Chapter 19: Viktor Beker
Charlotte sighed as she draped a shawl over her shoulders and stepped out onto her balcony. The air was a bit colder than she anticipated, but she didn't care. The soft breeze felt good against her face. The air inside her room was starting to feel rather stale. She wouldn't even allow herself to be fazed by any soldier below if he yelled at her or not for being outside. There were extremely few pleasures she could take advantage of while stuck in her room. Enjoying an autumn breeze for a few minutes should not be on the forbidden activities list.
She stepped over to the balcony railing and glanced to the gardens below. There was a man tending to some of the shrubbery, though from what she could tell, he didn't seem to be having a pleasant time. He kept looking over his shoulder. Somewhere beyond her vision, a guard must have been watching him.
A shame I'm stuck up here, she sighed, if this been a ground floor, this would've been a great opportunity to try talking to someone so long as the soldiers weren't around.
The man was soon out of view and with no other exciting things to look at, Charlotte retreated back into her room but left the doors open to air it out some more. Her fingers rubbed against each other as she glanced about the empty room. Agatha had not come to see her this morning, and she immediately assumed it was due to the doctor's visit the day before. A soldier brought her breakfast, and by the plate presentation alone, she would have thought the same man prepared it as well. It barely looked edible and left her without an appetite. The tray remained mostly untouched sitting aside on a small table.
The idle day to day routine was starting to get to her, especially now that she didn't feel confined to her bed any longer. There was only so much sitting around her room to keep her occupied. And depending on Beker's mood at any opportune moment, she wasn't sure if she'd be allowed down to the library for some reading material.
Of course, that would entail having to talk to Chancellor Beker. Conversation with him was the last thing she really wanted right now.
The writing desk caught her eye and she hesitated before walking over to it. Her fingers eventually traced along the pen. She did bring a diary along to help document her day-to-day activities during the festival. The book hadn't been touched since the morning after the gala. There wasn't much of anything to write—she had already vented in length to the pages about her early impressions of Viktor Beker. She didn't want to waste her paper with every unpleasant encounter between her and the soldiers outside the room. And the things she really wanted to write down—her true hopes and fears regarding Hans—those had to stay private. It may be her diary, but that didn't mean she was the only one who would read it. It had been made abundantly clear that neither Beker nor his men cared about privacy and boundaries.
But… now there was something else she could write about. Her pregnancy wasn't a big secret anymore, thanks to the doctor's visit. The queen had plenty of thoughts and feelings about her pending motherhood; probably enough to fill several pages. She reached to the top drawer to retrieve the diary. Once it was sitting on the desk and she took her seat, she found herself hovering the pen over the blank page. Perhaps writing down her feelings in this manner wasn't the best option either. If Beker or any one of his men got a hand on this… would they use her insecurities against her? Against Frederick?
Frederick…
Charlotte slumped back in her seat and sighed. By now, she could only imagine what was going through his mind. Fear. Worry. She winced suddenly—surely, he would know by now that something was wrong. She was meant to arrive back in the Isles quite a few days ago. What was he doing right now? How was he coping?
Terribly, she imagined with a scoff, especially when she reflected on how miserable he was with her departing in the first place. I feel terrible for Astor and the twins. She sighed, they're the ones who probably have to keep Frederick's head on straight. Part of her wondered if Beker bothered to even contact Frederick or the other monarchs of the realm. If so, what did he say? What were his terms? She glanced down at her stomach and placed a gentle hand over it. Regardless if Beker wrote or not, Frederick certainly wouldn't know about this. That would be the last thing she'd want Beker to say on her behalf. How would she even break the news to him? Even in the best of times, it had never really dawned on her.
An idea came to her. Instead of writing in her diary, she closed the book and gently pushed it aside. The desk space was then filled with a stack of loose stationary. After dipping her pen into the inkwell, she pulled the first page closer and began to write:
My darling Frederick,
Charlotte immediately paused. Now what? She idly tapped the back end of the pen against the paper. Who would have imagined a faux letter being so difficult to compose? She had no true intention of sending this—or more specifically, asking Beker to mail it. For the queen, this was more or less a writing exercise to get her mind away from the stress of her situation. She supposed, in a way, that this would make for decent practice if she were reunited with her husband.
When. Not if. Important distinction. Another quick glance to her stomach and she sighed. Although… depending on how long when takes, I may not need to tell him anything. One look will make things abundantly clear.
After a few more minutes of pondering, her pen hit the parchment, and soon she had several lines of text going on the page. The more she wrote, the more the intent of her letter changed. Instead of it breaking news, she wrote about her first reactions; her private thoughts; her hopes; things she would normally be sharing with him in person if she could. Charlotte decided that she would write a series of these letters and simply hide them away, separate from her other journal entries. The pages could be the only thing to keep a connection with Frederick alive, and she refused to allow her unfortunate predicament to tarnish it.
I have to preserve what small joys this baby brings, while I still can.
Her writing quickened, and soon she found herself onto her second page. A breeze blew in from the open balcony, and she glanced outside for a few minutes before returning to her writing.
"…My darling Frederick?"
Charlotte immediately gasped and whirled around in her seat. The pen dropped to the floor in shock at the sight of Viktor Beker standing behind her with a light expression on his face.
"You!" Charlotte jumped from her chair. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her as she glared the man down. "What is it about boundaries and knocking that is lost on you and your people?!" She asked furiously.
Beker immediately unclasped his hands from behind his back and held his palms up to her. "I did knock. Twice."
"And I didn't answer!" Charlotte countered. "That gives you no right to push into a lady's chamber!" She didn't quite believe his claim. Was she really that engrossed in her writing that she didn't hear him? Not that it truly made much of a difference. Even if she answered, as soon as she knew it was him, he would've been denied access anyway. No doubt he would have pushed in regardless.
Beker seemed completely unfazed by her anger. "Well, you were ill for days. I suppose one could argue that I was making sure you weren't dead."
Her eyes immediately narrowed. "Yes, I can see the genuine concern all across your face." She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I'm in no mood to entertain the likes of you today." She angrily pointed towards the open door. "Out!"
Beker shook his head dismissively and reclasped his hands behind his back. "And here I came by on an errand of good will."
Her eyes narrowed, "There is no such thing where you are concerned."
He ignored her taunt and glanced about the room. His eyes landed on the barely touched plate and lingered there for a few seconds. "Are you suggesting that I should not congratulate you on your current…" he waved his hands about, trying to come up with the proper phrasing, "…being in the family way?"
"Why should you? It wouldn't be genuine."
Beker's brow furrowed slightly as he stepped towards her. "Why wouldn't it be? The gesture wasn't about politics. I was trying to be nice."
For every step towards her that he made, she took an additional one back. "You say that, but I don't believe it. You would never be 'just nice' without an ulterior reason."
His expression turned amused, "Yes, because you're suddenly an expert on me and my behavior." He cleared his throat and lightly shrugged his shoulders. "If you'd rather I didn't act civil towards you—"
"Chancellor Beker", Charlotte said with an exhausted sigh, "what do you want?"
"In truth, the purpose of my visit was to ensure you were still alive and well." He commented, "Now that I'm here, however, you've got me curious to what you were so engrossed in when I arrived." Before she could react, he reached over the desk to snatch up her parchment.
Charlotte realized what he was grabbing for, but she was too slow. The moment the page left the desk, she took hold of her diary before he could make a grab for that, too. "Stop!" She cried and tried to pry the page from his hands, but he shifted it well from her reach. "Give that back!" She watched with horror as his eyes slowly scanned down the paper. As if barging into her room wasn't bad enough, this was far worse, invading not only her privacy but an intimate bond with her husband. The further down the page he went, the more his expression morphed from amused curiosity to a more serious, pensive look.
"Oh, come now, Your Majesty, here I thought you would know better by now." His gaze finally shifted off the page and back to her. "No news from you will be sent abroad. This is…" he scoffed briefly, "a futile effort." He folded up the page and moved towards the fireplace.
Charlotte immediately rushed forward after him. "N-no!" Without much other recourse, she latched onto his one arm to stop his movement. "Please, don't do this." She could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest as her eyes locked onto the parchment clenched in his other hand.
"And why shouldn't I?"
She swallowed hard and could feel the lump forming in her throat. "You read it! You know there's nothing of value there—no dark secrets you don't want released." Her jaw quivered as she fought back the stray tears threatening to descend down her cheeks. Appearing flustered and weak before Beker was not something she ever wanted, but this one act, while insignificant to him, was too overwhelming for her. "Do you truly get that much pleasure in causing so much misery and hurt to others?"
"I have the satisfaction of knowing you're being kept in line."
"I've done nothing to you!" Charlotte cried and recoiled back when he wrenched his arm free, "and yet you've stripped me of nearly everything that I have. That—" her head nodded towards the page in question, "that represents what small joys I may have left. Don't take that away from me, please. I beg of you." Her eyes, watery and pleading, locked on his as she held out a trembling hand for the page. He still had it far from her reach, towards the flames. When he made no motion in either direction, she tried again, "…please give it back…."
He studied her face long and hard before slowly retracting his hand and moving the parchment to her awaiting hands. Hers trembled as she took the letter back and clutched it, along with her diary, to her chest once more.
"You realize…" he said softly, but sternly, "that your darling Frederick will never set eyes on that."
Someday, he will.
"I-I didn't write this to be mailed. I wrote it for myself." She pleaded. "But… you should never say never. One day when this is all over, he will."
His brow immediately raised, "how confident you are."
She shook her head. "Not at all. But I can dream. That might truly be the only thing left that you cannot take away."
"Is that a challenge?"
Her mouth opened but nothing would come out. She remained silent for a moment longer to choose her words carefully. "What happened to you trying to be nice?"
"I was. I could have burned that letter. You'll do well to remember that." He brushed past her towards the door and stopped when his eyes landed on the untouched tray once again. "You haven't eaten."
"I'm not sure I trusted what your men brought up." She retorted and glanced at the tray. "Half of that doesn't really resemble actual food."
"I think you're more upset because I cut you off from your servant." Beker crossed his arms and angled his body towards her. "You are no longer ill. The extra privilege is no longer required." He stared at the full plate. "Still… I can't have you starve to death-that is, unless it's your desire not to actually carry that child. Based on your miserable pleas for that piece of paper, I'd say that's not the case." He approached the door and rest his hand on the handle. "You're worth far more to me alive, so if you won't eat here, you'll just have to done with me instead."
She immediately recoiled back. "I'd rather not!"
Beker shook his head, "This isn't like our first meeting, dear Charlotte. Your right to choose has just been taken away."
"But—"
"I'll have someone come fetch you in time for the midday meal." Before Charlotte could even respond, he was out of her room and the door shut loudly behind him.
It was one-o-clock when General Andersen came to retrieve her from her chamber. The walk to the dining room was uncomfortably quiet. The halls were mostly empty except for a few soldiers patrolling about. She was able to count on one hand how many castle staff members they passed. Every single one of them pressed themselves up against the wall as she and the officer passed by, and it didn't escape Charlotte's notice how they all looked upon the general with genuine fear. It made her wonder how many times the man had been downstairs to the servant's wing, and how much trouble was stirred because of his, or his associate's presence.
When they finally arrived, Charlotte was surprised to find the large dining room empty. Beker had not yet arrived. To top the list of oddities, the general didn't even remain in the room with her. Once she was a decent way through the door threshold, he turned about and left. If it weren't for the soldiers flanking the entrance when she arrived, it would have been tempting for her to leave altogether.
Her eyes scanned the room. The table was completely bare. There was no clear indication as to who else would be attending this lunch. Were the other monarchs being forced to dine as well? Or would she have to suffer with Beker all alone?
Movement caught her eye from the far end of the room. The footmen were preparing to serve. When one young man caught sight of her, he nearly dropped the covered tray that he was carrying.
"Y-your Majesty!" He exclaimed in surprise and offered her a proper bow. "I-it's good to see you." He said timidly.
"Hello," she smiled slightly. She recognized him, of course, back when everyone gathered with King Wilhelm, Queen Helene, and the rest of the family for meals. If she ever learned his name, by now it was long forgotten. Such times felt like an entire lifetime ago, rather than a mere week. "A-are you well?" She asked, "Are you and the others being treated alright?"
The man nodded slowly, though he seemed hesitant to speak about their current captors for fear of being overheard. "We are, Ma'am. As well as can be expected."
She glanced around the table. "Do you know how many are being served this luncheon?"
"Er… I believe only two."
Charlotte's shoulders instantly slumped. Her worst assumption seemed to be correct. "Well then. Do you know where the 'lord and master' prefers to sit?"
The footman gestured to the one end of the table after setting his tray down. He didn't say anything else to her before scurrying out of the dining room.
Well…if he prefers the end seat, I want to stay as far away from him as possible.
Instead of choosing a place, she walked over to the serving table and lifted the domed lid. There was a large server of vegetable soup hiding underneath, and as soon as the lid came off, the smell immediately delighted her senses. It didn't take long after recovering the tray for her stomach to start growling. Considering that she barely ate breakfast, it was a miracle the embarrassing sounds managed to hold off for so long. She clasped her hands in front of her as she began to wander the room. The dining hall was part of an interior wing of the castle, so the few windows didn't offer up much of a view. Instead, she bid her time by stopping to admire some of the scenic paintings hanging on the walls.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see another group of servants entering the chamber, this time with their arms full of china, silver and glassware. She didn't know what time it was, but if Beker didn't show up in the next few minutes, she would eat without him. This wasn't the first time he made her wait for him, and she was growing impatient. Why schedule a luncheon if one couldn't bother to show up on time?
Her mind instantly flashed back to that last occurrence. The entire wait was a rouse to get her out of her room for a search. Her eyes immediately narrowed. If she got back upstairs to find her belongings snooped through again—
"Ah! There you are. I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Beker suddenly announced himself as he burst through the doorway. "My conference lost track of time."
Charlotte watched him cross the room to the serving table and lift up the domed covers. "I hope the purpose of this meal wasn't so your goons could get free reign to my chambers again." She said stiffly.
"Why? Have something else to hide?" He glanced at her with an amused expression that instantly faded upon catching the look on her face. "Relax, dear Charlotte—"
"-'Your Majesty'-" she corrected him.
"—They haven't stepped foot in your room." His free hand gestured towards the table. "Have a seat."
He made no move towards the table, so she went and found a spot towards the center, away from either end. Soon he was on his way back with a bowl of soup and a breadbasket. The bowl was gently set in front of her and the bread more in the center of the table. Any potential hope for this lunch instantly vanished when he returned again with his own bowl and pulled out the chair immediately across from her.
The meal was consumed in a strange mixture of fortunate and uncomfortable silence. On her part, she tried her hardest not to glance up from her bowl. The quiet between them was a little unnerving, but it couldn't be worse that whatever he had to say. With Beker, there would be no such thing as casual conversation. Even something seemingly harmless could have hidden meanings. Or worse, something she would say could end up being damaging in the future. If anyone could seemingly twist someone's words, it would be him.
"You're eating awfully slow." He broke the silence between them. "Is this not to your liking?"
"The soup is fine." She said quietly and took a small roll from the breadbasket. Her gaze was kept low, but in her peripherals, she could see that he had far less of his soup remaining. "I'm merely taking my time."
"Yes, I can see that."
"Why? Have somewhere to be?" She asked while reaching for her spreading knife and the platter of butter. Her voice turned rather dry, "I do hope so. I'm more than happy to do my part in slowing down whatever it is you're trying to do."
He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "An extended luncheon would hardly delay my schedule—but nice try."
"Hmmph," was all she said in response as she went back to ignoring him.
"You're awfully quiet." He commented once his bowl was completely empty. "Here I pegged you to have plenty to say."
"…I'm here to eat, not to socialize." She replied. "I'm not even present on my own accord. Therefore, I have nothing to say to you."
"A pity. And I thought we could have a civil conversation."
"…about what?"
"Anything you'd like."
Her spoon landed against the china rougher than she intended. If he were really trying to goad her into conversation, she would make it worth her while. "Alright," Charlotte exhaled, "Tell me then. What's the real reason you're doing this? When are you going to let the rest of us go free? What—"
His laughter interrupted her. "I said civil conversation, not an interrogation."
"Did you really expect much else when you gave me control of the discussion?" Charlotte sighed. "Why? Did you prefer us to discuss the weather? I can't say I've experienced much of it while being holed up in my chamber."
"So, you're subtly implying that you'd like to go outside."
Charlotte resisted the urge to groan. "What I want is to go home; for my fellow monarchs to return to their lands safely; for you and all of your men to leave this place and let Queen Helene and her family mourn their king."
Beker folded his hands in his lap, "that's quite the list. I'm sure you realize that you're asking the impossible."
"Why?" Charlotte asked. "Why are you doing all of this?"
"Because the realm is long overdue for a serious change."
"In what way? Everything was simply fine before you went off and murdered a king. Was that really necessary? Destroying a man's life, tearing apart a family just because the two of you had disagreements?"
Beker could resist scoffing. "It went far beyond petty arguments, my dear." He leaned forward and pushed his bowl aside so he could rest his clasped hands on the table. "The late-king and I go back quite a long way. He is the reason I am who I am today. None of this," he paused to wave a hand about in the air, "any of it, would be possible had it not been for him and his actions."
Her eyes narrowed as she stared him down. Once again, his words danced around her questions and he avoided giving the real answers she was looking for. "that doesn't explain what he could possibly have done to you." Charlotte said, "King Wilhelm was a kind and benevolent leader; well adored by not only his people, but nearly every other government across the realms. All the rest of us know is that in the course of a single evening meant to honor a man so generous and proud of his achievements, we were forced to watch him be murdered in cold blood—and for what?" Her arms crossed over her chest. "How do you expect anyone in this castle to cooperate with you when all we see is a villain?"
"You know, it's funny that you mention that word. Villain." He remarked, "Heroes and villains, like in fiction, no? I'm sure that's what's going through your mind. I represent evil, and you or your Prince Hans—even your King Frederick naturally represent the side of good." He chuckled and slightly shook his head, "Surely you must realize that the world is far from being so black and white."
"Is it?" She asked, "You have committed regicide. Your soldiers have been around torturing what's left of King Wilhelm's family, not to mention getting far too much pleasure in making the rest of our time in lockdown absolutely nerve-wracking. You have even gone to threatening me to submission. And you claim to not be the villain here? There can't possibly be anything in you that makes you morally grey at best."
The corner of his mouth twisted upwards as he pushed his chair back. "Perhaps it would make more sense if I could show you." He stood and walked around the table to stand beside her chair.
On instinct, she leaned her body away from him as he offered his hand to her. Her eyes lingered on the open palm before switching to his face. "What are you planning?"
"Only for us to take a walk."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"As if I'm giving you a choice. Or was it not your desire to get answers to your questions, or even to stretch your legs? You did express resentment to being locked away in your room."
"you can just as easily spill your inner secrets to me here and save yourself the trouble. I'm not that desperate for exercise."
"You'll be thanking me later." He replied and waved for her to rise when it was obvious that she wasn't going to take his hand. "And it seems the visual aide will better help you understand."
"I doubt that." She huffed and forced herself from the chair. His shy little smile widened as he offered his arm now. She ignored it in favor of brushing past him towards the exit. He easily caught up to her in the corridor, then proceeded to lead her towards the main gallery in the northern wing. Charlotte made sure to keep a decent distance from him while they moved through the winding corridors until they reached their destination. It wasn't lost on her how seamless his navigation was, especially for someone who didn't even stay during the entire harvest festival.
"How did you manage to learn your way around so fast?" She asked and almost instantly regretted it. The knowing smile on his face made her shudder.
"Well as I'm sure you can imagine, not everyone was holed up in one room or another over the last week." He opened the large gallery doors and moved aside so she could enter.
The room was large, and the walls were covered in portraits. Almost all of them were the same size and hung at the same height around the gallery. Each portrait had a small placard centered just below the frame.
Charlotte didn't wait at the door for Beker. She made her way to one corner of the room and took the time to admire the first subject on the wall. It was a renaissance style portrait of a man wearing such heavy royal robes that it was a wonder how he managed to make it through the sitting. Her eyes flickered to the name plate below.
Nikolas I, House of Edvard, 1463.
Her eyes returned to the canvas to get a better look at the monarch of old. He didn't bear any resemblance to King Wilhelm or anyone else in the current royal family, but he was certainly a handsome man.
She took a step back as her eyes followed the portraits on the wall. It was soon clear that each portrait added was the next in line to the throne. There was a clear styling and fashion difference between Nikolas I and several canvases on the adjacent wall.
For a brief moment, she had forgotten that she wasn't alone. Turning around, she half expected Beker to be standing right behind her, watching her. Instead, he was off on the other side of the room where the more recent Rheland monarchs were represented. She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her elbow. He seemed in his own little world, completely fixated on the most recent addition to the room.
Why drag me all the way here if you're not going to get to the point?
When it seemed that he wasn't going to address her on his own, she came up to stand just a short distance behind to see what had him so distracted. When her eyes landed on the portrait in question, they immediately softened. It was a much younger King Wilhelm, posed just after his own coronation like most of the other kings in the room, but she could see the familiar kindness in his eyes. A credit to whomever painted the piece. She found it beautifully done.
"Tell me, Charlotte—"
"—Queen Charlotte—"
"—What does monarchy mean to you?"
Charlotte blinked in surprise. That certainly wasn't something she expected him to ask. "Well… family; loyalty; duty; honor. There's an important role we all play: to have a connection with our subjects, to support them and their interests as they support us. We are their leaders, but without the people, there wouldn't be us."
Beker's eyebrow raised curiously, "Go on…"
She glanced at him. "As monarchs, we are accountable for the well-being, the safety, and security of the kingdom. The weight of that responsibility can be daunting. A good king needs to make decisions not for his own personal gains, but for what will serve his subjects best, and that's not always easy." She sighed. "On a more personal level, I suppose there's a bit of legacy to it as well. As a family, it's also our job to raise our children with the right moral values and sense of responsibility so when the time comes, they can properly govern over the people as their parents and ancestors before them. When you take pride in your family, in your duty, and in your kingdom, you do everything you can to preserve it. No one wants to be known as the crowned head that destroyed the land."
Beker shook his head slightly. "You would have a noble perspective on the matter."
"I am the princess of one kingdom and the queen of another. Did you really expect anything else?"
"Would you care to hear my views?"
"Not really." Charlotte sighed, "but I imagine you're going to tell me anyway."
"Power. Aggression. Corruption. Greed. That's all it really is." He replied. "It's easy for you to sing praises. The institution has worked in your favor for your entire life. You have been given a lifestyle of prestige and privilege. Take a look around this room, at these men and women dressed head to toe in silks and satins, gold and jewels. You all inherit these things over time, but how much do you think these luxuries truly cost? Those pearls around Queen Alexandra's neck could probably sell to feed an entire village for weeks. But that doesn't matter to you, I'm sure. The glitter, the grandeur, they're all displays of immense wealth, and wealth equates to power. You have never wanted for anything, but how do you think that reflects on real people? The citizens? The subjects? When you sit in your large, extravagant castles filled with every comfort that you could possibly imagine while the poorest practically beg along the streets for food? Or worse, for money, because they cannot afford a roof over their heads. The laws you people pass never really favor the real working class. Taxes are always higher the worse one's status, and they're always the ones made to suffer from decisions that don't affect the few at the top. If you halt trade with another kingdom, who do you think has to burden the higher cost of imports? When you declare war, who gets drafted to ultimately lose their life on the front line? Not your family. Never the 'Royal Family'."
"That's not necessarily true." Charlotte countered, "At least two of my husband's brothers play, or have played, active roles in the Navy. Should the Southern Isles been forced to war, I can assure you their ships would be out in battle along with the rest of the fleet." She crossed her arms, "Do you know what it sounds like to me?"
"Enlighten me."
"I think you're taking Alvania's long history with their monarchs and projecting that to believe every reigning king or queen behaves that way. It's true, your country has had its share of ruthless kings, but also generous ones, too. King Gustav ruled for several decades, and if I remember my history lessons correctly, he served your people quite well." Charlotte moved down a few paces to gaze at the portrait beside Wilhelm's. "And what of Queen Alexandra when you were under imperial rule? Surely, you're not comparing her reign to the barbarism of Alvania's royal ancestors—or even your last monarch, King Albert?"
Beker crossed his arms over his chest. "They both did their fair share of damage—he with his greed and squandering habits, and she with her coddling. Her government treated us like children in need of scolding. We lost our rights, our privileges, our voices. There was corruption under her, too. Instead of it coming from her direct hand, it was from the ministers she put in charge."
"You can hardly blame her for that."
"Why can't I? She did nothing to put a stop to it."
Charlotte shook her head slightly and took a moment to clear her head. The entire conversation had caught her off guard, and she had to really think back to the purpose of visiting the gallery in the first place. "I think we can stand here arguing the highs and lows of monarchy—or any government—all day long. But that's beside the point. What does any of that have to do with King Wilhelm?"
Beker gestured up towards Wilhelm's portrait. "Tell me what you see."
With a sigh, Charlotte took a step closer to gaze at the painting. "I see King Wilhelm."
"Oh, very funny." He said dryly. "Look deeper."
Charlotte shot him a nasty look, unable to imagine what he expected her to see. "I see a handsome man in his prime, starting a new important stage in his life. I see a man who would prove through the many years of his reign to be a compassionate king to the people, a gentle husband to his queen, and an excellent example to his children." She looked back and forth between the painting and Beker. The look he was giving her meant that wasn't the answer he wanted. She was still missing something—a detail he clearly wanted her to discover on her own. As if reading her thoughts, he stepped aside and gestured for her to stand closer.
"It'd be a lot easier if you just got to the point." She sighed.
"Where would the fun in that be?"
Charlotte's eyes scanned over every bit of the late-king's portrait. Her eyes eventually fell upon the painted eyes and hers froze. They were familiar. Too familiar. Her brow furrowed as her gaze slowly shifted from the canvas to Beker's face.
It couldn't be….
He wasn't looking at her, so she took the extra moment to study his profile. She never really noticed it before—the King Wilhelm she knew was a much older man who looked every bit his age. Even with a relatively peaceful and prosperous reign, time had not been kind to his physical appearance. But now, seeing him as a young man, there was no denying the unnerving resemblance between him and Viktor Beker. The facial structure, the light brown hair—
"No…" she gasped softly and covered her mouth with one hand. The night at the gala suddenly came to mind. She didn't have the best view of the ballroom's center then, but she didn't have to see everything to know what happened—to remember it. What she heard of Beker's angry words held mere contempt then. Reflecting now added an entirely new meaning and it made her tremble to her core. What she believed to be a largely overexaggerated grudge held far more personal weight than she ever would have imagined, and while she never condoned the violent ending of lives, she found Beker's actions to be even worse with this truth.
"…He was your father…" she managed to utter, not much louder than a whisper, "and you killed him." On instinct, she immediately recoiled back a step when his posture changed, though all he did was unclasp his hands from his back. He angled his body towards her and when she gazed upon the look on his face, it was a sickening smirk, almost gleeful.
"how does it feel, dear Charlotte, to know my dark secret?"
"Disgusting," She spat. "How could you?"
"How could I commit regicide? Or how could I bring myself to destroy my own father?"
"They go hand in hand."
For the first time since entering the room, Beker stepped away from Wilhelm's portrait to slowly pace about their half of the gallery. "You asked what my father did to seal his fate. Well it started long time ago, before the man would ever take the throne. He undertook a grand tour of all Rheland's territorial lands—which naturally included Alvania. It was no doubt one of the biggest events of the year, especially for a young, crowned prince about to make his first main impressions on his people." He said. To Charlotte's surprise, the usual bitterness in his voice was nowhere to be found. "Rheland proper aside, my father spared no expense when it came to his travel. He went everywhere. Oslo, Arventa, Densburg. He left his mark all over the other territory regions that we Alvanians actually looked forward to the day he would arrive across our borders. It was said that every major city in each of our regions prepared extensively to impress the future head of the crown. They were all slated for a visit."
"Then-Prince Wilhelm's tour was a great success." Charlotte spoke up when he seemed to have a paused, and when he raised a brow at her, she partially shrugged her shoulders. "I do know some history."
"History is subjective and almost always written and told by those in power." He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat. "You say it was a success because that is how Rheland reports it. We, on the other hand, saw things very differently. When Wilhelm finally crossed our border, do you know where he went?" He didn't wait for Charlotte to bother replying. "Heidelberg. They say he arrived by late morning, and before suppertime he had already crossed back into Rheland."
"Why?"
"Why indeed." He said firmly. "Now, I know you've never been to my country, so let me put things into perspective for you. Heidelberg is one of the few main cities in our southeastern region, and though it's probably half the size of Oskberg, here, the amount of people lining the streets made it feel like a capitol. But instead of treating our city like an official part of the tour, it was reduced to his rest stop, and we Alvanians got to see Prince Wilhelm for the man he was. A swine. He was more interested in entertainment and women than really undergoing his rounds of the city and beyond, to the rest of our land."
Charlotte furrowed her brow. "How did you learn all of this? You weren't even born yet. What you're saying sounds more like a personal account than anything you would learn by some tutor."
"It's not mine. It's my mother's."
Charlotte's eyes widened slightly, and she thought back to the ball. Beker mentioned her to Wilhelm—if only she could remember the woman's name.
"Katerina Beker." He said seamlessly, as if reading her very thoughts. "A nobody from anyone else's standards. An orphaned woman who worked for a living, as we common men and women must do. A barmaid in a tavern long gone by now, but for whatever reason, caught the eye of the visiting royal and his entourage."
Charlotte raised her brow skeptically and glanced back to the regal portrait. "I have a hard time believing a crowned prince would be comfortable settling in such a place."
Beker's eyes immediately narrowed as his head snapped in her direction. "Not everyone cared about class divides—and it's not as if Alvania was rich in exquisite palaces and mansions just to cater to a man's feet. Obviously, he didn't seem to care about where he spent his time, or who he shared it with, otherwise I wouldn't stand here."
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and watched him pace again as he continued to share the story of his parents' first meeting. When his movements brought him closer to her again, he pulled out his pocket watch and once it was opened, he turned it around in his hands to show her. There was a small drawing stuck to the lid—a woman. It didn't take long for her to realize who that was.
"She's lovely." The queen said honestly.
When Beker turned it back around to gaze at the image, his eyes softened. His fingers even traced along the outer rim of the watch. "She was, indeed," he replied. "They took her back to Rheland with him. She lived here, walked these very halls as we do now. My father tried to make her a member of court—something I'm sure your kind threw a fit about." He cleared his throat and stuffed the watch back into his pocket.
Charlotte eyed him carefully. "Did he love her?"
"Very much." He said quietly. "It was rumored he was going to seek her hand." He stopped before Queen Alexandra's portrait and glowered. "But he never got the chance. She forbade it. The institution rejected her because of where she came from. Because she was a nobody. The family couldn't stand the thought of an Alvanian woman becoming queen and did everything in their power to undermine her. She was no longer a human being with thoughts, feelings, and emotions. She was a threat, and their poisonous words easily tore my father from her side. She lost everything once word got out that she was with child. Courtiers forcibly removed her from the castle with nothing but some money and the very clothes she wore and sent her right back to Alvania. She had to scrape and save every penny she had for when I was born. She took me back to Rheland, to give us the life she hoped we would have. The life we deserved—"
It took everything Charlotte had not to let her jaw drop, especially once he spoke of how his mother was refused for the second time and cast out into the darkness. It came as a shock to her, and she couldn't believe he had the gall to portray himself and his mother as the unfortunate victims in this circumstance.
"Stop." She raised a hand to silence him. "You don't possibly mean to tell me that you both expected to be welcomed back to the castle with eager, open arms. Whether your mother wished to accept it or not, you were an illegitimate heir. Children born out of wedlock inherit nothing from their fathers unless they're accepted into the family. Clearly you were not. And that's not merely a rule among regal circles, Beker. That stigma trickles down even to the lowest of social classes! I don't believe this. You went through all of this trouble over something you were never entitled to in the first place!"
"Entitlement is the very problem here, dear Charlotte. Do you know what happens among the common folk when a woman loses her purity before marriage? She becomes a pariah."
"Yes, on that we agree."
"And yet, men of the aristocratic classes are encouraged to sew their wild oats. Just how much seed will one man spread before he settles with a wife? How many girls become saddled with fatherless children?"
"Now just a—
"—And it doesn't stop there." He said, taking a step towards her. "The higher the class, the worse the behavior gets. They do what they please, and when they want something, or someone, they take it. No accountability. No responsibility. No regret. Their hands get wiped clean after nights of passion and their lives simply go on while the fairer sex carries the burden of someone else's choices. That was my father. That was King Albert. That is the way of so many blue-blooded individuals throughout the realm that it's disgusting."
"You can't possibly generalize an entire class based on a select few individuals!"
"Don't act so surprised by it all," he jeered. "Your 'darling Frederick' is one, too. He was quite the womanizer. Do you know how many women he's entertained in his private chambers over the years? He could even be doing it right now—you've been in this kingdom for well over a month. A man like that could only manage so long before needing a release—"
"How dare you!" Charlotte glowered at him, her face red with anger. Her hands were forming into fists and trembling at her sides. "My husband doesn't even compare to the disaster that was your King Albert! Frederick is just. He is a man of honor. And above all, he is completely devoted and loyal to me!"
"Is he?" Beker sneered. "But what of you, hmm? You seemed quite adamant about not sending that little letter of yours. Is it because the child you carry belongs to another man? I wonder how fast your king's resolve would –" he didn't get the chance to finish his statement. In a fit of rage, Charlotte's hand swung out to slash him across the face with her nails.
"I love my husband. I would never dream of betraying him in such a way, and I won't stand here and listen to you try to drag our good names through the mud. We have nothing to do with this delusion of yours!"
Beker touched his fingers against his cheek. There were thin spots of blood along his fingertips. His brow creased as he then leveled her a harsh stare. "You're a part of the same institution, therefore you are all the same. It's astounding how easily your kind get chaotic. You said so yourself that family legacy and lineage were so important. One only has to question the legitimacy of your spawn before rumors start." When she made to strike him again, he quickly reached out to grab her by the wrists. She immediately tried to struggle free, but he held her strong and roughly pulled her to him. Most of the gap between them was soon closed off.
Charlotte let out a gasp as she was yanked forward. Her heart was beating madly in her chest as she stared at him. There was a strange look in his eyes that sent chills coursing through her, and the more she tried freeing herself, the more he tightened his grip. Her last attempt at space came when he leaned forwards towards her. She winced and angled her upper body back as far as she could without straining herself.
"It would do you well to remember, dear Charlotte, that your title means nothing here. You have no power. You are a mere woman under my control. This is your fate. The same as the late-king's family. Soon, it will be your husband's as well."
"N-never!"
"It is futile to resist." His voice darkened. "For far too long, your kind have taken too much for granted. We Alvanians had to give everything to our kings, and they gave back nothing in return. They are the ones who sparked our revolution—an incredible show of power—that even those who came from nothing could rise up and take back what was so rightfully ours. That is my story. I had little comforts growing up, but I did have my mother. She made sure that I knew where I came from; that I knew how much we had been wronged, and she urged me to rise beyond my station. To never take no for an answer. To not be afraid of change. She died when I was twelve years old, but her lessons, her desires stayed with me. I fought my way for the chance to learn, and I studied it all. History. Politics. Law. It soon became clear what the true problems were in Alvania. Corruption. Greed. Inequality. All of it stemmed from the imperial crown and their appointed governors. The solution was clear as day. Soon it was my voice that became the beacon for change, and the entire country rallied with me. Me. Another nobody with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Everything I did, I did for my mother's justice. For my pride. For the Alvanian people. And how poetic it was, for the discarded son of a king to rise and become the ultimate voice in a land now free. To stand in that ballroom facing my father for the first time knowing we stood as equals for that brief moment. But being equal was not enough. He had too much to answer for. His was the biggest lesson to learn, and it cost him everything. That is how it shall be from here on out. No more would the common man be governed by those above the law, above decency. The era of kings is at an end. First Alvania's. Now Rheland's. Yours, and the rest of the realm comes next."
Charlotte rubbed her sore wrists once she was back in the relative safety of her room. This was the first time she experienced Beker getting physical with her. It was obvious the man was truly passionate about his beliefs. Alvania didn't have the best record with their monarchs, and she could understand his desire for change. But one country's experience does not equal that of the entire realm. Comparing King Albert and so many ruthless kings of old to Wilhelm and even her own husband made her blood boil. She hardly believed Wilhelm needed to be demonized over one dalliance in his youth.
Poor Wilhelm wasn't the first reckless prince, and I'm sure as the world turns, he won't be the last. But people grow. They change and mature with time. That's what Beker fails to accept. Ever since he took over the throne, Wilhelm was a strong, benevolent leader. He didn't deserve such a terrible fate.
Charlotte sighed and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Part of her wondered how much of the man's story was true. He was Wilhelm's son, there was no denying that. But how much was told through biased eyes? It was his mother's tale, after all, and she clearly had a jaded opinion on the royal house.
He wanted me to know all of that for a reason…. She thought. But why? She felt a sense of obligation to find out the full truth. That wouldn't be easy. With the king gone, the only one who could possibly know about Katerina Beker was Queen Helene—and that was assuming she was even a part of Wilhelm's life during that time. Getting the chance to talk to her was a longshot. After striking Beker earlier, she doubted he would ever be accommodating to her ever again.
She didn't mean to rile herself up so bad. Hans had warned her before about picking fights and making friends 'the Westergaard way', as he put it. For the most part, she thought she was managing alright. But she couldn't allow Beker to make such terrible insinuations about her loyalty and devotion to her husband, nor Frederick's towards her.
"I don't know how I'll function without you.
How will I sleep at night without your warmth?
A blanket won't satisfy the throbbing of my loins."
Charlotte blushed as Frederick's intimate words suddenly echoed in her mind. Their last early morning exchange suddenly hit her hard, especially with Beker's false claims of infidelity.
He's only trying to get under my skin; to put a wedge in my marriage. She told herself confidently. Frederick said those things just to keep me from leaving. He knows better than to act on any urges. He would never betray my trust like that.
Her hands fidgeted in the pleats of her dress. The accusations still made her angry. Frederick was a bit of a lady's man years ago, but that lifestyle was given up long before they even met. And to hear that man claim that her husband was just as terrible and unjust as some of the worst monarchs in Alvanian history….
"He's wrong." She whispered out loud. "He's wrong about so much. I don't think there's any way to change his mind, and now the entire realm is going to suffer."
Beker's story was still fresh on her mind. It was definitely something worth writing down in her diary, to come back to later. Her thoughts on the subject could provide useful if she ever did manage an audience with Queen Helene. She stood and moved to the desk. Her diary was buried in the top drawer. She resorted to hiding it after the barge-in this morning. As soon as she pulled open the drawer, a new feeling of dread came over her. Contents of the drawer were all moved around. When she left her room earlier, the diary was completely hidden under writing supplies, but now she could see the cover, clear as day. Someone was going through her things. Again.
The diary was quickly pulled out and placed on the desk surface as she tried to take inventory of what was left. Nothing appeared to be missing. A search through the other desk compartments showed them all to have been gone through as well, but everything seemed to be accounted for. Her mind started to race. What could anyone possibly be looking for? She hadn't done anything to warrant a search, especially here. She hardly did anything at her writing desk. Even her last journal entry was made from the comfort of her bed.
The only time someone saw me working here was... Her eyes immediately widened as uncomfortable realization dawned on her. That was the only thing absent, but that's because it wasn't meant to be in plain sight. It was tucked away inside the cover of her diary, safe and sound.
Or was it?
Her heart began to thump loudly in her chest as trembling hands reached for the diary. The cover wasn't even pried open halfway before she let out a horrified gasp and dropped the book to her feet.
"N-no…"
Frederick's letter was gone.