Jenkins had hoped to condense two drops of divinity in a single day, but his thinking had been too simplistic. While the tulip incident had successfully catalyzed divinity from the domain of lies, he still had work to do. To quell the exorbitant prices and engineer a "soft landing" for the inflated market, he had proposed the formation of a flower-seller's guild, complete with dedicated funding for professional training—at the very least, to ensure they were literate.
It was a benevolent act that would benefit every flower seller, lending their trade a legitimacy it sorely needed and distancing it from associations with a certain, far older profession.
His proposal was t with support, and the people approved nearly all of his requests. Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly enough for his divine domain, the "Protector of Flower Girls," to condense divinity. Such a feat was not so easily achieved. The divinity of lies, for instance, had been the culmination of a long process, starting with the Fabry fraud and ending only today, with Jenkins using that grand deception to ultimately catalyze worldwide fiscal and banking reforms, tangibly altering the course of history.
The matter of the flower sellers, however, was still just a proposal. Perhaps he would reap his reward only after all his goals were t, a new order was established, and the girls were truly leading better lives. But that was a matter for the distant future.
Jenkins wasn't disappointed. One drop of divinity was better than none, and he was not a greedy man. Thus, at the conclusion of his speech, after announcing to the audience his plans for handling the aftermath of the tulip incident, he finally arrived at the day's other crucial topic.
The lady's pocket watch on the lectern showed that it was seventeen minutes to noon. By the customs of Nolan, the lunch hour had already begun. But captivated by the brilliant, opera-like performance from Jenkins and Miss Fabry, the crowd hadn't noticed the swift passage of ti.
As Jenkins seed to be concluding his address, many in the audience began to consider their plans for the rest of the day. But then, Jenkins cleared his throat. Down in the audience, Hathaway and Briny instantly grew tense. Dolores, in the front row, leaned forward slightly. Beside her, King Sarlisi II watched Queen Isabella from the corner of his eye; the queen herself had her eyes narrowed to slits, as if feigning sleep.
After all, she was of an advanced age, and a full morning of rapt attention had drained a great deal of her energy.
"Then, aside from the matter of the tulips, there is one final item on the agenda before I conclude today's address."
His voice failed to pull the majority of the audience from their daydreams about the hours ahead. With the tulip affair seemingly concluded, they didn't expect anything of further consequence. If anything, it would likely be sothing as mundane as a call for "donations to the flower-seller's guild."
"This final matter... I am aware that the Tri-King Summit has now been in session for a month. Preliminary agreents have been reached on many points of the agenda, and I imagine the summit will soon draw to a close. I recall Her Majesty Queen Isabella once ntioning—and perhaps you have heard this as well—that she intended to announce her heir after the summit's conclusion..."
The audience, their attention having drifted at the presud end of the speech, snapped their heads toward Jenkins in perfect unison, like marionettes yanked by their strings. The transition was jarring. He had offered no preamble, simply thrusting the topic into the open.
Jenkins blinked, his gaze falling upon Queen Isabella in the front row. She, however, gave no sign of having heard him, her expression remaining one of drowsy indifference.
Queen Isabella remained silent. Jenkins, too, said nothing. Gradually, a restless murmur began to ripple through the lecture hall. Yet everyone took care to keep their voices hushed, lest they miss a single word of the critical exchange to co.
Very few people were actually aware of the conflict between Jenkins and Queen Isabella. Even among the kingdom's own nobility, most assud that the heir of the Middleton line was the uncontested successor to the throne. After all, who was more qualified than Jenkins?
But this sudden declaration indirectly hinted at so intriguing complications. More importantly, to broach such a topic so publicly, in this particular setting, and combined with the current lockdown of the city hall... it forced people to wonder just what Jenkins intended to do.
So wanted to stand and leave imdiately; this was not a spectacle to be witnessed lightly. Others remained frozen in their seats, staring ahead in shocked disbelief, trying to process the situation. Most, however, chose to wait and watch. While violence was a distinct possibility in such a confrontation, the tense atmosphere suggested that now was not the opportune mont to break the fragile calm and depart.
"Viscount Williatte, I must ask that you show Her Majesty the proper respect."
When neither party spoke, Duke Rocheste rose to his feet to deliver the rebuke.
"Sit down," Jenkins retorted. "What business is this of yours? Or do you fancy yourself a contender for the throne as well?"
It was a severe accusation, but the duke was not one to be so easily cowed.
"Oh, Viscount Williatte," he shot back, "am I to understand that you are attempting to force Her Majesty's hand, to make her acknowledge you as her heir this very mont?"
He ignored Jenkins's question entirely, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"I rely wish for Her Majesty to acknowledge it ahead of schedule. After all, when we dined together half a month ago, she herself ntioned selecting as her heir." He was, of course, referring to the "will" she had declared during the poisoning incident. "Now that the Tri-King Summit is drawing to a close, this occasion seems most suitable. The royalty and nobility from every kingdom are present, which is quite convenient.
After all," he added, a sharp edge to his voice, "is there truly a more suitable candidate?"
The air was now thick with tension. Fearing for their safety, those in the back rows began to rise, intending to leave. Getting caught in the middle of this kind of excitent could easily cost a person their life. But at that very mont, the side doors and the main entrance were shut from the outside in a coordinated move, punctuated by the dramatic, echoing clang of locks being thrown.
Sigrid and Alexia had returned just in the nick of ti, choosing seats next to Hathaway and Briny. Miss Windsor was with them. Her window to act had opened during the spectacular performance by Jenkins and "Miss Fabry." Under the cover of the darkened hall, she had slipped upstairs to rejoin Jessica.
After Jessica had consud the special confection Jenkins provided—a treat capable of restoring one's spirit—Miss Windsor reappeared. She had then felt her way back to her seat in the darkness. At the ti, all eyes had been fixed on Miss Fabry, so her return had gone completely unnoticed.
Realistically, short of another unknown, illegitimate child suddenly erging from the woodwork, there was truly no one in the Fidektri Kingdom with a stronger claim to the throne than Jenkins.
The sudden shift in topic had been completely unexpected, and the speech's transformation into a political confrontation was deeply unsettling. More than a few people noticed the doors had been locked, but no one dared ask why.
Even without a single weapon drawn, the tense, blade's-edge atmosphere filled those with no stake in the matter with a profound sense of dread.
As for those who were involved, the exchange that was about to unfold would determine not only their own fates, but the future of their families for decades to co.
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