From a certain perspective, the name Ferdinand was quite a popular choice among the old nobility of Europa.
The Archduke of the Austro-Hungarian Empire whose assassination sparked the World War was named Ferdinand. The Tsar of the Kingdom of Bulgaria, currently under siege, was also named Ferdinand.
And the King of the Kingdom of Romania, who was joining his allies in beating up Bulgaria, shared the exact same name—Ferdinand...
Besides his identity as King, Ferdinand I of Romania held another title—a scion of a cadet branch of the House of Wettin, the Saxon royal family.
His father was a prince of the Wettin family. By blood, he was the younger brother of the current Saxon Emperor, Albert II. And his wife, Queen Marie, was unsurprisingly the granddaughter of the "Grandmother of Europa," Queen Victoria of the Holy Britannia Empire.
As for why a member of the Saxon royal family ultimately became the King of Romania?
This was primarily because the Romanians needed a Western Catholic ruler to balance their domestic political landscape.
Simultaneously, the Saxon Empire, eager to expand its influence in the Balkans, agreed to let this "unfavored second son" be adopted by the previous ruler of Romania, Carol I, and inherit the throne.
The crux of the matter was that Ferdinand I was not the Saxon Crown Prince; he was merely a marginal figure.
The Saxon royal family cared little for his fate and was even glad to see him far removed from the center of power.
(As a side note, genealogically speaking, Ferdinand I was actually Carol I's nephew.)
The relationships among the old nobility of Europa were just that convoluted.
Truthfully, Ferdinand I was more than happy to leave the political epicenter of Dresden.
Free from the internal pressures of the royal family and no longer forced to face the hidden daggers behind the smiles and curses of the court, the heavy weight hanging over his head loosened considerably.
Even though a joke constantly circulated in the Dresden court—"Send the crazy boy to Bucharest and let him dance with the 'vampires'"—Ferdinand didn't care.
"Vampires" was naturally Dresden's derogatory jab at Romania, but it mattered little to him.
In his eyes, becoming the new King of the Romanians was a fine outcome. At the very least, he was free.
To completely integrate into the country, he even agreed to the demands of Romanian traditionalists, allowing his heirs to convert to the Orthodox faith—even though this decision nearly caused an infuriated Vatican to excommunicate him.
However, Ferdinand I quickly realized he was too naive.
Even as the King of Romania, the shadow of the Saxon royal family still loomed over him.
To compete with the Britannians and the Gauls, the Saxon Empire never concealed its covetous gaze toward the magic crystal and radiant crystal mines scattered across the Balkan Peninsula.
The Kingdom of Romania, possessing both types of mines within its borders, had long served as an extension of the Dresden Grand Palace's will.
This was true for Carol I, and it remained true for Ferdinand I.
A King? He was nothing more than a gatekeeper for the mines.
Behind every mineral export contract lay the fingerprints of the House of Wettin.
Every military procurement budget had to pass the review of the "Military Advisory Group" stationed in Bucharest by the Saxon Empire.
During an internal meeting, Ferdinand I once spoke a "treasonous" sentence right to his cabinet ministers' faces:
"Tell me, am I the King of Romania, or the Saxon Empire's Governor-General in Bucharest?"
No one dared answer.
Because everyone knew the truth—he was the latter.
But what the Saxon royal family did not know was that in 1866, when Carol I was crowned Prince of Romania, he had accepted the conditions of the ancient boyar nobility and a certain secret society.
Ferdinand I also had not forgotten the night of October 1914... the exact one-year anniversary of his accession as the new King of Romania. That was the night forces completely unknown to the outside world found him.
He remembered that night clearly.
A cold autumn rain battered Bucharest. The fireplace in the old royal palace crackled warmly. Just as he finished reviewing the last official document and prepared to return to his bedchambers, the lights in the study suddenly went out.
Then, unfamiliar footsteps echoed in the room.
"Do not panic, Your Majesty..."
A voice spoke from the darkness, sounding ancient enough to belong to another century.
"We are merely here to show you some things."
When those mysterious figures stepped out of the shadows, Ferdinand I saw they held ancient scrolls, faded parchment, and rune rubbings he couldn't even begin to decipher.
They revealed a history sealed away by dust.
A history about Wallachia. About the true ruler who once governed this land. About the man whose name still made all of Europa tremble centuries later.
They asked the new King of Romania a question:
In this past year, had he seen through the true nature of the Saxons?
In this past year, had the yoke around his neck tightened even further?
Just like Carol I before him, the 49-year-old Ferdinand I realized on that rainy night that he might have found a way to shatter the Saxon Empire's chains.
In the days that followed, Ferdinand I's foreign policy style and political orientation abruptly shifted. He truly began to fulfill the oath he swore during his inauguration before the Romanian parliament:
"I will rule this country as a good Romanian!"
To secure a more advantageous future for the Kingdom, he joined the Entente powers under the persuasion of Britannian envoys and agreed to form a coalition with the Balkan nations.
This move earned him overwhelming prestige within the Kingdom of Romania.
Citizens hung his portrait in the streets. The parliament unanimously passed a military aid bill for Serbia. All of Bucharest overflowed with a fanatical atmosphere of "The Romanians have finally stood up!"
It was also on the day Romania joined the Entente that a furious Albert II signed a decree, publicly striking Ferdinand I's name from the genealogy of the House of Wettin.
However, the subsequent developments defied everyone's expectations. The war in the Balkans did not go nearly as smoothly as the Entente powers had imagined.
The joint forces of Romania, Greece, and the Ottoman Empire met fierce resistance within the borders of Bulgaria.
Part of this was naturally due to the "blood feud" between the Kingdom of Romania and the Ottoman Empire. Forcing two armies that despised each other to fight side-by-side in an "east-west pincer attack" yielded predictable levels of coordination.
Following that, the nightmare news that the Serbian main force had been crushed head-on by the Saxon-Austro-Hungarian allied forces on the Sava River plains cast a dark cloud over the entire Balkan Peninsula.
And now... the Saxon vanguard had broken through the border defenses at the Predeal Pass.
Ferdinand I stood beneath the statue, looking up at the armored man.
Firelight flickered across the statue's face. The sharply chiseled features carved by the sculptor bore a condescending, scrutinizing gaze.
Even though this wasn't his first time in this secret underground chamber, Ferdinand I still felt a deep discomfort looking at the corpse sculptures impaled on the wooden stakes.
It was a repulsion rising from his very bones. Perhaps the Saxon education instilled in him since childhood screamed that this method of execution was barbaric and uncivilized.
But according to the boyar nobles, this was the "necessary evil" Wallachia needed to fend off foreign invasions.
A group of figures in black robes emerged from the shadows surrounding the statue.
The leader hunched over, his hood obscuring most of his face, revealing only a wrinkled chin and cracked lips.
"Drink it, Your Majesty..."
The ancient voice echoed in the cavernous basement.
"This is the fate of the ruler of Wallachia."
Ferdinand I recognized the voice. It was the same one from the rainy night when he learned of the Kingdom's "other side." This old man, forever hidden beneath a black robe, had recounted that sealed history to him.
Ferdinand I shifted his gaze from the old man to the stone altar in front of the statue.
A copper cup sat upon it.
The cup brimmed with a dark red, viscous liquid that emitted a faint luminescence.
[Original Blood].
This was the secret Wallachia had kept for 440 years.
In truth, to the highly educated Ferdinand I, blood stored for centuries shouldn't possibly remain in a liquid state.
It violated every law of natural science he had ever studied.
Blood coagulates, dries, and rots. Any biology textbook would tell you that.
That eerie glow even reminded him of the magic crystal ore extracts he had once seen at the Saxon Imperial Magitech Research Institute. He had audited a few lectures there in his youth, where the instructor demonstrated an active solution refined from magic crystal ore that emitted a similar glow under specific conditions, albeit blue.
So, was the liquid in this cup truly someone's blood?
Or was it some sort of... mixture laced with magic crystal extracts?
But another voice in his head dismissed this logical deduction.
That voice told him: This is the inherited [Original Blood]. It is the legacy of that former ruler. It requires no rational explanation, for some things inherently transcend the boundaries of rationality.
The two thoughts warred in his mind, but the chill seeping from the stone floor beneath his feet was very real, as was the breathing of the black-robed figures surrounding him.
Ferdinand I spoke, his voice so low it was unclear whether he was muttering to himself or addressing the others.
"The blue blood of the House of Wettin flows through my veins. My ancestors taught me that honor sits above all else..."
The old man's voice quickly interjected.
"But Your Majesty... the black fire of Wallachia burns in your marrow. To become the true ruler of Wallachia, you must accept His legacy."
"As for the honor of the House of Wettin?"
The old man's lips twitched slightly.
"Is it the honor of the family that threw you to Bucharest like a discarded chess piece? Or the honor of the family that has already struck your name from their lineage?"
"The Saxon army has crossed the Carpathian Mountains."
The old man continued, his words laced with a leading tone:
"Within three days, they will reach Bucharest. Your military police, your militia, even your veteran reserves... Your Majesty, do you truly believe they can stop those iron giants?"
Ferdinand I's adam's apple bobbed.
Of course he knew they couldn't.
General Ferdinand's report was crystal clear. The defenders at the Predeal Pass were routed in two hours.
That was the strongest mountain defense line the Kingdom of Romania had spent years fortifying. An absolute defensive line built with countless manpower, financial resources, and nearly three hundred tons of explosives...
And the Saxons tore it open in two hours.
Ferdinand I offered no reply. He reached out and grasped the copper cup. The metal was biting cold.
He looked down at the liquid inside. The luminescence reflected two dark red dots in his pupils. The surface of the liquid trembled slightly. He didn't know if his hand was shaking, or if the liquid itself was quivering.
The King of Romania raised the cup in a toast to the towering statue behind him.
Firelight cascaded across the copper surface. The dark red liquid sloshed as he tilted the cup, and then he drained it in one gulp.
The immediate reaction upon entering his mouth was a strong tang of iron. As the liquid flowed down his esophagus, Ferdinand I could clearly feel every inch of its path... That viscous texture reminded him of the potions court physicians forced down his throat when he had a high fever as a child.
But this was ten thousand times more violent than any potion. A burning sensation erupted in his stomach.
Ferdinand I doubled over, bracing both hands against the stone altar. The copper cup slipped from his fingers, bouncing twice on the floor with a hollow clang.
Next came his heart.
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat. It was so loud that even the surrounding black-robed figures could sense it. The entire basement seemed to vibrate faintly in time with that rhythm.
Ferdinand I looked down at his hands.
The veins on the back of his hands bulged, protruding one by one above the skin. Their color rapidly darkened from a normal blue-green to a purplish-black.
Those veins writhed beneath his skin as if countless tiny snakes were slithering through his body, spreading from his hands to his arms, and from his arms up to his neck.
Every pore contracted. Every hair stood on end. His five senses were magnified to an absurd degree in an extremely short span of time.
He could hear the rapid heartbeat of a specific black-robed figure a dozen meters away. He could smell the scent of century-old bloodstains lingering in the cracks of the stone bricks. He could see exactly how every tiny speck of smoke twisted and rose within the flames of the torches.
Simultaneously, Ferdinand I's rationality as a Saxon shattered.
The education, etiquette, logic, and restraint instilled in him since childhood—all the mental cornerstones that constructed his identity as a "member of the House of Wettin"—crumbled in an instant.
Ferdinand I fell completely to his knees. His fingers dug deeply into the gaps between the stone bricks with unbelievable strength.
The stone emitted a dull cracking sound under the pressure. Fissures spiderwebbed outward from his fingertips...
Crack!
Finally, he crushed a corner of a thick stone brick with his bare hands. Stone dust fell rustling through his fingers.
The surrounding black-robed figures took a collective step back.
Even though they had guarded this secret for generations, even though they had read descriptions of this ritual countless times in ancient texts—witnessing the power of the [Original Blood] take effect on a living person still triggered an instinctual fear.
When Ferdinand I stood up again, the hesitant King was gone.
His pupils had turned scarlet, like two rubies embedded in his eye sockets. His skin was as pale as paper, all blood color draining away in an instant, yet the expression on his face was preternaturally sharp.
The aura radiating from him was entirely different.
If the previous Ferdinand I was like an old horse tied up in a stable, the man standing here now was a vicious beast that had just opened its eyes.
The old leader bowed down trembling, and the black-robed figures behind him followed suit, dropping to their knees in a wide swathe.
"The Dragon of Wallachia has awakened!"
The old man's voice shook, but it carried a fanaticism suppressed for centuries:
"We welcome His successor!"
Amidst the fanatical cries of the black-robed men, Ferdinand I didn't look at them.
He turned to face the statue. His scarlet pupils met the cold stone eyes of the sculpture in the firelight.
He parted his lips, revealing two elongated fangs.
Almost at the exact moment Ferdinand I drank the [Original Blood].
Within the Papal State, Naples.
Naples in May was already growing hot. The sea breeze, carrying the salty tang of the ocean, blew in from the harbor, causing the Vatican flags hanging in the streets to flap listlessly.
The Santa Maria la Nova Church had closed its public doors these past few days for renovations. A few priests in gray monastic robes moved silently through the corridors, cleaning the candles and pews in the chapels.
Everything looked no different from an ordinary day.
But beneath the Turbolo Chapel inside the church, the situation was entirely different.
Descending an inconspicuous stone staircase behind the chapel's altar, passing through three cast-iron gates and two stone walls carved with ancient prayers, lay a secret chamber roughly twenty meters underground, measuring no more than six or seven meters across.
An intricate array of seals was carved into the domed ceiling. Those lines, infused with mana over countless years, were deeply embedded in the stone, emitting an extremely faint silver-white glow.
The four walls lacked any decoration, featuring only bare stone bricks and a few copper lamps in the corners that remained eternally lit despite seemingly burning dry of oil.
In the exact center of the chamber rested a stone sarcophagus.
The sarcophagus was massive, looking wildly disproportionate in the cramped chamber, as if the sarcophagus had been placed first and the room built around it.
The body of the coffin was chiseled from a single block of grayish-white marble, its surface densely covered with runes.
These runes were divided into three layers.
The outermost layer consisted of standard Vatican prohibitions. The middle layer was some older Latin incantation. As for the innermost layer of runes... no one alive could decipher them anymore.
According to the Vatican's secret archives, this stone sarcophagus had rested here since 1476.
Exactly 440 years ago.
Among the long-decayed remains inside the sarcophagus, only one thing remained perfectly preserved—a shriveled heart.
But just moments ago, this heart beat once.
The two priests guarding the secret chamber noticed the anomaly simultaneously.
It wasn't that they heard a sound.
In fact, twenty meters underground, separated by three cast-iron gates and thick stone walls, no sound from within the coffin could possibly reach the outside.
What they sensed was the fluctuation of the chamber's ward.
The silver-white light of the runes on the dome flickered for a split second before returning to normal.
The entire process lasted less than half a second, but for the professionally trained defenders of the Vatican, this was enough to trigger the highest level of alarm.
"Wait."
The older priest stopped the prayer log he was writing. His pen hovered in mid-air, ink pooling into a small bead at the tip.
Priest Antonio was the leader of this guard detail. He had served beneath the Turbolo Chapel for exactly seventeen years.
He knew very well what lay inside the stone sarcophagus, and he understood what a fluctuation in the ward meant.
"Just now... did the [Heart] react?"
His partner, a young priest named Giovanni, set down his crucifix and rosary, turning his head to look at the chamber's door.
At this moment, the faint glow of the runes had stabilized, showing no signs of irregularity.
"The chamber's ward indeed issued a warning."
Giovanni walked to the wall and pressed his palm against the stone, feeling it for a moment.
"Although I can't be certain if the [Heart] beat, there is definitely an anomaly inside the sarcophagus..."
"I'll go check."
Antonio stood up and walked toward the cast-iron door of the chamber.
He had barely taken two steps when the heavy clank of metal resounded from both ends of the corridor. Four towering Church Knights moved into position almost instantly, flanking Antonio in the middle.
The equipment of these knights was considered top-tier even within the Vatican's entire armed forces.
White full plate armor covered every inch of their bodies from neck to ankle, the plating engraved with holy crests.
Their helmets were the hound-head design unique to the Papal Knights, the sharp visors glinting coldly in the candlelight.
But the most striking aspect was the weapons in their hands.
Their right hands gripped single-handed swords covered in runes—this aligned with the traditional image of a Church Knight.
But in their left hands... they held matte-black MP14 submachine guns, complete with small incense burners dangling from them.
One of the knights even had his runic single-handed sword sheathed at his waist, wielding a fully loaded MG14 light machine gun with both hands. Faint runes could be seen painted on the 7.92mm bullets.
A runic single-handed sword paired with Saxon standard-issue submachine guns and light machine guns—this combination looked jarringly out of place anywhere.
But in reality, the Papal State's "Papal Guard" had long ceased to be a violent institution fighting solely with cold weapons and miracles of holy light.
In this era of iron and fire, even the most devout knight wouldn't reject a reliable automatic weapon blessed by a senior priest.
Antonio wasn't surprised by the knights' rapid response.
These men guarded the perimeter of the chamber in 24-hour shifts. Any fluctuation in the seal would trigger their combat protocols.
He nodded to the lead knight, signaling his intent to enter and inspect.
The knight didn't speak. He simply flicked off the safety of his submachine gun and stepped aside, clearing the path to the cast-iron door.
The other three followed behind Antonio, advancing in a standard tactical formation.
As the three cast-iron doors slowly opened, the air in the passage was noticeably several degrees colder than outside. Antonio could see his breath forming white mist as the scene inside the chamber was revealed to everyone.
The rune array on the dome emitted a steady, faint silver-white light. The copper lamps in the four corners remained dim. The stone sarcophagus stood silently in the center, the runes on its surface showing no abnormal glowing or dimming.
It looked as if nothing had happened at all.
Antonio carefully approached the stone sarcophagus.
At this single movement, the four knights behind him raised their submachine guns in unison, muzzles pointed toward the sarcophagus.
Simultaneously, the runic swords in their left hands were brought up vertically before their chests, the runes on the blades beginning to glow faintly.
[Divine Favor], [Sacred Weapon]...
Antonio could feel the oppressive aura radiating from the four men behind him, but he didn't pay it much mind. He walked to the edge of the sarcophagus, leaned over, and scrutinized it closely.
The coffin lid fit perfectly. The structure of the outermost sealing runes was stable, with no signs of damage or weakening.
Antonio circled the sarcophagus, inspecting every corner, before finally coming to a halt. He looked up at Giovanni standing in the doorway of the chamber.
"The seal is intact."
Giovanni breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly slumping.
"But the fluctuation was real..."
Antonio's tone did not relax.
"We must report this to the Vatican. Until personnel from the Vatican arrive, all defensive measures are raised to the highest level."
"I'll draft the encrypted message right now."
Giovanni turned to leave, took two steps, then stopped and looked back at his partner.
"Also, should the armed forces of the Turbolo Church be put on full alert?"
"It's not enough." Antonio shook his head. "Mobilize the surrounding Papal Guards as well. Before the Holy See's special envoy arrives, we need at least three times the guard strength."
"Three times? Do you think it's that serious?"
Antonio didn't answer immediately. He looked back at the stone sarcophagus one more time.
Under the firelight, the marble coffin was cold and devoid of any anomalies.
"Four hundred and forty years..."
Antonio finally spoke, his voice hushed.
"If the records I've read are not mistaken, this is the first time the chamber's ward has produced a fluctuation."
Giovanni's face turned completely white.
"...I understand. I'll get it done immediately."
After the two priests left the chamber, the alert knights also began to withdraw. They backed out slowly, their muzzles never lowering, until the cast-iron doors shut heavily in front of them.
The three doors closed in sequence, the sound of locking mechanisms echoing dully in the underground passage.
With everyone gone, the secret chamber fell back into silence.
The flames of the copper lamps flickered slightly from the breeze caused by the closing doors, casting shifting shadows on the dome and stone walls.
Inside the stone sarcophagus, the shriveled heart lay quietly among the decayed remains.
It did not beat a second time, as if nothing had happened at all.
But if someone could peer through the sarcophagus's seal and penetrate the marble walls right now... they would discover that on the surface of the heart, shriveled for 440 years, an extremely subtle change—nearly indiscernible to the naked eye—had occurred for the first time.
On the heart's dry, cracked skin, a hairline fissure as thin as a strand of hair was beginning to heal.
Ferdinand I's wife, Queen Marie of the Kingdom of Romania, had been standing in the hallway for an unknown amount of time.
She leaned against the wall, hands clasped before her waist, her posture elegant and proper—a habit cultivated since childhood in the royal family of the Holy Britannia Empire. Even though only a few loyal retainers surrounded her, she maintained the demeanor expected of a queen.
But her fingers were trembling slightly.
The servants and guards at both ends of the hallway had been dismissed long ago, leaving only three old men who had followed Ferdinand I for years.
They also remained silent, occasionally exchanging glances before quickly looking away.
The study door was shut tight. Ever since Ferdinand I locked himself inside, no sound had emerged.
Queen Marie strained her ears for a long time but heard nothing. However, she knew exactly what her husband had gone to do.
Ferdinand I hadn't completely hidden the secrets of the boyar nobility from her. Even that mysterious group forever hidden beneath cloaks had approached her.
But Queen Marie's reaction at the time had been very calm.
She was the granddaughter of the "Eternal Queen" Victoria. Having witnessed the "miracles" that occurred with her own grandmother, the secrets of the Kingdom of Romania hardly seemed like much to her.
But "knowing" and "seeing the results with your own eyes" were two entirely different things.
After an indeterminable amount of time, there was finally movement inside the study.
"Marie, come in..."
Ferdinand I's voice came from behind the wooden door. The tone was steady, sounding no different from usual.
Queen Marie breathed a sigh of relief, nodded to the retainers behind her, and pushed open the study door.
The curtains in the room were all drawn closed. Only a single lamp on the desk was lit.
Ferdinand I stood in the center of the study, his back to the door, his military uniform still crisp and sharp.
Queen Marie closed the door, took two steps, and watched her husband turn around.
At first glance, there indeed wasn't much change.
It was still the face she had known for over a decade. It was still the pair of eyes that usually carried a touch of warmth.
But his complexion was noticeably paler than before, and his eye color seemed to have turned an eerie blood red...
The Queen's footsteps paused for a fraction of a second before resuming their normal stride.
"My dear, you accepted that 'legacy'..."
As she spoke these words, Queen Marie's tone carried a barely audible sigh.
"To save this country, it is what I must do as King."
Ferdinand I's reply was brief. Queen Marie stared at him for several seconds.
The lamplight shone on Ferdinand's face, and she noticed his eye color seemed to have returned to normal—at least, it looked normal under these lighting conditions.
But she vaguely felt the color of his eyes was deeper than before.
Of course, it could just be an illusion caused by the dim lighting.
"How do you feel?"
"Very good."
Ferdinand I's answer was still brief, but he immediately added: "Much better than I expected..."
Queen Marie didn't press him on what "expected" meant.
She knew her husband too well. This man, sent far from the Saxon Empire to Bucharest, looked gentle and reserved on the outside, but was more stubborn than anyone in his bones.
Since he said "very good," it meant he was truly fine... at least for now.
Ferdinand I walked to her side and slightly opened his arm. Queen Marie said nothing more, naturally slipping her hand into the crook of her husband's arm.
The two left the study side by side. The retainers in the hallway immediately followed, consciously maintaining a distance of a few paces.
When they reached the main doors of the royal palace, the two heavy oak doors had already been pushed open by servants in advance.
Outside was a broad flight of stone steps. Below the steps lay a flagstone courtyard, and further away were the streets of Bucharest.
Sunlight poured in from outside.
It was noon in May. The sun hung high, and the sky over Bucharest was cloudless.
The direct rays blanketed every inch of the ground before the doors without obstruction, cutting an extremely sharp line between light and shadow on the stone steps.
Inside the doors was shadow.
Outside was sunlight.
Ferdinand I's footsteps halted.
The pause was exceedingly brief, but Queen Marie, holding his arm, clearly felt her husband's entire body stiffen.
The muscles in his arm tensed, then relaxed.
Ferdinand I looked at the sunlight outside, his expression unchanged.
Then he took that step.
His military boots crossed the line between light and shadow. Sunlight fell on his face, his shoulders, and every crease of his uniform.
Queen Marie followed closely, stepping into the light with him.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she instinctively held her breath. The force with which her fingers gripped Ferdinand's arm was so great she didn't even realize it.
Seconds passed. Nothing happened.
The sunlight bathed Ferdinand I. He neither burst into flames nor exhibited any abnormal reactions.
The medals on his uniform gleamed with a metallic luster in the daylight, looking no different from any military review in the past.
"Are you alright?"
Seemingly sensing the Queen's unease, Ferdinand I lowered his voice to ask.
"Yes."
Ferdinand I said nothing more. He paused, reached out with his other hand, and gently patted the back of the Queen's hand resting on his arm.
"My Queen, let us now go and inspire the soldiers holding fast to the capital."