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Caitlyn O’Carrick had been perfectly happy not being the queen of Clonmel, thank you very much.
Well, she hadn’t been perfectly happy since Ferris attempted to murder Halt, because, you know, fratricide attempts generally tend to put a bit of a damper on things. But she had been happy not being queen.
Unlike other people in her family, a crown was not something she would commit fratricide for. She’d considered it for other reasons (re: Ferris’ attempted fratricide) but had ultimately decided against it because killing her brother was a line she wasn’t willing to cross.
But she digressed.
The point was, she had harboured no ambitions to sit on a throne, wear a leather circlet, and have people call her “Your Majesty”.
So it was ironic that after all Ferris had done to be king, he’d only reigned five years before falling ill and just… dying. There was no grand tournament, no heroic death, just a fever that didn’t break and breathing that slowed one night and then just… stopped.
And Ferris hadn’t married or had an heir, so that left Caitlyn sitting on a throne, wearing a leather circlet, and—
“Your Majesty.”
Caitlyn blinked and refocused on the nobleman who was bowing in front of her.
“Lord Algrim of the North,” her herald announced. Caitlyn nodded, the nobleman retreated, and another took his place.
Was it too late to find wherever Halt was and make him king? Sure, the formerly drowned Crown Prince coming back from the dead to take up the crown might cause a bit of a scandal, but the court could use a bit of shaking up. And then Caitlyn could go back to being perfectly happy not being the queen of Clonmel.
Honestly, the single council meeting she’d attended as queen so far was like trying to herd cats.
On the other hand, Halt’s idea of diplomacy was to toss people out of windows when they became disrespectful. While Caitlyn could agree with the sentiment, most political situations required a bit more of a… tactful touch.
Unfortunately, Caitlyn didn’t actually know where her older brother was at the moment, so making him king was a moot point. She’d revisit it later. (Possibly.) For now, she had queening to do.
(Many years later, while Halt and Co. are off in Arridia.)
King Duncan of Araluen was an experienced diplomat. He had received extensive lessons on decorum and etiquette. He had hosted so many lords and ladies, political envoys, and rulers during his time as king that he had lost count years ago. He had rightfully earned a reputation for being eloquent and politically astute.
So during the Hibernian peace talks, when he came face to face with Queen Caitlyn of Clonmel, who bore an undeniable resemblance to Halt, Duncan very eloquently said:
“Huh.”
Lord Anthony nudged him discreetly.
“Your Majesty, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Duncan amended.
Queen Caitlyn smiled. “Mine as well. Thank you for hosting these negotiations.”
One of the queen’s entourage rushed up looking vaguely worried, whispered something in her ear, then rushed away again.
Queen Caitlyn sighed something that sounded like “herd of cats” then shifted to face Duncan, smile back in place. “Please excuse me.”
Duncan waited until she was out of earshot, then turned to Lord Anthony. “Tell me I’m imagining the resemblance.”
That Lord Anthony knew what Duncan was referring to was an answer in and of itself. “I would caution against rushing to conclusions before we have clearer information, but the two of them do share a likeness.”
“Huh,” Duncan said again, not really sure what else to say.
“Indeed, your majesty,” Lord Anthony replied.