Chapter 9

"The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go." – Richard Bach

When Andy first found out she'd be queen someday, she'd grinned a happy gap-toothed smile, then blithely dug back into her piece of cake. Her one concession to this knowledge became placing crowns on her dolls, which she proceeded to marry off to a long line of frogs, the abundance of which made this exercise never ending. Each marriage was fleeting, inevitably the frogs never staying too long, however, they didn't seen unhappy in their time of matrimony, always choosing to come back. So Andy, with a child's simple logic, determined that marrying a queen must be a pleasing thing.

As the years passed each newly learnt edict challenged this ideal, and yet she stubbornly clung to her lone conviction – one day, she too, would find her frog.

One that would never leave.

Realm – Ashadriel – Just over 247 years ago – Andrea's 18th Birthday

Frowning hard in concentration Andy examined her reflection, hoping her persistent stare would change it into what she wanted it to be. Sighing gloomily she trailed her fingers through the water, watching her reflection slowly ripple, re-settling into exactly what it'd been before.

"Do you plan to sit and sulk here all day or will we be graced with your presence prior to the celebration?" The gentle admonition made Andy glance up at her mother.

Met by a quizzical look, she made an effort to plaster a smile on her face. "I'm sorry. I'll be there in a little bit, I promise." She lowered her gaze back down, expecting to be left alone. Time passed and when she didn't hear the tread of footsteps, she raised her head again, this time faced with a thoughtful stare instead.

"Andy." The queen approached her daughter, taking a seat beside her on the stone rim of the fountain. The action itself was not unusual, the queen often visiting the garden to enjoy her daughter's lively company. What startled Andy was the nickname falling from her mother's lips, the use of which Isabella herself forbade so long ago. "What is it? All I've heard for the last nine moons is how you couldn't wait for this day to come. Yet here you are, sitting in this very spot all morning, looking as though the weight of the world rests on your shoulders."

Andy's eyes welled up at this accurate assessment; instinctively turning away, she hoped her mother wouldn't notice. A sigh, followed by a gentle nudge of fingers on her chin, moved Andy's head back into the path of warm concern. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

Her mother's worry pushed Andy over the edge, twin drops spilling over to slowly trickle down her cheeks. "Did someone upset you? Hurt you in some way?" The queen's tone remained gentle yet conveyed not only how troubled this notion made her but that she wasn't prepared to leave until she had her answer.

Andy had to swallow several times before she managed to choke out, "No. It's nothing like that. It's just --" She stopped.

Her mother's look wordlessly prompted her to go on.

"I thought it would be…different." Pausing to suppress a sob she carried on. "More." Another pause, a broken half-sob this time, "I thought I would be more."

With both maternal instinct and insight borne of rule, the queen mulled over what to say before she voiced her question. "Who makes you want to be something you're not, Andrea?"

Andy looked down in silence, unwilling to discuss this topic. Several moments passed before the queen sighed, trying a different tactic. "What is it that you wish you had?"

"What they have."Andy gestured vaguely towards the village in the distance, trying to suppress more tears.

"And what is that?"

"Whatever makes h…" She corrected herself just in time. "…them be admired, wanted, seen." Each word dripped bitterness and resignation.

"Mmm, yes, I think I do see." Isabella hid a knowing smile, aware that in this moment it would be met with a hostile reception. Too lost in sombre thoughts, Andy failed to notice her mother's lighter tone. "And have you," the queen swallowed another smile, "let this person know how you feel?"

"No. What's the point?" Andy answered bleakly. "As far as they are concerned, I might as well not even exist. They'd probably prefer it."

"Then maybe you should let them know the truth. What if they feel the same?" Reassured that nothing major needed fixing here, the queen rose gracefully, bestowing her final words. "After all, life's full of surprises."

Following up with a very un-queen-like wink, she bent to press a kiss into her daughter's hair, confident that some passing fancy would likely be stammering their admiration into Andrea's ears tonight. And if that wasn't to be the case, well then, first heartbreak faded quickly; serving only to add to the layer "experiences" which formed the foundation of them all.

Flushed from the celebrations, full to the brim of hope and mead, Andy sped to the garden confident tonight her life would change forever. She'd mapped out everything in her head – there'd be a courtship followed by a marriage ceremony under her favourite tree, just the two of them (much more romantic), then eventually the public ceremony for show, and finally two children: one girl, one boy. Once Andrea ascended to the throne they would rule the kingdom together for the next…maybe two centuries or so – it was going to be better than any --

Her day dreams halted as abruptly as her body, which rebounded off something solid, landing her on her backside.

"Your highness, I apologise! I didn't see you…I…" The other body – a servant – immediately stammered his apologies, rushing to her side. "I'll have a physician attend to you immediately…let me…"

"Oh no, I am f-f-fine. R-r-really, I am fine." Andy stuttered in turn, perfectly aware that whilst custom bid this man to wring his hands in supplication, practically prostrating his body on the floor before her – the blame for this lay squarely at Andy's own feet. "It was entirely my fault. I was too busy thinking about --" Remembering exactly what that was brought another smile to her lips and hastened her uncoordinated rising motion. "Um…Samuel…I am sorry…really…I'd stay and help you clean up but I have something ever so important to attend to." The apology tumbled over her shoulder in a rush as she resumed her purposeful pace, aware she could not be late.

Eventually arriving at her destination, she nervously paced up and down the pathway, rehearsing over and over what she was going to say. Once her own repetitive litany started giving her a headache, she knelt by the koi pond, criticising her reflection for the hundredth time that day.

Hair? Curled and twisted up at the back in a loose chignon, several strands framing her face becomingly. Or so she'd been informed by everyone tonight.

Face? Andy grimaced a little. Apparently simply wishing to be prettier didn't work, but people had always complemented her eyes – the kindest there ever were (or so her mother told her). And kind was sort of, uh, nice.

Figure? She looked herself up and down. Well, at least the dress seemed to make the best of her poor lot. Though Chancellor Gershin had spent a portion of the evening talking to somewhere south of her face, so maybe things were better in that area than she'd thought.

Satisfied that her appearance was as good as it would get, Andy's dreamy thoughts turned to her first kiss. She'd heard enough servant girls giggling and gossiping about their own, even witnessed some peeking round corners; diligent notes later to be intently perused and practiced on the mirror in private. Would it be short and sweet or long and passionate? Pondering the merits of each one, she hoped to experience both.

But what if it was wet and sloppy, something neither of them enjoyed?

Instantly awash with all new fears, Andy decided that there was really no harm in practicing just one more time. Slowly lowering her face closer to the glassy surface of the pond, she stared hard so as her mouth looked just…right. "Oh…" Sighing the desired noise of passion, she closed the distance, allowing her lips to gently brush the cool and wet of her reflection's, just as a voice uttered acerbically,

"Is there a water shortage at the palace I don't know about? Or is there another reason I find you drinking from the pond as if you're some sort of wild animal?"

Andy inhaled a breath of liquid, coughing and spluttering immediately. "Umm…Miranda…" Wheezing she jumped up, practically tripping over herself in her haste to face the person she'd been waiting for. "W-w-what are you…I-I-I mean, you are early. I mean…Good evening…" she finished weakly, surreptitiously trying to clear her throat.

Miranda simply lifted an eyebrow; a look saying more than others using several words. Andy flushed in embarrassment. "Um…this isn't q-quite how this was supposed t-to go." Stuttering, she frantically tried to corral her thoughts which had, as they were wont to do around Miranda, scattered to every distant corner of her mind.

"Hmm…yes, I am sure." Miranda pursed her lips. "I often wonder if that phrase was invented specifically with you in mind."

Flushing harder, Andy knew her face had to resemble a tomato. Why didn't things ever go to plan? She was supposed to dazzle with her witty repartee, flirt shamelessly, confess her feelings, and then for the grand finale – procure a kiss under the moonlit stars that served to seal their love forever. Instead Miranda looked as though she'd rather be anywhere else, her face a mask of bored disdain Andy inspired with such ease.

"Was I invited here for the sole purpose of observing the momentous drinking feat or is there more, perhaps a bush requiring a nibble?"

The first prickle of tears stung Andy's eyes.

She wanted to stamp her foot, command the real Miranda the way she controlled the one in Andy's head. Better yet, she wished she could wave a magic wand and reverse the last few minutes, start again, make it go the way that it was meant to. Valiantly, she gave it one more try. "Well, what I wanted to say was…you know…it's been…I'm…I just turned…and I'd like to…"

Andy's pitiful attempts at speech petered out the second she realised she wasn't making any sense. Utter mortification made her hope for some hitherto unknown seismic event to split the ground open underneath her feet, ensuring that at least her pathetic efforts weren't the most memorable thing that night.

Miranda waited just long enough to ensure Andy had finished before applauding with a slow sardonic clap. "Bravo. Fascinating. No, truly. I can only hope this is the calibre of dialogue that we'll continue to experience for many years to come. Well, learning telepathy should certainly prove amusing, given that's clearly the key to understanding you."

The stinging in Andy's eyes considerably worsened, making her blink rapidly to relieve the burn.

"Is that all, Andrea? Because I really do have far more pressing matters to attend to. I believe Chancellor Ferdy's son was looking for company. He's only six but at least he's mastered the art of forming sentences." With that departing dig, Miranda spun to walk away.

Something ruptured inside Andy, triggering actions she hadn't known she possessed. Three strides took her to the redhead's side, the younger woman forcefully grasping Miranda's arm, pulling her around until they were face to face. "No." She said brokenly. "That's not all." And with that she grasped Miranda by the lapels of her jacket and yanked her closer, mashing their lips together by force.

She'd dreamt that the first kiss would be sweet and tender, gently conveying all the love that she'd been storing for years and years. Instead, it was full of anger and frustration – a powerful, painful yearning to have this woman acknowledge everything that lay within, all that she mocked and refused to see.

For just a moment it felt like Miranda's lips softened slightly, kissing her back, but the feeling was so fleeting that it might have been a mere fancy brought on by Andy's hopeless longing to have her desire be reciprocated. In the next instant Andy was vehemently flung away, Miranda erasing any visible trace of their kiss with a swipe of the hand across her mouth. Some emotion flashed in the depths of those eyes, one a distraught Andy couldn't possibly decipher, before all trace of it was gone, the blue reverting to its customary coolness.

"Well," the voice lowered to dangerously quiet. "You disappoint me again, Andrea. I had a notion that by now you might have actually accepted who you are and started to behave accordingly, but I see I was mistaken. I had so hoped to be finally faced with an adult today, one whose mother would be proud to call a future queen." Miranda paused, allowing her words to fully sink in. "Instead I see the same silly immature child who doesn't think twice about the consequences of her actions."

"I'm not a child!" The ragged shout was torn out of Andy; suppressed emotions clamouring within her chest allowing nothing else.

"Then stop acting like one." Miranda murmured. "What did you hope to gain by your actions? Did you really think --" Stopping momentarily, perhaps to gather her thoughts, Miranda continued to observe Andy dispassionately.

In that split second of pause, Andy, with a terrible moment of clarity, understood the next words would tear her apart. Her hands moved of their own volition, prepared to clap themselves over Miranda's mouth; her mouth formed syllables – begging Miranda to stop, not utter whatever was to be spoken.

As if aware of Andy's intent, Miranda instantly completed her thought, "that I would be interested in you?"

That one word – the utter contempt whose weight propelled it forward – tore right through Andy with power and speed, leaving behind a gaping bleeding wound. Her worst fears confirmed so callously unleashed the tears Andy had so desperately been trying to keep at bay, leaving them to pour down her cheeks unchecked.

Utterly unmoved, Miranda continued. "After all, we have so much in common. Perhaps we could talk about the edicts I spend hours drafting, the same decrees I've seen you cast side the instant that your tutors turn away? Or maybe we can discuss the works of Hyets, Predaer or Derst, whose tomes lie in your library untouched? And last, but not least, perhaps we can reminisce about Counsellor Charron's speech that he gave this very day twenty one years ago; the speech that inspired a ten…" She emphasised the difference in their age, "…year old to go into politics, that even now continues to inspire me still. I'm quite sure you remember the occasion quite well, don't you, Andrea?"

"I…" Andy fought to say something, anything, that would halt this immeasurable assault; allow her to salvage what was left of heart and pride.

Forestalling her again Miranda sighed, "No no, that wasn't a question," suddenly appearing unbearably weary, as though the tirade had rebounded to take an equal inward toll. Half turning, she quietly delivered her parting shot, "Grow up, Andrea. And quickly. Your deeds determine us all."

Her shoulders seemed to sag as she departed the garden, leaving behind a stillness broken only by Andy's agonisingly heart-wrenching sobs.

Isabella stared out of the window, her breath fogging the ornate glass. This small sign of life was a welcome counter point to the pain inside her chest which felt much like death itself had taken residence within her body.

"It is as we feared, your majesty." The quiet voice behind her barely registered, only confirming what she'd already comes to terms with in her own mind.

"How bad, Laurence?"

"Well --" He faltered.

Turning around to confront her physician, Isabella tried to muster a warm expression which near immediately twisted into a grimace as pain flared more brightly. "Come Laurence, we have known each other too long for me to believe you're suddenly afraid to speak the truth."

His answering gaze and consequent half-smile were infused with sadness and pity.

She cared for neither.

"You don't have to spare me – I know I'm dying. I've lived a long and fruitful life, there's much that I've accomplished. Remember what I've been and what I am and do not pity me for what's to come."

"The pity is not for you, your majesty, but for the rest of us. The pain will get progressively worse as this illness takes hold. You may be able to fool others but soon those closest to you will see what you've been trying to hide, and every day they'll have to endure watching you diminish piece by piece. Medicinal herbs will halt the progress, maybe for many years to come, but it will only stave off the inevitable. There is no cure, Isabella." His voice broke and he faked a cough trying to disguise it. "Not for the illness, nor for the sadness that I feel. Please, I beg that you don't ask it of me to pretend to not feel what I truly do."

The queen nodded her agreement, a poignant smile touching her lips. "You care too much, Laurence, you always have."

He flushed, his countenance openly reflecting love that he was constantly forced to hide. "I wish we had more time."

"I…" A knock interrupted, derailing both speech and pleasant thought. Isabella closed her eyes, fully aware this upcoming conversation would only bring pain of a different kind. Her advisor slipped into the room in silence, her eyes shooting sparks of stormy blue. Halting as she became aware of someone else's presence, she stiffened, giving the physician a cursory nod.

"Laurence", "Miranda". Despite the greeting's brevity, the non-formality conveyed a connection that went beyond the simple confines of those that served together side by side.

"I will take my leave." He bowed deeply as custom dictated.

"Thank you, Laurence. The matter discussed remains between the two of us for now." The unyielding tone brooked no argument.

"Of course, your majesty." The neutral voice revealed no hint of his emotion, the physician too practiced to make a slip in front of even those almost as close to the queen as him.

Forced to turn around lest she betray herself, the queen stilled her shaking left hand with the right, pinning it to the window sill the way she wished she could restrain her pain. She acknowledged that Miranda deserved to have Isabella face her, cursing the weakness for making that something that in this moment she couldn't give.

"We need to send word to Elnora immediately. Hand-write the missive expressing my deepest sincerest apologies for what transpired this evening. Please note there are circumstances I cannot disclose and assure her I will right the grievous wrong that was done to her tonight. Once you have finished, bring the note to me, I will sign and seal it myself."

"Yes, your majesty."

"Tomorrow you leave at dawn to deliver this missive directly to the queen. Your presence will serve to lend credence to this action, convey my sincerity in making amends. Of course, it is I that should be going in your place but --" Isabella hesitated, positive there were certain things she needed to know before Miranda could be trusted with the truth.

"Her majesty has never needed to justify her decisions to me." The stiffness and unusual formality were in themselves enough, but the unspoken discord lacing Miranda's tone pushed it beyond any reasonable doubt. Her advisor was angry and Isabella knew exactly why.

"You're right, a ruler never needs to justify, however when her actions are out of the ordinary, she should always explain." The familiar admonition carried a message Isabella knew Miranda still struggled to understand.

"No explanations are necessary." As usual, Miranda's antagonism was ice cold. "I did what I had to do."

"What you had to do?" Isabella's need for answers made her weigh up the consequences of revealing herself too early. Deciding the alternative was equally as costly, she turned so she could look into Miranda's eyes, carefully keeping the trembling hand hidden. "And you're so very good at following orders, aren't you, Miranda?" She mocked, knowing precisely where to strike.

Predictably, her advisor's face hardened visibly, becoming as rigid as the marble of the chamber's walls.

"We all saw the cost of your 'duty' earlier. Tell me how hard did you devastate her given that subsequently she wasn't able to issue one word of apology for her clumsiness, to a sovereign far greater than herself? I'm aware that you two have your differences but even you would be hard pressed to deny how out of character that was. Andrea may be gauche but she's never ungracious. Whatever you said to her now leaves us in a quandary of great magnitude. Elnora's temper is fodder for many tales. She does not easily forgive."

Miranda's jaw clenched tighter at the reprimand but she remained silent.

Seeing that guilt would not elicit the truth that she was looking for, the monarch changed direction. "What if earlier on tonight I hadn't determined her fascination was fixed on you? What if I hadn't taken you aside, given you direct instruction to reject her lightly? Tell me, counsellor, would you be in my daughter's chamber now, whispering sweet nothings in her ear? Infatuated already, still a child, it wouldn't have taken much to push that into love. Were you tempted, Miranda?" Isabella's voice was a melodic crescendo. "Were you enticed by the thought of being queen?"

An indecipherable emotion flashed briefly across Miranda's eyes before her features transformed into an implacable facade, the one even Isabella struggled to read. During political negotiations with opposing counsel this mask proved itself invaluable, in their current private setting – only troubling.

"We both know I would have done my duty." This time the glacial tone didn't disguise the blistering heat of fury.

Features softening, Isabella inclined her head in acknowledgement of Miranda's absolute conviction. Her burgeoning smile bore a hint of sadness for she knew first hand such principles carried a heavy price. "This is precisely why you've been chosen to be her First Advisor, Miranda, why I trust and value you above anyone else. You see what others don't, recognise sacrifices that require to be made; but while you execute my orders, you never leave doubt that each action undertaken is truly yours. This independence is something Andrea needs, will always require – far more solid substance than fickleness of fleeting passion."

Feeling another spasm coming, Isabella turned around just in time to conceal it, flinching at the scoring pain. Concentrating on simply breathing, as Laurence had instructed, she struggled to conclude the speech. "Take pride in what you are, Miranda, for not many so willingly accept what they must be. Often they require a thrust, and by its very nature, the gentler that action the less likely it is to propel them to their destination." Approval having infused her every word, Isabella fell silent, hoping she had succeeded in alleviating Miranda's dissonance.

When several moments passed and yet Miranda delayed her departure, the queen frowned at her own reflection, uncertain of what else either of them had to offer.

Finally, Miranda spoke. "And what if the destination isn't really of a person's choosing?"

The implicit meanings suffused the air between them, their weight impossible to ignore.

Isabella sighed, unconsciously closing her eyes to shut out the truth.

"Then we persuade them it's their only choice."