Reborn As The Beggar Lord

002 Mercy

Once a year, the Dawn Temple opened its gates for the Awakening, and every noble house in the capital crowded in to see which sons and daughters the heavens had blessed. This time, even the royal court was watching.

Kingsley Carmine arrived in a hired carriage. He wore his dead father's coat. No one opened the door for him.

He heard whispers before his boots touched the ground.

"Look. The beggar lord is actually here."

"His father died owing half this city."

"He'll draw a D grade talent if he's lucky. E, more likely."

Kingsley kept his face calm. In his old life, Ethan Ward had walked into boardrooms full of men in suits, all waiting for him to fail. This was the same crowd in fancier clothes.

He had not lowered his head then. He would not lower it now.

After the Awakening, Thornmere, his father's land, would legally be his. It was a ruin on salted soil where crops died and monsters roamed. It needed gold and magic, and the sacred Stone could hand him both today.

One good grade, he thought, and my homeland can rise to glory again.

Inside, the hall was white marble and gold. It was built to last and to make a nineteen-year-old feel small.

The Third Princess was a special guest of the Temple. She sat high in the royal box, dressed in dark red. Her name was Elizabeth.

She was beautiful, and half the young lords kept sneaking looks at her. She seemed bored by the whole ceremony.

The sacred Stone was set at the front of the hall. It was a grey block the size of a coffin, worn smooth by a thousand years of weathering.

The old priest called the nineteen-year-olds forward one by one.

Most drew a C or a D. An A or B grade talent would be rewarded with a title, land, position, and gold from the Crown on the spot.

So that's why my uncle raised me, Kingsley thought. The old miser was watering a dead tree, waiting for fruit.

Kingsley watched the sons and daughters of the great houses go up one by one. The crowd sighed at the low letters and cheered at the rare B.

Then Lucan stepped forward, the young lion every house wanted as a son-in-law. When he touched the Stone, it caught fire. Golden light climbed to the ceiling.

"Grade A," the priest announced with a flourish. "Sword talent."

The hall went wild. His reward was read out before he left the steps. A knighthood, five hundred gold, and a place in the royal guard.

On his way down, Lucan paused beside Kingsley. He spoke loudly enough for the back row.

"Stay close to the Stone when you touch it, Carmine. If it doesn't light up, you can at least warm your hands on my leftover fire."

The hall laughed.

Kingsley smiled back and said nothing. He remembered the insult.

Lucan had always humiliated him and his family name in the capital. One day, he would be paid back with interest.

Lady Cassia went up next, in white and silver. She was his betrothed, promised to him in childhood, back when the Carmine name still meant something.

The Stone glowed a clean winter blue, and the priest announced a B in frost magic. Her father the duke rose to applaud.

As she came down, Kingsley watched her eyes sweep past him and settle on Lucan.

The boy's heart ached. The man inside him stayed cold. Good. He couldn't afford a broken heart.

"Kingsley Carmine."

The clapping turned into laughter.

He walked up alone. No family stood for him.

Kingsley laid his palm on the Stone. It was cold, and then, for one instant, he felt something huge stir far beneath his hand.

Then the light on the Stone flickered weakly and died.

The old priest leaned in. Even he looked embarrassed.

"Grade F," he announced, shaking his head. "Talent, Landcraft."

For a moment, the hall went silent. Then a voice from the back said it aloud.

"The Temple has not read an F in fifteen years. What a disaster!"

"Landcraft? Then he can count worms for the farmers!"

"Is he really of noble birth?"

"The Stone does not lie. He is a peasant in a dead baron's coat."

The laughter rose twice as loud.

There would be no title and no gold.

Kingsley's uncle did not laugh. He stood, red-faced, and his voice cracked across the hall.

"All his life I fed him, clothed him, paid his tutors, betting his father's blood would repay me with a title. And the Stone tells me I fattened a dog!"

He turned to the royal box and bowed low.

"Your Highness, I give up all guardianship of this failure. Let the Crown sweep its trash."

All those years, the old man had fed him like a pig for slaughter. Now the animal was worthless, so he threw it away.

Cassia, his fiancée, rose before the laughter died. She walked to the royal box, curtsied low, and asked Princess Elizabeth to witness her words. Then she drew her marriage contract from her sleeve and held it high.

"I was betrothed to a baron's heir. That man no longer exists. What remains is an F-grade orphan with his father's debts and a village of salted dirt."

She turned to Kingsley. Her eyes held only disdain. He had seen that exact look once before. Celeste, his traitorous wife from another life, right after she poured the poisoned wine.

Cassia tore the contract twice and dropped the pieces down the steps.

"Grade F. Even the letter suits you. F, for finished."

Then she turned her back on him before the entire kingdom and held out her hand to Lucan. "My lord. Walk me to my seat. The air near the Stone has gone bad."

Lucan gave Kingsley one smug look and offered Cassia his arm.

Kingsley knew that expression. Julian had worn it while he watched Ethan die on the carpet.

The hall erupted. A lord in the front row doubled over laughing and pointed at him.

A clerk of the Crown walked up last, reading an announcement.

"Even though Kingsley Carmine has failed the Stone's test, the royal family is merciful."

"By order of the Crown, he shall keep his father's title and lands. But he is no longer welcome among us. He has three days to leave the capital."

Thornmere meant ruins, debts, and three hundred people to feed.

"Thornmere," someone whispered. "That's on the Mist border. Horrible things walk out of that fog at night."

This was not mercy. This was exile.

People were still laughing when Kingsley came down the steps. He stepped over the torn pieces of his betrothal without a glance.

Then something small and bright dropped from the royal box.

Kingsley caught it out of the air, one-handed. It was a gold bracelet set with a red gem, worth a year of food for a village.

"Princess Elizabeth has thrown alms to the beggar lord!" someone shouted, and the laughter doubled.

Kingsley raised his head toward the royal box. The Third Princess sat forward, her face bright with interest for the first time that day. Her eyes were fixed on him alone. She was waiting.

Then he understood. Pity would have been a silver coin, tossed and forgotten. Princess Elizabeth had given him an ornament she wore. Nobody does that for a denounced, exiled lord.

She was asking him one question in front of the entire court.

Can you climb high enough to hand this back to me one day?

It was a bet, not alms. A challenge.

Kingsley closed his hand around the bracelet and gave her one nod.

"Look at him!" a baron shouted. "He's keeping it!"

"What else to expect from the beggar lord?" another voice called back. "He keeps whatever lands in his bowl!"

The mocking went on around Kingsley, and it didn't matter. A promise had been made before a thousand people, and only two of them understood it.

Outside, the wind pulled at his dead father's coat. The grief of two orphans moved through him together.

I have no gold, no title, and no help.

The court believed that it had buried him alive on dead ground. Those people did not know what a builder could do with it.

Fine. I once took a condemned tower and turned it into the pride of a city. Wait until you see what I do with a condemned land.