The informal throne room near her mother’s chambers was not nearly as imposing as the one used for formal occasions. In the grander room, the queen would greet visiting dignitaries and noblewomen or meet with commoners who had managed to gain an audience with her. A few times each year, Queen Rona would hold court there and decide whether or not prisoners should continue to stay in the dungeons--catacombs and labyrinths of cells beneath the castle--or actually be released. Most of them would have already spent more time in the unsanitary, disease ridden prison than anyone cared to measure by the time the queen saw them.
Kit preferred to meet with her mother in the smaller chamber because it usually meant a more select audience. Though she was certain members of the Royal Council would be present, she didn’t know for sure if it would be all of them or just those closest to the queen by blood or loyalty.
She still wore the same pink gown she’d had on earlier, but Avinia and Isla had worked her hair up on top of her head so that it was more presentable. The pearl tiara graced her crown, and she knew her mother would appreciate it because the diminutive size made it even more clear who was in charge, just as Queen Rona preferred.
Kit proceeded to the throne room accompanied by two members of her guard. One was the second in command, a tall fellow by the name of Galter, with broad shoulders and dark blond hair. The other was a man she’d seen before whose name was unknown to her, but he had kind brown eyes above a rather bulbous nose. His muscles were large and strained against his gray uniform, and while Kit was intrigued by his physique, she couldn’t imagine getting around such an intrusive facial feature. It occurred to her that everyone was a prospect now that her Exploration was about to begin.
The distance from her own chambers to the queen’s was vast. In the wrong shoes, Kit often felt the same way she used to when she would go on long hikes through the forest near the castle. The scenery in the gray marble hallways wasn’t similar but it seemed to take just as long to make the journey to her mother’s rooms as it had for her to find her way through dense woods. Castle Wrenbrook was massive, probably the largest structure ever built in all the world, and the halls meandered for miles with expansive staircases leading up and down to turrets and catacombs such that Kit realized she’d likely never know the full footprint of the structure. What she did know was, if she intended to be punctual when visiting her mother, she needed to leave her chambers with at least a quarter of an hour to spare. Today, she’d left with a few extra minutes, so she didn’t walk quite as quickly, and when she met others in the hallway, be they noble persons who shared the castle with the royal family and council members, or servants, she spoke to them for a few moments, a habit that drove her mother mad and endeared the princess to her sweet father who did the same. Everyone she stopped to speak to also appreciated Kit’s kindness.
Two armed members of the Queen’s Guard stood on either side of her mother’s large golden, intricately carved doors which soared above Kit’s head. They were dressed in similar uniforms to the Princess’s Guard, though the stripes down the side were more of a deep maroon than purple, and the patches on their shoulders identified them as members of the Queen’s Guard. Knowing the princess was expected, one soldier on each side pulled open the heavy doors, and Kit smiled in thanks, though they only scowled in return. She turned to look at Galter one more time. He nodded his assurance that he would wait for her in the hallway, as her guards did every time she was delivered to her mother.
Inside, Kit’s pink satin slippers treaded lightly on a red and gold embroidered carpet that stretched across the white marble floor the same width as the double doors. Her mother was seated on her throne. This one, though slightly smaller and less elaborate than the one in the formal throne room, was made of solid gold with red velvet cushions and jewels across the top of the backrest larger than the ones that adorned Kit’s most regal crown. Her mother sat there now, on the edge of her seat, a golden crown with spikes that reminded Kit of splintered wood atop her dark hair, her face unsmiling, her fingers wrapped around the ends of the armrests.
Kit curtseyed low before her mother, as she and everyone else who came into the queen’s presence was required to do. She recited the same obligatory greeting as well. “Hail Rona, Empress of All the Lands East of the Galacial Mountains and Queen of the Provinces South of the Compazional Sea, my sovereign” adding only, “my mother,” to the end as was her personal requirement.
“You may rise, Princess Katrinetta.” The queen’s voice was deeper, more forceful than her daughter’s, but Kit had grown accustomed to Rona’s direct way of speaking many years ago. Still, she remembered being a small child who visited her mother infrequently and being frightened of the way her speech reverberated off the marble floors and stone walls. Today, she wasn’t afraid of her mother, but she was apprehensive about what the ruler had to say.
Kit glanced over at the lesser thrones to the right of her mother. Smaller, less adorned, and with no armrests, they seated a few members of the Royal Council. Kit bowed her head to her relations. Zora, her mother’s aunt, whose white hair testified to her infinite wisdom, smiled in return. Nill, who was both Queen Rona’s sister and Avinia’s mother, looked nothing like the queen. Her light hair was the same color as Avinia’s, though she was shorter and slightly plump. Two other council members were present as well, both duchesses, like her aunts, both of royal blood, and of some distant relation to Kit which she didn’t quite understand. Their faces reflected kindness and sympathy for what Kit was about to endure while her mother’s expression was nothing but business as usual.
Kit waited for the queen to gesture for her to be seated on a bench at the foot of the dais which raised the throne several inches off the floor. Kit took her place on the seat, brushing her skirts out around her legs and trying not to fidget as she waited for the queen to gather her thoughts. Sometimes, she knew this process was only to make her, or whomever Rona was about to address, nervous--not because the queen didn’t know what to say. Today, Kit expected that was the case, so she began to count, a way to pass the time without letting her anxiety override her.
At thirteen, her mother cleared her voice. “As you know, your Proem Ceremony is to be held the day after tomorrow, the day after your eighteenth birthday.”
“Yes, Mother, my Queen,” Kit replied, swallowing down the fear that threatened to climb up her throat.
“I regret to inform you there has been an issue with the royal physician, Mikali, and the council members and myself have been meeting in order to come up with a fitting solution. Never in all of our years has such an occurrence taken place. It is unprecedented, and we have searched royal decrees to find an answer but fallen short.”
Kit wasn't sure what this would mean for her ceremony, but fear made her stomach twist into knots.
If the physician didn't perform the ceremony, who would?