The throne room had a subdued buzz about it. It had been several days since the empress last held court, which had been enough to lead a few folks to start mumbling concern about what was going on, or if something terrible had happened, despite no news of new attacks coming about. Of course, before all of this, there were times when Nunnally would go a week or two without holding court and no one would bat an eye. What would the empress need to bother with complaints about trade issues, state disputes, when she was busy managing a war effort? The act itself was nothing more than a salve to the very real fears of what was to come next.
The exercise lasted an uncomfortable three hours. Nunnally didn't say much during the court. She sat with a gaze that bellied agitation, even though her words and tone were as careful and caring as accustomed. Even so, each moment felt like a tick closer to this all becoming a transgression she would find unacceptable. Her father was known for cutting his courts, as infrequently as he bothered holding them, short on a dime if the topics and issues proved too dull for his taste. Implicit was the idea that he had better things to do with his time. Certainly, Nunnally had better things to do here, and few could fault her in that thinking. So, each moment spent litigating arguments that seemed infinitely petty compared to immortal monsters carving up pieces of the world for themselves seemed like a stressing of whatever patience she had left.
The Nunnally who held court nowadays seemed to be angry all the time. She hardly spoke, and her entire countenance was like a poisoned thorn bush. She was never one to be thought of as scary. But there was a biting chill many sensed from her now. Her father had it – that sort of imposing sense you were on thin ice with him no matter what you'd done. It was a stifling feeling of constantly having your head on a chopping block. It could only be called fear.
It was possibly worse with her than it ever was with her father. With Charles you at least knew where you stood, the likely punishment for displeasing him. Because she was quiet, because she didn't have outbursts in public where she vilified or demeaned her opponents, because she had yet to exact vengeance masked as punishment on anyone to cross her or upset her, it was a constant fear of what would happen to the first to cross that indeterminate boundary. It made her obvious anger that much more haunting. None wanted to be the first to taste her wrath, so they kept quiet and stoically delivered what reports and information was asked of them; delivered their duties quickly and directly.
Yet, three hours was no artificial endpoint. All the scheduled grievances were heard, and a response given; two states arguing over reciprocity and remittances between one another, farmers wanting increased land grants, among other issues. The land grants issue was a particularly touchy one. It was one of the last topics raised. A poll of those present likely would have shown that many thought to see Nunnally's eyes and nostrils flare, but her patience in hearing the argument, and then in rendering her verdict, did not belie the same fury.
It was known that Britannia was not in need of increased food production – the empire had a very healthy surplus. The want of those advocating for greater land grants was an end-run around her policy with regards to other nations. They wanted to use the promise of food to bind other nation to Britannia's will. They saw the current global upheaval as an opportunity.
Creating a larger surplus would drop prices on agricultural goods, below their already very low prices. That would make them all the more appealing to those nations not wanting to involve themselves with Japan or those nations on Greater Britain's doorstep. The fear of if and when Marrybell would expand her dominion was a persistent fear, and if a nation could secure food and agricultural imports from elsewhere, all the better. Nunnally initially calmed these concerns of the world nations by pledging to share with any nations who were truly impacted by Marrybell's actions.
If Britannia now turned around and started increasing food production in a large way, it would signal the impression of there being a problem, sending nations and markets into a panic. Suddenly the very cheap and available food would be very expensive, and potentially scarce, as nations rushed to buy up stores for fear of some event that was not even truly thought to be imminent.
Nunnally used the term "carrion crows" in private to describe not just these group of farmers, but individuals in similar economic positions who had been petitioning the government in the last weeks. She'd asked C.C. rhetorically what it was they thought they would truly gain, given their assertion would presuppose Marrybell, Euphemia, Shirley, were intent on burning them all to ash in due time anyway.
"They are worthy of contempt," C.C. had said shortly before the last time the two talked. "But don't be too harsh with them. It is a form of fear, after all. They don't know what else to do, so they cling to what they know how to do, which is make money. They can't fathom the situation as it is, so they cling to the most basic of outlooks, striving to make a profit from this situation. They know how terrible it is to do, but they can't think about it for fear of thinking how powerless they are."
"Is this my fault?" Nunnally asked in response. "If I were stronger, if I could do better to reassure them, would they not have a reason to make such foolish demands? But how can I reassure them of something I have no confidence of myself?"
"You are young, and new, so that's to be expected. Give yourself a little more credit, though. You've shown a lot of poise and patience, even in your moments of anger. No one has ever had to deal with a situation like the one you face right now, so don't fret too much about how others see you."
She'd heard similar, unprompted, affirmation from Cornelia and Suzaku. But it rang a little less strongly from them than it did from C.C. It wasn't that she didn't believe them or anything like that. But it meant something else to hear C.C. say it. That was the sort of affect she received from C.C.
Cornelia was her older sister, by more than a decade. She was stern, could be taciturn. She was a necessary strength, Nunnally knew, to reinforce the backbone of Nunnally's own seeming soft and genial nature. Suzaku was her knight, sworn to protect her and watch over her by Lelouch. That was a burden placed on him since she was a small child.
But there was a refreshing lack of the same bonds between her and C.C. Yes, she and C.C. did talk a few times at Ashford Academy. But it was a whimsical thing, C.C. toying with Nunnally's lack of knowing who C.C. was or what Lelouch was doing – nothing to call the striking up of a friendship or anything like that. And she knew how much C.C. loved Lelouch. There was that too she admitted to herself.
She'd mused on a couple occasions how much like a cat C.C. could be at times. She could be playful and affectionate, she could be mean and hiss at you, she could run off when you weren't looking, and come back expecting you to feed her whenever it suited her. Yet, for all her whims and moodiness, you knew where you stood with her most times. You had little trouble believing in her or abiding her bouts of selfishness.
It had been several days now since Nunnally had seen C.C. She assumed to some degree that it was nothing more than the usual capriciousness of C.C. She was sure that C.C. was doing the best she could to find an answer to the troubles that were consuming Britannia, so she wasn't too concerned to miss C.C. for a day or two. But days of hearing not a word, not seeing a strand of her green hair, seeing the box remnants of a devoured pizza, it made Nunnally a little sad. She hadn't realized how much she had come to rely on C.C.s' presence, her counsel, and friendship.
"She'll be back soon." Nunnally thought to herself. "She's just off somewhere. But she'll come back soon, and then we'll talk about all sorts of things, and we'll figure out how to stop all this madness, and we'll laugh. Still… it would've been nice to talk together today. I held court, and I was able to go through the whole thing. I'm confident I made the right decisions, and Cornelia and Suzaku said so too. But, I wonder what she would have said?"
"At the moment, there only remain three bases in Russia, Turkey, and Moldova, that must complete their evacuation. Passage has been made for them to complete redeployment well within the target period," an officer stoically reported after the rest of the guests at court were let out.
It was the report of the military and intelligence bureaus regarding her last orders regarding the Alters. When the decision had previously been made that Britannia was withdrawing from their military bases in and around the areas under Marrybell's ostensive control the hope was that Marrybell would leave things at that and not pursue them any further. That so far had seemed to be the case. Still, the military wanted to adjust its footing. Nunnally was adamant that any movements not stoke the impression they were preparing a counterattack against Marrybell, and the military brass agreed. Leaving these three bases was part of a strategy of better situating their overall foreign force.
With eyes that looked deathly cruel and cold, Nunnally asked, "Is there anything else?"
"Not at the moment, your majesty," the officer replied. His voice seemed to quiver. Few thought it possible years ago when she ascended that the empress would be capable of causing men to tremble with only a look. Was this progression, or regression?
"Her majesty thanks you for your report. You may take your leave. Do any others wish to speak now with the empress? If so, step forward now and voice your business, else this court is at an end," the chief of staff declared. The officials gathered in the throne room before Nunnally held their lips tightly pursed.
They waited for the tense moment to pass, to be formally dismissed from the audience with the empress. Until recently it had been a mostly relaxed, joyful, occasion to hold court with the empress. Nunnally's gentle affect, her kind demeanor, her calm yet passionate approach to all issues, made even the most complex and difficult problems seem like something that could be solved with relative ease.
"You seem tired, your majesty. Would you like to rest?"
"What's Nina doing?" Nunnally asked her attendant, seemingly ignoring the question posed to her first.
"I'm told she's just arrived at Ser Asplund's lab this morning. They have immediately begun analysis of the remains to determine the viability of a countermeasure."
"And the FLEIJA assessment?"
"Your majesty?" the attendant started, hesitant to even utter the word.
"The FLEIJA assessment?" Nunnally repeated, clearly agitated.
"Y-Yes, well… the science department currently under Lady Croomy has yet to complete their report. However… their determination, I'm told, is likely to be that it would not be successful. They lack certain data to be definitive, so the report will not present a clear opinion, I'm told, but they foresee several issues.
"Primarily, there is the issue of delivering the warhead without it being prematurely destroyed. Secondly, there is the unresolved question of whether her immortality would merely revive her anyway even if the delivery is successful. Criticism of such a course will also be a concern. As her majesty is aware, the FLEIJA would utterly destroy the city, and take the lives of everyone there. Were it to do so yet fail to kill her…"
"I know that much already," Nunnally said cuttingly, without raising her voice. "Sorry… it's not right for me to get frustrated with you. Please forgive me."
"Think nothing of it at all, your majesty."
"I'll be in my chambers. Please let me know if there are any developments."
"Please, a moment, your majesty. You have a guest who arrived about halfway through while you were holding court. They are patiently awaiting in the reception room."
"A guest?" Nunnally pondered aloud.
Angela Driscol had been Nunnally's attendant for most of the time Nunnally was on the throne. After ascending, Nunnally went through three attendants in eight months. It was a chore finding the right person for the job; someone who at times could serve as an adviser, at others a chef, at others a maid, and still others a nurse.
Generally, Angela preferred to be neither seen nor heard. She enjoyed being responsible for Nunnally's daily needs, and had even come to be regarded as part of her inner circle. She did, after all, know about Geass. But she had nearly quit on finding out. She considered it all far too above her, too extraordinary. But Nunnally liked her. She was gentle, considerate, conscientious.
Odd as it may seem, Nunnally's only complaint was that Angela wasn't more forceful with her. Nunnally didn't like pushing her own feelings of anguish or grief on others, and it made her feel particularly bad when she did so with Angela since she didn't push back and tell her she was wrong, or even show that her feelings were hurt or anything like that. She accepted it all, and that didn't seem right to Nunnally.
But, Angela was more stubborn in her ways than one might expect. She didn't lecture Nunnally about manners or scold her for being unkempt or for being messy – it was hard to criticize her for those things since she was rarely if ever any of them. But she didn't have any desire to criticize or condemn her for sporadic bouts of losing her temper and raising her voice a little. She didn't have the heart to tell the Empress that she found it more funny than scary to see her get upset, since she didn't have any real fear that Nunnally would ever cause her harm.
As Angela rolled Nunnally's chair to the reception room, she wondered if perhaps she should have used a little initiative to tell Nunnally's guest to come by another time. Even so, she was sure that Nunnally's weariness was as much a product of her relative isolation as it was her workload. Angela didn't presume she filled any of the voids in Nunnally's heart, despite how often she seemed to be thanked for being by Nunnally's side by those who did. Nevertheless, she was sure real friends could do a far better job.
"Uh… um… hi," Milly said, awkwardly unsure of how to necessarily greet Nunnally.
"M-Milly!?" Nunnally exclaimed.
Reuniting the two, Angela excused herself from the room to let them have their time together. She proceeded through the halls back the way she'd just come, on her way back to Nunnally's chambers. She imagined it would be a while yet before Nunnally would be set to return, anticipating her reunion would take some time. But she also imagined that the empress would be genuinely worn out by then. She'd more than likely want a bath, something to eat, and shortly thereafter to get some sleep.
A door opened, and out stepped a tall man with golden hair. He was a handsome man, with an irrefutable air of intimidation and importance. Angela stepped aside and gave a slight bow. The young man glanced her way and stopped, offering her a small smile before speaking to her.
"Hello, Ms. Driscol. Lovely to see you again. Tell me, how is Nunnally doing?" he asked.
"She's well, Prince Schneizel. She is receiving a personal guest at the moment."
"Is that so? I'm pleased to hear that. Heavens know my sister could do with a little respite from these long and troubling days. I sincerely hope she's enjoying every precious moment of relaxation she can find. Please continue to look after her, would you?"
"Of course, Prince Schneizel. I will be sure to relay your warm regards to her majesty."
"Please do," Schneizel said with a wave, heading along his way.
Angela couldn't deny the feeling of her heart skipping a beat when speaking with Prince Schneizel. He was such a dashing man, and the way he spoke was so enticing. Yet, she didn't really like him. Knowing what he'd done, having found out sometime after she first learned of Geass, made her a little disgusted that he was allowed to get away scot-free… well, almost scot-free.
Ever since Nunnally's ascension, however, he'd proven to be quite reserved. He was hardly heard or seen for the most part. He assumed a role of Prime Minister in Nunnally's regime, greeting and negotiating with other governments on Britannia's behalf. He was ever loyal to Nunnally, and regularly stopped in to see her or inquire about her well-being. But Angela couldn't remove the suspicion that he was plotting something again.
"I suppose at some point we all become shadows of our former selves," she softly mused to herself as she continued walking towards Nunnally's chambers. She stopped again when she noticed the maid staff passing by, inquiring if they'd already made their stop in Nunnally's chambers. Affirming as much she continued on.
"A moment if you would, Angela," a voice called to her. It was fairly quiet in this part of the palace right now, so his voice had a slight echo to it, carrying a little far. The way he'd raised his voice said he wasn't accustomed to these halls.
"Can I help you?" Angela asked politely as she turned to see who was jogging her way. She recognized him almost immediately. They were students together at university about six years ago. They hadn't crossed paths too often, but they had several classes together. She'd seen him only a few times over the years since then; Jeremy Cross. She hadn't developed a good impression of him from the things she'd heard. When they were students his existence was indifferent to her. But in the last few years it sounded as though he'd gotten involved in some relatively sketchy business.
"It's been a while, Angela. Do you mind if we talk in private a little?"
"I don't have much time," she half lied. She didn't like to lie, in part because her mistress was far too good at knowing when you did. It was easy to be dissuaded from the practice when she could catch even the smallest fib as easily as if you came out and told her yourself. Nunnally would tell her not to lie in that soft sort of motherly tone she could sometimes get, which was a bit frustrating given she was the younger of the two, but Angela accepted it eventually that lying was just something not to do with her.
"That's fine. All I really need is a moment anyway," he insisted. He always was a bit stubborn.
"What can I help you with then, Mr. Cross?"
"I would like to arrange an audience with her majesty, if you would be kind enough to assist with that."
"I think you've made a mistake. I'm merely her majesty's attendant. If you would like a private audience with her majesty, her Chief of Staff would be the one you should speak with to setup something like that."
"Come on, Angela. I know it'd be easier going through you. You're one of the closest people to her majesty. A good word from you is worth all the gold in the world to her majesty."
"I thank you for the praise, but it's undue. My proximity to her majesty is a product of the task I'm entrusted with. We are not as close as you would seem to think," she flatly urged. That was another half lie.
"But you do speak to her, even if just a little, right? Then that puts you closer to her than 99.9% of the people in this city."
With an exasperated sigh she asked, "What is this about?"
"Do you know what it takes for a person to become a demon or an angel?"
"Is this riddle time?" she asked, uninterested in the word games. She suddenly recalled he was known for beating around the bush a lot back in his college days.
"A stroke of a pen," he said as if proud of the quip. She was sure she'd heard it somewhere before but didn't care enough to recall when or where.
"Ah, okay," she dully answered. Jeremy frowned at her.
"Erica did say you'd become somewhat stiff," he sighed. "In any case, our empress has ultimate control over the nation, regardless of what powers she's ceded to us bureaucrats since her ascension. That means that whatever ruminations us politicos may have in public or private are meaningless unless she herself hears them. Vetting before a Senate hearing or committee meeting cannot compare to having a direct audience with her majesty. However, under the situation we find ourselves, when her majesty should be receiving as much input as possible, she is receiving even less than before. I'm not presumptuous enough to assume that mine is a voice suited to swaying our nation, but I do believe it would do well if I could impart some of the Senate's wisdom to her directly."
"Such bull," she thought. "It couldn't be more obvious he's planning something. Is he involved in this mess somehow?"
"I do have to admit, it's strange to see you in this role," Jeremy remarked. "Erica's a regional governor now. Given your skill and intellect, I would have assumed…"
"Mr. Cross," Angela cut him off. She'd grown even more exhausted with him, and he was starting down a path she wasn't interested in travelling down at the moment. "I maintain that I am the wrong person to ask for a meeting with her majesty. You need to talk to the Chief of Staff. I will, however, mention to her majesty that you are seeking an audience. Just don't expect much to come of it."
"I thank you, Angela. And I'm sure all of Britannia will thank you one day."
"I doubt that very much," she said dismissively in a soft voice as she walked away.