Chapter Text
Beatrice was not easily distracted. Whether it was in the throne room, in the ballroom or on the training ground, she was known for her sharp and unwavering focus—along with her bright mind and unmatched combat skills. It was, she thought, one of her best qualities. Distractions were plenty, for a queen. She certainly didn’t lack any opportunity to enjoy the little and great pleasures of life, of the hunt and the feasts and the flesh, but she chose to focus instead. On her queendom, on her people, on the threats brewing up on the horizon. Those days, more than ever, she needed to concentrate. If she didn’t, it could mean war. If she didn’t, it could mean the death of dozens of thousands, the end of prosperity as her realm had grown to know it ever since she had sat on the throne for the first time seven years ago. If she didn’t… And yet, there she was, pacing in front of the large window of her study, maps, half-opened letters and financial reports scattered on the desk behind her, her gaze wandering aimlessly over the gardens spreading out outside.
A knock on the door resonated in the air, and Beatrice halted in her tracks.
“Come in,” she said as she turned around, just in time to watch Lilith open the door and close it behind her.
“Your Majesty.”
Lilith bowed her head as she always did—the barest minimum to be considered appropriate for a spymaster to greet her queen. Her eyes lingered on the cluttered desk before rising up to meet Beatrice’s.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Have a seat.”
Lilith obeyed. Her stare never strayed from Beatrice, studying her, without doubt collecting every single piece of information she could—the unusual mess on the secretaire, the frown Beatrice could feel deepen on her face, the way she had to clench her hands behind her back to hide the little twitch of her fingers. It was pointless, to try to conceal anything from Lilith; she was the spymaster after all, and one of the very few people who truly knew her with that.
Beatrice started pacing again as she tried to gather her thoughts.
“What do you know of Lady Ava Silva?” she eventually asked, unwilling to look at Lilith.
“The Firstborn kingdom’s halo bearer?” There was a little silence before Lilith spoke again. “What exactly do you want to know about her?”
Beatrice halted in her steps and stared down at her. “Indulge me, will you?”
Lilith pinched her lips but complied. It was always the same with her, resistance first, obedience second, but loyalty always.
“Nobody knows her exact age, but we’re guessing between twenty-five and twenty-seven. She was an orphan when she got chosen as the halo bearer—a sick orphan with that. People thought she wouldn’t survive the winter, yet she’s still here today and, from what I’ve heard, she’s healthier than ever. Her recovery is considered miraculous by many and strengthened the people’s belief that she has indeed been blessed by their god.”
Beatrice knew all of that. In fact, she probably knew everything Lilith could say about Lady Silva. Yet she let her spymaster talk, her words soothing her worries and sharpening her will.
“She’s well loved amongst the Firstborn people. Way more loved than the king himself, in fact, but that’s not such a feat to achieve. Adriel is, pardon my language, a narcissistic buffoon dressing up as royalty, and she is a generous, energetic figure who spends more time amongst her people in a week than Adriel ever had in his life.”
Beatrice couldn’t hold the tiny smile stretching her lips. As always, she found Lilith’s crude honesty quite entertaining.
“Unsurprisingly,” Lilith continued, “she and Adriel do not get along. I think they’ve learned to tolerate each other, but it’s no secret neither of them is fond of the other. In my opinion, this status quo will change soon. As I mentioned in my report yesterday, my little birds told me some people are starting to say Lady Silva would make a much better ruler than King Adriel. Whether they’re correct or not, it’s a dangerous idea to whisper at the ear of a population already exasperated with its monarch. Adriel will soon feel threatened by her, and who knows what he might be inclined to do to reassure his position on the throne.”
And there it was. That tiny piece of information tucked to the bottom of Lilith’s weekly report over the state of international affairs that had kept Beatrice up all night, that infinitesimal possibility that could change the future of her queendom.
“As the halo bearer, can she refuse a direct order from her king?”
The question seemed to surprise Lilith, who stared blankly at Beatrice for a few seconds before frowning—lord, she was so intimidating when she truly focused, eyes so sharp they could cut through the thickest armor.
“She could probably get away with it,” Lilith eventually, carefully answered. “The halo bearer’s position in the country’s hierarchy is unclear. Lady Silva isn’t considered a deity, and in that regard she’s still a simple mortal, subject to the king. But she is considered a living proof that their god exists, and as such, well. One could say she can do whatever she wants. It’s… quite complicated, really, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. But she has everything she could possibly want, and Adriel leaves her be as long as she stays out of his way. She has absolutely no reason to disobey her king.”
“For now.”
Lilith leaned back against her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You’re up to something,” she said, and Beatrice sighed, sat on her upholstered armchair—navy blue, as the thick curtains framing the window, as the queendom’s banner hanging on the door—and stared at her.
“What I am about to say cannot leave this room.”
Lilith snorted. “I am your spymaster, my Queen. You don’t need to tell me.”
If it were coming from anyone else, Beatrice should probably have them punished for such insolence. But it was coming from Lilith, Lilith who always stood by her side, Lilith who always proved invaluable to her, Lilith who still managed to show her all the respect she was due whenever eyes were on them.
“Reya is preparing for war,” Beatrice said. “A war our people cannot win. She has better numbers, more weapons, a fleet of battleships and direct access to us through the sea. It’s a matter of months now before she launches her first assault, I can feel it. Every report you gave me point in that direction. And we can build our defenses and prepare ourselves all we want, as we’ve been doing for weeks now, but it will not stop the bloodshed from happening.”
Lilith frowned. “You’re pessimistic.”
“I’m realistic. And I will never say all of this to our people, because we need them to keep faith, but Lilith, we might very much lose this war were it to happen. And if we don’t, it will be at the cost of more lives than we can afford.”
“Fine. Let’s admit the queendom is doomed,” Lilith groaned. “What does Lady Silva have to do with any of that?”
Beatrice’s index finger started tapping on the map spread on her desk, before she caught herself and folded her hands atop each other.
“The Firstborn kingdom has what we lack. A well-organized, well-supplied army, along with a substantial fleet of warships.”
“We tried to forge an alliance with King Adriel already,” Lilith intervened, obviously growing impatient. “Reya is no threat to him, and he made that very clear. Should I remind you that that prick laughed at our emissaries?”
“He did. But that’s because, at the time, we didn’t offer him anything he deemed valuable.”
Lilith raised an eyebrow and leaned even more against her chair; the wood creaked behind her back. “And we have something of the sort now?”
“We always did. We just never thought of it.”
Beatrice bit her bottom lip, and her voice dropped to a lower tone as she said, “We can help him get rid of Lady Silva.” The glint that sparked in Lilith’s eyes told her more than any words could, and Beatrice hastily added, “I’m not talking about murder, Lilith.”
Maybe, just maybe, Beatrice should get concerned about the way Lilith appeared quite disappointed all of a sudden, but truth be told she already knew her spymaster was always ready to plan a murder—whereas Beatrice would only consider it as a very last resort.
“Then what are you talking ab—” Lilith cut herself off, eyes widening as realization hit her. “No fucking way.”
Another thing Beatrice tolerated with Lilith and very few other people—mostly because it felt nice, for once, to have someone dropping the decorum and acting spontaneous around her.
“Think about it,” Beatrice murmured. “He could ship her away, get her out of his way, let the people forget about her. And we’d have our alliance. Reya wouldn’t dare approach us if she knows we have King Adriel’s full support.”
“What if we don’t?” Lilith took a sharp breath through the nose. “What if Adriel uses us to get rid of his little problem and turns its back on us the day Reya gets bold enough to launch an assault against us?”
“And leave the halo bearer to die in a foreign country? It’d be the start of a civil war in his kingdom.”
“What about your descendants?”
Beatrice vaguely waved her hand in the air; she had expected that question. “It wouldn’t be the first time a queen adopts an heir rather than bear them.”
“What about you?”
Lilith’s voice was soft, all of a sudden, and Beatrice’s stomach twisted.
“What about me?”
“Are you truly willing to marry a complete stranger? To spend the rest of your life with someone you know nothing of but cold reports? To give up on any chance to wed someone you actually like?”
Beatrice scoffed. “Since when do you care about romance, Lilith?”
“I don’t. Not for me. But I know you’ve nursed the idea since you were yo—”
“Enough.” Her tone was sharp enough Lilith fell quiet. “Those were a little girl’s fantasies. A woman in my position cannot afford to think about love. If it’s what’s best for the queendom, then I am more than willing to do it.” She threw an inquisitive gaze at her spymaster. “Do you think it’s what’s best for the queendom?”
Lilith stared at her for a while, and the silence got so thick Beatrice’s throat tightened. Then, Lilith sighed.
“It’s worth a try.”
***
“Ava, I beg of you, stop walking in circles. I’m already seasick enough as it is.”
Ava stopped for the briefest moment before starting her endless pacing all over again. Sorry Chanel, but if she stayed still for more than a second her head would probably explode.
“You do know this won’t make the ship sail faster, right?”
“I don’t want the ship to sail faster, I want the ship to turn back! And if it truly cannot turn back, then I want the ship to run ashore on the first deserted island we see and to live there and hidden from the world for the rest of my life!”
Chanel snorted, but her little smile immediately vanished as her skin turned even paler. God, she was really seasick. Ava felt bad, all of a sudden, because Chanel didn’t have to follow her, because Chanel was putting herself through this and much, much more, just so that she could stay by Ava’s side.
Chanel took a deep breath and leaned away from the railing. “Stop being so dramatic,” she finally said, and, wow, Ava wasn’t feeling bad at all anymore.
“Well excuse me for not jumping for joy at the idea of being shipped away like a glorified fair prize! Excuse me for not rejoicing at the idea of marrying a woman I’ve never even met before just because my dear, dear monarch wants me out of the kingdom so badly he agreed on the first opportunity to wed me to a foreigner! Excuse me for no—”
“Ava, for the love of everything that is sacred in this world, please stop talking.”
Ava did as she was told, but only because Chanel’s face turned from white to greenish and she was now clenching the railing as if her life depended on it, and Ava was concerned her lady-in-waiting was going to puke overboard in the next ten seconds. But Chanel, as usual, proved herself to be a real force of nature. She eventually straightened up, a few colors back on her cheeks and now carrying herself with her habitual dignity, and looked at Ava with soft eyes.
“You agreed to this.”
“Just because I agreed to it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
“No, but it means you understand why you had to agree. It means you know that, ultimately, this is the best outcome you could have hoped for.”
Chanel took a step towards her, her hand still on the railing, her sleeveless white dress ruffled by the sea wind. She was, as per usual, stunning, with her deep green eyes, her light-brown and shiny hair, her long aquiline nose. Behind her, sailors bustled around the deck, only a couple of soldiers in uniform staying idle in front of the captain’s cabin where Ava and Chanel had taken up their residence for the trip.
“Adriel’s ego is only equaled by its paranoia.”
Chanel voice was now low. Those were Adriel’s men, working around them, shouting at each other, climbing to the masts or wiping up the deck with old rags. And even if most of them probably shared Ava and Chanel’s opinion, they couldn’t take any risk. Not after those past few weeks—before Queen Beatrice, out of nowhere, sent an official delegation bearing a marriage proposal—, not after Adriel had grown so aggressive and unpredictable around Ava.
“One more year, Ava, and the priests would have had to look for a new halo bearer.”
Ava clenched her teeth and fist, until Chanel gently grabbed it with her free hand.
“Queen Beatrice is said to be good to her people. I’m sure she’ll be good to you too.”
“What if she isn’t? What if she’s as cruel as Adriel and just better at hiding it? What if she thinks me unfit to be her wife and starts despising me? What if—” Ava’s voice caught in her throat, and even Chanel stroking her thumb over the back of her hand couldn’t soothe her. “What if she doesn’t care? Parks me in a room and ignores me for the rest of my life?”
Chanel smiled. It was small and sad, and it made Ava want to cry.
“Then, you’ll have me,” she murmured. “You’ll always have me, Ava.”
Ava closed her eyes, took a deep breath, nodded, stared at Chanel once again. Those words, as quiet as they might have been, did comfort her a little. They were true; at least and no matter what, she had her friend at her side.
***
“By god I’m nervous. Aren’t you nervous? Why am I more nervous than you? You look really good by the way.”
“Camila,” Beatrice groaned as she clasped her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders. “Please behave.”
“Behave?!”
It was, thank the lord, a whisper-shout more than a shout, and Beatrice was fairly certain none of her court actually heard it.
“You’re about to meet your future consort! What am I supposed to do! Stay still and quiet?”
“Yes, Camila, that is exactly what you’re supposed to do. You’re my personal champion, not the royal jester.”
Camila mumbled before eventually falling quiet, and Beatrice felt a surge of gratitude to have her at her side.
“Do I really look good?” she murmured, and even if her eyes were anchored on the sea and the three warships approaching the harbor, she could still see the beam Camila gave her, brighter than a thousand suns.
“You look amazing. Lady Silva is going to fall head first as soon as she sees you.”
“That would be quite unfortunate,” Beatrice said, the tiniest amused smile at the corner of her lips.
With a touch of fondness, she mentally thanked Lucia for once again outdoing herself and providing Beatrice with an outfit perfectly suiting the occasion. She had been quite pleased when she had looked in the mirror while Lucia was adjusting her clothes this morning, the long, black open coat tightly fitted around her shoulders, the golden embroidery falling in a beautiful curve from the high collar to the tail of the jacket and circling the sleeves, the immaculate white foulard tied in a crafted knot around her neck and tucked in her black pourpoint, the golden and carefully engraved buckle of the belt tightened around her dark trousers. Camila complimenting her only comforted her more in her mistress-of-the-wardrobe’s choice of clothes for the day, and it appeased, even if very slightly, the nervousness that had been clutching around her throat ever since a messenger had barged into the council room to announce, between two pants, Your Majesty, Firstborn sails have been spotted on the horizon!
“What do you think she looks like?” Camila asked in a whisper, as if she suddenly grew conscious of Beatrice’s court hovering and gossiping with hushed voices a few meters behind them on the docks.
“What she looks like doesn’t matter,” Beatrice replied, tone firm.
“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t hurt if she was easy on the eyes!”
At this, Beatrice turned towards Camila for the very first time since they settled on the pier and started waiting for King Adriel’s royal fleet to moor in the harbor. Her champion was standing still beside her, her short and dark curls dancing with the wind, a little smile on her face.
“You’re talking about my future spouse, Camila,” Beatrice said with a cold voice and a glare, and Camila immediately pinched her lips and stared down at her feet.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty.”
Beatrice flinched. Oh how those words pained her. How she hated to be reminded that she was the queen, even to those she considered her closest friends. How she hated that she had no equal, and that her authority would always affect her relationships. That no one would truly, completely be themselves around her, and that she would never truly, completely be herself around anyone. She looked back at the sea and the three ships now close enough she could see the Firstborn kingdom’s banners flapping at the top of the masts, the mariners hoisting the sails, the few silhouettes standing still at the bow of each vessel.
“I could have asked for a portrait,” she eventually confessed, voice quiet.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Camila glancing at her. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because if I had, it would have meant that I care about what she looks like. About who she is.”
A hand settled on the crook of her elbow, and she glimpsed at Camila.
“I’m sure she’s a lovely woman,” Camila said with the softest smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” Beatrice replied. Then, after a while, she murmured, “But let’s hope so.”
She was, after all, about to spend the rest of her life with her.
***
Adriel’s ship had already dropped anchor and its passengers disembarked. The docks were crowded, black and dark blue with Vasseurians, sparks of color lightening the pier from the Firstborns’ more flamboyant outfits. When her vessel got close enough Ava could discern faces on the quay, she walked away from the railing and, for the billion’s time since she had set foot on the ship three days ago, she started pacing around like a caged lion.
“You’re going to crease your dress,” Chanel scolded her, catching Ava’s arm with a steady hand and forcing her to halt in her tracks.
“I frankly do not care,” Ava muttered.
“I know, but I do. I am not letting you meet your betrothed for the first time with a crumpled dress and disheveled hair.”
“She’ll probably be too busy licking Adriel’s boots to notice me anyway.” Ava crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. “This whole thing is to secure an alliance with him, I’m just a commodity here.”
“Maybe, but I want to make sure you’re an attractive enough commodity that you make a few heads turn. Preferably the Queen’s herself.”
Ava pouted but still let Chanel rearrange her hair. Around them, the ship was buzzing with a new kind of frenzy. Sailors and soldiers alike were running around, barking orders, rolling barrels, throwing ropes, dragging Ava’s and Chanel’s enormous trunks out of the captain’s cabin. When the hull of the ship collided against the hard stone of the docks, the deep noise resonated through Ava’s bones like a warning announcing the end of her free, happy, almost perfect life.
“You look stunning,” Chanel whispered.
The sailors were already installing the gangway. Soon, Ava would have to disembark. Soon, Ava would have to face the one person she was about to marry.
“This dress really suits you,” Chanel added, sliding a comforting hand along Ava’s arm.
“It feels like it’s trying to suffocate me to death.”
“It’s the corset. You’ll get used to it.”
“It’s the corset and the long sleeves and the fucking tights and—”
“You know Vasseur’s fashion is way less forgiving when it comes to exposed skin.”
God, another thing Ava would have to give up on, all of the light dresses she loved to wear, the thin fabric floating around her body as if it was weighing nothing, the sense of freedom that came with it. From now on, she’d have to be all bundled up in endless layers of clothing, to live in a country so repressed it was considered indecent to show even if only an ankle.
“My Lady,” an officer approached her, his eyes set above Ava’s shoulder. “King Adriel is now waiting for you on the pier.”
Great. Fantastic. What a perfectly fitting way to start the miserable rest of her life.
“Give me a moment.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
The officer stepped away, letting Ava and Chanel alone—or as alone as they could be on this ship swarming with sailors and soldiers. Chanel set her hands on Ava’s shoulders.
“Look at me,” she whispered. Ava did. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman with an incredibly beautiful heart. You’re full of joy and life, and no one can ever take that away from you. Whoever Queen Beatrice truly is, she cannot change who you are. We will make this place a good home for you, Ava. I promise.”
Ava smiled, a painful lump in her throat, and she covered one of Chanel’s hands with her own.
“For us,” she said. “We will make this place a good home for us.”
She stood on her toes and pressed her forehead against Chanel’s for the briefest moment, before taking a deep breath and stepping away.
“Let’s do this,” she murmured, and she walked towards the gangway.