Wilhelm Jean Sautre had spent the better part of the hour gliding along the Courtyard. It was only when he pressed his face against a faint purple orchid, an arrangement he had not seen since early childhood, that two Palace officers, lurking deep in a semi-squared liminal space across the Galleria entrance, had stirred to life. They marched with an all - at -once urgency towards him and dropped to a low wide stance when he was now a small distance ahead. Their tightened grips on their sword shafts translated a firm, irrefutable instruction. Wilhelm plucked the orchid slowly, squeezing one petal into his nose.
A small cough from one officer. Wilhelm frowns slightly in thought, before tucking the orchid into his left sleeve and following them, slowly, begrudgingly, further into the Palace. They walked in what was mostly silence, the gold chainmail equipped by the Palace Guard tended to rattle frequently in presence of drafts, and the narrow corridor besides both courtyards provided one. Asides from some warily exchanged glances here and there, they arrived at the end of the corridor. A tall double door guarded the entrance into Purple Hall, standing above 3 meters. One door was left half open for two guards, their uniform a bronze tint different from the Palace Officers', to verify identity and invitation. Wilhelm recognized one of them as the Vice-Captain of the Royal Guard and groaned. However, he was let in uneventfully, save for a small familiar glare from the V.C. "Another Time". The towering 3 meter doors swung open.
A rush of human life. It seemed all Elitebloods of the empire was in attendance and Wilhelm had suddenly sunk into a pit of jeering, gossiping, flirting, drinking. The walls had done so much of a brilliant job of insulating the noise from inside that it felt even the air pressure was different here. About Purple Hall, the only banquet hall within the Palace Halls, was a large room in its own right, but it was the smallest out of the legitimate venues for ball parties in the Capital. The black sheep in the high society family, Purple Hall is still very favored by His Majesty of 7th Grand Imperiority, and any occasion happening within its walls likely indicates he arranged it himself. Of course, invitations are usually be reserved for Elitebloods, it seemed an exception was being made that night.
No one paid much attention to Wilhelm, convenient for him, as he made his way towards his designation. The room was split into a simple semi-circular design; the frivolity and festivity that often come with parties were to be organized on the floor which bore the semi circular shape and when matters of the state where to be considered, two staircases merged into one to land on what one could only describe as a grand Opera Box, overlooking the party. Wilhelm ascended the stairs into negative pressure and found a seat within the box, next to several persons around middle age. Their dresses and suits were appropriate though nowhere as spectacular as the rest in in attendance. They nodded approvingly and greeted Wilhelm in a homely manner, their small round eyes only reflecting their hearts too plainly.
It was content, no, appreciative eyes they had, to be in attendance of the event, like a dog grateful to its Master letting it into the residence during a storm. This was Capital's local council, a small division the empire had established to manage petitions to the office of His Majesty and direct governance for petty crimes and domestic skirmishes. The members were comprised solely of Commoners, a move credited to "Generosity and Modern thinking ways of Her Majesty".
The council had no actual authority of course, public perception had it as a commoner governing commoner situation, providing jobs for the community, avoiding the classism and bureaucracy of dealing with the Royal office directly, which ironically elevated the approval status of His Majesty. But it would be easier to think of them as a spying outfit for the Royal Guard, a valuable resource for "insider information", leading to more arrests to tick off Crime Management at the end of their yearly review. It didn't help that selection criteria for members were based solely on commonality rather than say, competence.
Wilhelm moved slightly in his seat, paying some attention to his outfit. In all honesty, it was not all a different fashion from his companions, a visibly worn but bright laced long-sleeved shirt with default black pants. However, a small opal blue ring glinted while resting on his index finger. A real Masonite ring, his most expensive possession. He eased back into his seat, proceeding to fidget it the remainder of the evening.
The party lingered until it didn't. There was a earthy croaking sound as the two royal guard worked to swing the giant doors of Purple Hall inwards. No more than hour after he had taken his seat, Wilhelm sat somewhat relieved all voices, even in hushed tones, as well as that terrible wineglass clinking that the apparent Noblebloods didn't know how not to make when switching to a new subject of conversation, discorporated. Finally. The giant doors of Purple Hall parted once again, this time, a procession of some significant persons attending. An average looking man with an average height marched heavily in front, most likely to catch as much a draft between the bright gold, double sided capes resting on his armor plates.
A bronze crown adorned with sliver swords of double edges was clearly visible on both sides of his torso, the sigil of the Imperiority, all to produce an effect was not entirely unappealing for the Captain of Royal Guard. The runner-up had a fat relaxed face and drooped shoulders, standing slightly taller than the Captain and gestured often to himself in a manner that suggested he was taking quite a number of mental notes no doubt to act upon later. This was His Majesty, pacing slowly amongst the crowd without acknowledging even once, the atmosphere the most powerful man in the country produced in the small confined space. More Royal Guard trickled from behind him, all halting at the Landing while as he went upstairs.
Inside the Box, to describe the council as elated would be too much of an understatement .If they were only acting to fulfill expectations of their social persona, it was still very much overboard. "Your Majesty" was repeated far too many times and one member, forgetting his place for a moment, inched closer to him to bow.
"Your Majesty, Lieutenat Kraw-"
His Majesty paid them no attention, of course. Wilhelm and the Council were seated by the extreme left viewed from the landing. Five seats behind a long table, facing a wall on the other side. His Majesty took an armchair straight ahead, adjacent but about 10 feet from the council and facing the party downstairs. Nothing was said between both sides for a small moment. During this time, Wilhelm thought about something odd while observing the Captain at the landing. The red-laced golden cape he wore was wide enough to obscure both holster zones for his uniform. In other words, it was uncertain to say if the Captain was armed to the teeth or not at all. Soon after, a guard moved to the Box from the floor. He had a weak jittery gait, the way the hands of a middle-aged man shook under significant stress or anything unpleasant, and a soft young face. An adult around 24 most likely, not too older than Wilhelm.
He moved to stand right by the left side of His Majesty, shoulders hunched forward and eyes on the ground. His jaw protruded a little bit, almost as if he was literally biting his tongue.
There was a cough from the council's table and a tall man with a thick silver beard began. Lieutenant Krawford, who forgot his place not too long ago, began.
"Your Majesty, Lieutenant Krawford. Chairperson to the Council of Viveno."
His Majesty nodded slowly this time, his eyes had a warm and silent hue, locked away at an an oval window down the hall.
"Your Majesty, to speak on behalf of the council, we wish to express a great inundation to receiving an invitation for the Quarterly Regional Ball. Certainly a gesture we shall treasure for as long as we live. However, Your Majesty, to speak frankly, the invitation, without precedence and on short notice, did not detail any topic of discussion."
Krawford paused to observe his audience. His Majesty made no movements.
"That is to say, Your Majesty, we are wondering if something has happened".
Now His Majesty turned to his side and exchanged a glance with the boy . With quick animation, the guard reached into his uniform to produce a brown paper parchment. He unrolled it clumsily until it was at eye level and began with a quaking voice.
"To His Majesty, Grand Commander of the Imperiority.
I hope this epistle finds you in sublime health, and if not, you should sympathize with I addressing you personally as His Highness is currently under the weather and has directed me to act as necessary. You will be pleased to know that the initial trading arrangements discussed at the Winter Solstice summit was deemed acceptable by His Highness and is willing to initiate provisions for all transport vessels and increase the yield of Iron Glass to sell cheaper to your citizens. However, I write to you today to discuss a discrepancy discovered by some of our finance scholars.
As you know, our nation sits at an arm's length before Kiva, which is shortly after the empire. Now the difficulty is this: As both Kiva and the Empire require daily trading permits, the costs for our merchants will only have to appreciate lest they risk doubling back home between two nations; provisions could be made for security but then the sheer totality of expense would then bring into question the actual viability of our arrangement. Of course, we claim full responsibility for this error and His Highness has only disappointment in his heart for the Trading Committee of Lintegard. If His Majesty should have us, I have prepared myself an envoy ready to leave on a moment's notice to discuss and draft a new arrangement acceptable to the Empire.
A thousand apologies.
Signed, Viceroy Lance Thomas ."
The guard took a short look at his audience behind the parchment. It seemed finishing the address had radiated some confidence into his countenance, and he spoke to Krawford directly.
"His Majesty would like to know your impression of this letter".
Krawford looked like he had been asked a question he should know the answer to, perhaps one that had been repeated too often in class.
"W-well, it seems to me...Certain elements about it..". He took his left hand to stroke his chin, pulling his eyebrows and raising his lips to a frown.
"Its true we have a blanket policy for daily permits, but the fees are so small that we only use it to analyze consumer statistics, if anything else. I don't know too much about merchant laws in Kiva, but this is Iron glass we're talking about. The sheer scale of demand, Lintegard's profit margins would be too unfair....Surely, this Viceroy Lance must be mistaken".
"Perhaps".
It was the first time His Majesty spoke that night. The words produced a dampening effect on his audience; The gentle dimwitted eyes of the council, darting around Purple Hall were now deathly still, Krawford allowed himself to straighten out his back before leaning forward on the table. The voice behind the parchment trembled once again, perhaps it was not a good sign in his profession, for King to interject during reading sessions.
"His Majesty is convinced of another reason behind the correspondence", the scribe managed.
"Marriage?"
Krawford suddenly appeared somewhat remarkable in that moment. He had caught on quite late, but a correct answer was correct. He shrugged his shoulders a bit too vainly and there was a sudden scowl on the scribe's expression.
"I thought he was writing only plainly but now I'm sure this Viceroy is positively elated at the prospect of the King's passing. I suppose, in his mind, he has already begun building an empire of his own, and making certain arrangements to that end".
"By threatening our trade deal? Does this Bastard even know his place?."
A hefty man, looking above 50, with a drooping face and a tommy curled mustache had fire in his eyes. His hard and contorted countenance, now so departed from the docile council, made him stick out like a broken finger, or a wolf in sheep's clothing attending a sheep's council meeting. The leader sheep cast a small warning glaze towards the wolf, *And Are you aware of yours?* Although, the sentiment was not entirely misguided. Lintegard had an impressive, rapid growing bulbous of an economy with their metal technology being basically unrivaled in the modern world and all, but they were a small state.
So small that the Eastern continent left it defenseless and stranded during the Naval Wars, with it's Emperor quoting: "What the devil is that?", when an aide drew up a map in the war room. Having little territory and nonexistent influence for decades, a King Keith's decision to export their local weaponry has only begun to put them on the map. Their allegiance is to the Imperiority, of course, therefore, it is understandable that this backhanded request should be perceived as something quite audacious or more appropriately, entirely supercilious.
Now, the scribe was folding the parchment back into his uniform. He locked his hands to the front, looking at nobody in particular before resuming.
"It is as you say. And His Majesty has come to a decision. If they are to request for it, the Imperiority will grant a wedlock to Lintegard" .
A tsunami of murmurs, gasps and sounds of shuffling feet exploded in Purple Hall. The sheep were now kicking dust, poking their heads outside and rollicking in their cages. The attendees downstairs, gentrymen and women that only gave a donkey's ass about the topics His Majesty would have with the Inept city council, were now tuned in. Although some of His Majesty's children were betrothed, any union whatsoever was slated sometime in the far-off future. If His Majesty was serious, this would be the First wedlock in his time of rule, and would be appreciated as an event on par with any coronation, even if it was to a small nation. And they were the first to know about it. The hefty man's face was like a large dog on the short end of his leash, and he looked to Krawford with the same warning gaze that he was addressed to earlier. Krawford gestured to him a slight nod and raised his voice to quell any small chatter among themselves.
"I don't see....how that is all necessary, Your Majesty-".
"It makes us look weak" was the appropriate response, the rational response. Just not one that the Chairman of a Charity-formed council could prescribe.
"Perhaps it is not in your place, Lieutenant Krawford, to "see" the validity of His Majesty's decision. Only to accept it as it is". The scribe maintained eye contact.
Krawford took the retort with little stride. He thought about the glaring issue that giving into the threat to save the trade will only allow the Imperiority to lose significant face to Lintegard's Viceroy and the fact that His Majesty had likely only summoned the council in a witnessing capacity. But instantly another notion crossed his mind, one with a potential for great distress.
"To whom?".
The scribe made no attempt to respond, but his eyebrows arched at the action of Krawford ignoring royal vernacular. His Majesty had not inched a muscle.
Duchess Eliza is with Her Majesty, far away from the Continent pursuing her studies and Princess Nadine has long since been betrothed to the King of the Thameros".
"Of course, His Majesty meant Princess Daytona".
A small woman with a shrill voice spoke out. But Krawford shook his head.
Princess Daytona is still a year underage for engagement". For a moment, Krawford feared the worst. His Majesty using an underage heir for the sake of a trade deal would be nothing short of horrendous, albeit stretching the limits of His Authority as Grand Commander but-
"Correct. As Princess Daytona is still underage, naturally she would not qualify for the arrangement", the scribe responded.
Krawford's hands rested on the broad chinmaple table. There was a tinge of gallantry in his blue eyes while he regarded the scribe with a fierce look. The scribe had not abandoned his frown either, as it now seemed these two were at the helm of the meeting this evening, even though the Emperor himself was only a few feet away.
"Then it seems we have run dry of candidates", said Krawford, restraining a growl.
A brief pause, it seemed the scribe retreats into his meek facet for the third time. He stares at the ground a few moments, then at His Majesty and back to Krawford.
"There is....one candidate. Her claim to the throne is valid in the eyes of His Majesty and has met all qualifications required to make the arrangement succeed".
Krawford changed his expression from cantankerousness to one of urgency. He swung his head wildly between the Council and the Scribe.
"With all due respect, there is no such person", Krawford mandated.
"His Majesty has decided", the scribe continued without a beat, "in the best interests of the Empire, the one to be engaged to Lintegard will be none other than his Fifth born". The council was once again united in an expression, one of stupefaction.
"That is, Krista-"
Wilhelm's body reacted faster than his mind ever could. His lungs caved in momentarily and his breathing became shallow, as if the air itself had been injected with a rough heavy metal. There was a terrible shiver that arched throughout his extremities like lightning and he found himself squeezing the Masonite ring to manage any sanity he had left. He soon remembered, when his mind came to, that it was a familiar feeling. He had forgotten, or learned to forget, even after all this time . A boiling fury locked away dark and deep within his soul, began to pry the edges of it's cage once more.
"-Jean Sautre".