Her First Tears

Her first meeting with the king was still memorable in her mind. It was almost as shocking as the deaths of her entire clan in Acheron. Though on second thought, it felt trivial compared to the calamity she had just experienced.

Sigmar Aramastus was indeed a scary person. Any resident of Allandur would tremble when they heard his name. But Mireila did not think that his appetite was also unique. Or did he just have a weird way of touching women?

When he was still crown prince, he had gone to war on the front lines and returned with dozens of new colonies and thousands of prisoners of war. He was a resolute figure who exercised terror and fear in controlling the Dukes and other nobles. He did not hesitate to use unconventional means to intimidate the corrupt landlords. Like confiscate their treasures and change their status to slaves.

To deal with rebellious rebels or bandits, he allowed his knights to kill them on the spot without trial. No one dared to oppose it or to refute it.

He ruled by fright. But he thought it was all for Allandur's good. That was why he was called the tyrant king.

But the villagers of Acheron didn't really care. For centuries their clan had received special treatment from the royal family. They were not burdened with taxes, all the Phoenix Clan families were given land and livestock. They were neither poor nor rich. But the kingdom did not allow anyone to live and work outside Acheron without permission from the palace. They were also not allowed to marry someone outside their clan.

Most young people in Acheron didn't know why. Mireila had suspected that the kingdom believed they had the blood of the Phoenix, the magical bird in legend who lives forever. The kingdom wanted to preserve the purity of their blood.

Outsiders thought that the members of the Phoenix Clan were all attractive. Apart from their rare and alluring emerald green eyes, their voices were beautiful and melodious. Their faces were also charming like the description of the inhabitants of heaven. The Phoenix Clan was also frequently targeted by slave sellers. Therefore many knights were on guard around their village even though their interactions were limited.

But why even after receiving all those strict protections, there was a party that could massacre an entire clan in one night?

This was the second day she stayed in the palace. She still couldn't say anything. Even so, the girl with skin almost as white as snow was now able to eat and drink. The maids liked to dress her up. She was like a beautiful living doll. Sometimes they tell jokes to cheer her up. Mireila let them do whatever while still putting on a straight face.

"Miss, you are asked to go to the dining room," said one of the maids.

Mireila shook her head. She had eaten a piece of bread and water earlier. She wasn't too hungry yet.

"Miss, the king asked for you," the maid looked worried. She was afraid of getting into trouble. The king received the title of tyrant not without reason. He did not hesitate to fire and ruin the future of everyone he deems a failure.

Mireila complied. She didn't want the friendly maids to get into trouble. Guided by a maid she didn't know her name—Mireila stepped out.

A majestic and long hallway stretched out in front of her. Her shoe-clad feet stepped on the expensive carpet imported from the eastern continent and woven by hand. The kingdom of Allandur has become increasingly respected and prosperous since ten years under the rule of the Tyrant King. Luxury was seen everywhere she looked.

Their dining area was very bright, with natural sunlight filtered through special curtains so that it felt dim. But still retains its warmth. On the dining table lined plates that were still warm.

Grilled whole chicken with lemon and rosemary, mashed potatoes, lettuce and some sweets. There were also plates of blueberry pie, spinach pie and pasta topped with a generous amount of cheese. However Mireila only saw a few people there. The king himself, as well as another man wearing a hooded robe.

It seemed the whole meal was too much for only three people to eat.

"Sit down, my lady," said King Sigmar kindly. He smiled but didn't feel sincere. Mireila didn't care. She who was already depressed and lost hope thought maybe that her death at the hands of the king was the best thing for her.

Mireila was immediately served a bowl of thick hot soup with boiled sea scallop shells floating on top.

"Our chef's signature dish, I forgot the name..but he said this can shed sadness," said King Sigmar again.

"There is no such food, Your Majesty," the hooded man protested.

"You forget how amazing the power of belief is. If you believe, anything is possible," said King Sigmar wisely.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your family, miss," said the hooded man. Mireila felt the sincerity of his words. She nodded.

"Can't you talk?"

Mireila shook her head.

"The doctor said she is still shaken and we should comfort her," said King Sigmar, leaning his back.

Mireila didn't really listen. She, who was still mute focused on the plate in front of her. She scooped up the hot soup slowly, blew on it and ate it with an even expression. The men stared at her as if they were witnessing an interesting attraction.

"For someone grieving, you dress quite flashy," Sigmar commented.

Mireila did let the maids dress her up, now she was wearing a pretty dark dress to show she was mourning. But she also put on lip tint and styled her hair.

Mireila nodded. The bowl was empty. Surprisingly her appetite increased. Was what the king said true? That soup could shed sadness?

"Miss, I am here to explain your situation. About your clan and about your obligations during your stay here," the hooded man began to speak.

"My name is Aleron Draugluin, master of the magic tower," he introduced himself.

Mireila wanted to say her name, but when she opened her mouth, a sharp pain shot up her throat. She was afraid to cry. If that happened, she would really believe in the reality that all the people she knew were dead. Mireila hoped to continue living as she was now. Because everything seems unreal.

"It's okay, you can say it," Sigmar touched her shoulder, and gave her a smile. This time, Mireila felt sincerity from him. Tears began to fall from her beautiful eyes uncontrollably.

"Mi—Mireila—" she sobbed. This was her first cry since the massacre. When she did, she couldn't stop it.

"Lady Mireila, you are now with me, no one can hurt you," he said as he hugged her and stroked her blonde hair lovingly. King Sigmar was indeed making small talk. But strangely, the simple words that came out of the mouth of a tyrant managed to melt her frozen heart.