grievinglands
patreon
TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 42 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2024-12-20 02:57:59 +0000 UTCChapter 42 - The Royal Court
“In the past, people were born royal. Nowadays, royalty comes from what you do.”
- Gianni Versace.
Overall, Seraphina was quite pleased with herself. By working her small, dedicated team to the bone, she had successfully planted the seeds of what promised to be a highly profitable enterprise. The best part—the true key to it all—was that none of the funding came from her own purse. Even her generous allowance barely covered the basics, so relying on Lehman’s bank had been the perfect solution. It was a good thing indeed that Seraphina was very good at spending other people’s money.
A bit of informal market research—simply asking her father’s household knights—revealed that more masculine segment of the market would also enjoy her “new invention”, the boiled candies. Eloise was positively brimming with enthusiasm, so much so that her study of Alchemics and magic was suffering. The girl truly enjoyed coming up with different flavors. For the moment she would allow the girl a longer leash to allow her to play around. People needed outlets to express themselves, after all.
Apart from that, everything was going smoothly. She now indirectly owned a factory, a papermill located along the river, and a reasonably sized sugarcane farm near the marshes, a perfect example of vertical integration.
On paper, she employed just under fifty people, though most of them would probably have no idea who actually paid their wages.
Rashana’s reply letter proved interesting. Written in delicate handwriting, it expressed gratitude for informing her of Sajan’s shortcomings, along with profuse apologies. Yet a quick inquiry at the bank revealed Sajan was still heading the Aran branch. In Seraphina’s opinion, Rashana was far too forgiving.
The letter also contained subtle inquiries about how Seraphina had learned of their entire operation. Seraphina responded succinctly, implying it was foolish to try hiding anything from an Oracle, but promised discretion so long as Rashana’s family supported her business ventures. To sweeten the deal—and soften the sting of having strong-armed her family’s business—Seraphina offered a two percent stake in her new venture. This would give the bank greater incentive to grant her loans at ridiculously low interest rates.
As added insurance, she had hinted at the existence of several sealed letters deposited at various Adjudicator offices—the local equivalent of legal counsel—meant to be opened only if something untoward befell her. It was a bluff she hoped would hold.
The response she received by the speedy Royal Post more or less accepted her terms, albeit in guarded, coded language. As far as Seraphina was concerned, it was a binding agreement. Another piece of welcomes news was that both Rashana and Michelie would be present at her formal introduction to the Royal Court to show their support.
So far, so good.
“Eloise, what do you think of this dress? I do believe Master Wilforte, that old coot, has outdone himself,” the young blonde said, preening in front of a long mirror.
Her lady-in-waiting maintained a neutral smile. “The dress is very beautiful, my lady… but don’t you think it shows a bit too much skin? It is rather revealing and this will be your first formal presentation to the Court.”
“Why, Eloise, I never took you for such a prude,” Seraphina teased. “That’s precisely why I must be a bit daring. First impressions are important. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and Aran’s capital is stifling—even this late in the season. Why should we suffer in heavy garments just for propriety’s sake?”
“But… you’ll be in front of the King,” Eloise countered, still unsure.
“And must I bow to his idea of what’s appropriate? I think not. I like this dress, and mark my words, Eloise, it will soon become the height of fashion. Otherwise, I suppose I could wear breeches…”
“Oh, please, no, Lady Seraphina!” Eloise exclaimed, horrified. “That would be scandalous, even for y—” She caught herself. “I mean, scandalous for the Royal Court. The dress will be fine. It reflects your personality.”
Seraphina beamed at her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to commission a similar one for you here in the capital? I’m sure we can find a suitable dressmaker.”
The doll-like girl shook her head, worried. “While I appreciate the sentiment, Lady Seraphina, I think it’s too risqué for me. We are still very young. And those shoes—are you really going to wear them all day? They look uncomfortable. At first, I thought they were for riding.”
“Not all day,” Seraphina said lightly. “And you can get used to them. Look at what they do for my posture and figure.” She puffed out her considerable chest. “Sometimes, small sacrifices must be made in the name of fashion.”
“If you say so, Lady Seraphina,” Eloise replied, somewhat shakily.
“I most certainly do,” declared Seraphina, smiling confidently.
*****
Castle Aran was on the tall cliffs overlooking the city and the bay. It was in a highly defensible position, with high, imposing walls carved out of the local granite. Several additions throughout the years to its defenses had only made it even more imposing, the gargoyles along walls and matriculations making it look particularly fierce.
It was also a devil to get to, and the winding road that led up to it was a pain not only for invading armies but also, more importantly, Seraphina and her carriage.
The young noblewoman as a last effort had hired a tutor to go over the royal etiquette as a refresher for her. The memories she had inherited were clear on royal protocol, but it helped to hear the facts and forms presented firsthand to help cement the knowledge.
In the coach, she was busy having last-minute rehearsals with her Eloise as the carriage made its progress to the castle.
“Your presence is acknowledged and welcomed within the hallowed halls of this Royal Court, Lady Seraphina de Sariens,” the Eloise intoned, doing her best to deepen her voice.
“It is my solemn honor to appear before you, Your Most Gracious Majesty,” Seraphina replied, inclining her head. “I come as an emissary of the Duchy of Sariens, entrusted by my noble lineage to renew our vows of fealty and reaffirm our steadfast loyalty to the Crown and its righteous dominion.”
Eloise coughed, really getting into the role as her voice grew stern. “I note that you stand alone, Lady Seraphina. Tell me, what has become of your esteemed father, Lord Anatoli, and the venerable Lady Anaselena? Have they withheld their presence in this courtly assembly?”
“It grieves me, Your Majesty, to report that they are engaged in critical duties within our borders,” Seraphina explained, her voice strong yet respectful. “A grave blight afflicts our lands. Foreigners, hailing from beyond the Empire’s edges, have trespassed upon your sacred realm, bringing with them banditry, unrest, and the silent whisper of corruption. They stain our fair fields and woods and threaten the poisoning the blood of the Duchy, sowing discord where harmony once flourished.”
She paused, allowing a moment of measured silence to fill the carriage for dramatic effect. “My father’s sword arm is raised in defense of your just order, aided by my mother’s wisdom and oracular Sight. Together, they root out these malefactors, striving to restore peace and stability to your domain. In their stead, I have ventured forth alone to kneel before Your Majesty and pledge our enduring fidelity.”
“Very well, Lady Seraphina de Sariens. Your words are heard, and I accept you as the authorized voice of your House. Step forward, and consider yourself welcomed, under the watchful grace of our Royal Court and the sovereign authority of the crown,” Eloise replied, leaning forward and steepling her fingers in mock seriousness.
It all became too much, and the girls could not help but giggle at the seriousness of it all. Ibn looked confused for a moment, as if waiting for permission to laugh. Eventually, he too joined in, the atmosphere proving too infectious. For a brief moment, all the passengers shared a lighter, happier mood.
*****
Passing through the towering main gates and beneath the raised portcullis, Seraphina entered a world that stood in startling contrast to the fortress’s grim exterior. Ahead, a neat gravel path stretched toward the main keep, flanked on both sides by symmetrical rows of fruit trees whose blossoms scented the air. Manicured lawns rolled out like emerald carpets, and upon them strutted strange, resplendent birds whose vivid orange-and-yellow tailfeathers fanned behind them as if painted by some audacious artist’s hand.
The carriage drew to a halt before a fountain whose elegant, modern curves felt curiously out of place amid the citadel’s older aesthetic. The splash of its water was the only sound in that tense moment that echoed in the Palace footmen’s steps who rushed forward, helping her down with well-practiced courtesy. They were all clad in a deep blue livery trimmed with royal gold, the quality of their clothes a reflection of the King’s prestige.
Yet despite their humble station, something in their bearing suggested they held her in quiet contempt. She felt a prick of annoyance. These were lowly attendants, after all—how dare they look upon her so?
Still, decorum reigned. With measured politeness, Seraphina and her retinue were directed toward a small reception hall, a place of waiting and watching, where courtiers whispered behind veils of subtlety. Servants, too, drifted past, casting sidelong glances filled with curiosity and speculation.
Seraphina had once made King Elidion wait upon her convenience; now it seemed he was determined to repay the slight. Minutes stretched into an hour as the Court and the King arranged themselves in preparation to receive her. She felt the slow burn of irritation beneath her breastbone. Her recent yoga practice had reminded her to breathe through such moments, to center herself amid petty provocations. Even so, she would not forget this insult. An hour’s wait in the King’s gilded halls was a message, and Seraphina intended to answer it in time.
Sir Gantly, the King’s steward approached her personally—an old, dusty figure thin as a scarecrow, his features withered by age. No one would suspect it now, but Seraphina had heard he’d been a formidable warrior in his youth, once a general who marshaled armies at his command. That strength and aura of raw physicality had long since faded, worn down by the slow grind of time. Instead of leading troops into battle, he now mustered staff for courtly functions, a far cry from his glory days. As Seraphina regarded him, she couldn’t help but think that someone like him might find retirement out in the country a more dignified fate.
She gave him a small inclination of her head as protocol demanded, acknowledging his existence with the barest amount of courtesy that would be considered polite.
Seraphina’s entourage watched keenly as the encounter unfolded before their eyes.
“I trust you arrived in the capital without any trouble, Lady Seraphina,” said Sir Gantly, offering a false, obsequious smile. “I heard there might have been delays due to the poor roads, and of course, the bandit troubles plaguing your father’s lands.” He paused for effect. “Crown Prince Vellens, as I’m sure you know, is most eager to meet with you.”
Seraphina answered him with a measured smile, allowing her natural charisma to wash over him. “Why, Gantly… or should I say Sir Gantly?” she began, her voice smooth and poised. “You must understand that a lady cannot be rushed when attending to matters of true importance. It would be terribly rude. Still, I appreciate your patience. Several pressing issues required my attention on the journey to the capital.”
He remained surprisingly unruffled. “Oh, milady Seraphina, do enlighten this humble servant of the Crown,” he replied, the smile on his face never wavering.
“Why, I was bringing smiles to the people I encountered, adding a touch of joy to their lives,” Seraphina said, a light chiding in her tone. “It seems happiness is in short supply these days. But enough chatter with the help. I believe it’s time you led on, Sir Gantly.”
The old knight visibly bristled at her words, but swallowed whatever retort rose to his lips. “Of course, Lady Seraphina. The Royal Court awaits you with bated breath,” he said, his practiced smile forced and strained.
“Yes,” Seraphina replied childishly, taking umbrage with Sir Gantly refusing to surrender the final word. “Any longer, and I believe they’d all be quite purple in the face.”
