#marigemma

"What are you thinking?" Talya asked.

He opened his eyes again. She was smiling at him in that way of hers, with just one corner of her mouth. He liked that smile. She only wore it when she knew someone well enough to not need answers to her questions, but was happy to receive them all the same. It wrinkled one of her eyes slightly, creating and almost skeptical air. But he liked that as well. Skepticism was one of the healthier traits someone could be gifted with.

"Spring," he answered simply.

"How novel," she teased back.

"It's a classical preoccupation," he returned. "And for good reason."

"It is pretty," she said, looking out over the gardens. "But it's steady, predictable... and a little too loud."

"Is that right?"

"Mmm," she nodded, taking a sip of her own drink.

She propped her bare feet up on the stone wall that bordered the portico they sat on. She wore a light linen dress, short enough to show the taut tan length of her legs. She flexed her toes in the warmth, shaking the length of her dark hair behind her.

"It's better in the desert."

Armand smiled at her under his sunglasses. "Is that right?"

"Definitely," she nodded.

"I didn't know you had spring in the desert."

"Well, we don't. Not really. Not like this. But one day the air will go very still, and you'll know something's coming.” She waves her hands as she speaks as she always does. “And when the sun rises again the sky will go almost black and split open like a cut throat, rain pouring down like the world's about to end for days, even weeks. Then it stops. Just like that. Suddenly, flowers explode out of things you never expected, bulbous and strange and beautiful. And then, you remember, that everything's alive after all."

"Sounds very dramatic."

"Beautiful. Thrilling. Maybe a little too thrilling for some people," she teased back at him. She painted her hand across the sky in front of her, mocking up a headline. "'King of Marigemma, slain today by a shocking display of cactus flowers.'"

He laughed quietly raising his drink to his lips again.

Sitting there, he wondered what the season looked like everywhere else. He thought of Delphine. Would it ever be spring where she was? The mountains were so tall in Erraviquo, it might be that they never lost snow the entire year. Spring in Vugge might be different. Warmer, farther south, and lower down the mountain. Maybe Catarina would swim in that ocean instead of their own, or grow flowers she hadn't been able to in this climate. Strange, he knew so much about the politics and functions of the world outside of their home, but they never really taught you what it might feel like stepping out on a summer evening in another country.

Spring in Kakos he knew was hot, humid, and heavy. But Rosaline had always liked the summer. Maybe it was still something she could enjoy.

Behind them the tall glass doors to the palace's larger salon were pushed open suddenly, and a familiar laugh made it's way out onto the portico.

Henri pushed his way out onto the stone work, wrapping his arms around his mother's shoulders. Talya turned instantly, reaching behind her back to grab him around his waist and flip him all the way over into her lap as he squealed and kicked his legs.

"Easy!" Armand tried, moving her glass just in time before it was kicked over as Henri screamed and Talya messed up all his finely arranged clothing by tickling him until he was breathless and wild-eyed.

"I'm so sorry your Majesty," the governess called behind them. She was a short and small-boned spuma woman with a pretty face and curled dark hair. They'd only just hired her this season. "He was so eager to see you."

"Don't give it a second thought," Talya called over her shoulder, wrangling the squirming child in her lap.

The two of them were hopeless, especially together. Armand did his best to make sure the boy was presented as an ideal prince, but he didn't take to it the same way he had when he was little. The boy was always escaping to climb trees, scuffing the knees of his cashmere trousers, staining his elbows with grass or worse. Whenever they put him in a proper outfit his whole body seemed to be fighting against it subconsciously, fingers sneaking out to tug at the neck, feet tapping impatiently at the floor, hips wiggling back and forth during ceremonial dinners. That was Talya's blood, and far too much of her brother's along with it. They had that way to them, inpatient, constantly looking out windows and scrambling over rocks, always moving, always feeling the earth with their hands and feet and all too often their faces when they crashed to the ground after a foolhardy attempt at something bold and supposedly impressive. He'd never gotten along with Talya's brother and doubted he ever would. At first he'd hardly gotten along with Talya, but where he'd come to love her kindness and sincerity, her brother offered none of the same charm.

Ien was a deviant. On the few visits he made up to them he spent most of his time climbing antique fountains or putting his feet up on the furniture. And what made it worse was when Armand asked him very politely to please not engage in such destructive and careless behavior, something in his golden eyes went petulant and he seemed to only do it more afterwards. It certainly didn't help that when he asked Talya to deal with her brother's immaturity she only laughed at them both. He had a fear that one day, he'd go into his son's room and find him flipping off his bed with feathers in his ears and Ien's taunting smile on his lips.

"What's that?" Henri asked, reaching out for the sparkling pink beverage.

"An adult drink," Armand answered, sliding it easily out of his reach.

The boy grinned craning his head backwards to look at his father over Talya's shoulder. "Booze."

Armand sighed heavily and Talya laughed, pulling her son's shirt up enough to take a dramatic nibble at his stomach while he screamed and kicked at her.

"What are you doing today?" Armand asked him.

He settled into his mother's lap better, picking at the edge of her dress. "Lessons. Nothing interesting."

"Oh, come on," Talya pressed, "it's not that bad."

The boy shrugged apathetically. "I don't know why I can't sit out here with you. It's finally warm and nice."

"You can. You are now aren't you," Talya said.

"Yes, but she," he glared in the direction of the poor governess, "is going to make me come back inside with the books." He said the last word like someone else might say invasive parasites.

"What if you did your lessons outside today?" Armand asked.

Henri perked up in Talya's arms. "Can I?"

"'May I'," Armand corrected gently. "And I'm not the one you should be asking." He nudged his head in the direction of the governess.

The boy glanced at the woman with a frown. "Why? You're the king. Everyone does what you say. If you say it's alright everyone has to listen."

Talya hid her smile over her shoulder.

"That's not how it works," Armand answered, leaning onto the table. "If you think everyone will do what you say just because you say it you won't be a very good king. Being a king isn't about doing what you want, it's about doing what's best for everyone."

"How do you know what's best for everyone?" The boy asked, wide golden brown eyes staring back at him.

Armand smiled. "Sometimes you have to guess. But to be good at guessing, you have to understand that people don't like being told what to do. They like having homes and families, and they like those things to be safe, and strong. If you prove to them that you can make sure they have those things, they will know you care about more than just yourself, and it's easier to ask for loyalty and respect in return. You should deliver what you wish to receive. Does that make sense?"

The boy nodded quietly.

"So?" Talya asked, giving him a squeeze.

He glanced over at the governess. "Can we study outside today Miss Mandei?"

The girl smiled back. "Yes, I think that would be alright. But you have to promise to pay attention."

"I promise," he said instantly.

"Careful," Talya said. "When you make a promise it's to all who heard it."

That was one of her desert sayings. He supposed it came from living in rooms filled with people all her life, families extended beyond just blood by love and a routine that relied on everyone doing their part.

He nodded seriously. "I promise. I do. Really."

"Good." She kissed him, sliding him easily back down on the ground.

He hurried back over towards his teacher.

"Hey," Armand called. "What about me?"

Henri grinned, ran over to his seat, jumped up high enough and  kissed his father's cheek. Armand smiled and ran a hand through his hair, getting it back into place. "Go on."

And he did, following his governess across the grass and into the folding turns of the fluorescent garden.

"You're afraid he's going to turn into Ien, aren't you?" Talya smirked.

Armand took another sip. "Why would I be afraid of that?"

"Mmm, no reason I suppose," Talya answered. "I know how much you like him, maybe we could have him visit more now that Henri is older?"

He gave her a look. She'd called his bluff.

"Alright, maybe I am a little worried."

"He's more like Delphine than Ien anyways," Talya comforted.

"Delphine never tried to swim in the fountains," Armand corrected.

Talya laughed, taking her own drink and swigging it back with a sigh. She glanced over at him, and smiled warmly. "It's good to see you like this."

"Like what?" He asked, looking back at her.

She shrugged. "Happy."

He frowned, leaning forward again. "I have been happy. What makes you think I haven't been?"

"Well," she sighed, "maybe that's the wrong word for it. Contented. Focused. You've just seemed so distracted lately, distant."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to apologize," she answered. "Your sisters left, that's a lot to take in all at once."

He frowned, looking out across the garden. "It hasn't been just that."

Talya rolled her shoulders to face him, voice suddenly quieter. "It's the Graces, isn't it?"

He said nothing, but after a moment gave a short nod.

"It's not worth it, you know that, don't you?" She continued.

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

"I mean that asking questions, wondering, it's not going to change things, and even if you get answers, what do you expect will happen? Do you want Delphine, and Rosaline, and Catarina to all come home again?"

"No, of course not. They need to live their own lives."

"Then why put yourself through all of this uncertainty?"

He set his jaw. The truth was he wasn't sure. Yes, he wanted his sisters to have their own lives, but it was unfair that they had to risk such unhappiness, and in some cases, likely find it. He'd thought of Rosaline often since she left, up in some steel tower with a criminal born to a common street girl sharing her bed each night. Now his nights were full of the others as well: Delphine up on a mountain in snow and air so thin he didn't know how they could live in it, Catarina surrounded by a culture so uncivilized they probably didn't even use utensils. And for what? For the sanctity of the blood? No one valued that more than himself. He knew that they were unique, they and the other royals. That had to be saved at all costs, and he understood why his father and others had signed The Order. The days had been dark and full of death and chaos. But decisions made in fear were often unsound. Why couldn't he have picked his sister's husbands? Why couldn't they have picked their own? It seemed impossibly stupid to not do so. There was risk and danger in it that was just what The Divine Order had been designed to prevent.

"It just seems so useless," he said finally. "And I don't understand why it should be simply accepted. We should be allowed to manage ourselves."

"We do," Talya pressed. "We have. It is only when the world as a whole is at risk. And isn't that worth something?"

He frowned. She was right in many ways. He wasn't sure what he hoped to gain from questions.

"I just want to understand," he said, voice low. "I want to know  why, and who, and how. I think we all deserve that, if it affects our lives."

She sighed, leaning back again. "I suppose you're right, I just don't know what good you think it will do."

Likely none. Was he really only curious? He'd never been curious by nature. He'd enjoyed school and lessons for the sake of understanding how things worked, and knowing how he might help affairs continue as they had. He'd never asked questions, or had any desire for exploration. Maybe he was making up for it now. Or maybe he just feared that one day and Order would arrive with Henri's name on it, promising him to someone unknown and unsuited, and he knew, even now, that he would not be able to stomach it.

"I think I will go and visit Uthu. And the heirs," he said.

"What? In the south?" Talya asked.

"Why not?" Armand said, rolling his head to look at her. "I haven't seen them in too long. I've missed them."

Talya rolled her eyes. "Ten children is absurd. Your poor mother."

Armand smiled. "She bore it well."

"Exactly what a man would say," Talya returned.

"It would be good to see them all, see how their lessons are going."

"I can't believe he teaches all of you. How exhausting."

"He's always been with us," Armand said. The southern palace had always been for the relatives and younger siblings of the royal family. It was a place for education and growth, outside of the chaos and distraction of the main court. The heirs were always educated in the main palace, and Uthu had been there was he and Delphine and the other two had been younger, but when they grew up and new children were born to their parents, Uthu had promised he'd look after the young ones until they were grown as well. So, he remained at the southern palace, teaching Armand's siblings instead of the new heir. It was for the best. He was getting old and it was nice for him to avoid the strain of court.

"And you want to go just to see your siblings?" Talya pressed.

"Uthu might have some answers," Armand admitted. "Answers I don't have."

Talya nodded. "Well, I did want to visit home, help Ien with this wedding."

"That's right," Armand remembered. He suddenly pitied the boy. He couldn't imagine opening the doors of your home to Noxmilitas. "Has he met her yet?"

Talya shook her head. "He's dreading it."

"It would be good for you to be there."

"Getting rid of me?" She teased.

He smiled. "Never."

The night was warm enough to feel like summer. They had left the tall windows of their bedroom open along with the door that spread out towards the balcony. They faced the gardens and nothing beyond; the guards he'd posted since The Midnight Broadcast patrolled regularly, so there wasn't any significant danger in leaving them ajar.

There was a breeze, as there always was, no matter what the season. It pushed off the sea and headed inward, but the heat seemed to hinder it, wrapping heavy arms around its waist and holding it back, so by the time it reached them it was hardly strong enough to move a curtain, let alone provide relief.

Talya had tossed and turned for hours before finally sleeping. He'd wondered earlier in their marriage why she had difficulty sleeping in the warmth when she grew up in such heat, but she'd explained that desert nights were often colder than it ever was in Marigemma. Eventually she'd succumbed, motions slowing and calming, and now her long limbs covered most of their bed, a leg draped over his ankle, an arm across his chest. She was so still, and softly he reached down and pressed a hand to her back. He couldn't feel her breathing, so he slid a finger to neck her and waited. The pulse was there. He pulled his hand back, wrapping an arm around her again. It was foolish but he found himself doing it every now and again when she was sleeping so solidly.

He couldn't sleep, or maybe he just didn't want to. His dreams had been conflicted. There was strangeness slipping into them, and he wasn't sure of it's source. Hooded figures passed behind his eyes, speaking with voices made up of hundreds. The voices would grow close until they were almost inside his skull, as if his own voice were made up of so many. They fluttered around his head with so many words so many voices that they became a buzz and then the buzz became a hum and the hum a song. But when he woke he could never remember the melody. He didn't like the dreams. They made him feel a sense of foreboding he didn't understand and didn't want to. It felt as if something was getting closer, louder, and he wished it wouldn't. But maybe it was just that he felt everything else moving away from him and his dreams tried to pull it back again. He couldn't be sure whether what he saw when he closed his eyes was merely his own fears and anxieties reflected back at him, or something else altogether.

He knew he should sleep, but tonight it felt impossible. It was easy enough to slip away from Talya, she always slept so heavily. Moving through the dark of the palace halls he could hear soft voices occasionally: guards changing their watches, one or two servants up late with some task or other. He nodded at the men guarding his son's quarters as he passed, and moved inside past them. The playroom that acted as the foyer to his rooms was neat and tidy, stuffed dolphins, models of cars and planes, books with big bright images splashed across the covers, all tucked away in baskets and cases, leaving the open floor with pillows and comfortable couches, a few chairs, the circular rug a bright map of the world. He was sure if it weren't for the servants the room would be a wreck. Henri had never been very diligent in tidying after himself.

Armand's bare feet moved softly across the carpet, pushing the unlatched door to the bedroom open gently. The boy's room was wide, circular, windows looking out to all sides of the garden. The light of the moon off the ocean fell white across the floor. The ceiling was hung with the night sky, a series of wide spanning mobiles that hung stars down in luminant colors. Now, in the stillness, they spun ever so slightly overhead, shifting gently against the push of time.

He approached the bed. It was large and the boy looked almost silly so small inside of it. There were large vases of flowers on either side. They had started teaching him how to pick his own to wear in the mornings. He normally just picked the ones he thought were the most exciting for the season, but he was starting to enjoy the stories they told as well.

Armand sat on the edge of the bed, watching the boy breathe steadily. He hesitated, then reached out and brushed his hair from his face. His own hair was so wiry and unmanageable he tended to keep it quite short, but the boys was softer, somewhere between Delphine's and Talya's, and it was easy to push it aside and out of his eyes.

The boy stirred, and he instantly regretted disturbing him, pulling his hand back, but it was too late.

"Papa?" The boy muttered, voice heavy with sleep.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

" 'S alright," Henri managed, rolling over slightly. "You can stay if you want."

Armand smiled. "Maybe I will."

The boy frowned, wiggling back down under the covers. "I had a dream."

"A good one?" Armand asked, running a soothing hand over his back.

The boy shrugged slightly. "There was a song."

Armand suddenly felt cold in the warmth of the room. "What song?"

A heavy dew lay on the gardens and out across the land. Hardly a mile off he could see the flat plain of the sea, catching orange and gold in the morning light. Armand knew it was wrong to hate the sea, but just for today he would indulge himself.

He felt the warmth of a sigh against his shoulder, familiar arms sliding around his waist and holding him close. She smelled as she always did, lilac and hot stones. Smells of summer.

“Come back to bed,” she breathed, resting her chin on his shoulder and leaning her head against his own. She was just about his height, lithe strong limbs and large warm eyes. The length of her hair tickled the side of his face. She always held him so close, even in the first months of their marriage, when he knew her heart beat like a caged thing. His sisters as well, always embracing, holding, as if the warmth she missed from the sands she called home had to be replaced with human touch.

He’d asked her why she did it once, maybe six months after their marriage, once she was pregnant with their first. She’d told him in the harems of her homeland there had always been bodies close, friends, family, lovers. There was always touch, closeness. They didn’t seal themselves off in layers of fashion and courtesy like his people did, the heat of the desert pulsed through them in the days and strung them together in the nights. And now he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever spent a restful night without the warmth of her glowing beside him.

“I can’t,” Armand answered her. “I have a morning debrief, with Michelle.”

“He can wait,” she said. She was looking out the window as well, blinking against the brightness quickly approaching them.

“He shouldn’t,” Armand answered. “The girls will be awake soon.”

She was silent. Her hands wrapped tighter around his waist. He could feel the slip of her negligee against his bare back, still warm from their bed. She had protested at first against the fashions that sealed her body away from the world, but she’d grown more accustomed to it, adapting her own flowing, loose fabrics arranged with his people’s structure, creating something wholly her own. The gossip magazines had praised her for it and the conservative stations had decried the action, but it had been five years and it was hardly notable now.

“They will be happy,” his wife said after a moment.

“You don’t know that.”

“I am happy,” she said.

He turned his head, truly looking at her for the first time. The sunlight caught against her copper skin, turning her eyes golden, staring out at the gardens as they remembered their colors in the morning light.

“Truly?” He could not help asking.

“You know I am,” she answered simply.

There had never been “I love you” between them. Not on their wedding in the dark warmth of summer air. Not on the morning after, bodies exhausted and sheets tangled between them. Not when his son had grasped at his hand with impossible striving fingers while she held him tight, sweat still shining on her brow. They did not lie to each other. They never had, which he supposed was more than many who shared that word could say. He’d grown to accept that happiness, that contentment, was a blessing he was fortunate enough to have received.

“Why must they go?”

It wasn’t truly a question, but she answered it anyways. “Because they must.”

He felt an anger tighten in his chest, the same anger he’d fought to smother for the past year. “That is no answer.”

His wife raised a hand to his face. “It was enough of an answer for us. Do you wish there hadn’t been one? Do you wish we had never been paired as we were?”

Armand forced a smile back at her. “We were lucky.”

“The Graces have made these matches for all of our benefit,” Talya continued, slipping a hand upward to trace the short, rough dark of his hair. “They have no allegiances, they have no schemes, they’re only responsibility, their only care, is to—“

“Preserve the blood,” Armand finished for her. He eased a hand through her hair. “I know.”

He kissed her head once. Eventually she returned to bed, but he did not go with her. There was much to do.

He adjusted his cuff as he made his way towards his office. Navy suit today, black shirt underneath covered with the curling shapes and patterns of flowers. He was wearing suits a few sizes smaller than he had three years ago, edging the trend in that direction. He kept the bottoms of his pants cuffed up enough to show off black silk lining and matching floral socks. The meticulously sewn brown leather shoes slipped on the marble tiles under him but he used to that.

He always arranged his outfits seasonally, spent an entire day once every three months lining up each daily combination so he needn’t take the time to plan appropriately in the morning. Some other monarchs let that responsibility fall on someone else’s shoulders, some hardly cared at all. He remembered the last time that prince from The Motherland had been on television outside of any formal occasion. He’d looked like he’d just rolled out of a barn, dusty and careless. Armand could never understand such detachment. They were the ruling class, the divine ones, they should appear as such.

He had chosen a Magnolia today for his breast-pocket today. Their family always selected a bloom to wear each day, and even if the garden’s weren’t at their best, the greenhouses were always full. It was a constant reminder of the fragile beauty of life, wearing death each day around with them.

He moved easily through the familiar halls of the palace. Servants and spuma already hurried through the halls, the golden light of dawn pouring through the tall windows, bouncing off the golden elaborations on the walls and the white marble of the floors. The doors opened obediently as he reached them, finely dressed and perfectly straight spuma holding them as still as statues.

His office door he opened himself, stepping into the circular room that looked out to the gardens on almost every side. There had been a time when he had felt exposed in this space, but now with the impenetrable glass installations and all the latest security measures, he could grasp at some of that calm once more.

“Good morning, Majesty,” Michelle said where he stood tall and ready by the desk. He had been his Father’s advisor before his death, Armand could remember the wrinkles of his smile better than many things from his childhood. “Shall we start with general updates?”

Armand nodded, taking the espresso waiting on his desk and sipping it as he seated himself. “Gloriaterra first, please Michelle.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, shuffling the papers in his hands slightly. “Not much has changed in the past few weeks. It’s still the main four factions battling for control.”

“Are any factions pulling ahead.”

“Not that we can tell, Majesty.” Michelle continued, “civilians continue to try and push into surrounding nations for sanctuary.

“And how are they being received?”

“Queen Tarasea is establishing aid programs and welcoming those that reach her borders.”

Armand sipped down the rest of his shot. “She’s still a child. It’s to be expected I suppose.”

“Quite.” Michelle resumed the report. “The mountains block much progress north, Vugge’s foothills are become more populated with the refuges but they have yet to make a serious migration in that direction.”

Armand nodded. “And the rest?”

“There’s still rumblings from Noxmilitas, but there always are. Nothing to cause concern I would say. And the engagement of the Metraterra prince and Linnea of Erraviquo is still popular news in most nations.”

Armand tapped his empty cup idly. “Year of Engagements. Think they’ll change the name? Although I suppose Year of the Squall is fitting enough, there will be more than a few tempests with all these young marriages. How many is it again?”

He could feel Michelle’s worried gaze on him but he ignored it, switching on the television instead.

“Six,” Michelle answered. “Including of course Princess Delphine and Princess Catarina.”

Armand tapped his cup a little more insistently. “Not Princesses for much longer, Queens.”

“Well deserving ones,” Michelle said. “Even if it is painful to loose them. They will do well.”

“Mmm,” Armand acknowledged.

He thought of Rosaline. It hadn’t been half a year since she left. He remembered their last morning. She’d sat with them at breakfast as they always did, held his son, laughed with Delphine and Catarina. She hadn’t spoken to him. She hadn’t spoken to him since the morning he walked into her room, watched as she searched for what he’d taken from her. Strange how in that moment, which should have been the most painful he’d known he had done the right thing. She’d looked like such a child that morning, seeking a lost toy, sobbing when she couldn’t find it. She’d asked him with tear stained cheeks what he’d done. And he’d told her.

She’d always been the quiet one out of all of them. He and Delphine were always racing across the grounds, putting on performances, making speeches, eager to join father out in the crowds. Caterina had followed them, always eager to participate rather than direct. But Rosaline had always been hesitant. If they ran too fast she waited, sitting down on the lawn with herself for company, or wandering off to her sketches and paints, making worlds of her own.

He hadn’t known she could scream until that morning. And then there was silence, for months, and then she’d left. He’d kissed her cheek, she’d remained still as stone, and now she was gone. And soon they would be too, all his sisters scattered across strange lands with stranger husbands.

Rosaline wed to a criminal and a whore-monger. Catarina promised to a barbarian, and Delphine to some boy who was rumored to be as cold and sexless as a statue.

He set his cup down firmly. “All these marriages, pulled from thin air.”

“Divine direction,” Michelle tried to correct gently.

Armand snorted. “They say this is for ‘unity’, for the continued purity of our lines. ‘Ensuring the cycle’, isn’t that was the graces always say?”

Michelle nodded quietly.

“How does thrusting young couples into each other’s arms cause anything but chaos? Sew anything but discord? It seems so pointless. Destructive.”

“If I may, you were matched, your Majesty,” Michelle said.

Armand sighed. He was tired of that reminder. He saw what Rosaline was shackled to. Talya was luck, and luck was fickle.

“You’re sure you won’t go?” Michelle tried, “To the weddings? It might give you more comfort to see your sisters married, to see the palaces they will rule from, the people who they will spend their days surrounded by.”

Armand shook his head. “I cannot back away from policy. The borders are restricted. I’ve said we will not step outside them.”

“Majesty, if I might,” Michelle began, “these policies…”

Armand stood abruptly, walking around to the front of the desk. “We’ve been over this Michelle. Several times if I recall. My opinions have not changed.”

Their money was an ancient as their family, and all the other lords of the cities could claim the same. It had first come from the jewels that littered the cost, forming a foundation for their land. Investments, age, and art, that was where their strengths lay. There we resources in the bogs to the south that continued to do well as an export for the serving classes, but they did not need that, he felt sure.

“I understand,” Michelle continued, “but sealing the borders, not allowing trade or travel as freely as the other nations, it will set us back.”

“Has it yet?” Armand asked. “Our trade with Cronasol seems to be more than enough to sustain the economy as it is. I need to protect my people, Michelle, and after last year—”

“The Midnight Broadcast was a tragedy, your Majesty, but we mustn’t cripple ourselves.”

“And I say we haven’t. I see the same reports that you do. It’s not isolation, it’s self-reliance. We keep our finances internal. If there’s no other place to spend, it circulates. The numbers have been strong.”

“In the cities, yes, but in the south, the situation may become more desperate.”

“May,” Armand emphasized. “A possibility is not enough to put my people, my family at risk. If it becomes a situation, we will address it. And until then I cannot leave. I am the King, the foundation of the land, and I cannot displace myself, especially now.”

Michelle nodded quietly. “Of course.”

Armand tried to quiet the heat in his chest, focusing instead on the television flashing news against the far wall. There was old footage of The Doom. He remembered first seeing those shots when he was just a boy, watching as waves ripped an entire land into the sea. Before the Midnight Broadcast it had seemed an incomparable tragedy, all but one member of the royal family lost forever. And now that one was due to return to his homeland, claim the blood-line once more.

“When does the boy get home?”

“Three days,” Michelle answered.

“Would you mind checking on the girls?” Armand began, “I want to make sure they’re awake.”

“Of course.” Michelle bowed shortly, “I’ll make inquiries.”

“Thank you,” Armand said, eyes flitting back to the television.

Michelle left the door ajar behind him and Armand could hear his careful steps echoing on the marble as he made his way down the hall.

He was grateful for the quiet. The truth was he might be sharper today than he meant to be. There was so much he felt slipping out of his fingers, and he wished to catch it back, hold it tight. If he couldn’t protect his own people, his own family, his own sisters, what good was he?

He tried to imagine a day without their voices filling the rooms of the palace and failed.

“Do you think he’s real?”

Armand turned. Delphine was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed lightly over her chest as they often were, posture tilted back as if asking the world to prove itself. Her hair was still mussed from sleep, a great wave of tousled curls. She’d dressed simply, not the outfit she would wear for the public today but something cotton and comfortable for moving about the palace. Her smile was sharp, eyes bright, bare feet on the marble under her.

She wore a branch of orange blossom buds, white and sweet smelling. He wondered why she’d chosen it. Because such a thing would soon be far from her reach? Or maybe for the purity, the simplicity, things her old life held little of and her new one would require.

“What?” Armand asked, caught off guard with his thoughts.

“Him,” she tilted her chin towards the screen, “The heir. Do you think he’s real?”

Armand snorted. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t be.”

“You never know,” she said with that voice of hers, half teasing half gleeful, as if the world was full of equal parts idiots and wonders. “Some people aren’t so sure, and I can’t say I blame them. Little kid survives when the entire family drowns? Pretty surprising.”

“Miraculous really,” Armand agreed. “But miracles happen.”

Delphine smiled at him, eyes dancing with restrained sarcasm. “Even so, who’s to say he’s really the heir?”

“The Graces for one,” Armand said. “They’ve been raising him since he lost his family. I’m sure if he was a fake it wouldn’t have taken them twelve years to catch on.”

“Maybe they’re in on it.”

Armand rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, I’m sure.”

“Certainly has his work cut out for him, doesn’t he?”

“Only if he feels the need to change the way of things,” Armand leaned back in his chair. “He’s young, but hopefully not a fool.”

“He was supposed to marry that girl wasn’t he, the princess, the youngest one. What was her name?”

“Ketina,” Armand said.

“Ketina,” Delphine remembered. “She came one summer didn’t she?”

“She didn’t like grapes,” Armand reminded her.

“That’s right,” Delphine’s stare drifted. “Poor boy. Seems like no one gets to stick around him...”

Armand made a small sound of agreement.

Delphine wandered deeper into the office, crossing the floor with light bare steps. She reached the window, hooking her fingers lightly against the panes. He watched and tried not to miss her already.

“Remember that summer mother brought us lambs?” She asked, although she did not look at him. “You were so proud that you had the only black one, and mine and Rosaline and Catarina’s all matched, pure white. We were the only one’s old enough to have them, half the other’s hadn’t even been born yet.”

Armand ignored the tightness in his chest. He took her in, while he still could, the familiar sound of her voice, the ease with which they spoke that was something only siblings could really share. The light of the morning caught against her hair, bringing out the pink and the gold with fresh fervor.

“They could hardly walk, clumsy things, and they were always standing so close to each other.” She pressed her fingers against the glass to feel the warmth of the sun. “And one day you tried to take yours on an adventure, take it out on the boat on the lake, but as soon as it was ten feet from the others they started crying out for it. Do you remember? That noise they made?”

Armand cleared his throat. “Of course. It was terrible. I felt so awful.”

She kept her stare on the garden. “It’s funny, back then I never thought about where their mother was. They must have had one, and she wasn’t there with them. We fed them out of bottles with the servants and the governess, because they didn’t have a mother. It’s no wonder they always stood so close to one another.”

Armand couldn’t say anything back to her and suddenly he couldn’t look at her either. He sat at his desk, watching the images replaying The Great Doom across the television.

“Have you heard from Rosaline?” Delphine asked.

The images flashed on the screen, violent and historical.

“Yes,” He said.

“Is she well?”

“Yes,” He lied.

Delphine turned, leaning back against the windows with her hands crossed behind her. “Tell me again.”

“About what?”

“About him, my king,” she said.

Armand sighed, leaning back heavier onto the desk behind him. “You can find anything you need as easily as I can.”

“I know,” she said. “But I like you telling me. It makes it feel like a story.”

It wasn’t a story. It wasn’t some fairy-tale or fantastical myth. It wasn’t an article in a paper or the cover of a magazine. But he held his tongue.

“Linneaus, King of Erraviquo,” Armand recited. “The Kingdom Lost in Time.”

“A palace carved out of mountains and lit by stars,” Delphine continued for him in her way, almost sarcastic but still so lively it was hard to tell if she was sincere.

“Raised by priests after the death of his parents, along with his sister Linnea.”

“Who’s off to marry the horse-boy,” Delphine teased.

“You really have to stop calling him that. It’s going to slip out in an interview one of these days.”

“No,” she smiled. “It won’t.”

“I know,” he smiled back.

“You don’t like him, do you?” She asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“Monk-prince.”

“I don’t know him,” Armand said. “No one does.”

“There,” she pointed, “See, negativity.”

“It is not.” He insisted.

“So, you’re not worried?” She pressed.

He looked away from her, focusing back on the television. “I’m not.”

“You’re lying.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmm, you’re tapping your thumb. You do that when you’re worried.” She gestures.

Armand sighed, looking back at her. “Maybe I am. Shouldn’t I be? You’re both going now, just like Rosaline, and I hardly know who to or what for.”

“We’re going to do what we were born to do, idiot,” she said, knocking a hand against his shoulder. “We’re going to be Queens.”

“I like you as a Princess,” Armand smiled.

“Of course you do,” Delphine said. “You always got to be the king, even when we were little, well it’s someone else’s turn now, so let us have it.”

He looked at her, focusing on the glint of her eyes. “You mean that? You’re truly happy?”

She stepped closer, holding his gaze firmly. “I’m truly happy. Now come on,” she snatched his hand, “I’m starved, and I want as much breakfast as possible before switching over to the goat food they eat up in those mountains.”

Armand followed her, heading out of the office. “This wasn’t something you’d choose.”

“I might have,” she shrugged, “and anyways, what does it matter. No one questions the Graces.”