“Order! All rise for His Majesty, King Reginald!”

At once, the chamber’s chatter ceased, yet not all those present stood and those that did gave no mind to the ones still seated. It was an intimate affair of the twenty-one members of the King’s Council. While invitations were nominally at the King’s request, the council rather reflected the state of the kingdom and its politicking.

The King entered at a leisurely pace, his son a step behind, what retainers that had followed them now waiting on the threshold of the room as the grand doors closed. Although not a vast room, it was more than enough for those present, the King seated at one end of the hall with the councillors arranged along curved benches, those seats farther back raised—as if a theatre and the King atop the stage.

At present, only a quarter of the seats were filled, the room ready to handle such crowds as when war loomed or another such crises. Some kings enjoyed an even smaller council, but, in this matter, Julia knew King Reginald to be a competent ruler, neither exceptional nor fumbling.

Once Reginald reached his seat and sat down, another shout rang out from the front row. “All hail!”

“Hail to His Majesty, long may he reign!” A half-hearted and disjointed chorus, yet it rang out all the same, followed by those that stood taking their seats.

So that only two now stood in the room: Julia and Crown Prince Hector.

She had not moved from her place before the throne, in front of all the benches, her head bowed and hands crossed as they rested below her stomach, maintaining due etiquette.

“First order, the Countess of Augstadt, Lady Augstadt, petitions His Majesty.”

The words echoed in the hall before settling into silence. She made no movement at all, holding herself, waiting.

Reginald raised a hand, his deep voice rumbling through the room as he said, “We recognise Lady Augstadt.”

She took a step forward, raising her head. “Your Royal Highness,” she said, holding a curtsey.

Another long moment passed before he said, “Pray tell, what petition does My Lady bring?”

She finally ended her curtsey, resuming her previous posture, but meeting the King’s gaze. After a few deeper breaths, she said, “This matter concerns the recent… passing of Lord Grosburg. It is known he kept in his employ a band of mercenaries; however, when they learned they were no longer to be paid, they stormed the castle and have taken some manner of control over the Grosburg barony.”

Murmurs broke out at the news and, again, there was a pause before the King spoke. “What relevance is this matter to the council? Is the Grosburg barony not now the responsibility of My Lady?”

“That is, I would deal with this matter if I was able. My father passed so long ago, I fear the Augstadt militia is neither capable of taking on professional soldiers nor willing to follow my authority if I bade them,” she said, her gaze lowering even as her voice remained level.

“My Lady wishes for aid, then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Is the occupation of our land by a foreign power not a matter for the King, or does Sir intend to recognise the mercenary band’s leader as the rightful Lord Grosburg?”

Whispers broke out at her question, noisy how they echoed, yet never clear enough for any but the recipient to hear. However, a moment did not have time to pass.

“Here here, why does My Lady bring this matter to the council?” the Crown Prince asked, stepping forward. “She is capable enough to steal her neighbour’s land, then asks us to enforce her ownership? Have some humility!”

“Sir is accusing me of stealing?” she asked, her voice louder, tinged with ire.

He snorted, the sound clear in the quiet hall. “It is quite the coincidence he passed so soon after your return.”

“If we are talking coincidences, is it not more so for Prince Hector? I had no say in my return and I had no knowledge that I would inherit his estate. That is, if not for his will, would the land not return to Prince Hector, Duke of Swabia?”

A clap rang out, the King thumping his armrest. “Enough,” he said, neither loud nor quiet, voice reaching every corner of the room. After a moment, he gestured for Hector to step back, then turned his gaze upon her. “Pray tell, is My Lady accusing my son of murder?”

She neither flinched nor bowed, instead taking another step forward. “Sir, what standing has Prince Hector to speak, let alone accuse me of stealing and murder? I ask for a vote.”

She went to turn around, but Reginald raised a hand, staying her. “There is no need. My Lady is correct, this matter has come around from my negligence. We shall treat it as nothing has been said.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I cannot treat the Crown Prince’s word as something so easily forgotten. I ask for a vote.”

She did not go to turn around this time, meeting the King’s stare—as if daring him to try and stop her again.

“The matter of the late Lord Grosburg is a tragedy and nothing more. There is no reason to suspect foul play from either My Lady or anyone else. On the matter of the inheritance, while unusual, it has been lawfully executed without any suspicions of wrongdoing.”

Silence in the hall, she did not look away. “I ask for a vote.”

From the front row, a voice called out, saying, “A vote has been called. What petition does My Lady bring to vote?”

“Unruly forces occupy our land and our king has yet to mobilise a force to unseat them. One asks of His Majesty, pray give one leadership and one shall lead the assault. It is one’s duty and obligation to protect her land. One is knowledgeable about the terrain of the land and the layout of the castle. One is willing and able.”

Before she even had time to take a deep breath, having spent it all on her prepared speech, the same voice called out again. “The petition has been heard. All those who wish to debate the petition—”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He paused there, a few unenthusiastic voices saying, “Aye.”

“All those who wish to bring the petition to vote—”

More shouts of, “Aye,” this time, but still a muted affair.

“To vote, then. All those in favour of the petition—”

A half-hearted chorus of agreement rang out.

“Those against the petition—”

A lone voice called out, “Nay.”

“The council votes in agreement with the petition and urges His Majesty to accept the petition in full, so be it.”

Reginald lazily raised a hand in acknowledgement. “The King hears the council’s opinion, so be it.”

She curtseyed, first for him, then for the council, saying nothing. With her role in this play over, she dutifully left through the side-door to where the other petitioners waited, albeit none of her standing. Still, they were not mere peasants either to be vouched for. Merchants, in-laws of this with some sway, old favours called in. Of course, guards were posted around the room, flanking both doorways, and one never knew if they craved boredom or a break from the boredom.

Regardless of how the guards felt, she sat with a dignity few could match. It was not as simple as posture nor lessons. The ability to be in control of oneself to such a degree was rare, her mind clear, heart at peace, and from that flowed a calm which settled any nerves, so still those who watched might think her made of stone. That is, if not for the clarity in her eyes.

Hours later, long after the other petitioners had pleaded their cases and left, she remained, waiting.

“Julia, my dear, what did I tell you?”

The stone came to life, her mouth blooming into a warm smile as she turned to the voice, going from sitting to curtseying in a single motion. “Marquess of Bavaria—”

“Please, the Marquess of Bavaria is my son, I am merely Mr Isarau,” the old man said, his broad smile hiding among the wrinkles covering his face.

She covered her mouth as a titter leaked out. “Mr Isarau, my thanks for the vouch,” she said.

“What vouch can this old man give? A countess has no need for such to speak to the King,” he said, waving her off.

“Still, please have my deepest thanks,” she said, curtseying once more.

He said nothing of it this time, but began to walk and gestured for her to follow. The guards, while at all other times reluctant to move for the petitioners, parted before the old man without a word, going so far as to open the door before he reached it—and holding it open until she had passed through too.

The halls of the Royal Palace had an aesthetic of their own, marble blended with fine rugs, accompanied by touches of grandeur the likes of paintings and busts. Compared to that, the capitol had a flagrant austerity. Of course, few knew the opulence of the Royal Palace like she did, and few knew that these empty halls still had floors made of fine hardwood, walls made of sturdy granite.

Isarau led the way to the gardens at the back, an area of unusual freshness amongst the capital’s haze. Broader than a theatre, some idled around in pairs or small groups, cigars in hand, adding to the smog, yet there was still plenty of room for more to have a moment of privacy out in the open, the bushes and trees talented at keeping secrets.

He chose the fountain’s company, taking a seat on the bench by it. She glanced at the water before sitting, seeing the floating remains of half-smoked cigars and bits of phlegm or other gunk.

“I did not mess up, did I?” she softly asked, voice barely above the sound of trickling water.

“Mm, you did well enough. It may sound like the council has little interest in whatever petition goes on; however, once the doors are closed, it can become quite lively,” he said, pausing to chuckle. “Your trick rather reminds me of your father.”

“My trick?” she asked.

His hand shakily tapped on his knee. “That is, your father had intimately understood the tension between the King and the peers. The more he provoked the King, the more any action the King took against him would be perceived as tyranny.

“Well, that matter is one thing, what I speak of… it would have been a few years into King Reginald’s reign, a year or so after your grandfather passed? Augstadt wasn’t quite the bustling city back then. Your father brought forward a petition to depose the mayor on charges of corruption, which would not have been a matter for the King if not for how your father manoeuvred the matter into one of foreign collusion. I believe he even personally led the force that took in the mayor….”

She listened with a soft smile, then waited a moment after he had finished to make sure there wasn’t more still to come. “That does sound like my father. However, to call it a trick….”

“No need to pay attention to this old man. He has seen all kinds of things in his years and tends to look upon the world with a certain cynicism,” he said, his words belied by his cheery tone. “Whatever you wish to call it, you did it well. As long as one is pure in one’s conduct, one would do well to position oneself opposite the King—so long as one doesn’t show one’s back to one’s peers.”

Covering her mouth again, she giggled. “It is a good thing, then, that Mr Isarau is no longer my peer.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he said.

Her humour slowly faded as the two sat in silence. Eventually, she asked, “The Marquess, is he a good man?”

“If he was, I would not have him as my heir,” he said, this time his joking tone belied by his neutral expression.

“One has to wonder why Mr Isarau would help,” she whispered.

He leant back on the bench, gaze turning to the murky sky littered with unnatural clouds. “The war brought many of our peers responsibilities they were ill-suited to hold, and it is soon approaching such a time that those who will bear such responsibilities know not the taste of war,” he murmured.

“I assure, sir, I may not know the taste, but I have seen the shadows and heard the echoes.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I fear, when all is said and done, I will be remembered by my deeds.”

“One would usually be glad for such a thing,” she said.

“Of the two of us, only one knows the true extent of what I have done, and it is not My Lady.”

Silence followed but for the fountain sputtering as it struggled to pump, choking on litter. Eventually, she asked, “Did sir ever meet my mother?”

“On a few occasions,” he said. After a moment, he let out a bark of laughter, wiping the corner of his eye. “Oh how she detested me. Her exact words escape me at this time; however, I do remember she had promised to ruin everything I hold dear. Alas, I hadn’t the heart at the time to confess to her I had already done that with my own two hands.”

She offered a chuckle. “That does sound like my mother,” she said.

“It truly is a shame. I had hoped to see what she had planned… and what it did to your father,” he paused to sigh. “He had a remarkable insight into politics. However, after the incident, he had lost that spark of greatness, becoming someone so afraid of everything and everyone that he would even bend the knee to His Royal Highness.”

“He always spoke so fondly of my mother,” she whispered.

Isarau laughed, giving his knee a trio of slaps. “My dear, it is not that he was heartbroken, but that he had something so very precious to protect and feared he lacked the strength to do so.”

She stilled, the soft smile she held a moment ago now twinging. “Is that so?”

“If not as a family friend, take my word as a parent that, above all treasures, are our beloved descendants. Of course, there are those who see heirs as tools or pawns, some that have a price for anything and everything. However, your father was not such a man. I would know, one of many who offered the kind of price a reasonable man could not refuse.”

“You are the second to make mention of marrying me into the family,” she said lightly, unsure if her voice would manage any louder.

Chuckling, he put his hands either side of himself and eased up to his feet. “Your father had the feeling of someone useful to call a friend. I cannot put it into words any better than that. Of course, one cannot be everyone’s friend, yet I would be hard-pressed to think of someone who would call him an enemy.”

She listened, then stood up too. “Mr Isarau, as my thanks, would you like to hear what I think my mother would have done?”

“Honestly, I quite prefer taking the mystery to the grave. That said, I am most curious what you think, so please, it would be my honour.”

After giving him a smile, she turned to face the fountain. “I believe she would have done nothing. Rather, that her threat alone was enough to deter you from further misdeeds, not to mention encourage you to maintain a good relationship with my father.”

He nodded along, then settled into a smile. “Indeed, I would not have regretted such a granddaughter,” he said lightly, then let out a sigh. “Alas, I think you underestimate your mother. It was not my impression that she hands out such empty threats.”

With that, he walked away, leaving her by the fountain. She watched him go, holding a gentle smile.

“We agree on that.”