Edge of Lust: Genevieve

From the Queen's perspective:

Genevieve had met the Naphtali king and queen once before. It was at the summit at which her dear homeland had been promised away. It had been nearly three years ago: an eternity past and only yesterday at once. Genevieve had been such a young thing, then, staring wide-eyed at the fancy lords and ladies, kings and queens who assembled from near and far to join the Unification of Nations, an alliance claiming to provide solidarity and peace among the many disparate kingdoms.

Genevieve had never seen life beyond her tiny hamlet Gwennel. Within its dreary, stony borders she had passed her seventeen years in comparative contentment. She knew she was more content than her best friend and lady-in-waiting, Myrna. A few years her senior, Myrna had been Genevieve's confidant and companion, defender and devotee for as long as she could remember. It might seem strange for a princess to bend to one not of noble birth. But Myrna had always been the protective one: the one who scared away bullies when they were children, the one who had helped Genevieve when she first received her blood cycle, the sure-footed sentinel who had never left Genevieve's side and without whom, Genevieve felt, frankly, helpless.

Myrna was at her side at this summit gathering held in a dominion not far from Gwennel. But it was Genevieve's first time leaving the mining mountains of Gwennel, and she relied on her best friend as she braved the masses of people, the unfamiliar faces and garb of the many who gathered to negotiate the governance of the kingdoms—some frail and tiny like her precious Gwennel, others large and mighty like Edgeran, which she knew, from reports and assemblies held in her own court, was her country's main focus for alliance.

It was at the gala the night before the main negotiations began that Genevieve saw Queen Lajoya for the first time. The woman was so graceful and lithe, it took Genevieve some time before she realized she was actually nearly eight months pregnant. She wore a shimmering orange gown, falling in cascades down her figure and circling her legs. Every man in the room vied for her hand to dance, or to fill it with another full goblet. They laughed at her jokes, mirrored her opinions, and stayed within arm's length continually.

Genevieve didn't know who Lajoya was, and was less curious than she was in awe. But the next day, she had met Frederick for the first time and vaguely remembered his face among the many who had danced with Lajoya the night before.

It was a handsome face, Genevieve could not deny. Framed with dark waves, even deeper than her own, his face was smooth and rugged at the same time, with a striking beard and frequent smile. Genevieve felt her heartbeat quicken not a little, and despite her despising everything to do with joining her small country to this behemoth, she could not help but feel an excitement at being the wife of such a dashing man. She had spoken little with him that day, had only made the acquaintance of Lajoya briefly before they all returned to Gwennel to live out her last year before her marriage would occur.

Now, years later Queen Lajoya of Naphtali entered the meeting hall with splendor unmarred by the chilly winds that blew in with her. Genevieve gazed in awestruck horror as the woman swept into the meeting hall and in a flurry of tiger fur and black gauze, she pounced upon Genevieve.

"Vivie!" she cried as she swept the queen into an embrace. "How wonderful to see you!" She pulled back to get a better view of Genevieve. "And looking so precious despite how ripe you are! Jorjet, doesn't she look wonderful?" The fair haired queen turned to her husband, swinging sparkling bejeweled earrings as she craned her head.

King Jorjet's dark, broad face turned to Genevieve, and a wide, composed smile creased his lips. "Yes," he said, his voice swathed in the coastal accent.

The buoyant queen turned her commanding gaze to Genevieve's husband. "And Frederick. It has been so long since we really spent any time to speak of together."

"Since the Summer Competition at Langlsey," the king said as he advanced to meet Lojoya's outstretched hand.

"You remember," Lojoya's eyes sparkled as Frederick kissed her hand. "So long ago, yet so fresh in my memory. Hot it was, that summer. That was in the days before our dear Genevieve came into our lives." She turned back to Genevieve, who met her gaze with an uncomfortable smile.

"Gwennel was not part of the Alliance then," Genevieve said meekly.

"And glory to the unity, then, no?" Lojoya spun around once more to face Frederick, who met her gaze with a warm smile. The queen's speech was similar to her husband, though marked by the accent of the North, where she had spent her childhood. Years of reigning in the coastal Naphtali, coupled with her heritage in the northern hills of Francianya, gave her voice a flowing, musical quality, mingled with the abrupt word endings indicative of the coastal dialect. Her silky yellow hair, drawn up in a complexity of loops was an almost startling contrast to her husband's black short crop. Her years among the coastal peoples had evidenced themselves on her skin. It was now a rich golden hue, though not as dark as Jorjet's black-brown skin. Jorjet was bare-chested, as was customary for the Coastal people, but he wore a tiger skin, to match the fabric of his wife's dress, draped over his shoulder to shield from the cold here in Edgeran.

"And speaking to that point," Lojoya said, turning towards the door she had just passed through. As she stepped aside, she revealed a tiny boy, bearing his father's dark eyes and hair and his mother's golden complexion. He strode forward, a regal head on his miniature shoulders, but fear hiding behind his eyes. The royal son was followed by a bowed head woman, whose blond hair was streaked with grey. Her eyes did not leave the boy as he walked, and Genevieve could see in them utter devotion.

"May I present," Queen Lajoya said. "His royal highness, Prince Edward Jorjet Conrad Raphdartian Josiahmas, heir to the throne of Naphtali."

Frederick and Genevieve bowed and curtsied respectively. Genevieve slowly lifted her head, dark curls dangling over her ears and saw the Prince's eyes. She followed his gaze downward and then clutched her belly. He knows she realized. Despite his youth, he knows. And by the expression on his face, he was not thrilled.

"What a handsome child," remarked Frederick. "What a match for our own heiress, dear." He turned to his wife.

Genevieve smiled weakly. "If she is in fact an heiress."

"I am sorry?" Lojoya's eyebrows arched. "Did not the oracles foretell it to be a daughter?" Her voice betrayed annoyance, and Frederick cleared his throat.

"Most certainly." He glanced at Genevieve whose face flushed scarlet. "There is no room for doubt. The seers have most certainly declared it to be a daughter. And all will proceed as planned to unify our great kingdoms."

"Unity in dominion," Lojoya smiled at Genevieve a little too sweetly, and turned back to Frederick. "Well, a long journey through the uncommon cold has struck up my appetite. Shall we, my dear Freddy?"

King Frederick took her arm in his, and the two brushed past Genevieve headed for the dining hall. Jorjet passed Genevieve with an easy smile and followed his wife and Frederick. Genevieve still blushed crimson at the awkward tension she'd created by casting doubt on the oracle's words. Genevieve had hated that man. Had hated Frederick for not protecting her from him. He was nothing more than a charlatan. His prophecies would be laughable if they were not so appalling. Only the holy shepherds of Mackinya Hill possessed the power and authority to prophesy, and they would not spend their gift on something as trivial as foretelling the sex of a child. It did not matter whether it was a girl or a boy. Genevieve would love her child either way.

She was reminded of the child in the room and was surprised to see him being escorted away, not toward the dining hall.

"His highness is not dining with us?" she asked.

The bent woman peered up at the queen. "Out of the way, Madam, as I was told." With that, she gently prodded the fierce eyed prince out of the room. Genevieve watched them go with a sort of fondness and sadness. Was that what she was expected to do with her child after it was born? Simply keep it "out of the way"? In Gwennel, there were no such things as nursemaids, she thought as she watched the nursemaid lead away her little charge. In Gwennel, a child was yours to care for, in every aspect. Why shouldn't she be able to be the sole caretaker, if she was the one who'd suffered nine months to carry it? But things were different in Edgeran.

With a heavy breath, she turned and waddled to the great hall, Myrna in tow. She entered, a conversation already in progress, and slipped into her seat beside Frederick.

"A toast!" Frederick exclaimed as Genevieve sat down. "To the joining of our two great countries."

The guests rose to their feet, and Genevieve stifled a grunt as she made to rise again the instant she'd sat down. Lojoya rose with ease and Genevieve remembered she'd been thus graceful even while she carried Prince Edward.

"May prosperity reign as long as the Alliance holds," King Frederick continued. "and may the Alliance hold as long as time shall stand." It was the maxim he gave at every political function, Genevieve thought. But perhaps the king and queen of Naphtali had not heard it yet.

Their reverent and enthusiastic faces implied that if they had heard it, they had not tired of it yet. "Long live the Alliance!" Jorjet said evenly, and Lojoya fairly shouted.

Genevieve hoped no one would notice if she didn't shout it out too. She raised her glass and drank, but even now, nearly a year since her home Gwennel had joined the Alliance, she could not bring herself to toast its longevity. The Alliance had been bittersweet. Her homeland now had the protection of the powerful Alliance of Kingdoms. At the cost of their independence. Of course they were still Gwennians. They were not some vassal state like Evenian. Gwennel's political leadership remained untouched. The citizens were even given a stipend for living, but the management of their coal mines was no longer in their own hands. Defenseless, army-less Gwennel had come under the protection of the mighty Edgeran. Still, Genevieve couldn't help but feel the trade had robbed them of something more valuable than it had given them.

The guests drained their glasses and took their seats again. Genevieve barely sipped hers. The Coastals were known for their high tolerance for liquor, and apparently this trait, too, had rubbed off on Queen Lojoya, who quickly took another drink from her refilled goblet, sipping with smooth, heart-shaped lips. Frederick, though equally fond of drink, did not possess the same high threshold. On occasion, Genevieve had seen him so drunken he couldn't distinguish her from her handmaiden. Genevieve thought she would not be surprised if Queen Lojoya's liquor tolerance were actually a trait she possessed before marrying into the Coastal kingdom. She was so poised, her presence so commanding, it was likely alcohol only intensified this effect. Frederick, Genevieve noticed, seemed unable to take his eyes off her, and Genevieve wondered what memories he was reliving in his mind that night. She tried to stifle a jealous flush, as she watched Lojoya favor him with another dazzling smile. And the thin fabric, low-cut style dresses of the Coastal women, which Genevieve before had accepted as part of the Naphtali's culture, seemed indecent on Queen Lojoya.

"So tell us," Lojoya said. "What news from the Alliance?"

"You receive the update from the heralds each new moon," Frederick said as he began to cut into his meat. "As do all of the kingdoms."

"Yes, but Edgeran is the heart of the Alliance," Lojoya said, a wistful look passing her eyes. Francianya, Lojoya's homeland was in the foothills just north of Edgeran, and Genevieve wondered if she missed it as much as Genevieve missed Gwennel. "You are in the thick of everything here. We need information, Freddy."

Frederick's eyes glinted at the diminutive. Genevieve had never called him Freddy before. She wouldn't dare. "Where to begin?" he said. "Relations with Grandey are strained at best. The king and queen are convinced their own resources are sufficient and they have no use for the Alliance."

"The madness!" Lojoya rolled her eyes, sipping her wine again. She had hardly touched her food.

"Their claim at prosperity hardly holds water when you consider that all of their supposed allies are really vassal states by another name," Frederick continued. "How easy is it to be at peace with weak territories you control? But they have no protection against more formidable forces."

"Their refusal to join is merely evidence of their ignorance," Lojoya said. "The Alliance is the only real power in the western world. Until they admit to that, their position is precarious."

"Perhaps they just don't want to lose their independence." Genevieve's quiet voice startled Lojoya and Frederick. Genevieve immediately flushed in embarrassment. She rarely joined in these political conversations. It only made her appear ignorant. "Some people simply like things the way they are," she finished even more quietly.

There was an awkward pause. No one was sure how to respond to Genevieve's comment. Frederick cleared his throat. Lojoya attempted a smile. King Jorjet stared equally at each person, evenly eating his meal, seemingly content to leave all conversation to the others. Genevieve closed her eyes. She should have just kept her mouth shut.

Frederick cleared his throat once more. "My wife is referring to the Grandeyan's need for stability."

"Of course," Lojoya said, a little too enthusiastically.

Frederick reached over and took Genevieve's hand and squeezed it gently. He smiled at her, and despite her embarrassment, Genevieve thought there was sincere affection in the smile.

"How wonderful to see you so happily settled, Freddy," Lojoya fairly shouted. "It seems like only yesterday when we, ourselves, were the talk of the Alliance."

Genevieve felt that she was in a perpetual blush. The heat from the nearby candelabras did nothing to ease her discomfort.

"Yes," Frederick smiled fondly. "And yet today, I am happily settled with my sweet Genevieve," he said, though his eyes lowered to Lojoya's low neckline.

Genevieve couldn't keep up. Every time she raised her hopes that Frederick loved her, and not just her homeland's mines, it seemed he proved her otherwise.

She began to grow tired, and like a child, wanted to be put to bed. She rose timidly from her seat, and begged her guests excuse her.

"I am so worn out these days," she attempted to chuckle, but remembered that being eight months pregnant had not slowed Lajoya down. "Forgive me if I retire a bit early." She turned to Frederick, and boldly asked: "Will you be coming up soon, dear?"

Her husband wasn't even sensitive enough to feel embarrassment at Genevieve's impetuousness. "I'm not tired now, my darling," he said easily, draining another cupful of wine. "I'll stay up and entertain them for you. Good night, my dear."

The conversation resumed almost immediately and Genevieve exited as quickly as she could, to avoid crying in front of her husband and his guests.

***

Stay tuned for more of the story in Edge of Lust: Lajoya