She shook a fist at them. The genuine, pure anger and contempt made the [Necromancers] hesitate.

They looked at each other as the [Princess] went on, incensed.

“I am Seraphel du Marquin, 4th Princess of Calanfer! Afiele? Are you taken in the head? Now, put down your weapons and call your army off! No one kills a [Princess] of Calanfer!”

No one killed a [Princess] of Calanfer. It was not an idle boast. Nor—a threat. It was just reality. No one killed a [Princess] of the Eternal Throne of Calanfer because…there was no point. You’d get no ransom from a corpse. Calanfer was a political kingdom. You could ransom Seraphel, keep her hostage, and do any number of things, but the truth was that a [Princess] of Calanfer hadn’t died in battle for the last four thousand years, because that was a valueless act. In a siege, she would be spared and taken captive. [Bandits] would take her artifacts and sell her to someone.

Assassinations were different, of course. But even then—why kill her? It made no sense. The Eternal Throne of Calanfer’s entire strategy was not to make enemies. To make themselves more valuable as allies, hostages, or impartial intermediaries.

The [Necromancers] standing amid the trees looked at each other as she berated them. Seraphel saw one raise a hand and the undead stopped their onslaught. She heard a loud whisper.

“Calanfer? But I thought this was Afiele’s…”

The leader was the man with the white hair and staff. Seraphel knew how to recognize authority. He looked down at her and couldn’t disguise the sudden apprehension that flitted across his face.

“Lies.”

“Lies? Tell me, Sir [Necromancer], do you not see the crown on my head? And do you not recognize the Thronebearers of Calanfer? You must be blind not to recognize their crests, or the color of their armor!”

Seraphel was beyond angry. But the sudden realization that these [Necromancers] had come to kill, not kidnap, her had created a pit of fear in her stomach. She blustered on, thinking quickly.

[Necromancers]. One of the most perverse and wretched of schools of magic, outlawed across Terandria, of course. Ever since Az’kerash, the Necromancer of Terandria had betrayed his kingdom and waged a hundred years of undead war against the living.

She was terrified, but a [Princess] should show no fear to her enemies. Seraphel tilted her chin up.

“Once more, I am the 4th Princess of Calanfer. If you are hoping to waylay another sort on the roads, gentlemen, we shall be on our way.”

“What?”

The [Necromancers] stared at her. But Seraphel was already marching down to the coach.

“Ser Dalimont, take your [Knights] and get this coach moving. We have an appointment and this seems to be a mix-up. L-leave the fallen. I’m far too busy to deal with them. You may recover the bodies on your return trip.”

“Your Highness, are you m—”