Month: March 2012

Her gloved fingertips brushed lightly against the cool green leaves. It was difficult to choose – especially now that her collection had grown so. The room had been put in due to the fancies of some long-ago forgotten royal; neither her mother or stepfather cared for horticulture. She briefly remembered someone mentioning that her father too had once held an extensive collection of plants, herbs and assorted greenery – some more legal than others…some of them were in her own collection now. School was starting soon…and she couldn’t very well move all of greenhouse with her.

She glanced curiously out into the bright blue sky – the room appeared as any other from the outside, but it was actually enchanted glass. Through it all the necessary sunlight filtered and fed her plants, while keeping the view of prying eyes sealed shut. The floor beneath her was a gilded marble, a masterpiece of art. Everything here was and yet she could still not bring herself to get used to it. Not even now as she strode in the simplest dress she’d been able to get away with – a white, high waisted dress that could have passed for a shift had it not been for the delicate lace along the neckline, sleeves, floor and along the train that followed two feet behind her. The long locks required of Lician nobility were braided half up, the rest trailing down her back. There was a tiara atop her head, diamonds in the shapes of spring daisies. This was the minimum standard of dress required of her…and she knew from the aghast face of the Lady who had just entered the greenhouse, bowed low and then looked up that it was not enough.

“Begging your pardon, your Highness…but the his Majesty the King….”

Even now, she knew these small rebellions would win her no victories. Dressing below her station at school she’d been able to get away with as a matter of practicality. Not having ladies’ maids was still a contentious topic; especially given that her heads of guards were male. If she wanted to fulfill her latest political inclination – a tour of the third realm, she had to play into their games a bit more. She was wanted in the small receiving room. It meant at least a few courtiers and of course the King himself. With careful wording she made it clear she would arrive within the hour…enough time to change

Her slender fingers manuevered her as far as working the tangles out of her hair and slipping into her underclothes. It took the help of one of the ever present maids to cinch up the corset – she was glad her upbringing had rendered her naturally slim enough that she could still breathe in the contraptions. The gown was beautiful really. Cream, high-necked chiffon peeked through the sturdier mint-green brocade overdress. There were intricate daisies cut out of the fabric and embellished with cream embroidery. The sleeves of both gathered just below her elbows in a bell of lace flowers. She wore shorter gloves now, cream lace that protected her bare hands from the warmth of human contact. The shoes didn’t matter – so she slipped into the most comfortable white kitten-heels she could get away with. Her daisy tiara was traded in for a simpler, but infinitely more costly yellow diamond and peridot number. The soft pastels were an attempt to tone down the sharp green of her eyes. They wouldn’t work – not with the dark hair that so strongly marked her as different among the sea of paler browns and gold that populated the halls of the Royal Palace.

When she reached the door an attendant slammed his staff down on the cold marble floor and announced her as two others opened the double doors.

“Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Alarice.”

Courtiers rose from their chairs, everyone but the King was required to stand at her entrance but he too rose from the chair at the frontmost center of the room. As she strode in, a placating smile on her face, soft murmurs of “Your Highness” and “Princess” surrounded her. She replied to them with small nods of her head. As she approached King Orion she swept into a neat curtsey, head tilted down until he beckoned her to arise. There was a smile playing on his lips as he indicated that she take her seat at his right side; which she did silently. As the rest of the room returned to its small entertainments the older, blonde Royal leaned in next to her.

“You were improperly dressed in the greenroom again, Princess?”
“Propriety is really a matter of degree, Your Majesty.”

He laughed loudly enough that the rest of the room looked up towards them to smile.

“Well then, let us see how great a degree we can manage now shall we? I’ve arranged for some visitors that come to request your favor.”

Yeah…they come to kiss ass he means. The sarcastic voice chimed inside of her mind. It wasn’t entirely wrong – anyone knew that with Orion’s rule coming to an end it was the Princess to whom to cater to. Still, Alarice couldn’t help but feel a little pleased. She knew what this meant – third realm visitors as well. Orion had been open in public, but hesitant in private, to open his court’s doors to visitors to the “uncivilized.” Still, both seemed to recognize the importance of increased connections. She knew, from a combination of eavesdropping and gossip that a marriage to a third realm diplomat was a politically poignant move. Though Orion had fought valiantly in favor of arranging for a Lician groom. None of it mattered – she’d made up her mind not to marry at all, or if she had to, at least not until after she was queen.

She sat peacefully as one after another courtier, landowner and upper and lesser noble held the shared audience of herself and the King. She noted the respect with which her Stepfather was addressed – but also the constant glimpsing in her direction, as if trying to gauge what “worked” and what didn’t. Meanwhile around them the courtiers played chess, read, one tinkered away on a piano as another small group played a card game. Never and always alone, she thought the same sad smile playing on her features that she’d so often seen in the portraits of her mother. Every once in a while someone said something amusing and she laughed, even more often someone brought a serious complaint about this third realmer or this transplant from Deamone…only to hesitate and attempt to make up for their presumed offense. Her forgiveness came easily – it wasn’t their fault after all. No matter how much they primed and prodded her, she would always be the Queen’s bastard heir. Always half Deamone blood coursing through her veins. At least at school she had Herbert to confide in, but while she was at the palace she had told him and Robert to relax at home. They’d ‘ be busy enough come the start of the school year. No…there were no trusted guards to care for her here. From dawn until dusk she wandered the well-populated halls of the Royal Palace alone. For all the smiles and courtesies thrown her way though – she was utterly without company.

…

The guards at either side of herself and the King shifted in their boots uncomfortably. She’d been receiving guests for a few hours now, they were almost done. The guests too must have been tired for the next young man that strode up stumbled on his own feet and several rolls of papers went flying everywhere. Without thinking, or perhaps out of boredom, she rose and moved to the ground to help him gather his things. Perhaps no one saw a threat from the bumbling man, or perhaps they were all too busy being scandalized by the sight of the Princess on her knees – gathering papers. Whatever the reason, none of them seemed to notice the syringe that slid silently down the sleeve of the fallen man or his fingers as they pried the protective cap off the poisoned tip…

Robert’s pensive chocolate eyes stared at his mother’s back. She sat, mending a few of his father’s old shirts – her back to the door, facing a windowless wall. He knew better than to try to approach her when she was like this; retreated into the depths of some memories so happy that they made the present world seem like torture. He carefully set the tray of food on her vanity and returned to their small, shared kitchen. His parents had requested the three bedroom suite with the hopes of adding another child to their family. Now the master bedroom served as his father’s – his mother occupying the room that would have belonged to the little brother or sister that never came. Another tray, laden not only with food but with several medications balanced carefully on his arm as he entered his father’s bedroom.

When he’d returned for the summer the room had been clean…and that was about it. Robert had taken the time to open the window facing their small building’s backyard, bring in a few flowers, play the quiet piano music that seemed to bring life to his father’s eyes. He was tapping his foot slowly to the tune now, a vacant smile playing on his lips. “Good Afternoon!” He prompted cheerfully, to no response. “It’s time for lunch. I think I’ve managed not to bumble this too terribly…”

It pained him every time, to see his father like this. He’d once been a brave, capable man. Now he did little more than sit up. Robert had to carefully spoon each bite into the older man’s mouth – dabbing at the bits that fell out. “Swallow?” He would ask, having to resort to rubbing the man’s throat to encourage the normally automatic behavior. After an hour his father was fed. By then it was time for the older man’s bath – which Robert had to do with a warm cloth and a large tub of water; the loud noise of running water frightened Erol too much. Then it was getting him dressed and in bed for his nap. He distracted the man from the sedating and pain reducing injections with a promise…”I’ll be back to read to you in a few hours, all right dad?”

His exit was interrupted by Jennifer’s entrance, the shirts mended and folded to be put away. She glanced past her son and to her husband, a flicker of recognition passing her only to be extinguished just as quickly. “He’s doing well.” She said evenly, moving past her son to put away his father’s shirts. “He always does when you’re home.” If Robert meant to protest the necessity for him to be gone – to earn a living for the three of them, there was no need. “But I’m sure he understands…somehow. He recognized you in the newspaper during the school year – in the Princess’ end of year ceremony. I almost thought he’d say your name but he…well he faded off, as he does.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to her. She seemed to be talking through him, rather than at him. His father had made small improvements over the years…from being completely vegetative to being able to make small movements, sounds and expressions. But Jennifer reported them as she would a militaristic evaluation…cold…distant. Robert had always known how deep the love of his parents had been. That it hadn’t always been like this now seemed like a cruel joke. In many ways – Erol’s incapacitation had resulted in Robert losing both parents.

“When will you be returning to duty?”

“We’ve been asked to return a few days before the beginning of the school year. …The end of the week. I’ve arranged for them to send the majority of my paycheck directly to you. That way you won’t have to wait for me to mail it.”

“You should keep it for yourself.” Jennifer replied, closing the windows as some children ran by playing. “We get by just fine on the pension. And I take some pressing in for the cadets who live in the district…” His mother’s hands, once soft and unworn showed the beginnings of dryness from the constant use of starches and chlorine. It was true they’d struggled during his days as a Cadet…until the Queen had begun to send food, money and clothing to Ward family door. And then his appointment to the Princess’ head of guard had all but ensured that his mother didn’t need to work. But Jennifer Ward was too proud to live off the sole earnings of her son and she stubbornly refused to stop. It wasn’t an issue he wanted to press with only a week left at home.

“I like to know you have it …. just in case…mother.” She hmm’d softly and took the tray out of the Lician man’s hands. “You should rest Robert. I’m capable of cleaning up.” She brushed him off, a mother hen remembering how to shepard a chick. Robert sighed and retired to his bedroom. He didn’t have much more there then he had at the dorms in Licia school. A small family portrait, taken during his first day at the Academy. A certificate of completion, military acknowledgements. There was a wooden shelf his father had built and designed to hold his first dagger collection, still sturdy after all these years. All of his clothes fit into a single dresser, a few uniforms and suits and the odd casual article of clothing. There were a few bonsai trees – relics of his childhood. He laid down on the small bed that only barely managed his frame and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter where we are, Robert.” His father had said at the young boy’s fears of their move to the capitol of Licia. “As long as we’re together!”