AUTHOR'S NOTE: For Day 2 of AU Week I bring you a Regency/Royalty AU with Queen Victoria and Lord Melbourne parallels. Caroline is the newest and youngest Queen of England; Klaus is her Prime Minister/Head of Parliament/private political advisor of sorts whom she relies on for council and advice.
(P.S. Thank you to itv's Victoria for this unprompted Vicbourne obsession of mine. I wasn't prepared. *cries*)
Enjoy!
xx Ashlee Bree
"And we are quotation marks, inverted and upside down…trapped by lives we did not choose."—Ignite Me, Tahereh Mafi
The stringent 1838 world they inhabited fashioned everything like a corset: sophisticated yet taut, smooth but confined. Yanked proper until it looked flawless on the outside but felt much too cramped within, society arranged and compiled every aspect of their lives neatly into sets of threes: Child, adult, elder. Aristocrat, politician, commoner. City, village, country. Castle, cottage, hovel. Church, state, ethics. Affluent, stable, impoverished. Bachelor, spinster, widow. Single, engaged, married. Refused, arranged, selected. Decorum, respect, civility. Love, hate, indifference. Honor, duty, sacrifice…And so on and on so forth.
Though it organized life in a structured, straightforward way, it also left few airy loopholes for those who wished to live free from disgrace. There was no comely manner of moving in or bending out of these categorical cages. Too much fear abounded. The threat of ruination was too great. String-tugging stays secured and cinched and bound them all like shrinking waists, the scandal and stigma of impropriety keeping most people knotted into place. Pinned down. Their lungs parched and gasping with want they'd never taste.
How could one manage to smile in civilization's garment when it left such little room to breathe? How could one dare to care about anyone without restraint? Particularly when human sensibility remained constricted behind tulle skirts, satin finery, patched petticoats, or pauper trousers not by choice but by necessity? Duty? Responsibility? How could one muster enough enthusiasm to celebrate the coronation ball next month when tears threatened to spit from the eyes of the country's newest (and youngest) reigning queen?
Youthful and unseasoned, sagacious, and kindhearted, Princess Caroline Elizabeth Adelaide Forbes of Kent and Strathearn was no older than eighteen when the velvet carpet of queendom trundled open before her slippered feet. It was at that age the trumpets beckoned for her to come. Rise. With no co-regency in effect, she ascended to the golden throne of the United Kingdom of Great Britain directly after her mother's death. And she did so with resolution, poise, and reserved sorrow. No public tears.
The kingdom was hers to govern. All hers.
And although she was barely of age, tenacity and independent will flooded her with the courage to succeed. Alone. She believed she could be the strong and compassionate leader her people wanted. Needed. She would be. She had vision. Ideas. Many contentious plans for improvement.
Unfortunately, almost as soon as Queen Caroline assumed office, politicians, legislators, acquaintances, and distant relatives alike broached only one subject without cease: marriage.
The Queen needs a husband, they all argued, the Queen needs a man by her side.
The country's mounting debt and social unrest became secondary in comparison to this issue. An oversight which the young monarch thought erroneous, negligent, and supercilious. Not to mention preposterous!
It was not that she was averse to marrying someday should she find a suitable match, but where was the rush? She was young. She had time and plenty of it. As for affection, it already abounded in her life in a manner she could control. Did she not have pets? Friends? Companions? What need had she for a stiff, ironed-out husband who heralded from Germany or France, then? There were larger concerns to correct at present besides that of her marital status.
Moreover, it angered Queen Caroline that all of these people presumed they had the right to tweet darling suggestions in her ear like little birdies. They wanted her to marry perhaps, but to marry someone of their choosing. Not hers.
It reminded her how cramped and unvarying her decisions felt, how nothing—not the polished sapphire crown that pinched her ears, the firm cushions that pressed into the lumbars of her spine; not the stalwart statesman, ladies in waiting, servants, or royal relatives; not the laws or the mores or the customs; not the newspapers or the public's scrutiny; not the private grief she hid—nothing in this noble existence permitted her any space. Not one single inch.
Queen Caroline was a laced corset unable to wheeze. And her heart, enclosed, could not explore. Never could it roam free. No, forever was she bound by obligation and dignity.
Contentment seemed unlikely in this mossy, rolling land with its limitations stifling the lowest of peasantry all the way up to the privileged aristocracy. And on some days, it teetered nearer and nearer toward fancy. Fantasy. The rigidness of English society stuffed in everyone's misery with zippers, Expectation doing its best to smother the internal squeals that could fracture convention in fight, fight, fight.
The question was: when would someone find the courage to try again? To either fail or succeed?
With the country and its loyal subjects devoid of faith for a more prosperous future, they scanned the cloudy skies for a shred of belief they could pocket and follow like cookie-crumb sunshine attached to a string. To where could they turn? A manufacturing town? A farming village? To whence could they flee? To what bill or amendment could they cling? To whom could they look, their desperate souls still grasping for hope?
All of these wretched questions they asked, but not one of them looked for the answer in the right place. Not one of them considered the uncultivated passion and potential brewing in the breast of England's newest queen.
Queen Caroline and Lord Chancellor Niklaus Mikaelson, private political advisor to His Majesty the Queen, spent the morning in one of the larger parlors in Buckingham Palace discussing the upcoming Cabinet meeting. Lots of paper scribblings with bullet points that detailed the country's financial figures and areas of discord populated the room. Ink and pens littered mahogany tables everywhere while pieces of parchment laid crumpled in balls on the floor. Heavy earbobs were stuffed behind sofa cushions and half-nibbled cucumber sandwiches floated in empty teacups waiting to be eaten.
Together, the two comrades donned thinking caps and drained hours of sunlight ironing out the precisest of details. Crouched over writing desks or lounged back against ottomans, they drew diagrams in the air with fingers. Argued about policy, propriety, practicality. Quizzed each other on argumentative tactics for and against. Sipped copious amounts tea to stay awake. Alert. All of it aimed not to strengthen the young woman's Better Housing Initiative, but to calm her fidgety nerves. To make her more sanguine.
By the time the clock struck noon, the Queen's head ached. She was exhausted. Worse, her heart was weary.
"Perhaps you should grapple with the Cabinet members instead?" she said, scraping a yawn from her mouth. "Go in my place?"
Lips pursed, the Lord Chancellor shook his head. "It is not for me to attend today, Ma'am, but for you."
"I don't understand why!" Queen Caroline grumbled. She lifted bleary eyes from the table and stretched her arms over her head. "You're the infamous political lion, Lord K, not me."
It was the truth.
Lord Chancellor Niklaus Mikaelson, or Lord Klaus as he preferred to be addressed, clawed and chipped and chomped his way through the hierarchy to assume the highest ministerial office in the country not inherited by birth: Master of Parliament.
Although no older than thirty-two, he believed in nothing but the words written in the constitution. He lived by them. Committed himself and his life to upholding its ordinances and principles with honor, integrity, and severity at all costs. (The latter becoming the catalyst that peppered his reputation in contrary opinion). Some called his methods cruel or callous; others likened his maneuvers more to calculation. All were intimidated by his tireless persistence to prevail. He refused to lose; rumbling and snarling until opposition surrendered, stamping initiatives into law that upheaved controversy across the kingdom.
Regardless of personal opinion, it was his diplomacy in conjunction with his renown rhetoric and spellbinding oratories that had kept in power, largely unchallenged, for the last eight years now. He was an animal; he was a genius. He was a law-whipping legend tittered about all throughout Europe and he was devoted to his Queen. Like a sword, he was on her side. Always.
"Perhaps you are no lioness yet, Ma'am, but you will be," Lord Klaus assured her.
"That's easy for you to say."
"Is that not why you summon me here so frequently?" Queen Caroline lifted round eyes to his face. "To learn the secret of the roar?" he queried.
Intensity flickered at him from blonde eyelashes as she shouldered past him, a small smile dancing across her lips, "I suppose so…"
"Then in time, you'll learn."
"Again, says you," she said. "You're not the one who has to convince a bunch of bumbling Cabinet poppycocks like Lord Saltzman that a female monarch is capable of innovation. Or of repairing this crumbling empire without a man."
She collapsed back against a floral settee with crossed arms and a frown, her lilac gown billowing around her in cupcake folds. Doubt subduing her natural buoyancy.
"You will conquer them."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because you are divine," Lord Klaus replied bluntly; tenderly.
Their gazes—steady and piercing—locked from across the room at his breathy delivery, flushing both of their cheeks. The Queen parted her lips to respond but words tumbled back down her esophagus, plummeting quick, like a swoon, past her knees.
"You will enchant them all. It will not be difficult, I promise you."
Her breath hitched. "It won't?"
"No."
"Whatever you do, Your Majesty, stay regal. Let dignity infiltrate your speech, stature, and demeanor and you will be fine," instructed Lord Klaus.
"Anything else?"
"Do not let them see you flinch," he said. "Keep your head up and your thoughts trained. Focused."
"How about I wear my crown and smite them all with my high-born chin and lifted nose (powdered to hide all the freckles)?" she quipped. "I'd much prefer to turn them into Parliament salt."
"Speak firmly and clearly, but with a cool, rational tongue—only a touch of heart," he continued, not heeding her commentary. "It is imperative that you appear confident before them this afternoon."
"When is it not?" Queen Caroline groaned.
"Do not let them monopolize the discourse. This is your initiative and they are gathered to hear you, not the other way around. Be audacious. Take charge. Make them hear you."
Adorned in a royal blue frock coat with a matching double-breasted vest and a cream-colored cravat, Lord Klaus paced across the plush carpet in assured, graceful strides; hands clasped behind his back.
With a hand plopped under her chin, she studied him closely. Curiously. Eyes tracing along his strong stubbled jawline and down his lithe form like a soft broom. Sweeping away the lines that creased his forehead in an effort to reconcile the formality of his speech with the expressiveness of his face.
"Try not to betray any glimmer of intimidation or inferiority, or they will use it against you," he cautioned.
"Naturally."
"And make sure you smile," he added.
The Queen inhaled sharply at this, her gaze narrowing as a scathing comment slinked its way to the tip of her tongue, seconds away from diving off. "Pardon me?"
"I said smile," Lord Klaus repeated.
"No—you mean simper. You want me to simper. Lovely," she added with a harsh laugh.
"It's more that I want you to beam."
Accusation sprang forward from her in joust. "And that's somehow better?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"I'm sure you do," she mumbled.
"What is it, Ma'am?" Concern creeped into his voice. "Is something troubling you?"
Queen Caroline plucked at a loose stitch on an embroidered cushion with her index finger and sighed, looking irritated; feeling forlorn.
She missed her mother.
Consumption had stolen her away the day after the she'd come of age at eighteen and it was too soon. Much too soon. She still needed guidance, ached for unconditional affection. Longed for forehead kisses that tucked her under a warm duvet for the night.
On days like this, in moments of confusion or distress, she longed to curl her head in her mother's sleek, chiffon lap again and fall asleep to velvet fingers stroking through her hair—how seamlessly they always kneaded worries free from her young mind, smoothing nightmares away like trifling wrinkles; how they always padded her bleeding heart full of comfort all too precious, but all too often overlooked. Loss never failed to spiderweb across the Queen in gaping scars still unhealed when reverie preoccupied her…as she remembered with love, as she remembered with sadness. It hurt. The emotion sliced far and deep inside of her in moments like this—shallowing breath, ensnaring thoughts in the kind of tragic longing never to be remedied. Never to be defeated.
She would miss her beloved Mama just as much today as she would tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that…forever. For although nearly ten months had passed now since her her death, the pain still felt rough against the young monarch's chest. Fresh. It would not abate.
Her mother's steely yet sensitive presence still permeated the ornate palace walls in shadow and silhouette where she once lived. Her last words still ghosted across her daughter's memory every day. Like tickles from a dove feather, they hushed sleepless fears; strengthened courage:
"There is greatness in you, my daughter;" Queen Elizabeth had begun in soliloquy that somber October morning, her last,"and so long as you stay true to yourself, you will do extraordinary things. You will invoke hope and change. You will make this whole country burgeon with the kind of pride I carry for you every day I live on this earth. You will be brilliant."
"The time has come to let others revere your radiance now, my child—" she'd continued, "be not afraid to shine. You may be borne of noble blood, but remember that we are all made of the same flesh and that we all have goodness buried somewhere deep inside our chests."
"Be prudent and strong. Be tolerant. Be kind and forgiving. But most of all," she'd murmured, her voice growing weaker; fading, "know that I love you and I leave with you the courage to follow your own heart. Find a way to be happy, my daughter. Be happy."
Queen Caroline cherished these final words, tucking them into heart pockets and carrying them with her always. Her mother's final goodbye had shielded her in warm armor, the kind she needed in order to triumph over the brutal aristocratic world in which she not only lived…but reigned.
"Only harlots simper to broker money for services, Lord K. Harlots," she answered at last, her chin elevated.
"I think you misunderstood my meaning, Ma'am…"
"No, I think I understood you perfectly, sir," she hissed. "Perhaps I'll flutter my eyelashes? Twirl hair around my index finger? Or maybe I'll just crinkle my little nose for extra effect, hm?"
"Shall I show you how I'll do it—" she advanced, the purr of her tone wafting across the air to prickle his ears with seductive sharpness, "how effortlessly I will unfasten their locked minds like my fingers could unknot a cravat?"
Uncomfortable, Lord Klaus cleared his throat.
"That's quite unnecessary," he stated. "On all accounts."
"I don't see why…"
Head tilted like a viper, mouth curling with sin, challenge, her tongue glided over her bottom lip as she pressed her bosom into the armrest in an effort to highlight her corset cleavage. The Lord Chancellor gaped for a moment, wide-eyed, then glanced out the window at the shrubbery. Tugging hard on his shirtsleeves.
"As nothing but a young, inexperienced female, I am bereft of intelligence, am I not?" Queen Caroline parried. "Is that not what you think? Is that not what you ALL think!?"
His nostrils flared. Anger drained into his complexion.
"Of course not. I—"
"But docile charms…" the Queen continued, a scoff rolling across the carpet of her tongue, "oh, yes, those are bound to sway government officials my way, surely! How brilliant!"
"Pardon me, but—"
"Flirtation? Seduction? Compliance? Ha!"
The Lord Chancellor's jaw clenched as she cut him off for a second time. He bit down hard on his tongue. Waiting until she finished.
"How dare you propose that I degrade myself in such a manner! Are you out of your senses?" she exclaimed haughtily. "I can read tomorrow's newspaper headline already: Coquettish Queen Curtails Legislation. Sounds great, doesn't it? Exactly the impression I do not wish to make, sir."
A shadow paced over his face as his pacing halted, his voice low and ashen. Like an extinguished flame.
"Do you truly think so low of me, my Queen?" he asked. "That I would stoop so low?That I believe your brains to be less beguiling, more unmerited than your beauty? Do you?"
Queen Caroline perceived the brokenness in his tone, the hurt that snuck out from behind his teeth like a drawbridge. But with hostility boiling her veins like a cauldron, she refused to wobble to it. Or to him.
"I don't know," she clipped.
"You don't know." A harsh, gravelly laugh escaped him as he raked a hand over his face and turned away. "Yes, well, what you do not know and all that you never perceive is obvious, indeed, Ma'am."
"And what is that supposed to mean, sir!?" she countered aggressively.
"That I—" Lord K hesitated. "You cannot begin to comprehend how much I—to think I'd ever ask you to—that I don't wish to strangle any man who dares—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she rolled her eyes. "Just say it."
Anguish snaked through the fingers that scraped through his scalp long and hard and fast, curling them into claws. It slurred his speech in hesitancy and restraint as the seconds of strained silence piled between them like sediment.
"I am a fool," he began again. "The kind of fool that—no. No I—"
"Speak!"
Her heart quickened into a horse gallop the moment he pivoted back around to face her; for although his feet remain rooted to the carpet like a tree and he took no step forward or backward, his entire body shuddered as if he were a branch praying for lightning that would strike him free. Adrenalized hail pattered from behind those heady steel blue eyes of his. Pouring out in muted monologue. His lips twisting and contorting to try on all kinds of fine-sized words, but ultimately finding none that felt satisfactory.
"I cannot," he answered at last. He dropped his head and sighed. "I am not at liberty to explain."
"I deserve a better answer than that, Lord K," Queen Caroline scolded. "In fact, I demand one."
Swept up in some internal maelstrom, Lord Klaus hardly heard her.
Storming across the room with hands balled into fists and his jugular vein swollen and undulating in his neck, the floor swallowed his polished black boots to crater him in personal abyss; the bookshelved walls enclosing—smashing him into dutiful little slits. He looked ready to obliterate the grand piano into shards at his feet with one harsh blow. To detonate himself a new world, one much more remiss.
Dangerous silence stretched between them as he clawed the fabric of his coat. Scraping hard and rough for something…self-control.
"I am sorry if I offended you before, Ma'am," he began after two deep breaths and a low growl. "I—I only meant to suggest that you do your best to remain unaffected before the members of the Cabinet later. That you not permit them to see you distraught."
"The loveliness of a small—your smile," the Lord Chancellor clarified, grinding his teeth together to temper the fervor that threatened to lurch out and scald her, "would shield the bastards from perceiving the burden of duty and responsibility you must bear every day. Alone."
Flustered and ashamed, Queen Caroline blushed, puffing out nothing but air.
"Oh."
Posture rigid, he faced away from her and stared into the fireplace, stewing in silence. Reflecting.
"I didn't mean to overreact. I just—"
"You are under a great deal of pressure, Your Majesty," he interrupted curtly. "I need no explanations."
"No…I'm sorry." A deep sigh escaped her. She banged a palm against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. "It is not excusable for me to snap at someone whose council is crucial to me—whose presence I seek out daily. I depend on it. I depend on you," she explained.
"You have become invaluable to me these last months, Lord K. Where would I be without you? Who would I be?"
"Better off, I reckon."
"Please don't say that," she rasped.
Remorse, tinged with something else, tremored in Queen Caroline's voice as she shuffled and leaned forward in her seat, her eyes reaching out to him like a pleading hand. Desperate to grab him by the coattails and wrap her arms about his waist. To make him understand.
"You are an indispensable part of my life now and I…I need you."
Lord Klaus dropped his chin to the floor and made a noise somewhere between a sigh, a hiccup, and a hum as she spoke. He compressed his lips together, reining in some emotion she couldn't see.
"Please forgive me, Lord K. I'm so sorry! I know I'm a royal migraine sometimes, but…" she paused, half-panting with worry and anxiety; her chest heaving from some strange shiver that creeped the 'what if he never turns back around again' air out of her lungs and pounded an erratic pulse in her ears, "but I promise Crabby Caroline is gone for good now. Just—just please don't forsake me? That would devastate me immeasurably," she said.
He addressed her tenderly as he placed a hand over his breast. Almost as if he were swearing an oath.
"Don't worry, Ma'am," he breathed, "I'm not going anywhere."
"You mean you're not cross?" she asked with surprise.
"With you, my spirited Queen?"
Dimples dented his cheeks as he strode before the floral settee on which she rested and extended his right arm with gallantry, her violet-gloved hand soon finding solace in his warm grip and steady eyes. Bowing his head, his lips pressed a token of fidelity and devotion against her silky knuckles in answer.
"Never," he said.
I think I'm going to develop this into a two-to-three shot? I want to flush out more of the forbidden love aspects and to have an excuse to write a coronation ball...because Klaroline + Dancing = YES!
Thoughts? Thanks for reading! xx