“It is the command of her Imperial Majesty, Vernia, Princess of Reabon, that Grandon of Terra, King of Uxpo, attend her at once in the audience chamber.”
Grandon followed the officer through a maze of corridors and passageways, then through an arched doorway between two guards who saluted stiffly as he passed, and found himself in the audience chamber.
The door through which he had entered was at the right of the throne —a door which royalty alone was privileged to use. He was escorted to a position among the scarlet-clad members of Reabonian royalty, from which he had an excellent view of the entire hall.
He could see Bordeen, Vorn Vangal and Dr. Morgan standing with the purple- clad nobles. As the doctor wore a purple uniform it was apparent that he had been created a noble of Reabon.
Below them in lines of the blue-clad commoners he could make out Oro and Rotha, and the uniforms of many Fighting Traveks as well as the glistening armor of the Granterrites. Across from him, clad in the scarlet of royalty, he saw Harry Thorne, Joto, and somewhat apart from them, the triumphantly grinning Prince Destho.
The buzz of conversation ceased abruptly as the scarlet curtains that surrounded the throne slowly parted and slid majestically back to the wall in shimmering folds, announcing the coming of the princess.
Then the massive doors at the end of the hall swung open and the imperial procession entered, headed by the four kings who bore the palanquin, and followed by Orthad, Supreme Commander of Reabon, who carried on a scarlet cushion the huge jeweled scarbo that was the scepter of Reabonian authority.
After him came a hundred members of the Imperial Guard with gorgeous uniforms and shining weapons, who ranged themselves in two straight lines reaching from the foot of the throne to the end of the hall.
Then, for the first time, Grandon saw how a ruler of Reabon mounted to the throne.
Orthad presented the imperial-scarbo which she took from the cushion and rested across the arms of the throne. Her gaze swept the assemblage and her eyes rested for a moment on Grandon. But it became plainly apparent in a moment that Vernia had no intention of asking assistance, for she summoned Bonal, her prime minister, and ordered him to read the proclamation.
As Bonal faced the crowd and unrolled the document with an exaggerated flourish, Grandon looked across at Prince Destho, and noting the look of triumph in his dark eyes with difficulty restrained himself from leaping across that narrow space and throttling the man.
The prime minister stepped to the edge of the dais and read:
“A Proclamation by Her Imperial Majesty, Vernia, the Princess of Reabon.
“On the twenty-fourth day of the eighth Endir in the four thousand and tenth year of Thorth, I, Vernia of Reabon, hereby proclaim and declare to all my subjects throughout the length and breadth of the empire that I have taken for my husband, and raised to the office of emperor, to rule over me and my people, the brave and illustrious Grandon of Terra.
“It is my command that copies of this proclamation be made and distributed to all parts of the empire without delay, and that the fifth day of the ninth Endir be set aside as a day for feasting and suitable celebration in honor of this momentous event.
“Vernia, Princess of Reabon.”
Grandon could scarcely believe the testimony of his own ears; a glance at Prince Destho showed that he was no less amazed.
A ringing cheer broke from the throats of the vast multitude: “Long life to Grandon of Terra, Emperor of Reabon!”
Grandon stood still until a young prince plucked at his elbow and whispered: “Step before the throne.”
He followed this sound advice and waited, stiffly erect while Vernia descended and gave the imperial scarbo into his keeping.
“Mount to the throne,” she bade him in a whisper, “and place the scarbo across the arms as you saw me”
Suddenly, she paused with a scream of terror. “Look behind you— quickly!”
He whirled in time to see Destho, his face contorted with rage and his scarbo descending in a shimmering arc. There was no time to parry the blow; Grandon leaped aside, then caught the blade with the imperial scarbo, twirled it and sent it clattering to the floor.
His weapon gone, Destho turned and sprinted for a side door. Soldiers ran to intercept him, but before he reached then a man attired in a bloody, tattered uniform leaped out from the ranks of the commoners and caught him by the beard. “Thus should all traitors die!”
As the words rang clear above the tumult, a knife flashed in the hand of the soldier, then thrust into the breast of Destho.
Grandon arrived to see the plotter lying on the floor with bloody froth issuing from his mouth and trickling down on his wiry beard. His assailant had fallen across his prostrate body, and Grandon recognized Zueppa. The wound inflicted on Zueppa by the man he had just slain had been reopened by his exertion. In a moment both were dead.
Four soldiers removed the bodies and order was restored with surprising celerity. Again Grandon moved to the foot of the throne where Vernia awaited him, wide-eyed and trembling. He took her hands in his for a moment, then she resolutely bade him proceed.
Upon his return the four kings had prostrated themselves on the steps leading to the throne in accordance with the customs of their ancestors. Grandon turned to Vernia. “I am emperor now, am I not?”
“Assuredly, my lord.”
“And my word is law?”
“So long as it does not conflict with the written constitution of Reabon.”
“Is this matter of mounting to the throne on the backs of one’s vassal kings written into the constitution?”
“No. It is a custom that has been observed for generations and signifies the complete submission of the heads of the various kingdoms.”
“Then it shall be abolished. I expect loyalty from my subjects, but not abject servility.”
Then, to the surprise of the four kings, he bade them rise and stand, each man on the step he occupied, two to the right and two to the left. Thus attended, Grandon mounted to the throne while the spectators looked on in amazement.
When he had taken his seat with quiet dignity and rested the scarbo across the arms of the throne, Vernia mounted and bowed before him with right hand extended palm downward—an example which was followed by the entire assemblage. It was indeed a day of surprise for the good people of Reabon, for no sooner had she knelt before him than he, in violation of an age-old custom which decreed that the empress should sit at the feet of her lord, swung the scarbo to one side and lifted her up beside him on the throne.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” she gasped. “My place is—”
“Custom be hanged!” he responded, and there, in full view of that vast multitude, he kissed his bride full upon the lips.
The crowd responded with a resounding cheer. “A long and happy reign to our emperor and his empress!”
Then the shimmering scarlet curtains crept around the throne, and Grandon forgot all else when two soft arms stole around his neck and Vernia’s fluffy head nestled on his shoulder.
“I don’t understand about the proclamation yet,” he said, at length. “How and when did you manage to change it?”
“It was changed before I affixed my signature,” she said, “else I should sooner have died than sign it. While Destho’s attention was momentarily drawn to you I crossed out his name and substituted yours. I then allowed the scroll to roll half downward, as if by accident, and when he turned he saw that I was signing and, happily, never bothered to unroll it again!”
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