De Author Seez: yes, finally, another update. Sorry it took so long. Hope you enjoy this one!
As always, more notes at the end.
As the days counted down towards to the opening of Summer Court, a special type of urgency gripped the palace. It wasn't the kind that had everyone and their second-through-third cousin scurrying about like mites over a tree branch; it was more subtle, and all the more strenuous as everyone involved – from the Royal Family down to the stablehands – labored day and night to project an aura of perfect calm and order even as sleep became a rarer commodity than unminted gold.
These desperate days in the palace would run something like this:
The Queen's Maid of Chambers for that day – the gray-eyed Shureen Amal, whom the Queen quietly nick-named 'the giraffe' for her towering height and easy grace, had that duty that morning – would wake a half-span before Six Bells Low rang. She would wash and dress herself with regimented ease, then hurry to the kitchen to pick up the breakfast tray before gliding to the Royal's chambers. She gained entry by tapping the necessary code into the lock, then eased her way into the stately rooms of Eternos' monarchs.
Normally the Palace Guard would have literally pitched a fit over anyone other than a single trusted Maid having such access; for five to have such would've surely been beyond all tolerance for the King's Man-at-Arms and his men, save for two mitigating factors. First, the four Maids tasked to the Queen (and by extension, her husband the King) were all women of both demonstrated character and trust, each known to both the Royals and Duncan himself. Second, each was given a highly individual code to gain entry to the Royals' Chambers, each of the quartet suspecting this but knowing better than to inquire.
There was a third consideration, one unknown to any save the Prince and Captain Teela: a number of small wards had been placed in the Royal's chambers by Teela herself. They were all subtle in their functions and singular in their focus, thus all the more deliberate and trustworthy for it; for example, food was 'tasted' by invisible tongues for poisons, and would immediately be made sour and rotted if such hazards were detected. It was both blessing and curse for the Prince and Captain to be such advanced ages as they now lived, having ample and broad experience with the many ways an adversary might seek harm to them and their's, and equally broad experience in thwarting them.
Shureen and her fellows knew nothing of these extra steps, and just as well or their collective nerves would've been set further on-edge at their suddenly expanded responsibilities.
As it was the Maid made entry to the Royal bedchamber and quietly set the breakfast tray at the foot of their bed, then glided to the Queen's side and gave a small shake of her sovereign's shoulder. "Your Majesty," she called softly. "It is morning."
A low, hostile grunt was her answer, which Shureen knew from experience was her Queen's confirmation she was awake and rousing.
The next words were not to the Maid, who busied herself retrieving the tray from the floor and balancing it on the great bed where the King and Queen took their slumber. Rather they were directed at the King himself, and spoken with all the faux-venom and weariness of frequent, nay, daily recital. "Get up, Randor. C'mon, rise and shine."
"You rise and you shine, woman!" This was the King's answer, which held no more genuine bile than did the declarations of a petulant child threatening to hold their breath.
"Neh to you," the Queen rejoined, as she did virtually every morning, sitting herself upright to take advantage of the breakfast tray.
Shureen had already quit the bedroom and gone to the privy, quickly and efficiently laying out towels, cleansing gels, and other basic toiletries. She then moved to the shower stall and waited for the tell-tale sound of clinking utensils on plates that the pair had finished their light breakfast. Shureen quickly activated the shower and adjusted the temperature to a tolerable level, then stood to one side as the King and Queen entered the privy, averting her eyes as they discarded their sleepwear and stepped into the shower together.
Gathering the discarded clothing, Shureen repaired to the bedchambers again, moving like a wildrider of old as she gathered the laundry and breakfast tray, stripped the bed of sheeting, retrieved fresh ones and quickly re-made the great bed to satisfaction, moved to the Queen's wardrobe and inspected the previous-night's selection of day dressings, pulling out the appropriate one as dictated by the Queen's schedule and the time of year (Marlena had made clear 'considerations' such as fashions amongst the nobility and such were not to be taken into account in these selections) and hanging it upon the dressing screen near the privy entrance. She hurried to do the same with the King's wardrobe, needing an extra moment to recall the King's own schedule and select accordingly.
She finished just as the King and Queen exited the privy, trying it seemed to rub each other's hair dry with the same towel. Shureen took a step back and waited to see if her aid was needed. That day it seemed the Queen was in need of it, and without waiting to be called the Maid moved around the dressing screen and delicately cleared her throat. Marlena shot her look of annoyance and desperate need, clearly stymied on doing up the side buttons of her petticoat. Shureen's practiced fingers finished the task without being asked, the Queen's beneficent smile of thanks worth the small effort.
There was a grunt of distress from across the room as the queen finished adjusting her shoes and ensuring the buckles weren't too tight. "Shureen, help my husband adjust his boots, then see to your breakfast. Lunch will be at Two Bells High today."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Shureen curtsied, then moved off.
"I don't need help," Randor faux-complained as Marlena made for the door.
"Yes, you do," she called back, then firmly shut the chambers door behind her, not wanting to hear whatever his response might've been that morning. Left to themselves, the pair of them could have kept the back-and-forth going clear to High Bells, and there was just too much to do that day!
The Queen breezed through the halls to her office, making it there just as seven bells signaled. The Maid of the Pen that day was the bespectacled Alyss Turuon, a cousin of Maureen Caltal's who never made mention of the fact yet matched her relation in dedication and competence. One might've thought the pair were engaged in some childish competition with one another, but Marlena knew better, especially given how often the cousin's covered and supported each other (never letting the other know of their respective efforts). Unsurprisingly, Alyss had already devoured the previous night's delivery of missives and letters, organizing the load into three distinct piles atop her own writing space, each held in place by a colored paperweight that denoted each's import.
The largest by far was held down by a small block of uncut obsidian were those judged so routine and pedestrian in content it almost constituted embarrassment that they'd come to the Queen. Those Marlena left to Alyss to dispose of with one of the pre-agreed responses reserved for the like.
The second grouping was of more middling height beneath a piece of rough-cut quartz. These were more thoughtful missives from writers – both titled and otherwise – who's questions and petitions were judged of merit but not pressing in consequence. Marlena would consult with Alyss in formulating a response for those, but required only the Queen's stamp rather than her signature.
The last was much smaller pile, topped by a violet-hued sphere of undefined crystal. These were pieces that Alyss dared not try her own hand in answering, the senders and content carrying such gravity only the Queen's own hand and signature would do. Of course Marlena would sound Alyss out on each and integrate her ideas, but in the end it would The Queen's response that would be returned.
Nodding to the second of her reliable helpmates in greeting, receiving one in return in lieu of a proper curtsey and bow – Marlena's first decree to her Maids was that normal courtesies were waived when it was just herself and the Maid in question; besides, Alyss was in the midst of scribbling notes relating to a pair from the second pile and Marlena was loathe to disturb her needlessly – leaving Marlena to fill a mug of cufful for herself and re-filling Alyss's own. The Queen waited until the Maid was done with her note-making before speaking. "Who are those two from?"
"Th' Ploughman's League an' one Dennac Hoult, Majesty," the Maid stated, her charming accent putting Marlena in mind of summer vacations to her grandmother's old farm in Tennessee. "Buth'r askin' fer petition t'set market rates on this year's sap'hoi ha'vest at 20 Marks a bushel."
Randor had been ready to agree to 25 Marks for some time and had merely been waiting for such a petition. Curiosity nevertheless prompted her to ask "Their reasoning being what?"
"Last seasons' crop was abundant, but perishable, as yu'll recall. Wahll, t'League's providin' better preserves this year after an effort, and seeks to reap more for it."
Marlena settled herself at her desk, reaching over to take up the third pile from under the crystal. "Makes sense, but what's Herr Hoult's interest?"
Alyss wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar honorific; it was the only way she expressed either confusion or irritation. The rest of the time she could have made the sharpest card-sharp green with jealously. "Hoult's petition is on behalf of th' League. He's even quotin' His Majesty's speech to th' Winter Court three seasons back."
"Impressive," Marlena conceded, turning her attention to her own letters. "We'll attend to those after I answer these. Have you eaten?"
Eleven Bells finished tolling when a discrete knock was heard. The Queen pressed her ring into the last of the replies just as Alyss opened the door to admit Cora Nihil, the day's Maid of the Desk. The woman was solidly-built as Duncan in his prime, no surprise given she'd come from the mining communities of the Western Ranges, but coupled this with decidedly mousey features that hid a first-rate brain.
"Morning letters," Cora ground out. Her youth in the mines had left her throat permanently desiccated, making her every word sound dust-dry and rasping. Even Himon had never found a way to help her in this, a fact that had led to the Crown intervening in the region and overturning generations of abuse by the landed owners. Cora's appointment to the palace was only occasionally decried by some, each of whom quickly shut up at the first glare from either of His or Her Majesty's.
"Thank you, Cora. The basket is ready for pick-up." Her Majesty nodded to the now over-flowing basket beside The Pen's desk. The exchange of one for the other happened in an eye-blink and Cora gave a proper curtsey to Her Majesty.
"Ah'll b'back at Three High," Cora stated, awaiting confirmation from Marlena.
"That will be fine," the Queen nodded, moving to sit beside Alyss as she opened the first letter. "Now, what do we have here?"
Cora let the door shut and ambled down the corridor to the Queen's formal office. She was unfailingly polite to her peer Maids and Clerks, but subtly-threatening to the Nobles and courtiers who otherwise attempted to fill the corridors with their august presences; she had yet to encounter a one who came out the better in those engagements.
Her only stop during this trek was to the King's private office. She was saved from having to knock as the door was just opening, Sir Teigh limping out a moment later. He look his usual contented self, which caused Cora's ears to immediately pick up. The elder peer was as formidable as they came, but to look so calm after a direct conference with the King himself?
Cora curtsied needlessly, Sir Teigh offering her a true smile in exchange and politely holding the door open for her. The Maid entered and curtsied again to Randor, who nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes, Cora?"
"Peh'tihshuns t'the Desk, Sire?" she enquired. Randor frowned slightly and hunted out three sheets of parchment on his barely-organized desk, handing them to Cora.
"Mark those for answer four or five days hence," the King directed. Cora took a moment to note the signatures identifying the authors of each, and couldn't help but sneer in disgust. "Exactly," Randor affirmed. "Make sure to mark them as 'unimportant' in your notes."
"Yes, Sire," the Maid nodded, shoving the parchments into her basket. "Will there be more?"
The King gave her measured look. "You're scheduled for your check-up with Himon?"
"Aye. Day affa' t'morrow."
"Return once you've collected the afternoon's missives. I might have an additional petition to consider."
Cora bowed, then turned to quit the room. She was just past the threshold when young Lefferts ambled past and gave the opening door a perfunctory knock. "You summoned me, Sire?"
"Close the door behind you, Lefferts," the King ordered.
Cora heard nothing further as she hurried the rest of the way to her own office, anxious to attend to the matters at hand. Upon reaching the office, she let the door shut half-way as both an announcement of the Queen's absence there, and a challenge for any who might otherwise disturb her work. Despite its title, The Queen's Desk was responsible for both His and Her Majesty's schedules, ensuring important matters such as market rates and educational curricula were hashed out with the correct people, while less-formal teas and conferences went on in the appropriate parlours. Her Majesty had only one hard rule when it came to those: only one tea to be scheduled in the Gold Parlour per day, and only every other day; she had no desire to render herself hoarse talking down the endless parade of fools who ended up there.
That day was comparatively easy for Cora to schedule out the next two days. Her going that far in advance was technically overstepping her authority, the Maid of the Desk's writ being to concern themselves only with the day to come and no further. She restrained herself from going further still only because there was no guarantee her assignment of the day would be extended, and so busied herself with making pencil notations stretching into the coming nine days. She likewise entered inked notations for the trio of petitions the King had given her, making sure to mark them in light red to denote their unimportant-to-the-point-of-embarrassment standing.
Once the schedule was completed, Cora turned her attentions to budgetary matters, mostly as busy work. The Royal Purse, which functioned as the Crown Reserve for solid Marks (both gold and silver), had yet to be touched this year, a sure sign as any the National Purse was on solid footing. Even the flurry of purchases for the Open Summer Court hadn't made a serious dent (yet) in the allocated funds. Cora took an extra moment to project against the vouchers the Prince had been spreading across the land, slightly surprised that even these didn't seem nearly as ruinous as first thought.
Indeed, the Prince seemed to be simultaneously generous and stingy in his Court-related purchases. If not for the fact Maureen was keeping him on a short leash, doubtless with Captain Teela's full awareness, Cora suspected the coming Court would have been fully provisioned and possibly even underway by now. It was most puzzling, and had Cora sitting there pondering it with greatest care and in greatest detail.
As it inevitably did when she set her mind to something, Cora lost track of time entirely. At least until a gentle yet firm hand shook her shoulder that she realized three bells were beginning to toll in the distance. She looked up in surprise at the sight of Duncan frowning down at her. "Are you alright, Cora?"
"Eh? Oh, yes. Yes, yes." She stood and moved to collect the now-filled basket of the morning and afternoon's correspondence. "Apologies, Sur. Need t'get these to the Queen."
"Of course," Duncan nodded politely, opening the door that the Maid could pass. She however stopped just short and nodded towards a leather portfolio that sat on an empty chair to the side.
"Sur, will be seein' Prince Ahad'm?"
"Aye."
"Could y'please take that t'him? S'a thing he asked of us."
"It will be my pleasure," Duncan affirmed, which appeared to satisfy the Maid as she hurried off down the halls. He quickly snatched up the portfolio, easily resisting the urge to look inside, and marched to the upper floor of the Eastern Wing. His promise to Cora had been unplanned, but proved a convenient move as he wanted to speak with the Prince anyway.
The halls in the Eastern Wing were a bit less busy than in the Western; it was somewhat more removed from the Court Halls to begin with, and more often populated by the Maid and Clerks of the Palace itself. Those Nobles and courtiers who came this way invariably had business of some sort that prompted a direct invitation, likely as not directly from Marlena herself as Randor preferred keeping the occasional nastiness away from where his family slept. Duncan felt an occasional stab of sympathy for those fools who thought, even after all these years, they could come out ahead against the Queen's wishes.
Things were bustling in the Eastern Wing that day, however, and Duncan found himself dodging more than one functionary moving to and fro, up and down, and every which way. It all felt as if the Palace whole was on-edge before some great development, and everyone was hurrying about in anticipation. Even Duncan himself felt…unsettled…from recent developments, and the fact Teela was continually making herself scarce around him didn't help matters.
Or, he reflected as he paused and looked outside, maybe everyone's simply trying to race the storm that's on the horizon. The damned sky to the east was looking blacker than freshly-dug caarb stone, and the air was so muggy with unshed heat it was a wonder anyone could breathe.
Shaking his head, Duncan continued on his winding path to the Prince's back office. He'd checked the internal monitors afore setting out on this trip, confirming Adam's location and pleased it was in the same general region as his original objective. Soon he was the door, which cracked open just a hair; whatever was happening, it must've carried some level of importance as Adam had always had an "open door" policy in all matters. Duncan paused a moment and tried to discern who was in there with the Prince, only to be promptly invited with a loud "Enter, Duncan."
The soldier in him straightened his back and pushed the door open, marching into the small office with all the gravity of a long-suffering minion before an unappreciative noble; the fact this was the Prince who made a point to remember the name and details of every Valet and Page's lives, always ensuring their family's ease and provision without being asked, made the scene all the more comical. Duncan and Adam had long ago agreed it was a necessary comedy in order to minimize the chances his secret might be divined by outsiders; more the fool them given how few insiders actually believed it in the first place.
"Your Highness, I come on personal business," Duncan declared, staring directly ahead whilst taking in the room's other occupants via peripheral vision: there was Maureen Caltal, newly-re-designated Maid of the Court, and with her was the fourth of the Queen's quartet, Charleese Wynton, that day's Maid of Stores. Charleese was a native of the equatorial islands, and her dark complexion and towering height stood out like an obsidian monolith amidst snow-capped hills. She rarely spoke, her native accent so coloring her otherwise-excellent Main Eternian some found her nearly unintelligible. The more foppish and foolish members of Court and the staff had occasionally made unflattering comments about her, some daring to go so far as the 'Ape Maid', only to see their places in the palace vanish almost as quickly as the comment was made.
Most surprising however was the presence of Lady Alaxhendra Honora, certainly the single eldest peer to still walk at Court. Her role there, given she was a widow whose heirs were her otherwise forgettable great-grand-nephews, was a living encyclopedia of Court precedent and conduct. It was hardly the first time she'd been in conference with the Prince, but to include two Maids in it left Duncan momentarily stymied as to what he'd walked into.
Adam, by coincidence or decision, relieved him of this conundrum saying "I believe we're done here. Lady Alaxhendra? We can finalize the issues of protocol tomorrow, yes?" The elderly peer nodded, then gracefully rose and left the room; the Lady Honora was never one to waste words in perfunctory greetings or dismissals, and certainly not amongst those she was comfortable around (a circle that included Duncan himself, the Prince and all the Maids and Clerks, but precious few others). Adam rose himself and addressed Duncan next. "Something at issue, Man-At-Arms?" he asked with appropriate gravity.
"Ah, yes. The, er, Maid of the Desk asked I give this to you," he stumbled, handing over the portfolio. Adam deftly took it in his left hand and opened it, examining its contents with a discerning eye. Clearly pleased with what he saw, Adam soon passed it on to Maureen, who likewise appeared pleased. It reached Charleese, who promptly scowled, but not in either disapproval or disgust. It was rather the scowl of one who dismantled a thing at a glance and could accurately weigh each component against the other by imagination alone.
The known truth was that women of the equatorial islands were builders by nature and upbringing, but it was the unspoken truth of Eternos was that it had been their hands, not mainlander Eternians', that had laid the foundation of every structure across the continent; they were not always willing in this work, and never had labored without the tip of weapon at their throats. Even great Grayskull made practice of this, although he was among the few to offer pay and shelter to the builders of his fortress, and saw to the few who survived when the work was done that they were returned to their homeland.
That was many ages ago, but even in this modern day the islanders rarely entertained others from the continent for long. Charleese was among the very few who did overcome their distaste of the land-born, but gave them precious little leeway for it. Most in the Court thought she was simply tolerated by the monarchs out of some vague sense of contrition; those who knew better, knew better and left her to fight her own wars in her own way.
Forcing those who would hear her voice to actually listen rather than simply hear was her most common tactic. "Tice shool reeq'wi'yarh du fowl bull fe un eneefrum," the Maid of Stores stated.
"A full bolt?" the Prince questioned.
"Ay-hi. Anufun dill'kah," she nodded, then gave him a measured look. "Afore jis don Kwrens furthen an Muhneen here?"
Now it was Adam's turn to frown. "Of course it's not just the five of you. I expect every Maid and Clerk to be attired so."
Charleese looked at the materials in her hand once more, then back at Adam directly. "Whur nee anovur…ven unt…no, nahk ip ven by frii bull. Ra dill'kay be buss."
Maureen rubbed her chin in thought. "Thirty bolts, of raw silk?" She shrugged. "We'll be emptying the market for this, but yes, it can be so."
"Then make it so," the Prince ordered. "Seamstresses and tailors will be needed."
Charleese shook her head. "Waa d'yiha moh a thed-hork?"
"Nothing, that's what you know," the Prince affirmed. "And that's as it should be. I'll come to you to build what is needed, when it's needed; everything else is for others to do. Make the arrangements with Maureen here for the fabrics, and she'll bring the ones to do the needlework."
Charleese nodded. Maureen took the moment to ask the obvious. "More vouchers, Your Highness?"
"Aye," the Prince ordered. "Use your judgment there. I'm…not sure I trust mine anymore."
Unseen by the Prince, both Maids and Duncan rolled their eyes at this display of doubt, but only the latter frowned and heard the reality to it. "Your Highness, a word please?"
Adam nodded and made for the door. "I'm expected at Himon's office now. Daily exercises," he added indicated his still-lame arm. "Maureen, send word before lunch tomorrow on costs for the materials and whoever we're having do the work. Charleese, see to the rest of the arrangements." Adam moved to the door, then paused and gave both women an intense look. "Both of you are to eat lunch afore continuing the day. Am I understood?"
Both Maids dutifully curtsied, which elicited another mutter of dismay from the Prince as he left the room, Duncan trailing close behind. He closed the distance and said in a low voice "There was a day, lad, when you could balance the books with your eyes closed."
"Those days are still with us, old friend," Adam smirked tiredly. "It's just been too long awhile since I've had to do so, and I'm at danger of simply emptying the Treasury these days. Better I leave the work to those who know it better."
Duncan sucked his teeth at this, uncertain what to make of this admission, choosing instead to press on with his original concern. "Your Highness, about Teela…"
"She's been avoiding you as if you were pocked-faced and about to bleed all over, am I correct?" The Prince sighed and shook his head. "I've beseeched her to speak with you since we came…awoke. Yet she's avoided you day and night, yes?" He stopped short and motioned for the pair of them to move to a nearby alcove so they would not block the corridor's unending traffic. "Duncan, I'm at a loss here. She's cagier than I've ever seen her…"
"Since when?" Duncan asked, fearing confirmation of his suspicions on just how long a span Adam was thinking.
"Since we first awoke here, actually." The Prince gave him a frown that was equal parts indulgence and irritation. "What were you thinking?"
"I…never mind," Duncan shook his head.
"I can't order her to do anything, you know that." The incongruity of the statement nearly had them both laughing, save for the deadly earnestness behind the words. "I dare not even try issuing a Royal Summons on her."
"Surely she wouldn't ignore that?"
"Of course she wouldn't ignore it," Adam hissed, clearly scandalized at the suggestion. "She would, however, extract fair payment for it. And I - unlike you, old friend - I'm the one who has to live with her now." Duncan winced, his parental hackles rising at the declaration of something no father wished to ever be confronted with. Adam was not so dense that he missed the distress his words caused his old friend and mentor, recalling a few choice incidents from his own life that left him with exactly the same look on his own face.
"Sorry about that," the Prince attempted to apologize, only to be waved off by a still-wincing Duncan.
"Say no more, Your Highness. Please, say no more."
Adam huffed a breath and nodded. "Come. I suspect I'll need your aid with Himon today."
"My aid?" Duncan questioned, falling into step just behind the Prince as they finished their journey to the Infirmary. Reaching there, they had to step aside for two nurses who were hurrying out, then entered to find nearly a half-dozen Guardsmen being seen to. Most sported only bruises or swollen body parts, coldpacs being applied to the injuries, while a couple actually needed bandages to seal bleeding cuts. The few who could snapped to attention, much to the audible dismay of the staffers attending them.
Teela was pressed back against one wall, her trademark frown darkening her suntanned beauty into something dangerous and fierce. Both Adam and Duncan eased their way over towards her, as much out of concern as practicality; both remembered full well her reactions upon waking from her coma-journey, and neither wished to surprise her into over-reaction again.
They needn't have worried, Teela straightening herself and nodding to them as they approached. "Your Highness, Father," she greeted them with a bland formality.
"What in Grayskull happened here?" Duncan asked, casting a worried look about the room.
"An aerial patroller lost power on approach and ploughed into his relief. No serious injuries and nothing exploded as a result, thank the Mother."
"Is that all?" Adam questioned, eyeing the Captain closely.
"Aye," Teela nodded, her frown hardening as she met his gaze full-on. "Something you wish to ask, Your Highness?"
"Where were you during this?" was the Prince's question, its calm delivery decidedly at odds with his own darkening scowl.
"In my office, attending to Court preparations," Teela replied sharply, eyes leaving him and raking the room once more, apparently searching for a worthier target than he. Duncan fought the urge to roll his eyes at the interplay, suspecting there was more anxiety to both than either was willing to express. Teela did give the Prince a quick glance with one eye, a single brow raised in silent question.
"My daily exercises on this piece of dead weight," Adam answered, shifting his lame arm in its sling. Teela's nose crinkled dangerously at the words, but she otherwise kept her peace; it must have been a fragile peace as she jerked her head towards one of the few unoccupied examination rooms, leading them there and calling for Himon to attend them. The chief healer arrived a moment later. Teela had by that point undone the sling from Adam's lame arm and, to Duncan's silent surprise, was twisting his good arm behind him, securing it there with the same sling.
"Duncan will assist here today, Captain," the Prince announced, nodding to the approaching healer and keeping his eyes well away from her's. "You have other matters to attend to, yes?" Duncan's discerning eye and ear caught the deliberate nature of the Prince's non-question, and could miss his daughter's deliberate casualness in her response.
"I am to review performance evaluations with Roan today, but no period was scheduled. Shall I attend to those?" Teela said all this as she finished securing the Prince's good arm and moved over to prepared instruments tray by the door, keeping her eyes elsewhere than the Prince's own vicinity. For some reason, Duncan found himself actively sweating at watching her do this simple movement, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else but in the same room with these two; it was a childish impulse surely, but one that gripped his soul and held tight.
Thankfully for his nerves and dignity, Himon chose that moment to make an appearance, taking in the scene before him and exchanging a sympathetic look with Duncan as Teela lingered near the door, making no move to exit right then. The elder healer surveyed the instruments laid out on the tray, then gave a much harsher look at the Captain.
"I thought we agreed no blades would be used, Captain."
Teela didn't so much as shrug. "I attribute our limited results to date due to the fact the Prince's brain, such as it is, remains functional enough to recognize the lack of danger from a simple pencil being tossed at him. Observe." Before anyone could so much as blink, she snatched an unsharpened pencil from the tray and sent it flying at the Prince's chest, hitting him with unerring precision, his lack of reaction underscoring the Captain's point.
Another pencil followed, again with the same result, and another. And another. The Prince was looking decidedly bored at that point, while Himon simply glowered. Both expressions turned to surprise, then panic, when she seized one of the scalpels and let it fly as well. Neither Himon nor Duncan could move quickly enough to intercept it, and all Adam would do was twist his torso about so his lame right arm could come up and block the projectile!
Needless to say, all three felt the collective fool when said projectile bounced off his cheek with a soft thud, it being made of nothing but carefully-sculpted rubber. Three pairs of male eyes first stared at the offending prop, then synchronized to rise and fix upon the Captain, who answered with a single raised eye-brow and a look of bored insolence.
"What?" she asked of them, before sauntering over to her father, going up on tip-toes to whisper something into his ear. Duncan's expression rapidly changed from shock to the kind of stormy rage that is the sole providence of protective fathers in all ages, his murderous gaze falling upon the Prince himself, who looked ready to bolt out the door.
Teela however was already quitting the room, pulling the door shut behind her and cutting off the Prince's only egress. That she didn't request her leave from either the Prince or her father otherwise went unremarked upon, both otherwise occupied as soon soft, barely-audible moans of distress could be heard within the exam room. No-one in the main room paid them much notice, if they even heard them in the first place that is.
The Captain herself maintained proper decorum as she made her way from the Infirmary to the Guards Main Office, where Roan was busy being the dutiful Deputy was still finalizing performance reports. Teela felt a small stab of regret that he'd soon be taking her berth, along with all its attendant headaches and the like; with his Maid certain to be taking on equally broad portfolio soon, theirs was certain to be a most formidable pairing within the Palace.
Before stepping into the office, Teela shrugged her left shoulder where her Friend was presently perched, dislodging the unvisible entity completely. "Go play in the garden," she murmured, nudging Him gently with her boot, then stepping across the threshold. Her Friend lingered at the threshold as a petulant child suffering separation anxiety might. Teela gave Him a slightly harder kick and closed the door after her. If He had ears, or at least some equivalent thereof, Teela's voice would have clearly rang out ordering "At east, Lieutenant. I'm just here to review…"
The door shutting closed off further eavesdropping, yet it still took Him several long beats to accept that The Queen would not be returning for Him. And, understanding her directive the way any natural predator understands the hierarchy of nature, and more importantly the commands of those significantly higher on the food chain than itself, Friend took off like a shot, zipping down the halls of the palace.
He easily avoiding the multitude of legs of those irrelevant others it moved among, resisting the urge to wrap itself around one or another of them, just to see the chaos it would bring. But then He knew that The Queen would be most unhappy with such a thing being done, and so it settle for imitating the vulgar wind of this place.
The Queen's directive that He go to the gardens was fulfilled in quick order, except He had no idea what to do with Himself once he reached that wonderfully warm place that pulsed with energies and light. He zipped about the perimeter, sliding and scampering over some of the taller life-things that stayed still yet life-pulsed their welcome to Him. For a creature of purest energies, this was bliss in communication.
Friend however quickly grew tired of this bit of play and sought new amusement. Conveniently, there was the large body of life moving directly beneath Him; a familiar body, no less. Not the bright and shinning and powerful thing that had been the Queen when He first found her, but the bigger and slower thing that had been with the Queen and the other one. Friend zipped down the length of the stationary thing and shot forward, his equivalent of a head impacting on the side of the large thing that the Queen loved every bit as much as him. That this only resulted in Friend rebounding backwards didn't phase him in the slightest.
Rather, Friend proceeded to repeat this action several times, each time with the same result of his being bounced backwards. Finally the large thing reacted, doing so just as he was zipping forward again, one of its large limbs coming down and holding him still. "Stop it," Cringer whined quietly. "I'm tryin' ta nap here."
Friend squirmed, stretching his head-analog to rub along the great cat's jawline in a manner the very definition of 'affectionate'. "Yer not goin' away, r'ya?" Cringer asked, the chin-rubbing only increasing in response. He could only sigh and roll onto his back, allowing his un-visible/too-real Friend to squirm and settle himself – such as he could with two paws pressing down on him – atop his chest. The happy result was a near-constant belly rub that was every bit as good as Teela ever offered. His hedonistic purr travelled throughout the gardens, calming many a honeybee, woodrat, and every other lifeform who could hear it.
This included the Maid of the Court, who was busy at that very moment hiding near a hedge of rosebush and bottle-blossoms in an attempt to make sense of the Prince's latest additions to the Open Court's preparations. She hadn't seriously considered he was willing to fund entirely new dressings for the Palace staff for the Open Court; but now that he'd decided upon a design, and Charleese had worked out the materials and quantities needed, it was left to her to finish it. Childs play as that might have been – she easily listed out the vendors and tradehouses that would find Royal Marks in the coffers soon – it was Maureen's nature to think ahead of the immediate and ponder the next step coming.
Alas, this new version of the Heir was proving every bit as confounding and unpredictable as his previous self. At least his younger self – there was no question in Maureen's mind that the Prince, while still uniquely himself, was now an ancient soul housed in a young body – had a decent excuse for it. Now?
"Put those away," a familiar and welcome voice ordered quietly. Maureen looked up to see Guardsman Roan approaching, a luncheon tray in his hands and a disapproving frown on his face. The Maid felt her neck color as she hurried to organize and remove the papers from immediate sight, stuffing them back into her forever-overstuffed portfolio. Roan settled the tray on the small garden table between them and settled himself into the chair opposite her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked coolly, regarding him with that bland expression she so often hid behind around him.
"Seeing to it you eat properly, as so directed by both the Captain and the Queen," he rejoined, not yet meeting her eyes. It was one of the ways he had of expressing disapproval of her conduct, and if he were any gentler at it she'd actively loath – rather than treasure – him for it. He uncovered their respective plates and poured them both tea.
"Who decided the menu?" she inquired, irritated to see her favorite baked fish over sap'hoi beans and greens garnish laid out there.
"I did," Roan confirmed, prompting her to glare at his own plate, unsurprised to see him feasting on his regular rations of beef stew and crackers. Of course he would short himself on her unworthy behalf; it was his way and it irritated her mightily that valued her beyond her true worth. In answer and a bit of petulance besides, she ate her luncheon with theatrical relish, not noticing how the Guardsman's eyes carefully observed her every move.
Roan himself ate mechanically, not trusting himself to do more than sit there and just observe her thoughtlessly-elegant movements. She could make the simple act of swallowing an eye-catching event. That she deigned share these moments with an irrelevant drone such as him puzzled and amazed him no end.
Despite themselves and all there was between them, acknowledged or not, Cringer's soporific purrs had them soon relaxed and at ease, their respective thoughts singularly preoccupied upon the one sitting opposite themselves. They eventually noticed how the daylight soon began to wane, prompting Maureen to excuse herself with quiet words of apology, her distraction enough she still did not notice his eyes following her departure.
Maureen made a bee-line for her recently-expanded office, relieved to find the Queens Quartet already there, each updating their respective log books for the next day. She waited to the side until all four were finished before greeting them. "Good evening, all," she spoke cheerily, conscious that they took their cues from her directly and determined not to infect them with her momentary sour mood.
"Any issues I need to address?" Maureen asked, meeting the eyes of each to gauge their responses. None spoke and there was nothing in their eyes or manner to suggest this day was different from the nine before, when this new arrangement was first put to work. Satisfied, the Maid of the Court took up the extra-sized mug that sat on her desk and held it out. "Alright then, into the cup," she ordered, tone more that of an affectionate elder sister.
"Must we?" Shureen questioned, reluctantly removing her duties badge from her frock. The other three mirrored both her move and mood, Cora looking especially rebellious right then.
"Yes, you must," Maureen stated, pleased and amused as each dropped their badges into the cup, each with a degree of petulance that was too measured to be anything more than farce. Once all four badges were in the cup, Maureen covered the top with her free hand and shook the small vessel for nearly a full minute. She then ordered "Hands out." All four Maids put out one hand, palm upright and open, and Maureen reached into the cup to pull out one badge at a time, placing one each into one of the waiting hands.
This was the subtle genius of the Queen's directives: their individual assignments were never left fixed but rather rotated by chance and luck at the end of each day when the four badges – all four carefully crafted and weighed so to be indistinguishable from one another if handled sight-unseen – were placed in the cup and drawn at random. In this way, all four Maids would learn the fullest scope of those duties that had previously been Maureen's exclusive domain, and thereby ensure that should something untoward happen to any one or two of – Elders forbid! – three of them, adequate coverage would be ensured for at least the first few minutes of such a catastrophe; if it came to such a pass, they'd surely have much more serious concerns to occupy their attention than simply whether or not the Queen's wardrobe looked in season.
The Maids waited patiently until all four assignments were made before looking at their hands: Shureen now held the Pen, Alyss the Stores, Charleese the Chambers, and Cora retained the Desk. Charleese looked as if she were about to protest – the Chambers were much more intimate a setting than she was comfortable with, especially when it came to the King and Queen both – only to have Alyss place a calming hand on her fellow's powerful arm. The towering Islander immediately relaxed, as did Maureen.
"Now," Maureen ventured after a few moment's silence. "You all know we're but ten days from the Open Court being convened. I know you're each keeping atop your respective duties, but as I'll be busier now as we come to the first night, I'll need you all to support each other's work all the more."
"So you've said every night," Shureen pointed out, quickly going over the Pen's logbook and scanning Alyss's succinct notes.
"Yes, well, be that as it may…" Maureen continued, only to have Cora interrupt.
"Yer busy-busy an' we're all t'eet supper."
"Again, same as ye've said ere' night," added Alyss.
Maureen opened her mouth to offer some biting retort, only to close it immediately, soul-certain that she'd already exhausted her supply of such retorts. "You'll…you will all eat your supper…yes?" Four pairs of mildly perturbed and decidedly unrepentant eyes fixed upon her in response, and Maureen held her hands up in surrender before any or all of them could launch yet another verbal barrage upon her.
Instead, the Maid of the Court left her fellows to see to their newly-designated duties with all the assurance needed they would see to their meal with equal diligence. Maureen doubted any of them wished to have the Queen come down upon them with her idea of 'motherly concern', after all; each had already experienced it at least once, and unless she was radically misreading them, it was not an experience any wished to revisit.
Maureen's day did not end with the evening's reassignments, although Her Majesty would be mightily irritated with her for not retiring before moonsrise as directed to daily. Instead she returned to her rooms and sat at her desk. Pouring herself a small cup from the tea service that occupied the adjoining folding table, Maureen took a fortifying sip and was pleased it had long since gone cold. She actually preferred it cold and a mite stale versus steaming and nearly undrinkable.
Next, she pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote the heading Tailors at the top. After a moment's thought, she began jotting down names and notations of said tradesmen, intent upon thinking up at least a baker's dozen before turning in for the night. She made it to 11 before her attention began to flag and her eyes started drooping. Satisfied she'd done her level best to prepare for the marrow, Maureen rose and headed to her small en suite to attend her nightly ablutions, humming a quiet tune to herself as she did.
Doubtless the Maid of the Court would have been very surprised to know many others in the palace at that hour were humming or even singing the exact same rhythm and melody at that same moment. This included both the King and Queen as they finished their own work – Randor signing some last minute communiques and Marlena trying to save Charleese some effort by selecting the next day's wardrobe – before readying themselves for bed. Truth be told, Randor carried the tune far better than Marlena could, a small point of pride he never dared revel in for righteous fear of his wife's wrath.
The collective voices of the palace, diverse and unpracticed as they were, nevertheless made a lovely symphony for those with ears for it. That those ears were limited to the Captain of the Guard and her un-visible Friend shouldn't have been surprising, given the song had begun weaving its way through the palace halls only when The Queen of Great Serpents had begun humming it to herself.
It was an old, old habit of her's, developed over the course of the deccas she and Adam had lived, and her quiet singing proving a calming tool that kept both her Scaled Horde and their later, larger companions in check when needed.
She sang as she stood in the bedchamber she now shared with her husband, standing before a mirror near the bed and brushing her hair out. It was another custom of old, something that had been expressly her's to do: she sang because it calmed her oft-edgy nerves, and brushed her own hair because it gave her oft-edgy fingers something simple to do.
There was another reason she kept this custom, and it arrived with the same silence and stealth that he always did in their youth. One moment her left hand was fixed firmly upon the brush in mid-downstroke, the next…
The next…another's hand had slipped under hers and appropriated the brush from her; it was such a powerful hand, strong and sure, it shouldn't have been able to sneak past her with such ease. Yet it did, it did, and its fellow found its way 'round her side and hooked a thumb on the loose knot that held her robe closed. Her husband's powerful frame materialized behind her, overtaking her senses and consciousness whole.
"Cruel, love," Adam growled in that particular way she both dreaded and quailed before, her knees weakening in that particular way that nearly had her collapsing before him.
He knew his power over her, and was so very scrupulous in exercising it, Teela's cheeks and neck flushing dark at the memories that were always invoked when he spoke that particular way. Only his hold on her belt, supported by both her suddenly-weakened hands upon that same hand, was all that was keeping her upright.
But then he undid the knot…his still-numb fingers managing their work only because of long practice (plus the knot was fairly loose to begin with)…and her robe fell open…his shaking arm winding past the folds of silk…fingers tracing her missing tiger stripes with the familiarity of a lifetime's love.
The robe fell away entirely, and the heat of her husband's bare skin upon hers lit fires within her core that left her trembling and sweating. He maneuvered to stand directly behind her, arms still firmly around…his other firmness managing to positioned precisely between her barely-parted thighs, prepared to slip into that place where no other was permitted.
She was awash in both sensory and soul memory, drowning in both, and it was all Teela could gasp to whisper "Where are we, Adam?"
Adam's arms lowered her to all fours, the soft rug under palms and knees not unlike the dark sands where they were first joined.
"The oasis past the three dunes," he whispered in reverence, applying an equally reverent kiss to the back of her neck, her answering whimper nearly met with his own.
"You've just come from the waterfall…the water on your skin…shinning like diamonds in the moonlight…"
His shoulders and hips trembled as he spoke, the effort to hold himself back beyond his endurance…his will finally breaking as Teela shifted and gasped, taking him into her deepest core.
He could say no more, nor could she, their minds drowning in what their bodies and the memory brought forth. They were consumed whole, and as one, consummated.
The silent sky and stars above alone were witness to passed next, and shall remain their secret alone.
In time, the moons rose, then set, and the first rays of morning would be seen on the horizon, heralding the next day and all the new (and not so new) challenges it would bring.
Some storytelling notes:
"Cufful" (pronounced like it looks) is an Eternian drink that combines the taste of bran grit with the caffeine content of quadruple espresso. Not something you drink in any great quantity if you want to stay sane.
"Bells Low/High" is the way Eternos tracks the 'hours' of the day and night, with a single bell toning at either a notably low or high pitch the number of times past solar apex (aka high noon). "Low" tone denotes morning, "High" denotes evening.
"Marks" is common parlance for Eternian money, be it script or actual coinage. "Royal Marks" are script notes and convertible to minted coin.
De Author Adds: the first 2,018 words to this chapter were written within five hours on 1 February 2016; the remaining 7,047 took four months of on-and-off effort on account of so many new characters needing a few paragraphs of meaningful screen-time. Plus I'm seriously out of practice writing sex scenes, as the concluding scene should amply demonstrate. I'll leave it to you, the discerning reader, to decide if all this was worth it.
So, until next time...which should be much sooner than later, given the next chapter a about 60% written and won't involve so much of the cast...
I hope!
Cheers!