Isabella walked through the royal palace with her head held high, largely unconcerned about the people surrounding her. In months past, this would have been unthinkable. Now, she even had Randolph accompanying her. He’d been granted a special permission to enter the royal palace due to the exceptional circumstances of money in her pocket.
“Observe, Your Highness: the sa tongues that once spat venom now lap at your boots,” Randolph mused, noting the various courtiers all smiling and bowing as she passed. “If hypocrisy were taxed, this court alone would fund a navy.”
“I believe that the waxing and waning of influence has been amply demonstrated with the precipitous fall of Archbishop Pius,” Isabella responded. “Don’t grow comfortable. Those you mock today might be in the position to cut out your tongue on the morrow.”
“Given the rate of Her Highness’s ascendancy, you’ll be queen soon. I fully expect to be crowned to stand at your side.” Randolph declared. Isabella looked at him, a little befuddled by that comnt. Was he really implying…? “Naturally, I’ll be donning the bells as your court fool. I’ve already begun rehearsing jests, though I doubt I could top what these fools abounding call flattery.”
Isabella laughed through her nose, trying not to let her smile show.
Still… in this life, Isabella hoped never to be queen. That would an that she had failed miserably. The only reason that she was even allowed to beco queen in the first place was because all of the other male heirs of the throne had perished, or were simply too young to press their claim. That was a foundational theory both culturally and religiously. She even recalled a passage in the Eternal Word: ‘Let no woman take the throne to rule, nor wield command o’er man. Such order was set when the Gods first nad the Kings, and the Daughters were given to silence and grace.’
Isabella finally arrived to her destination. Two holy paladins stood guard just outside. She stopped in front of them and said politely, “Her Majesty is expecting .”
The guards bowed their heads and quietly parted, allowing Isabella to enter. Randolph waited outside, disallowed from entering. Within, Queen Margeline sat on the floor, holding a toy knight up in front of her son, Edgar, who they only really called Ed. The chestnut-haired boy laughed happily, delighted, and his mother was all smiles as well. They looked quite alike.
“Your Majesty,” Isabella said, curtsying.
“Isabella,” Margeline smiled pleasantly, picking up her son. “Look, little Ed. Your tutor’s here. Say ‘hi’ to auntie Isabella. Hi!” She gently waved his hand at her.
Isabella shut the door behind her and ca to sit on the floor in front of little Ed. She had been given the role of royal tutor, but in truth, there wasn’t much tutoring to be done for a boy so young—it was simply an excuse to be present in the royal court. There weren’t many positions that could be occupied by won, especially not in the royal council. The position of royal tutor enabled her to speak with both Claude and his wife, who loved their son Ed dearly.
“How are you, Isabella?” Margeline asked sincerely. She was an honest woman without ambition—her marriage with Claude had been one of love, apparently. She was only two years older than Isabella.
“I’m doing well. Yesterday, I attended the engagent party of my friend Abigail,” Isabella said.
Margeline’s face lost so of its joy, and she stood to place little Ed in his crib. “I suspect we have so things to talk about.”
Queen Margeline may not have been an ambitious woman, but she wasn’t unintelligent. She could see dangers mounting on all sides, and with dear Ed’s life possibly in the balance of it all, she was understandably concerned. She had barely managed to save her son’s life in Isabella’s prior life by cooperating with a sche to depose him, that they might leave the palace peacefully.
“May I speak frankly with you, Your Majesty?” Isabella asked as they both walked to a table in the room.
“I’d prefer that,” Margeline said, joining her as wet nurses attended to Ed. The prince was sowhat vexed his playti had been cut short.
Isabella waited until they were relatively alone in the room, and then said without pretense, “I’d like you to help force your husband to abdicate.”
“Oh.” Margeline blinked. “Umm… usually when soone speaks frankly, they say my dress looks abominable, or I’ve an unsightly pimple, or that I might’ve been eating too much of late…” she joked, deflecting from her shock.
“Valerio and I have done our best to support His Majesty Claude during his reign as king,” Isabella continued seriously. “Despite his best efforts, things have only escalated around the kingdom.”
Margeline shook her head. “You don’t need to tell . He cos to bed with a headache every night. We can’t even have—well, never mind,” she cut herself off. “But… abdication? Is that truly the solution?”
“Claude once had widespread support among various noble houses,” Isabella outlined. “Their value in him was that he could be counted upon to support their agendas. At that ti, alliances by blood didn’t matter. It was in their benefit to support them, and so they did,” she outlined.
Margeline nodded along. “Claude spoke of this.”
“Now, these sa nobles are fighting against Claude’s efforts to curb their influence. His political situation has beco more complicated. To be blunt, with the exception of Valerio and myself, Claude has no major allies internally. We have no armies to speak of, with the exception of rcenaries we might employ. anwhile, Claude’s brothers are courting the great houses of the land. Sylvain has already secured the help of Archduke Felix, and while I don’t expect Sylvain himself will commit treason, I can’t say others will be as generous. More are soon to follow.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Edgar the Great had no such alliances,” Margeline pointed out.
Isabella nodded. “True. Yet my father could be ruthless where necessary, and open-handed when warranted. Claude possesses far too much generosity, and not enough of the forr.”
Margeline listened intently despite the straightforward criticisms of her husband. “And why do you believe that abdication would shield him from harm? Would not his rivals seek to eliminate him and his line more permanently? Wouldn’t depriving himself of the throne leave him more open to attack?”
“He would be in no more danger than he’s currently in,” Isabella asserted.
“And what danger is that?”
Isabella looked the queen in the eyes. “I have no doubt that right now, discussions are being held about how to sack this city, kill your husband, and kill your son.”
***
Prince Roland sat with a man who was one of few that might be able to claim being more handso than himself: Cesare, the bastard of the forr Archbishop Pius. Cesare had achieved great acclaim both in freelance work and in his service to Duke Albert. His rcenary company, Gods’ Bastards, had swelled to well over 1000 n—a staggering ascendancy. These were no peasant levies, either. He’d found ample work both suppressing and supporting Veymont heretics, taking money from the highest bidder.
“Is it really necessary to kill the boy?” Cesare asked.
Roland scoffed. “You do know how succession works, correct? The throne passes from father to son. So long as the boy lives, my claim will be brought to question.” He looked at the city out the window. “Don’t tell that you’re balking because it’s a child. Would it be more moral to keep him in a cell for 18 years, fatten him up, tutor him, and then chop off his head? Why deal with a squalling infant now when we could enjoy a full-fledged civil war later?” Roland looked at him firmly. “Albert told you were capable, Cesare. Was he wrong?”
“It’s not the morality I’m concerned with,” Cesare interjected. “I’d simply prefer not to have a reputation on my hands. Cesare the Childkiller isn’t the title I’d prefer to drag around.”
“I trust you can make do,” Roland said, throwing his arms to the side. “Perhaps the queen jumps out the window in an attempt to escape with her son, and they both die.”
“I suppose I can make sothing like that happen,” Cesare concurred.
Roland grabbed a goblet, pointing with his finger. “And militarily… you’ll be able to take the city?”
“So long as financially… you’re able to pay ,” Cesare imitated his cadence, picking up a goblet of his own. “Between Albert’s army and my own trusted rcenaries, I don’t anticipate any problems we can’t overco.”
The two clinked their goblets together.
***
Isabella described the scene of a city being sacked with so conviction, having her past life’s experience to draw upon—and indeed, this life’s. She had been in the streets with Valerio when Claude’s rcenaries ransacked several estates in the city. Claude’s occupation could be considered sowhat peaceful compared to what she had gone through at the hands of the other candidates.
Margeline clearly looked rattled, unable to et Isabella’s gaze. “But Ed’s just a baby,” she insisted. “They wouldn’t.”
“Accidentally or otherwise… do you think no infants died when your husband took the throne? You must’ve heard about what happened to Prince Donovan’s estate in the capital.” Isabella said quietly. Margeline exhaled sharply and grasped her stomach, almost made sick imagining it. “…and these are the people your husband is attempting to fight back against.”
“Oh, gods…” Margeline closed her eyes.
Isabella felt sowhat guilty distressing the woman so fiercely, but all that she was saying was true. These people wouldn’t stop at Claude alone. They would exterminate his line, and Margeline along with it.
“If they besieged the capital, you may be able to escape with the aid of the royal army. But is that a chance that you want to take? Or… would you rather act while you still have full mobility?”
“I never wanted Claude to be king,” Margeline admitted quietly. “All I wanted was him. Us.” She looked at her son’s empty crib. “Even still, you would hand over the throne to the sa people you think could order the death of a baby?”
Isabella shook her head. “My first and foremost goal is to prevent the kingdom from descending into full civil war. Moreover, I hope to preserve the strength of the royal army. If the royal army is diminished substantially fighting claimants, royal authority will never truly recover. The crown will be bandied between princely claimant after princely claimant, each new claimant backed by the armies of various nobles, all while the capital is repeatedly pillaged.”
Margeline nodded, perhaps seeing the train of thought leading to that conclusion.
“It’s my intent to declare a legal interregnum,” Isabella said decisively. “That would give us ample ti to decide who would be best suited to take the throne.”
Margeline looked skeptical. “And how would that prevent bloodshed? What’s to stop these claimants from simply taking the throne all the sa?”
“It may seem inconsequential, but it shifts the dynamic of power considerably,” Isabella said. “There is considerable historical precedent for interregnums. Bloodshed is frowned upon. If any of the princes attempt to assault the capital, their legitimacy would be strongly damaged, and rival claimants may simply sit back and wait for them to take the city before descending upon the battered armies of the victor. Furthermore, it introduces the possibility of earning the throne without bloodshed—earning the throne with politics alone. I believe that will be sufficient motivation to bring many of these people to the bargaining table. On that field, I have more confidence.”
The queen looked at Isabella with shrewd eyes. “And what’s your stake in this? You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this. Who would you like to be king?”
“…I believe your husband is a good man,” Isabella said. “But not a good king. As for who will replace him, I’ve only a vague idea. Sylvain possesses the necessary temperant, and he is eldest after Claude and Edgar II, but… Sylvain is a difficult man to like. He’s stern, humorless, and unforgiving. The others…” Isabella’s head ran through nas, many too young to be genuinely considered.
“I don’t like keeping secrets from my husband,” Margeline eventually said. “I believe I should discuss this with him.”
Isabella nodded. “If you feel that’s best, please. But… I believe he already agrees with on the subject of danger. Things are getting very dangerous. If you’d like him to open up on that point, I advise you ask him if you might visit sowhere beyond the capital. Your hotown, perhaps.”
Margeline smiled. “You remind of my older sister, Isabella.”
“You honor , Your Majesty.” Isabella dipped her head.
“She told marrying Claude would be my ruin,” Margeline continued.
Isabella went silent for a few monts. “I hope you’ll help prove her wrong.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)