My Sister Is The Villainess

The doors opened onto a chamber far larger than I had imagined. A carpet the color of dried blood ran from the entrance to a raised dais at the far end, vanishing into the shadow beneath an enormous throne.

Tall pillars held up a ceiling I could barely see, and thin strips of daylight slipped through high windows without ever quite reaching the floor.

Most of the room stayed dark. That only made the throne itself impossible to ignore.

King Alfey II sat upon it with his back straight and his face resting on his left fist, utterly still.

The throne rose several feet above his head, and at its peak burned a candle whose flame glowed an unnatural neon blue, casting a cold light over everything below it.

Swords had been driven into the stone of the dais at measured intervals, some near the edge, some close to the throne itself, spaced with the same care as furniture in a room meant to be lived in for centuries. They weren’t decoration. They looked like something generations of kings had simply kept adding to.

Two Kingsguard flanked him, golden armor catching the blue light whenever they shifted their weight, white capes falling nearly to the floor. Below the dais stood a third man in a long grey cloak, his hair beginning to grey with it, hands folded behind his back.

His eyes moved across the four of us before he stepped forward.

”The Honorable Edmund Rhys. The Honorable Arthur Eesper. Lady Mary and The Honorable Theodore Hans.” Hearing our names spoken together made the whole chamber feel quieter than it already was. ”Approach.”

We walked forward, our footsteps echoing far longer than they should have. At the foot of the dais, the man in grey turned and bowed.

”Your Majesty.”

King Alfey lifted one hand. The man stepped aside, and the King’s gaze settled on us, calm on the surface but carrying something underneath it that made calm feel like a choice rather than a temperament.

”Today, four young Awakened stand before the Crown.” His voice reached every corner of the room without effort. ”Not for their blood. Not for their wealth. Not for the names written in their family records.”

A pause.

”Because they have proven themselves worthy of being entrusted with knighthood.”

Along both walls stood rows of the Church, deacons in white and bishops in heavier robes, some holding staffs marked with old symbols, others simply standing with their hands clasped.

”A knight is not merely one who carries steel,” the King went on. ”A knight carries responsibility. A knight stands between danger and those who cannot stand against it. A knight remembers that strength without restraint is only destruction.”

The flame above him flickered.

”The Crown does not ask you to be without fear. It asks you to act despite it.”

Somewhere behind us the church deacons and bishops started to say their chants and prayers.

”From this day, when you bear the name of Knight, let your actions give it meaning.”

He leaned forward slightly.

”May your swords never be drawn for vanity. May your strength never become an excuse for cruelty. And when the day comes that you must choose between what is easy and what is right...” His eyes hardened. ”Choose what is right.”

He rose. The Kingsguard moved with him, and for the first time I saw him clearly, not tall, but carrying an authority that made height irrelevant. A crown of embedded jewels caught the blue flame as he descended the steps, his crimson-lined mantle trailing behind him.

The man in grey gestured once we reached him.

”Kneel.”

We did. Arthur beside me, Mary a step further with her back perfectly straight, Theodore silent with his gaze lowered. Another man approached carrying a sword laid flat across both palms, and when he reached the King, he bowed his head and offered it without a word.

King Alfey took the blade and turned to Arthur first.

”Arthur.” The flat of the sword touched one shoulder, then the other. ”By the strength you have earned, and the responsibility you now accept, may your courage serve more than yourself.”

He struck Arthur across the face with an open palm. The sound cracked through the chamber and no one so much as flinched.

Mary came next, the same ritual, the same words reshaped for her.

”May your judgment remain clear when the path is clouded.” The slap turned her head, and she brought it back forward before the sound had even finished ringing.

Then Theodore, jaw already tight before the blade even touched him.

”May pride never stand above duty.”

The strike landed, and something in his expression told me he had already decided which part of the ceremony he liked least.

Then it was my turn.

”Edmund Rhys.” The blade rested against my shoulder, cold even through the fabric. ”Will you bear the name you receive today with honor?”

”I will.”

”Will you raise your sword only when there is purpose in doing so?”

”I will.”

”Will you stand when others cannot?”

I let the pause sit for half a breath. ”I will.”

”Then receive the name you have earned.”

His palm met my cheek and my head snapped sideways. For one long second there was only the sound of it, hanging in the air long after the pain had already settled in.

”Rise,” King Alfey said, ”Knights of Valemont.”

We stood. Arthur rubbed his jaw and caught me looking, his expression somewhere between offended and proud of himself for taking it well. Mary’s face had already smoothed back into its usual composure. Theodore looked like a man reconsidering every decision that had led him here.

King Alfey studied us for a moment, and something in his face shifted, the distant ruler giving way, briefly, to a man simply watching four people accomplish something worth watching.

”Congratulations.”

He returned to his throne. The prayers faded. The chamber settled into silence, and I looked down at my own hands, unchanged in every visible way and yet somehow heavier than they had been an hour ago.

”Dear Sirs and Lady.”

I turned. A man I hadn’t noticed before was crossing the chamber toward us, already bowing.

”The King has arranged for you to meet someone.”

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Author’s Note: The king slapped them as a symbolic ”last blow” they would ever accept without fighting back, reinforcing their duty to always defend their honor.