

His gaze shifted to Viktor. "You may call me Uncle Julian," he said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "As I have told my nephew on countless occasions, though he insists on this stubborn formality." His gentle humor was disarming; I found myself warming to him immediately.

I returned his smile. "In that case, you must call me Natalia, Uncle Julian."

Viktor then led the way outdoors to a long table draped in crisp white linen, set in the dappled shade of a sprawling oak tree. This al fresco arrangement was our compromise; I had refused to set foot in the formal dining hall, while Viktor was equally adamant that his uncle would not take a meal in the kitchens. To my surprise, Viktor performed a small act of courtesy, pulling out a chair for me. I accepted the gesture, sinking into the seat as I caught the subtle, approving nod his uncle sent his way—a small detail I mentally filed away for later consideration.

"You know, Natalia," the General began once we were all settled, "you bear a striking resemblance to my late sister." He paused. "In appearance, at least."

"Oh?" The comment genuinely surprised me.

"Yes. Your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, of course. That is the most significant difference, along with a few other minor variations."

"Is that so?" I murmured. The General simply gave a thoughtful nod.

"Now," he said, his gaze soft but intensely observant, "tell me about yourself, Natalia." The question was so direct, so simple, that it caught me off guard. It might have been the first time anyone had asked it of me since my arrival in this world.

"Well, for starters, I am eighteen," I began, "though I will be nineteen come the twenty-fifth of September." The General nodded again, a silent encouragement for me to continue. "And I was born and raised in a country called Ameria."

"Ameria?" he mused, his brow furrowed in thought. "A nation from your dimension, I presume? A foolish question, of course."

So, he knew. He was already aware that I was not of this world. That answered one of my own burning questions and confirmed the terrifying scale of my new reality.

"Yes," I confirmed, a sudden, sharp pang of homesickness striking me. "It's sometimes called 'the land of the free, and the home of the brave.'" A sad smile touched my lips as I pictured the annual 9/11 memorials and Veterans' Day assemblies from my school days.

"Oh?" The General leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "And why is it called that?" Even Viktor, who typically maintained a cool façade of indifference, seemed to lean in, his interest captured.

"Because Ameria fought for its freedom from the Brittanic Empire and its king—they are a separate power in my world. The conflict was called the War of Independence. Many people died, but it’s one of the reasons our nation has such a powerful sense of patriotism."

"So after the country won its freedom," Viktor interjected, his voice laced with genuine curiosity, "did they install a new king?"

I was grateful for the question, happy to share a piece of my home with them. "Sort of. They established a Praetor. You might think of him as a king who serves for only four years at a time, with a maximum of two terms—eight years in total."

"Then how do they select the next—what did you call him, a Praetor?" the General asked. "That is hardly enough time for an heir to be old enough to rule."

I couldn't suppress a small laugh. "There is no heir. The populace votes to choose a new Praetor."

"The common people have a voice?" they asked in near unison, their expressions a mixture of astonishment and fascination.

I nodded proudly. "Yes. The government of Ameria is a government of the people, by the people, for the people. We have no single, absolute ruler."

"That is… interesting," the General remarked, his eyes contemplative. I basked in their focus for a moment. I was raised to be proud of my country, and seeing them so captivated by its principles filled me with a sense of satisfaction. I must have let my guard down, however, because I realized the intense homesickness was likely written all over my face. They noticed, too, and abruptly changed the subject.

For the rest of the evening, the atmosphere grew strained. A palpable tension settled over the table as the two men began to trade thinly veiled, sharp-edged remarks. The hostility between them was as crisp as the cooling night air. I grew increasingly uncomfortable under the General's gaze; he watched me with a disquieting, analytical intensity, as if he were measuring my worth for some unknown purpose. I was left with the distinct and unsettling conviction that my encounters with General Gathersword were far from over.

Viktor

Natalia's words, while fascinating, were also profoundly dangerous. The very foundation of his rule rested upon the bedrock of public faith in the divine right of the royal bloodline. Monarchy was, to his people, the only conceivable form of governance. The King’s absolute power was checked only by the Council of Ancients. If word of a functioning, prosperous society that thrived without a monarch ever reached the ears of the burgeoning rebellion, the consequences could be catastrophic. It would be a powerful recruitment tool, a spark that could ignite the embers of their discontent into a wildfire. Viktor had no intention of letting that happen.

After the meal, he pulled his uncle aside and stated in no uncertain terms that what Natalia had revealed of her homeland was not to be spoken of again. It was not information for the public domain.

Viktor had absolutely no trust in his uncle; the warning was a calculated gambit. When—not if—his uncle spread the forbidden knowledge, Viktor would possess proof of his treason, a powerful weapon in the slow, methodical campaign to neutralize him. It wasn't for a lack of trying more direct methods. Viktor had orchestrated dozens of attempts on his uncle’s life—poisons, carefully staged ‘accidents,’ professional assassins. But the man was a phantom, always slipping through his grasp, shrewd and cunning and always seeming to be one step ahead while plotting from the shadows. He possessed an infuriating refusal to die. To most, the General was a quiet man who faded into the background, but Viktor knew the true threat he posed.

Viktor understood his uncle’s game. He knew the General had spent the entire evening assessing Natalia, weighing and measuring her. The situation presented both a peril and a possibility. The good: if he could secure her loyalty, Natalia could be the perfect spy, a double agent to feed his uncle misinformation. The bad: Natalia was stubborn and far too compassionate. Forced to choose, she would undoubtedly side with the common folk, making her a catastrophic liability. And so, Viktor found himself at an impasse.