Summary: Historia Reiss' life is turned upside down when she is crowned queen of her kingdom at 16, and the tables turn again when she catches the eye of a waitress with a dangerous secret. Amidst witty knights, clever sorcerers, and a war between humans and magic-kind, Historia must choose between her head and her heart, and hope she makes a choice she won't regret.

This is a total fantasy AU because I think fantasy is so fun to write, as well as to read. I hope you feel the same. Either way, feel free to follow, favorite, review, or critique; all are appreciated and encouraged. This is also a multiple pairing story, so stay tuned on that front!

As for the title, I got the idea for this while reading The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli and the word machivel (meaning someone who embodies the ideas of Machiavelli) was used a lot and then this happened and I couldn't think of anything better so… here!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters (except the few OC's I added here and there). All characters belong to their rightful owners.

Note: The italicized part at the beginning is a flashback. I will probably start most chapters in this manner, so the long italicized parts will always be flashbacks.

Second Note: The date and time period are completely made up. Yes, there really was a 1513, but this is it's own 1513, not the real one.

Enjoy!

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"Nonetheless, so that our free will not be eliminated, I judge that it might be true that fortune is arbiter of half of our actions, but also that she leaves the other half, or close to it, for us to govern" – Niccolo Machiavelli.

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Thursday, August 6, 1513

Erwin Smith's eyes were the only part of him to move when the heavy, wooden door to the king's chamber opened with a mournful creak. The rest of his companions couldn't resist moving, their bodies having been trapped in an almost mechanical routine of nervous motion since they'd been called by the Prime Minister's page at a quarter past the hour of eleven. They'd been waiting in the hallway for nearly an hour when the door opened and the doctor emerged, followed by the Prime Minister. The grim look on the men's faces spoke volumes.

"What are we going to do?" one minister sighed pitifully, hiding his face in his hands. Erwin noted the lack of sincere emotion in his tone; it seemed to him that the minister found it more of an inconvenience than a tragedy that the king had chosen to die tonight. "His wife's been dead for five years, and none of their children survived past nine. Who's going to succeed him?"

"Sir Edros, I do believe that will be you," another minister said, placing his hand on the shoulder of the Prime Minister as if they were life long friends. "There is no one else to rightly take his place..."

"No, there is still one blood relative who may have the throne before me," Sir Edros answered. Erwin's eyes flashed to the Prime Minister, slightly put off by the speed of his response. "The king's niece, Historia Reiss. She's the daughter of his late brother, and has been living with Lord and Lady Carolina since the death of her parents fifteen years ago. She is now the true heir by blood."

The second minister's eyes widened in surprise as he withdrew his hand from the Prime Minister's shoulder, taking a full step away as if the other man were a complete stranger.

"How old is she?" the first minister asked. He readjusted the spectacles sitting on his nose, looking very similar to a banker keeping his books.

"She will be seventeen next January," Sir Edros replied with a nod. "Which will make her sixteen at the coronation. Do you think that's too young?"

"I fear that it might be a little…"

"Too young? I once knew a king who was coronated at thirteen," a third minister added in boisterously, completely interrupting the second minister's argument. "The boy ruled for seventy years. Sixteen is definitely old enough to run a kingdom. And even if the responsibility is too much for her at first, we can most certainly step in and help. Teach her from the bottom up, you know? What else are we here for, after all?" Erwin noted how the second minister seemed to shrink. His hesitance was disquieting.

"Shall I seek out the Reiss girl tomorrow, then?" the first minister asked.

"If you would see to that, Lord Cresca, that would be splendid," Sir Edros said in response. Erwin frowned at the complete disregard for the deceased king. He found the men's indifference curiously frustrating. They were supposed to be the monarch's ministers, his inner circle; shouldn't they be at least slightly torn up over the man's death? They'd served under him for the better part of forty-four years, hadn't they?

The master of the knights' guild thus took it upon himself to try to drag the men back to reality.

"What if she says no?" Erwin spoke up suddenly. The other men flinched at his statement, whirling on him with eyes wide as if they'd seen a ghost. Erwin had been so calm and quiet that they'd clearly forgotten he was present. As usual. The blonde man stared hard at the Prime Minister, awaiting his answer. "You said that she may have the throne, which implies that you are giving the girl a choice to rule or not. If that is your intention, what will you do if the girl refuses your offer?"

Sir Edros looked down at the stones on the floor, rubbing at his chin. "Well, I suppose you're right: it is the girl's choice in the end. I suppose I will have to take the throne in the event that she refuses. However, I doubt that she'll say no. What girl would give up the chance to become a princess?" The smile that accompanied his last statement earned the man a seemingly satisfied smirk from Erwin.

"Remember that you're offering her a kingdom, not just a crown," the blonde man warned lightly. A round of light chuckles followed. Erwin pushed himself up from his seat, satisfied to know that the men thought he was on board with them. Their return to the topic of Historia's coronation furthered his confidence that every single one of them was oblivious to his true thoughts. As usual.

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Friday, August 21, 1513

At sixteen years old, Historia Reiss was to become the youngest monarch in the history of Gaiola. By tragic accident, the previous king had died without producing a direct heir, so the crown had thus been handed down to her, the daughter of his deceased younger brother. Historia had never really known her Uncle Fritz, since a noble family outside of the castle had raised her after her parent's death and it was hard to get an audience with a king, even if you're a blood relation. And to be fair, Historia had only found out that she was a princess when she was twelve, having no idea she was even remotely connected to the royal family before that. But still, here she was, four years later, being offered the crown of the kingdom. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and she was more than happy to serve her kingdom, which Lord Cresca said she would when he had appeared on Lord Carolina's doorstep and offered her the crown. But quite frankly, sitting in the royal chapel on her uncle's throne in front of the congregated mass of her future citizens, Historia did not feel prepared for it. Not in the slightest.

The Prime Minister had been making a speech on the history of Gaiola for what felt like both an eternity and a few seconds at the same time. Historia blamed the trick of time on the butterflies throwing a party in her stomach. Sir Edros' strong voice was echoing around the room with a booming presence, both cheerful and powerful at the same time as he recounted the tales of the great monarchs of old. Each word had been chosen with great care to keep each spectator at the edge of his or her seat with enthralling images of swordfights and majestic galas. The audience was spellbound by Edros' rhetorical magic. Yet his words were completely lost on Historia's ears, the blood rushing too loud for her to hear much besides her own heartbeat.

Historia's curious eyes scanned the faces in the audience as the Prime Minister spoke. The entire kingdom had been invited to the coronation, and it appeared to her that everyone had accepted. People from all over the village peppered the seats of the grand chapel. There was the baker from Fifth Street with his wife; there the master swordsman from the edge of the south quarter; here the apothecary from the west quarter of the commerce district; and there the grumpy man who rumor said had slain a dragon but now spent his time running a restaurant of repute by the waterway. Each face offered her a smile of pleasure, (save the grumpy restaurant man, but rumor also said he never smiled). Yet every grin twisted Historia's stomach into a tighter knot.

In less than an hour, she would be their queen. She would regulate their commerce and trade agreements. She would meet with foreign diplomats on their behalf. She would have to lead them to war if threatened. She'd be responsible for their lives. Just thinking about it made her head spin.

Historia resisted the urge to fidget or bite her lip as she looked out on her future citizens as Sir Edros' speech carried on. She felt the eyes of the audience scrutinizing every piece of her like she was a painting on display in a gallery. Were the curls in her golden hair falling correctly over her shoulders? Did her smile look real? Was she sitting up straight enough? The stares made her feel both ridiculously overdressed and disgustingly underdressed in the pink gown the ladies in waiting had chosen for her. The sleeves that cinched at the elbows and opened like lilies over her forearms looked too simple when compared to the graceful pattern on the dresses of the noble ladies sitting in the front rows. At the same time, the elegantly simple bodice with its pattern of cream lace that extended under the rose colored skirt made the hats on some of the other women look gaudy as all get out. Historia could barely navigate the world of royal fashion; how was she supposed to run a kingdom if she didn't even know if her outfit looked right?

The girl let her mind continue to wander as Sir Edros continued to speak, the drone of his voice providing comfortable background noise to her thoughts. The chapel was a gorgeously grand structure. Only the cathedral in the north quarter was larger, but what the palace's chapel lacked in size, it made up for in style. White marble columns connected the pristine tiled floor with the vaulted ceiling, leaving a generous amount of wall space for a satisfying number of windows. The architectural structure allowed the chapel to play a beautiful trick on its occupants as the bright sunlight bled through the massive stained glass windows, casting lovely shadows of color across the congregation. Golden yellow illuminated the merchants from the commerce district. A deep red painted the knight's guild. Soft, sylvan green blanketed a pocket of scholars from the university.

Historia blinked as her eyes fell on a hooded figure illuminated by a pool of violet light. It was almost like a dark spotlight shining perfectly on the caped shadow, separating them like a specter only Historia could see. The girl scanned the people as covertly as possible, and found that no one else drew her attention like the shadow in the hood. It also occurred to her that the citizens sitting in the vicinity of the hooded figure didn't seem to notice their presence. Perhaps the form really was an apparition, a figment of Historia's imagination. Either way, the person sat perfectly still, arms crossed over their chest as if they came to royal coronations everyday. The face was hidden beneath the folds of the hood, but Historia didn't need to see the eyes to know they were directed at her. And she had a feeling she was staring straight back into them.

A strange sort of shiver ran up the blonde girl's spine as she realized that she was making eye contact with a stranger who was concealed by a cape. She'd been taught as a child that hoods meant trouble. If you couldn't show the world your face, it meant you had something to hide and lacked the courage to own up to it. Yet she kept on staring at the mystery person, silently admonishing herself for playing right into the intriguing power of a mysterious figure in a hood.

"But we will remain strong in the face of this crushing tragedy, as our own Princess Historia will today take the place of old, beloved Fritz as queen of our kingdom," Sir Edros exclaimed, beaming brighter than the light electrifying the enormous, circular window behind him. The speech was far from over, but the hooded figure took advantage of the dramatic pause, slowly rising to their feet and clapping slowly. The sharp echo reverberated around the chapel, each clap filling the momentary silence. The air in the chapel grew thick with tension.

"Beautiful speech, Sir," the caped figure said, voice clear and cutting as the blade of a sword. "This kingdom has a very rich history, doesn't it? But, I have to ask, how many of those stories did you make up before you went to sleep last night?" A contagious murmur of whispers spread throughout the room, the noise resembling a swarm of insects. Historia saw the leader of the knights' guild stand slowly from his seat behind the podium. His expression gave off the impression that he was completely calm, but the rigidity of his muscles said otherwise.

"Excuse me?" Sir Edros stated in shock. Historia's eyes flew to the man to see him clutching the podium so hard his knuckles were turning white. The expression of shocked bewilderment looked ridiculous on the Prime Minister's face, so humanly emotional that it clashed with his fantastically proper black suit coat. In any other circumstance, Historia may have given in to a fit of giggles at the sight of such an odd expression on the man's face. She was too transfixed by the hooded specter to laugh now though, her blue eyes flicking back to the figure almost immediately. The mystery of the person beneath the cape was so much more alluring than watching a middle-age man fumble under pressure.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not doing your handiwork justice, am I? That was definitely more than you could possibly devise in one night. Probably took you at least a month to get just right, didn't it?" the person in the hood continued, casually squeezing around the people sitting in the same row who were more than happy to cower away from the stranger. The voice was feminine, but still, the face was completely hidden, frustrating Historia to no end. "Cause we all know our history is hardly that exciting. Then again, the king's only been dead two weeks. You couldn't have been planning stories all that long. Unless you killed him."

The whispers of the crowd rose in volume. Civilians were looking around in panic, not sure what to do, what to believe. The hooded figure didn't seem to mind, giving a sweeping flourish with the ends of her cape as she emerged into the chapel's main aisle. The cape billowed gracefully around the figure's legs, revealing the hem of a black dress that ended just above a pair of knee high black boots. The fabric of the cape was a rich violet color as vibrant as that of the stained glass. This mystery woman was quite the spectacle, and wanted it that way. "I'm just kidding. You don't have the guts to kill a fly," she laughed, the sound ringing bitterly through the rafters. "But really, I must ask you, if you wanted to dazzle us with fairytales, why did you leave out the best parts?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sir Edros replied with an air of dignity. The color had almost drained completely from his face as his eyes appeared to be permanently glued on the figure before him. The ministers seated behind him were moving about anxiously. Historia found her eyes continually drawn back to them. Her attention had become a sort of tennis match, bouncing back and forth between the stranger, the Prime Minister, and the fidgety advisors; she was unconsciously entertained by the distraction of watching the train fly off the tracks. Erwin Smith still stood, watching the hooded figure intently with the slightest hint of amusement sparkling in his blue eyes.

The caped stranger gave another laugh, a short, sarcastic cackle that echoed maliciously around the chapel. "Really, now, Edros." The whispers of the crowd began to hum again at the level of intimacy implied in the figure using the man's name without his title. Somehow, the audience found it odd that a person who had already intruded on a royal function would have the ability to be disrespectful to authority.

Historia turned her gaze back to the Prime Minister. Sir Edros's mouth turned down with an irritated scowl as he turned to Erwin with blazing eyes. "Remove the intruder!" the man instructed. The master swordsman nodded silently, pulling his sword from the scabbard at this waist. His steps were so imperceptibly smooth, it seemed as though he were gliding over the floor instead of walking on it as he approached the steps separating the congregation from the dais. The crowd gasped as the blade caught the light, gleaming lethally.

"Uh uh," the hooded specter said holding up a hand covered by a black glove. Erwin paused, his sword still poised to strike. "I would not recommend stepping any closer, Erwin Smith." One of the blonde man's thick eyebrows arched curiously.

"And why not?" he challenged. Sir Edros uttered a strangled sound of frustration at the blonde man's compliance with the intruder.

"Because you're outnumbered," a new voice proclaimed from the rear of the chapel. All eyes turned to the back right corner, accompanied by frantic whispers as a figure clad in a crimson cape walked with slow, methodical steps seemingly out of the woodwork. The voice belonging to this stranger was much deeper, definitely male, but a hood also shrouded his face from view.

"Two is not much of an army," Erwin replied. His tone was not condescending, yet it was enough to send a shiver creeping all along Historia's spine.

"Unless you can do this." The girl in violet responded further by flicking her wrist and cradling a flame in the palm of her hand. Historia's eyes widened as a small gasp caught in her throat. Sorcerers. The citizens' chatter rose to screams of fright. The knights in the audience stood, reaching for their swords. Some civilians tried to escape their seats, but were corralled back as three more hooded figures appeared out of thin air, one in blue, one in green, and one in black. The knights felt their courage fail. The stranger in the center twirled her hand and the fire went out.

"We don't wish to quarrel with either you or Edros today, master knight," she said to Erwin over the squawking of the villagers. "We simply wanted to talk to her." A long, gloved finger pointed directly at the crystal pendant hanging over Historia's heart.

"Speak, then," Erwin stated. His posture did not change in the slightest. Sir Edros gave a strangled cry of protest. The figure turned to face the queen-to-be. Historia felt her body freeze.

"I want you to think about what you're about to accept," the violet specter said. "You have the choice whether or not to let them make you their doll. Being queen is more than just sitting on a throne, looking pretty all day. And there's gonna be hell to pay in the near future for this monarchy, and a pretty little thing like you has no business in such matters."

Historia bristled under her words, her light eyebrows wrinkling with indignation. "Of course I know what it means to be queen," she retorted sharply. "And I'm not going to be anyone's doll."

The girl under the hood must've been smirking, it was almost visible in the tone of her voice as she fired back: "Well, that's fantastic for you, dear, but says nothing of my real warning. You have a choice here, and I've just told you that there is a storm coming your way if you accept that crown. Please, choose wisely."

"It seems to me that you won't accept anything but me abdicating the throne before it's mine," Historia answered plainly. "I know the weight of the choice I'm making well enough without such a rude reminder. And I refuse to let my kingdom down in its time of need. Gaiola needs a leader, and I may be inexperienced now, but I promised myself that I would do all I could to help these people thrive. I won't abandon them, and I don't believe your threats."

The audience called out with shouts of praise and pride at the girl's words, feeling the power shift in their favor. Historia let their faith fuel her drive, her back straightening slightly as she glared at the woman in violet.

"You've got spirit, little girl. I like that," the hooded figure said with a nod of the head. Historia felt her cheeks burn. "I hope it's enough. Hard times are on their way. Don't say I didn't warn you. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks, both now and in the future. But on the bright side, you can always remember this one time the Furies saved you from the incredible boredom characteristic of Sir Edros' speeches."

"Seize them!" Sir Edros roared. The crowd started up with cries of outrage to match the Prime Minister's command.

"Is that what you want to be called then? The Furies?" Erwin Smith called over the din of panicked villagers.

"As a matter of fact," the girl in violet began as she pulled her hood back, "that would be ideal."

An ornate mask that faintly resembled the shape of a butterfly hid the majority of her face. Swirling threads of black vines formed a labyrinth over the vivid purple material, drawing the viewer's attention to the girl's eyes. The only part of her face that was truly visible was an arch encompassing the tip of her nose, her red lips, and her chin. The mask almost seemed like an extension of her skin; a luminous, elaborate extension of reality.

"Erwin! Seize them!" Edros yelled.

The people gasped as the other caped figures pulled back their hoods, revealing four more masked visages, each one more intricate than the last. Historia felt her confidence begin to falter as all five masked faces turned to her. The scrutiny of the citizens was nothing compared to this. The girl felt her heart begin to pound so hard, she feared it would beat right out of her chest.

"All hail the queen!" all five Furies exclaimed, each raising their right fist over their heart before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. The vapor was nearly transparent, swirling up towards the vaulted ceiling in intricate patterns like the vines stretching over their masks.

Silence filled the chapel, eerie and dense as a midnight fog. The presence of the Furies still hung in the air as if they'd never left.

"We were too late," Lord Cresca whispered frantically from his seat behind Historia. The man sounded so distressed, the girl nearly whirled on him to ask what he meant. But Erwin Smith didn't give her the chance.

"Historia Reiss," the blond man said, voice loud and clear in the silence. "Will you still accept the crown of your uncle?"

The princess met Erwin's eyes, searching them for something. The man's blue orbs held nothing more than a steely determination. Historia knew he didn't believe her speech, didn't trust her resolve as much as the villagers. His rationality was oddly reassuring but also just the push she needed to prove to herself that she hadn't been lying to the woman in the violet cape.

"Yes," she answered, head bowing ceremoniously. Erwin nodded back to her before turning his attention to Sir Edros.

"The ceremony has been ruined. I suggest you coronate her now before there are any more interruptions," the master swordsman instructed. He slid his sword back in its scabbard as he moved back towards his seat. Sir Edros followed him with irritated eyes.

"Some help you were," Lord Bartton snapped at the blonde man as Erwin calmly sat back in his seat.

"I didn't feel the need to use force," Erwin replied plainly, settling back against his chair. "The princess was not in imminent danger. I would not have allowed them to hurt her." The ministers scoffed as Sir Edros retrieved the crown from a wooden box hidden within the podium. The coronet was small yet fascinatingly intricate, made of silver and glittering with diamonds. Historia had to stop herself from shielding her eyes as the light from the windows reflected blindingly off the crystals. The crown was absolutely dazzling.

Historia stood up straighter as the Prime Minister approached her with the crown, holding her head high. Sir Edros gave a slight nod of the head and Historia carefully knelt down before him, offering her head to the crown.

"Historia Reiss, heir to the throne of Gaiola, I now pronounce you queen of this land," Sir Edros proclaimed, lowering the coronet on the girl's blonde head. The tiara was surprisingly light. As the audience burst with excited applause, the girl rose to her feet, accepting the helping hand offered her by the Prime Minister. Historia stood facing her people, her crown sparkling and lips smiling.