Queendom 08: Poppetry

Grinwald glared his way, bothered by the implication. Was it audacity, or plain stupidity? Probably the latter. Elanor remained unfazed.

"Isn't that a bit extreme an over-statement, Commander? Not to mention, historically inaccurate. Archminister, why don't you opine? I see more youngblood here than usual. Why don't you refresh for us, with the history.?"

The frustration among the viscounts, especially Lord Klavin, was turning increasingly palpable. Are we to sit through the damn history lesson now..?! What in the hell is going on here?? And why is Duke Dermowth not speaking out.?!

"Well, Cyrian. There are surely elements of deep-rooted misogyny in some of the members, but the Order of Swords, in its inception, was a rebellious yet noble initiative." Archminister started on, clearly jumping at the chance to shut down the stupid bore. Elanor continued to feign interest, but her mind was somewhere else. The next appointment is with Bella, and she was teeming with questions and clarifications, regarding last week's fiasco. Her eyes kept on returning to the distant window, checking if she had come. Grinwald continued.

"Back then, Aetrikus was the leading Kingdom. Calthea and Deznia were still vassal states, fraught with political instability. Drussilla, the Aestrikan Queen, was truly one of a kind. Blessed with all attributes of femininity, an angel that no man could keep their eyes off. Only, her mind was an absolute hell-spawn, for lack of a better word. Long story short, in all ways an ideal feminine shouldn't, she corrupted, not just the kin of the King, but bewitched even the neighboring Kings. There was no man of power, on the lands at the time, pardon the phrase Highness, who experienced her loins, and came out uncorrupted. The whole power dynamics, of troops, of trade, of internal familial feuds, all turned to puppets, at the mercy of her truly dexterous fingers."

To the frustration of the viscounts, the Duke who had been eager to make an impression, added on, out of nowhere.

"True, true, Archminister. But you are missing the point, that made this case so unique. Particularly at the time, bewitchment wasn't that uncommon. Particularly for the princes, constantly getting into duels to impress the maidens, who knew only to look down. Queen Drussilla stands apart, for not the mere superfluous bewitchment. But for what she did with it. Drussilla wasn't aiming at power, or influence, or anything rational. Her motive, her drug, was the act itself. Her cruel, mercurial whims, her momentary pleasures. The pleasure of literally toying with what should stay incorruptible."

"Oh, I remember. Was she the mad queen who dared the heir to the throne, to streak through the church, with nuns praying?" The older viscount inquired, suddenly remembering the tales.

Lord Klavin glared his way. What the hell?! This turned to a story-hour now?? In the Imperial private-court, of all?

"The same one, from the legends, Lord. And thank you, Duke, for the input." Grinwald said, continuing.

"Things were getting dire, tensions rising, trade declining, not to mention the loss of general morale. And ministers truly wished, if she was a simple calculating power-hungry psychopath, with much clearer motives and patterns.. Instead of this creature of pure whim. Increasingly depraved, malevolent whims. We are talking, men fighting men, kin fighting kin, fathers and offsprings, all vying for the warmth of her bed, a glimpse of her smile. All wrapped around her thin long fingers. It was truly godsend, for the time, for a few brave noblemen, to take the initiative, to save the lands from the clutches of this vile soul. Twelve of them, from the noblest families, across Kingdoms.. Men, whose families had been devastated, by the actions of the Queen. They conspired to kidnap, and end the cursed Queen's reign, for good. They formed, the very first, Order of Swords."

"I've heard versions of the story, where they simply left her to die, in the deepest forest up North. Is that true, Sir Grinwald?"

"Who. Fucking. CARES..?!!"

Leaning forward, clutching seat-rails, Klavin almost yelled, his face red and cheeks quivering, in a voice that didn't fit his nobility, certainly not in the presence of his Queen.

"There was once a slut, who couldn't find enough meat to stuff her holes. When lust drove her crazy, instead of whoring the bitch out, a stupid band of puritans kidnapped her, never to be heard again. Moral of the story. Beware of the slut you choose to bed.! Now can we please move on.?!"

There was tense silence that followed, in which the nobleman felt the ground beneath crumble. With fellowmen looking his way, like he's a dead-man. The chamber felt like it could burst aflame any moment. The Queen alone stayed calm, her breath unusualy even. She said.

"Lord Klavin, right.? Viscount of Venmorth, recently returned from war-front after an year. Your wife, Marika, six-months and expecting, I believe?"

"Yes, Highness."

Kalvin replied, sounding sobered real quick. God! Did I just yell?! Elanor continued.

"I understand these new duties can be a bit over-whelming, not to mention the contrast in conduct, compared to your battle camps."

Archminister didn't miss it. The shift in her tone, the intensity of her gaze. That subtle hint, of the Great Chaste's legendary wrath.! Elanor continued.

"If your words fail to fit the decorum of this court, you shall return to the sweet embrace of that promiscuous spouse, safe for all but your tongue. Are we clear?"

The line was drawn, and the whole court stayed, in pin-drop silence. There goes any hopes of negotiation, the viscounts understood. Klavin turned pale, frozen, for all but his quivering lips. And the incredulity in his eyes. It was hard to distinguish what bothered the Viscount the most. Whether finding himself suddenly in bad graces of his Queen, or being put in place by a woman.

The look in him eyes, told Elanor. It was more the latter. Significantly more.

Either way his tongue got the message, as he struggled to avoid his peer's gaze, in shame. Elanor moved on.

"Now, where were we, Commander.. Cyrian..?"

"Symen Cyrian, Her Highness. Junior Commander, Domestic espionage."

"I too am a student of history, Cyrian. I've read countless version of the story of Drusilla, not to mention the downfall of the 'Order' over the decades. You may find it preposterous, but I actually agree with most of their core principles. Blue-blood doesn't immunize one against corruption, especially the ones fated for the throne.. So I get why the nobility may find it necessary to shield the throne against potential threats of degeneracy, not to mention absolute moral capture. Surely I detest the bigotry it helped cultivate over the years. Even then, I find the 'Order' more misguided, than conspiratorial."

"But Highness, you can't seriously think yourself, as immune to their wrath."

"I assure you, Commander. In wrath, they won't match me, not even close. Besides, I don't fit their mold. It is well-known, that I never sought the throne. That the clergy, and the Great Barthomius Senior himself, had to force me into taking charge. I almost returned to Vankenbraum, to grieve in the embrace of my father. It wasn't power that kept me here. I'm sure there are cooler heads, even atop the Order of Swords."

Cyrian stepped forward, arguing further.

"You misinterpret my Queen. It isn't who you are, the character, but what you are. The novel appropriation of a royal position, the throne itself, with zero precedence. A queen as the true ruling monarch.! Not just of Wolkenshire, but the greatest seat of power, in all lands of men. Even Archminister here opposed it staunchly at the time. If a man of sound mind as him can find reason, don't you think, you ought to reconsider the risks?"

Grinwald shot his way a glare. Was it necessary, to bring that up, now?!

Cyrian continued.

"The Order had its origins in rebellion, Highness. Conspiratorial rebellion, against a once beloved Princess, her corrupting influence over the ruling-monarch of the time. Don't you think, the precedence your mere existence puts in place, for potential feminine influence over the matters of administrations.. Don't you think an organization such as the Order of Swords would find it an existential threat.? It's founding purpose, after all?"

He had a point. Elanor asked.

"What do you propose, young Cyrian?"

The nobility chuckled lightly, while staring back at the nervous Commander, which confused the Queen. What Elanor didn't know, was despite his junior post, boyish looks, and mildly effete voice, Cyrian was much older. Having a baby-face hadn't fared well, much of his life, full of mocking remarks and blatant bullying. Hiding the embarrassment, Cyrian continued.

"I believe we should be pro-active my Queen. I believe I had submitted the preliminary notes on my plan.."

Cyrian's eyes roamed around the room, as his words trailed off. Elanor understood his hesitation. He didn't trust the company, enough to share the details of the operation. May be he feared the presence of a sympathizer, a spy even, amongst the young noblemen. Considering most were at the right age, even temperament, for the typical misogynistic ideation.

"The answer is no, Cyrian."

Elanor could see his instant disheartening, at the rejection of a major project he had been working on, probably for months. His reports and plans of action were extremely meticulous, so she knew he had been pretty confident about it. But Elanor had made up her mind as soon as she had discussed the matter with Grinwald a week prior.

"Anything else, Archminister..?"

"That concludes it, Her Highness."

"Keep me in the loop, about the tribesmen. We'll discuss further on Monday. And my noblemen, regardless our differences, I'm open to your concerns. We are in this together. You are welcome join in, should you find it needful."

As the Queen stood up, the men followed suit. Bowing in respect, they began to leave, as Grinwald stayed back. Looking past the men, Elanor smiled seeing the door open, and Bella walking in. Some of the men nodded her way, and one stopped for a moment, and exchanged words. That's Cyrian. Did Bella know him from before?!

"Highness, if I may?"

Elanor looked beside, it was the Archminister.

"The silence from the Duke of Laudville.. Was that..?"

"Bought?!"

Elanor smiled at his questioning face. Grinwald is the brightest mind in her court, and these constant exchanges had rubbed off on her, for the better. She could read him know, his questions, his concerns, from a single look.

"Archminister, your office oversees the licensing regulations. Why is spice-import such a tricky mess?"

The concern on his face only increased, realizing what must have happened.

"Well, it isn't just the expense, the high demand, nor the exotic nature, my Queen. The spice comes in bulk, making it hard to regulate. To top it all, it's a perfect mule. Used to smuggle in all sorts of things. Extremely difficult to check for, without damaging the spice itself. I assume you gave him.."

"How would you have played it?"

There was an amusement in the Queen's voice.

"Well, Highness. Given his leverage, it would've started at twenty-five, I'd push back to ten. Eventually I'd have gotten him to fifteen years, with a few caveats in the license. How much did..?"

"Fifty-years.! Exclusive, with special ministerial caveats."

The glee that escaped her voice ringed foolhardy to him, initially.

"Highness! That's way too.. Is it too late to.."

"Hear me out, Minister." Elanor suppressed a chuckle, seeing the flabbergasted man. Clenching his teeth, in a painfully forced smile, he listened on for the silver lining.

"What's the deeper issue here? The exclusivity of the license? The time-frame? Or the big picture. Potential contraband?! How about losing face before an old intellectual rival?"

It didn't surprise him. The dramatic debates between Grinwald and Dermowth was no secret.

"But Highness, you outright gifted him.."

"Is it a gift though? You taught me the game, Archminister. Remember the Ferioza-deal?"

Grinwald's face lit up in elation, almost instantly. His eyes proud, yet in disbelief.

Ferioza-deal. The project they tackled together, following the coronation. The one where Elanor got to see the political maverick in him, at work, the way he outmaneuvered the negotiations. And the reference made Grinwald see, what was clear to his Queen, the whole while. Had the Duke forced the deal out of Grinwald, that immunizes him from accusations of misuse. If Archminister had gifted the license, his office would be caught up in a dilemma, every time they had to inspect the import operations. With Grinwald himself sanctioning, any hint of illegal activity with the imports, and associated corruption, would only help paint the Archminister alongside the accused Duke. Giving additional leverage for Dermowth to play fast and loose. But not, if it's gifted by the true-ruling monarch herself. A blessing of trust.

One that he couldn't refuse. And that binds him to behave responsibly, with zero sway over the ministerial branch. Shifting the leverage to Grinwald's office, in increased scrutiny if necessary. The Duke will surely earn a fortune, and prosper over-time. But not through any unlawful means. Grinwald was beaming with pride, at his unofficial student.

"Highness! Oh, that's brilliant! That's just so brilliant..! I feel so proud.."

Elanor didn't realize, but she was giggling and shaking like a little kid, enjoying the heartfelt praise from a tutor. Being a student always felt natural to her. Nodding back, she said.

"I'm afraid I'm late for my next appointment. We'll talk later, Archminister."

As he walked out, Bellatrix made her way. The Queen stood facing the other way, admiring a large marouflage covering the entire high wall. The well-crafted mural depicted an old general looking over the hillside, as his men fought valiantly beneath. Next to him, on her knees, was a weeping maiden. And in her embrace, a fresh cold corpse of a soldier, clearly too young for battle, his eyes closed as if in a blissful stupor. His blood, drenching the maid's gown. His bloodied hand gripping the stoic General's boot. It was a lot of blues and greys, with intricate brush-work of a surprising degree of detail, if you were to take a closer look. Elanor often spend time studying the layers of it, after her most heated sessions in the inner-court. There was a certain calming sensibility to it, despite all the carnage depicted.

Like her Papa used to say. Peace is balanced with red.

"Highness."

"Demura.."

Elanor acknowledged, her gaze still transfixed on the maid in the mural.

"A bit too gloomy, isn't it.?! Should I commission for something brighter, and eventful, Highness.?"

Elanor's eyes almost popped dumbfounded. She knew Bella was trying to cheer up her friend. But.. More eventful than the Second Rekkan Battle, one of the absolute bloodiest.?! Not to mention her idea, of painting over one of the last royal commissions fullfiled by the great artist Greccon. Suppressing her smirk, the Queen turned to Bella.

"What do you think of Greccon??"

"Umm.. I thought Highness wanted an update on Jokshun. I can ask around for this Greccon fellow if.."

Elanor walk past her towards the window, shaking her head.

Some Horse Whisperer, oh mine.! She can read beasts and men, like the back of her palm, yet art has no effect on her. My my..

Greccon was a revolutionary voice in the art-world, when Elanor was growing up. His approach to the canvas, and the stories he told through splashes and strokes, putting him a class apart from all his contemporaries. Establishing a new way of seeing, a school of painting of his own, in his prime. Interested in arts from a young age, and brought up to appreciate all kinds of beauty like a princess should, it was Elanor's dream to have a portrait done by him. After meeting Barthomius, she altered it, to having a wedding portrait, in that unique Greccon style. No one, not even his best students, came closer to capturing life in its fullest, like he did. A dream that remained so, due to his ailments of age.

Elanor knew it was wrong of her to look down on Bella, for her lack of awareness. The truth is, apart from the nobility, no one truly cared about who painted what, or who wrote which song. Painting never had any mass appeal, unlike a singing bard in the taverns, or a theater performer in the market square. Besides, Greccon never indulged in populist appeal in the first place. He was the kind of fine wine, which required true class and sophistication, to learn to appreciate even.

"How's your health, Highness.?"

"The sore-throat subsided yesterday. I'd say its perfect." Elanor said, stroking her neck.

"I meant to ask you last session. In fact I meant to ask, after the first time at Heavensworth. What do you see happening?"

Bella squinted her eyes.

"Highness, could you be.. Could you phrase it differently?"

"What's his assessment, the clergyman? Rather, what's yours? You've had time to reflect, on what you guys discussed. So, what do you think it's going to be? Self-integration, or me slaving away to this beast within?"

Bella almost didn't get the reference. Elanor was talking about the Clergyman's final remarks from the first session. Of the nature of her condition. Bella couldn't believe the exhausted, sleepy Queen bound in the next room overheard their conversation.

"Highness, how did you?"

She wasn't supposed to hear that. Oh no..

Elanor smiled calmly.

"You can't train me to perfect my hearing for hours and expect to not eavesdrop, Bella. The clergyman forgot to close the door properly. I didn't hear it all.. But enough to know this runs deep."

Bella had no real answers yet. She's in the dark for know, but she hadn't lost hope. Even if she didn't tell it, Elanor could read it on her face. May be I shouldn't push her for now? She'll figure it out, just give her some time. The Queen changed the topic.

"What's that in the satchel, Bella?"

"Oh, it can wait, Highness. First, about Jokshun."

"Yes, give me the good news."

"Well the good news is, our man Finoch is positive he's a good-natured simpleton."

Elanor exhaled deeply, her fingers massaging the brows to relieve the anxiety.

"That's.. Thank you Bella. I mean.."

Bella nodded along. She knew, if there were any reason to stay suspicious, the Queen would have some harsh cold decisions to make. It is incompetent upon the true-ruling monarch, to keep the symbolic feminine unsullied.

"But I thought it was impossible to know for sure, by Finoch's methods."

"Highness, surety is beyond us. What he offered is a healthy degree of certainty."

"A healthy degree will do. How certain are we talking? Ninety-ten? Eighty-twenty?"

"Its sixty-forty, Highness.."

"Bella..!"

This is unacceptable. Sixty-forty isn't a comfortable odd to rest the good name of the throne. Even eighty-twenty was me being lenient. Elanor was fuming within.

"Some spy he turned out to be.?! Tell me you have something better in mind.."

"Well, there's a way to know, I think. But.."

"But what?"

There was a moment of silence, an avoidance of gaze, which in itself slipped up the answer.

"Oh, you dont mean.." Elanor rolled her eyes, backing away.

"I'm afraid so, my Queen. Its either that, or we call in the torturers.."

The Queen walked back and forth furiously, her chest heaving.

"Fine by me..! What do I care? He's a mere servant. A good, loyal, grateful servant.. Oh hell Bella!"

Elanor quieted down, as Tabitha entered the chamber from a corner. Bella saw the maid approach alongside the long hallway, and gripped her satchel. She said, in a low voice.