Have you read Royals Part One - Seed?
***
She swept down the hall, Florian following in her wake. A flicking yellow rectangle stretched across the hall from the open door of her office. Soft murmuring voices floated down the hall, pausing as they heard the tap of her silk slippers on the timber floor. Through the door, the first thing she spotted was a huge vase of deep purple roses dominating the corner. Her stomach fluttered.
Chairs scraped to her left and her stomach instantly dropped. “Your Majesty,” they bowed as the door clicked shut behind Florian.
“Chancellor Petra, Lord Fyf, Lady Lucinda” she returned, standing behind her large wooden desk, eyes roving over the group in front of her. Lucinda’s feet were bare, Fyf’s collar was askew, and Petra’s shirt was half tucked in. Her eyes moved over to her husband who’d grabbed himself a chair and sat next to Petra. His hair was still tousled from sleep. Heat flooded through her. God. She cleared her tickling throat. “And Consort Florian. Please be seated.”
Sofia had rushed into her room moments after the messenger left, washing, brushing, and dressing her with a precision and efficiency only twelve years of teamwork could achieve. She scooped her immaculate dress under her as she sat. The others followed, Lucinda fidgeting, Fyf sitting as rigidly as Dahlia was, Petra’s toes barely touching the ground, and Florian slouching casually, an ankle crossed over his knee. Heat crept up her neck. Shit, she really should have tried harder to stay awake tonight.
“I have called this emergency meeting to address the flooding in the south.”
“Your Majesty, we need to send as many soldiers and supplies as we can. My- Our people are suffering, dying. Please, we must get it to them as quickly as possible,” Lucinda begged.
“Between the north and the Order half our soldiers are on the march. With Dalphi on the move it is unwise to leave the country with less than half the army available,” Fyf said.
“And the Order can’t be rescinded,” Petra added.
“I need all my soldiers at home. I can’t afford to send them to Endani now,” Lucinda said, worry lining her face.
“Just take some from the north,” Florian said with a casual flick of his hand.
“The northern soldiers need to stay in isolation so the plague doesn’t spread. It’d take months to extract any of them,” Petra countered sharply.
“Surely we can start withdrawing some.” Florian said.
“Could we ask for volunteers?” Lucinda asked.
“They won’t be as effective without the training, but if a tactical group were to coordinate them it could work. The king took a similar approach in the Great Flood thirty years ago,” Fyf said, a thoughtful look flickering in his usually neutral expression.
They lapsed into silence. Dahlia leant forward, steeping her finger in front of her. She turned their points over in her mind, trying to piece them together into a solution. Had she made the right call sending so many soldiers to Endani? She supposed it didn’t matter now, what was done was done, she’d just have to make the best of the situation.
There was also the issue of a royal presence to support the flood victims. She had three days until the inspection of the army and the flood zone was a days’ ride away, less if they maintained a forced march pace. She’d be able to make it back in time. Just.
Clearing her throat, she sat back. All eyes flicked to her, and she suppressed the need to swallow. “Lady Lucinda, you will be required to contribute 50 soldiers to the Order, the Royal Army will replace the other 350. You may take the rest of your soldiers as well as an additional 1,000 from the Royal Army, and any volunteers you can muster, south as soon as you can.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lucinda said, although her mouth pulled down into a slight frown.
“Petra, you will get the paperwork to start extracting 1,000 soldiers from the north on my desk in three days. They will isolate at North Ridge Palace and be rerouted south when their isolation is complete.”
Petra nodded.
Fyf opened his mouth. “Your- “
“There is also the issue of a royal presence,” she cut across Fyf. Florian gave her a subtle wink. “I would like to personally visit those affected by the disaster.”
“You have to be here for the inspection of the army,” Petra said.
“At forced march pace I’ll make it.”
“Forced march is difficult to maintain,” Fyf said carefully.
“And thus, it is a regular part of my training,” she said icily.
“I’ll come with you,” Florian said.
She stiffened. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll only be meeting with the community leaders before leaving again. I will be safe with my escort.”
Her stomach tightened as his face dropped. Guilt if she bought him, guilt if she didn’t, she couldn’t win. She resisted the urge to crawl under her desk.
“A united royal front would be highly beneficial for morale,” Petra piped up. “Especially with your anniversary celebration fresh in people’s minds.”
“Excellent idea,” she said, once again silently sending her thanks to Petra for saving the awkward situation. “While we are gone Chancellor Petra and Lord Fyf will step in. You will not make any executive decisions or hold Council, you will merely run the day to day and leave me reports on all issues.”
She directed the most challenging gaze she could muster at Fyf. He gave her an assessing look but nodded.
“We leave at first light. Dismissed.”
Lucinda, Fyf, and Petra bowed to her before leaving the room. Florian held out his hand to her.
She slouched back, rubbing a hand down her throat to try settle the tickling. “I- give me a minute.”
Dropping his hand, he gave her a small smile. “Alright, I’ll see you in bed. I love you Dal.”
“I love you too Flo,” she said with a tired smile.
He left the room, gently closing the door behind him. She watched the flickering flame of the candle closest to her. It transitioned from clear with blue edges to a plume of white-yellow light, bobbing and swaying as if it was a living creature. The pool of wax around the black wick dribbled over the edge, running down the candle. As it trickled and dripped, the candle shrunk to a stub. One by one the candles in the room burnt out. She watched the last of the wax evaporate. The flame guttered and died with a curl of white smoke, leaving her alone in the dark.
***
She ground her teeth to stop the groan on the tip of her tongue as she slid from her horse. They’d kept a punishing pace since dawn, but they’d reached the edge of the flood zone with two hours of light to spare.
The view before them was devastating. As far as the eye could see everything had been ripped away. Trees, houses, bridges gone, as if a giant had ploughed a row to plant potatoes right down the centre of the valley. Hundreds of columns of smoke curled between the trees above the flood line.
“Holy crap,” Florian whistled next to her. “I’ve never seen flooding at this scale before.”
She’d studied the Great Flood with her father, but seeing the destruction in person was something else. Florian slipped his arm around her waist. At his touch she let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.
“Your Majesty, Your Highness!”
Florian dropped his hand as she turned. A tall, elegant woman in a mud splattered pink skirt closed the gap between them quickly and bowed.
“My name is Alysa, I preside over the largest of the five counties affected by the flooding. Would you join us for tea at the command centre?”
Tea. It seemed absurd they’d have anything as normal as tea available, but she smiled. Actually, a tea wouldn’t go amiss, her throat was so dry. “Thank you, Alysa.”
The command centre was a small clearing with a large fire flickering and popping in the centre. Tents and sheets were strung neatly in the trees around the edge, and assortments of mismatched furniture were set up in designated areas. A pang of guilt shot through her chest as she thought of the luxurious royal tent being set up for her single night here in a similar clearing nearby.
The command team was made up of the five heads of the affected districts, with Alysa as its head. Dahlia sat in a large, roughly carved chair at the head of a highly polished table. She took a sip of sharp black tea from the floral-patterned teacup, the hot liquid soothing her throat. As they planned, the quill of the scribe scratched away.
Once they’d finished their tea, Alysa took them to meet some of the families set up nearby. Five or six families had been assigned to clearings set up similarly to the command centre. In each one the air was heavy with grief. Some families she spoke to were whole. Many more were missing someone. The faces around her were pale and drawn and as she headed back to the royal tent she felt as if a piece of her had sunk into the ground around those campfires, weighed down in the darkness.
She flopped fully clothed onto the soft bed, covers puffing. She closed her eyes. Shit, she needed a minute before taking off her boots. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs to bursting point before huffing it out her nose in one long exhale. Her body sunk further into the soft feather mattress. The sheets were silky against her arms. Her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm.
“Dal?”
A bolt shot through her as Florians voice ripped her from the edge of sleep. “Hmmm…” she breathed, not opening her eyes, instantly regretting it as she struggled to suppress a cough.
“I should stay down here, help coordinate the recovery.”
She opened her eyes at that. The tent’s thick white fabric curved above her. “Alysa seems to have it in hand,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.
“Yes,” Florian drew out. “But I can help here. I’m trained for this. It’s not so different from war.”
Her stomach clenched at the last word. She hated the thought of him going to war. To risk losing another…
“No. I need you in the capital with me,” she said, perhaps more sharply than she intended.
“I can be more use on the ground. There isn’t much for me to do in the capital,” he said, a slight bitter edge to his words.
A horrible combination of guilt and anger flushed her face. She sat up. “You’re cared for in the best luxury this country can offer. Is it not enough?” she bit out.
“Of course it’s enough.” His jaw clenched. “That’s not what I mean.”
“You’re my consort, you should always be with me.”
“No-“
“Are you questioning me too?” she half shouted, sliding off the bed.
“No!” Florian shot to his feet, his hands clenching at his side. “I’m not.”
“Yes you are!” angry tears pricked her eyes.
“Dahlia, I’m your number one supporter, you know that. But I need to do something. I can’t keep visiting farms and training with the guard. When I married you, I vowed to be your right hand. Let me help you.”
“It’s my burden to bear, not yours,” she half sobbed.
“It's my burden too-“
“Stop!” she said, throwing her hands in the air and turning away. “Stop, stop, stop. I’m too tired to argue.” She couldn’t suppress the coughing this time. They shook her body before she managed to take a deep breath, then another, wiping away the tears. Silently she started removing her boots and trousers. There was a thump behind her. She undid her belt and pulled her tunic over her head, throwing them on the floor. She didn’t bother to put her night dress on as she slid between the cool silky sheets. Florian lay fully clothed on the couch, back turned to her.
When she woke in the morning he’d already left.
***
Read Royals Part Three - Bud now!