Reasons Why

"Was that wise, your highness?" asked Anton, as the carriage carried the Norman party through the streets of Brest, the wheels rattling against the cobblestones, the clip-clop of the horses' hooves echoing inside to join them.

"Wise, Anton?" Frederica repeated, tacitly inviting him to clarify his point.

Her oldest retainer scratched at his knuckles with one hand. "It may be that this royal huntress, forewarned… turns her sights on you first."

The corner of Frederica's lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. "My dear Anton, are you worried that I will be assassinated?"

"The thought had occurred to me, your highness," Anton said softly. "With all due respect… that young woman murdered a king and queen and started a war, why should she think anything of murdering a princess-"

"One whose father would not go to war for her?" Frederica finished for him.

"I… did not say that, princess," Anton murmured.

"No," Frederica agreed, a touch of laughter entering into her voice. "No, you did not. And you didn't have to. I am well aware that I am… not Normandie's most valuable asset." To speak truth, or to think truth that she was not willing to speak, not even in front of Anton and the others, she was not sure that her father even saw her as a Norman asset at all any more. She… did not feel like one. It had been some time now since she had last gone anywhere upon the business of her father or of Normandie. She had come to Armorique to secure a favourable marriage, she had stayed to clean up the mess left by her father's botched attempt on Cinderella's life. And then… somewhere along the way she had become a guest here, an exile, albeit a comfortable one, a sort of adjunct to the Armorican royal family.

She served Cinderella now, if she severed anyone, although the other girl would hate to hear it framed in such a fashion. Nevertheless, it was for her good, her benefit, that she worked, and none other.

She did not even work for herself as much as she did for the princess of Armorique.

But what would it look like, to work for myself? What would I even seek for her, what ambitions would I pursue?

What do I want?

She had wanted love, once upon a time, and once upon a time she thought that she had found it, in Aquitaine; but Eleanor… Eleanor had been no more interested in her than her father was, like her father she waw her only as something, as someone, to be used and exploited and then cast aside.

The only other thing that Frederica wanted, the thing that she had always wanted, was freedom. And that she had found here in Amorique, a freedom that had been tacitly granted in a rare display of kindness from her father, who had even deigned to continue supporting her here financially. She had no work to do, no one to spy on, no one to seduce, no one to kill. She could do as she liked, and spend time in the company of a good friend.

If that was the sum of her life, then, well, it was no bad life was it? Many people were much worse off than her.

No, Frederica was quite content.

Whether she would remain so once Eleanor arrived for this peace congress, assuming it happened, was quite another matter altogether.

Frederica… she did not know how she would react to that, seeing Eleanor again. It had been some time ago, by now, but even so… Frederica was quite tempted to take to her bed with a diplomatic illness until the congress was over – but no, she could not do that. Cinderella might have need of her in the meantime.

"I suppose there is an element of risk involved," she admitted. She smiled. "But I am trusting your life to your protection. Literally, as it happens." She chuckled lightly.

None of her men, not Anton nor the other fellows in the carriage with her, seemed to find that particularly amusing.

"You should have let us kill her there and then, your highness," muttered Vladimir. As his name suggested, he was a Muscovite, with a thick black beard surrounding his mouth and concealing his chin, descending to cover half his chest.

"You know me, Vlad, I don't like to shed blood if I can avoid it," Frederica said. "And besides, if we were to simply kill one of Maria Theresa's people, what then? She assumes it is the Aquitainians, and retaliates?"

"Retaliation?" Vladimir said. "Over a paid killer?"

Frederica smiled slightly. "Maria Theresa has her flaws, God knows," she said. She ordered a king and his wife killed then kidnapped their daughter, that is… flawed, to say the least. "But she takes care of her people. She is a prince of the old school, perhaps the last of the old school." Cinderella had a touch of the paternalist about her, the way that she had taken in Jean Taurillion and Angelique Bonnet, the way that she had rewarded the Gerard family; those who served her will did well out of it, but that was a consequence of Cinderella's kindness, and of the way that Cinderella's enemies were so kind as to give her lands and wealth to bestow upon her faithful supporters. She would never have seen these things in the transactional, quid pro quo terms that Maria Theresa thought in. She would never have seen it as a duty, to care for and reward those who served her well, only that it would have been monstrously ungrateful to have done otherwise. Cinderella did not see it as a standard by which a royal should or would be judged; Frederica wasn't even sure if Cinderella had a conception of the standard by which she ought to be held, other than that of a good person who, happening to possess power, ought to wield it well and for the common good.

No, there were similarities between them but they were not the same. When Maria Theresa perished something would be gone from the world – unless, of course, she managed to instil her values in her son and daughter in law against the rising tide of modernity.

"Maria Theresa," Frederica went on, "would not tolerate the death of one of her trusted servants. It would be anathema to her that she should do so. She would retaliate, either against the Aquitanians, or worse against Armorique – and if she knew that I had done it she would retaliate against me. No, killing Mademoiselle St Clair… would quite upset the apple cart, as they say. It would serve me nothing. It would serve me worse than to give her a warning."

"Then," Anton began, "why not warn Princess Cinderella of her presence? Or is that why we are bond for the palace as we speak?"

Frederica smiled close-mouthed. "And then what? Have Mademoiselle St Clair arrested for a crime of which I have no proof, of which there is no evidence, merely to accuse her of which would practically be a declaration of war? It would mean, it would certainly seem to mean, that Armorique has chosen a side between Aquitaine and the Empire. Certainly it would render moot the idea of them holding peace talks."

"Is talking peace worth the risk, highness?" asked Vladimir.

"That is what we are here to find out, Vladimir," Frederica replied. "What I, at least, am here to find out."

Her carriage bore her on, through the streets of Brest and up to the palace of the king, where Frederica was sufficiently frequent a visitor that the guards scarcely stayed her progress but opened up the gate to admit her across the bridge and within the walls – although the guards did eye the unusually large number of attendants she had with her somewhat.

The carriage took her into the front courtyard, rolling up more slowly now up to the front steps, which rose up before her to the doors – tall, but very narrow at the same time; Frederica found herself wondering why from time to time, why there was not more space for visitors to enter – where two soldiers stood on guard.

Frederica's footman, Joubert, opened the door for her.

"Thank you," Frederica said mildly, as she dismounted from her carriage. None of her men, not even Anton, made any move to follow her. For her own part, having dismounted from her carriage, Frederica made little movement else, gathering her cloak around her as she waited.

The two guards – Frederica knew enough about Amorican uniforms to say that they were not grenadiers, or else they would have been wearing bearskin hats not shakoes, but whether they were fusiliers or chasseurs she could not say – did not move, but it was not too long before a liveried servant, a footman most likely, emerged out of the tall, narrow doors and ran, his feet askew, down the red-carpeted steps towards her.

He bowed. "Your highness," he murmured. "Your presence was not expected."

Frederica smiled. "No, I imagine it is a very pleasant surprise."

"Of course, your highness," the footman lied convincingly. "Shall I inform Princess Cinderella of your arrival? I fear…"

"You fear what?" Frederica asked. "Spit it out, man."

Ah, yes, the children's hour, yes, Cinderella had explained that to Frederica upon one of her visits: a sacred time, one hour each day – at least, it was a floor rather than a ceiling – set aside exclusively for the children, to be uninterrupted by any business of state or even by visiting friends. It was not, to say the least, a level of attention that Frederica had ever receive from the succession of stepmothers who grew ever closer to her own age – the present Queen of Normandie was actually younger than she was – but she hoped the little ones would appreciate it.

Once they grew old enough to appreciate anything beyond the taste of their own feet in their mouths.

"Well, we wouldn't want to put the children out, would we?" Frederica asked. "But tell the princess and I am here, and if she will not be disturbed then I shall wait until it is convenient for the princess to receive me, I have no other pressing business to tear me elsewhere."

The footman hesitated. "Very well, highness. If it please you to follow me?"

"It pleases me greatly," Frederica said. "It would also please me if you would have something sent out for my men."

The foot man glanced past her, and at the carriage and its occupants. "Of course, your highness. I will have it seen to. But if you will follow me?"

"Of course," Frederica said. "Lead the way, there's a good fellow."

He did, indeed, lead the way; he led Frederica up the steps, past the first two guards upon the door and into that corridor, with the high ceiling but with such narrow walls, where there were yet more guards all standing along the walls, making a narrow corridor seem even more narrow as Frederica was forced to pass between the long lines of Armorique's defenders.

The first time that she had come here, on the night of the ball where Cinderella had met Prince Eugene, she had thought this rather an affectation from a country that had no great military reputation. But then, of course, they had won the war in America, albeit against their own rebellious colonists, and Frederica found herself wondering just how of it was an affectation after all.

She was ushered into a parlour room, overlooking the back garden, with its long lawn stretching out towards the artificial river that ran through the middle of it.

"Would you care for some tea while you wait, your highness?" asked the footman.

"Coffee, if you wouldn't mind," Frederica said.

"Of course, highness," the footman said. "I will see that the Princess is alerted to your presence."

You make me sound like a menace, Frederica thought. "Very good," she replied, turning away from the man and looking out the gallic windows at the garden beyond.

She heard the door close, even though she did not see the footman leave.

She waited for a little while, admiring the flowers that were, if she were being honest, growing a little too much and beginning to encroach on the windows; still, they evidently had a very good gardener here.

She heard the door open again, and Frederica turned around only to find that it was no servant with her coffee, or even with an answer as to whether Cinderella would see her or not, rather it was King Louis himself who came into the room, his rather rotund frame passing through the doorway just about as it strained against the grey suit, complete with waistcoat, that he was wearing.

Frederica prevented her eyebrows from rising in surprise as she curtsied. "Your Majesty," she said. "What an unexpected pleasure?"

"Pleasure, Princess Frederica?" asked His Majesty. "You need not pretend that you are here for the pleasure of my company."

"Nevertheless, Majesty, I welcome it," Frederica replied. "Although you may not welcome my curiousity by the end, I would very much like a chance to pick your brain."

"My brain?" His Majesty repeated. "I am not sure that my old brain is so worth picking at present, and in any case I am surprised, I thought it was my daughter in law you were here to see."

"And yet you came to me, your majesty," Frederica reminded him. "And having come, you would not begrudge me the chance to take advantage of you, surely? May I sit?"

"By all means," His Majesty said, gesturing to the settee before the window. He himself took an armchair facing her and the settee, seeming to sink into its comfortable cushion, half-absorbed with it, his meaty hands resting upon the great arms of the chair.

Frederica took her own seat in turn, smoothing out the folds of her green dress with both hands, before clasping said hands together in her lap.

A moment of silence ensued between them. Frederica had not spent time alone in the company of this man, this king of her own country's neighbour. His reputation was… not poor, by any means, but not great either. He was a decent man, and a decent enough king by any standards, middling in every respect, even in his politics.

Except now this middling king had decided to put his country between Aquitaine and the Holy Roman Empire. Frederica found herself curious as to why he had done so, even as she also found herself judging him for the folly of it.

But I am, at least, prepared to concede that it may not have been such a folly.

"You are aware, your majesty, that Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte has arrived in your capital?" Frederica said.

"I am aware, of course," His Majesty replied. "I would be surprised that you are also aware, except that I am not in the least surprised."

Frederica smiled. "Majesty, how should I respond to such a thing as that?"

"In any event, as for Prince Adam, we will give him a day to settle in his new house and then I believe Cinderella plans to call on him, and invite him to a dinner tomorrow night to celebrate his arrival here."

"A royal banquet, that will be something to look forward to," Frederica said lightly. "You plan to make him welcome, then?"

"Why should I not?" His Majesty asked. "He is a royal prince, come here as the envoy of an emperor and a queen, and he has the power to make this congress to end the war to the south of here happen, or not, as he reports to his mistress. What should I do but make him welcome here?"

Give up the whole idea? Frederica thought. She said, "Your Majesty… may I venture upon a delicate subject?"

His Majesty hesitated a moment. "You may," he granted.

"You are most gracious, Majesty," Frederica murmured. "Were you at all acquainted with King Charles of Burgundy and Queen Elizabeth?"

His Majesty was silent for a moment, hesitant. "I… knew them both," he said. "I attended their wedding, and spent a week hunting with King Charles during my visit – I was only Prince of Rennes, then, not king, although my succession followed very quickly after. I attended their coronation, when old King Philip died. It was a splendid ceremony, I recall it well, lavish. It put my own coronation of a little earlier quite to shame: the pomp, the circumstance, the wealth that had been lavished on it. For my own coronation, only the kings of Aquitaine and Flanders had attended but for Charles, not only his own lords but all the crowns of every state in Gallia and the Empire made the journey to his court, or so it seemed to me. Burgundy seemed at that time to be the rising power; certainly that was the impression Charles wished to give of the realm that he was succeeding to." His Majesty sighed. "However this war is resolved, I think it will not seem so prosperous or powerful again for quite some time."

And yet, if it had not seemed so prosperous, and so powerful, would this war be fought at all? Frederica wondered. "Do you think that the late king meant to eclipse Bavaria, or even Austria itself?"

"I am sure he did," His Majesty said. "He was not shy of admitting it."

And therefore sealed his fate. "And what…" Frederica paused a moment. "Your Majesty cannot be deaf to the various claims that have been bruited about regarding the death of the King and Queen."

"Princess Frederica," His Majesty said. "Are you asking if I believe that either Queen Eleanor or Queen Maria Theresa killed King Charles and his wife."

"I suppose I am, your majesty."

"Surely you cannot expect me to answer that."

"That is not a denial, majesty," Frederica said carefully. "In which case, since you have not said outright that you have full confidence in the innocence of these two queens, or immediately cast the blame upon this or that secret society, I might ask why you would invite two people you believe may be murderers into your palace where your son and grandchildren are."

"You think I'm making a mistake," His Majesty said. It was a statement, not a question.

"I think your majesty is potentially being… unwise," Frederica murmured.

"And why," His Majesty asked, "do you think I am being… unwise?"

Princess Frederica hesitated a moment, not wanting to say anything that might lead to her being asked to leave.

"You may speak freely, princess," His Majesty urged. "I will not take offence."

"No, Majesty?" Frederica asked. "I have heard you have a temper."

"Once," admitted His Majesty. "But these last years and all that has occurred in them have mellowed me considerably."

If half of what Frederica had heard was true, she supposed that she could understand that. "Very well, Your Majesty," she said. "I believe that you do this for glory, albeit perhaps a better kind of glory than kind be found upon the battlefield. You wish to enhance the reputation of your reign and place Armorique at the centre of the affairs of Europe as the arbiter of peace. And you are willing to run great risks to achieve it."

"That is a harsh judgement," His Majesty said.

"But is it a misjudgement, Majesty?" asked Frederica. "That, it seems to me, is the question."

His Majesty was silent for a moment. "Tell me, Princess Frederica," he said, "who do you think will win this war, if it is left to run its course unchecked."

Frederica had to think about that. There were several factors to consider, after all, and she was of the opinion that the immediate term situation was far more favourable to Aquitaine than was commonly thought.

"It depends, Majesty," she said. "I believe that Aquitaine will win the battle which must soon be fought around Bourdeaux, and if they can destroy the Imperial armies there then it may well be that this peace congress will become a dead letter as the Empire seeks terms of peace. However, if the Imperial forces are only battered, not destroyed, if they can retire and regroup, then I believe that, in two years, or perhaps three, the superior numbers that the Holy Roman Empire can bring to bear will crush the Aquitainians and their allies. Aquitaine will run out of manpower, and Asturias and Badajoz are too small and weak to make up the difference, even with bringing troops over from the colonies, which carries its own risks to their rule, as Your Majesty well knows."

His Majesty's eyebrows rose slightly. "You give Aquitaine more credit than most at this point."

"I have spent a little time in Aquitaine, Your Majesty," Frederica murmured. "Queen Eleanor is far from perfect but she is full of fire, and her generals too, and all her soldiers. They may be outnumbered but their elan cannot be doubted. If they can win sufficient great victories with their dash and spirit they will prevail."

"Prince Eugene believes that dash and spirit are great overestimated," His Majesty said. "And he has actually been to war."

"Hmm," Frederica murmured. "Well, Your Majesty, if the Empire is victorious before the winter comes then I will happily eat humble pie before the prince. If, on the other hand, Aquitaine drives the Imperial armies back from Bourdeaux then perhaps Prince Eugene might consider that not all wars are the same."

His Majesty snorted. "Regardless, if either side were to secure a military victory and the territory and resources of Burgundy along with it, do you think that the rest of the Gallic kingdoms would be safer for it? Does your father believe that letting the Empire and Aquitaine continue to fight it out until the dust settles is in the best interests of Normandie?"

"My father does not bring me into his confidence, Majesty," Frederica murmured. "However, I do know that my father has kept the conscripts who were due for discharge this year, their three year terms having expired, in the ranks, and that fifteen thousand reservists have been called to the colours while the number of hours drill for reservists on the active list has been increased from ten a week to twenty. I know that Normandie has mobilised sixty thousand men under arms and can double that number in three weeks if need be."

"At what cost?" asked His Majesty.

"Normandie will be a poor kingdom by the end of any war, no doubt, your majesty, even with the wealth of Saint Domingue to sustain us," Frederica said. "But we will be a kingdom still. If either side crosses the Norman border then they will regret it."

"Is that your father talking?"

"That is a Norman talking, Majesty," Fredrica declared, raising her head somewhat. "I may find your land a convivial home, but that does not mean that I have lost all pride in my native land, or in its people. My father is one kind of man, but the people of Normandie are of a different sort: steadfast and bold. As any invader will discover."

"I am not so willing to trust the future of Armorique to… pride," His Majesty said. "I would not have war come to my own land. The consequences of war, visible in those poor fellows gathered at the end of the city, the fugitives from Aquitaine, they are reminder enough of how precious peace is."

A gift that you did not grant to your rebelling colonists in America, Frederica thought, but kept the thought to herself.

"I do not want to see my people become refugees, I do not want to see my son, my daughter-in-law, my grandchildren driven from their homes to become bootless exiles, I do not want even the shadow of war to settle upon my kingdom," His Majesty declared. "I want more than that for my land and my family. And so, yes, it is a risk, but I will take that risk to secure the blessings of peace for Armorique and for my family."

"And you really think it is achievable?" Frederica asked.

"It might be more achievable if you are right," His Majesty said. "If Aquitaine wins these next few battles then both sides might feel bruised and bloody enough that a negotiated settlement seems good to them. And, if it does not, then if we can secure the support of other nations to demand a negotiated settlement-"

"While also laying the groundwork for an alliance that will support you in the event of war," Frederica finished.

His Majesty almost smiled. "I am not a completely witless old fool, Princess Frederica."

"I never thought nor suggested you were, your majesty," Frederica said. "Although… I still fear the risks that you are taking, however good the cause may be. Does Cinderella know that one of these two warring queens may have killed a king and queen to start this war?"

At that moment, before His Majesty could answer, the door opened and the footman entered. "Pr- oh, your majesty, forgive me-"

"What is it?" demanded His Majesty.

The footman bowed. "Princess Cinderella sends word that she is prepared to receive Princess Frederica, but I shall-"

"You shall do nothing, we will both go," His Majesty said, rising heavily up from his seat. "That will be all."

The footman bowed a second time. "Of course, Majesty."

As he left, closing the door for all that it would shortly be used, His Majesty said, "The answer, Princess Frederica, is no. To your unspoken implication that she ought to know you are correct: she should be told, while there is still time to send Prince Adam and cause only a slight diplomatic incident. Will you allow me to come with you?"

"You are the king, Majesty, and this is your palace," Frederica reminded him. "How can I forbid it?"

And so they went together, His Majesty leading the way – for which Frederica was rather glad, as this palace was a maze of a place to navigate the corridors. Theseus in his labyrinth had not had a more difficult job finding his way. It was only when they arrived at the bottom of the Queen's Tower, where Cinderella made her home, that the way became straightforward: it was simply a matter of climbing all those bloody stairs.

If Frederica preferred it when Cinderella called on her in her rented townhouse, it was mostly because that way she, Frederica, did not have to climb all these bloody stairs. It was no wonder that Cinderella had lost all of her pregnancy weight gain and regained her previous hourglass figure in short order, anyone would be kept fit having to come up and down these stairs every day. She wondered what had possessed the kings of Armorique past to build their palace in such a way.

His Majesty was huffing and puffing by the time they were halfway up.

"Do you require… any assistance, Majesty?" Frederica said, though her own chest was rising and falling a little more than usual.

"No," His Majesty gasped, shaking his head. "No, my… my own room is so high up, and I manage to get up there every night. I am fine. I'm not so old yet that I need to be helped up the stairs." He paused. "Besides, climbing so far to see the grandchildren ensures that I can eat well and not feel guilty about it."

Frederica chuckled. "My misgivings aside I find… I admire you, Majesty. Some men would be content to enjoy time with their grandchildren, but you seek to make a better world for them."

"The Princess of Armorique has made this country a better place," His Majesty said. "How can I, its king, not at least try to do likewise?"

Frederica smiled. "Yes, she is rather inspiring, isn't she?"

After some little while longer Frederica made it to the top of the stairs. More importantly, so did His Majesty.

They were met at the top by a guard Frederica did not recognise, an officer clearly, but not Lieutenant Taurillion, some scar-faced fellow with a sword and a musket, who looked half-pirate.

"Good afternoon," Frederica said. "I do believe you're new."

"Lieutenant L'Escroc, ma'am," he said. "And you are?"

"This," His Majesty said, coming up behind her, "is the Princess Frederica Eugenie de la Fontaine of Normandie, a great friend of Her Highness. Is she inside?"

Lieutenant L'Escroc bowed his head. "She is, your majesty."

Lieutenant L'Escroc… yes, Frederica had heard about him, he had saved Prince Eugene's life during the American war, and been promoted up from the ranks because of it. He was almost certainly very skilled, given his record.

He also had a reputation as a notorious womaniser, but hopefully he was intelligent enough to keep his eyes away from the princess.

Speaking of which, Cinderella was, as L'Escroc said, inside, with Prince Eugene. Cinderella was holding one of her daughters – Annabelle, the fussy one, although she seemed to have calmed down at the moment – cradled in her arms, while Eugene held the other, Isabelle. Both babies appeared to be asleep.

Cinderella looked as pure as ever in one of her white dresses and her pearls, and Frederica didn't know if it was the presence of a child in her arms or not, but to Frederica's eyes she appeared to be glowing even more than usual.

"Ah, the angel of the house," Frederica said, as she swept in. "Or of the palace, in your case."

Cinderella laughed softly. "Good afternoon, Frederica. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Perhaps I wanted the pleasure of your company?" Frederica asked. "Prince Eugene."

Prince Eugene nodded. "Princess Frederica. Father."

"Your Majesty," Cinderella.

"My dear, son," His Majesty murmured. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Princess Frederica has reminded me that there is something of which you should be aware." He paused a moment. "The late king and queen of Burgundy, whose deaths plunged Aquitaine and the Empire into war… there is no proof on either side, and both sides make their accusations, I doubt the truth will ever come out, but nevertheless… there is at least some chance that they did not die in a mere hunting accident."

Cinderella's eyes widened. "You mean that… that they… they were-"

"Killed, yes," His Majesty said. "By one side or the other, hoping to gain Burgundy for themselves."

Cinderella blinked rapidly. "I… I see." She glanced down at the sleeping Princess Annabelle in her arms, then glanced at Prince Eugene. "Eugene, did you-"

"There is no proof," Eugene said. "Hunting accidents do happen."

"And sometimes they are a convenient excuse," Frederica murmured.

"You are a mother," His Majesty said. "The future of Armorique is in your hands. Literally, at present. If you wish to call off our efforts to hold the peace conference, if you think it is too dangerous for the children… I will completely understand."

Cinderella hesitated for a moment, silently, head bowed, face half-hidden.

What are you thinking, Cinderella? Frederica wondered. As she was not a mother, she could hardly imagine it.

Cinderella looked up. "That… that is very kind of you, your majesty," she murmured. "But not… we cannot leave those poor people rotting outside of the city waiting for peace while doing nothing to bring about that peace, and I… I would rather help bring about an end to this war than wait for the war to spill over Armorique's border."

"The risk-"

"There is risk in doing nothing, isn't there?" Cinderella asked Frederica.

Frederica licked her lips. "Yes," she admitted. "Yes, I suppose there is." She took a breath. "So, how can I help?"

"Frederica?" Cinderella asked.

"If you will take this risk then I will do what I can to make it less risky," Frederica said. "I am not without friends back home in Normandie, nor in Albion, which has long been a friend to our kingdom. I have contacts in Rome, and they in turn have contacts elsewhere, I can be of use, I promise you that. So I ask again, how can I help?"