“We should send 10,000 soldiers to aid Endani. The Dalphi Empire will be on our doorstep next if they fall, and we won’t be able to stop them.”
“10,000! We can’t release that many. Not with a quarter of the army still in the north containing the plague.”
“We shouldn’t send anyone. We could use this as leverage to reduce the import taxes in the new treaty.”
“They must be desperate if they’re requesting aid. We must do something.”
“What is your decision, Queen Dahlia?”
Silence fell as ten pairs of eyes swung toward her. Her stomach clenched only slightly, a marked improvement from the nauseating experience of heading her first court meeting almost a year ago. She silently sent her thanks to Chancellor Petra at the other end of the long wooden table for stopping the never-ending argument. The stout woman in a cream dress gave her an imperceptible nod.
The table was lined with men and women in brightly coloured finery, the youngest of them at least ten years older than herself. Her lords and ladies. Kefali’s court. She suppressed a sigh. They all had good points. All of which she’d already considered countless times over the past week since Ambassador Harlem had arrived begging for aid.
Her eyes drifted to the wildflower meadows beyond the arches lining the open stone gallery. The warm breeze carried the sweet, perfumed scent of flowers. Fat bees, colourful butterflies, and shining dragon flies floated from purple to blue to yellow flower in the lush meadows as she considered.
Sending soldiers to Endani would cost lives and a significant amount of gold, but it could potentially prevent the war coming to Kefali’s doorstep, which would cost even more lives and gold. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of having an invading force as big as Dalphi’s on the doorstep of their tiny country.
But the north was also still reeling from a plague outbreak and needed soldiers up there. Not to mention the Royal Guard and reserve soldiers they needed to keep in the capital. With a standing army of only 20,000, Kefali had one of the smallest armies on the continent. Although, from her conversations with Ambassador Harlem, Endani would take anything they could offer. They must be desperate.
“We will send 5,000 soldiers,” she said, bringing her gaze back to the table.
“Your Majesty, we cannot spare them,” said a solidly built, salt and pepper haired man in a red vest from the far end of the table.
Ice cold rage rippled through her. “Are you questioning your queen, Lord Fyf?” she asked, pinning him with the coldest stare she could muster. Lord Fyf had been her father’s longest standing lord, and her longest standing pain in the ass when she was princess, and now as queen.
He defiantly held her stare, but stayed silent. Never back down, her father had said. The seconds ticked by, but eventually Lord Fyf moved his gaze to the elegant, green-clad Lady Dana seated opposite him. A look passed between them, but Dahlia ignored it.
She swept her eyes over the remaining court. “Each of you will muster four hundred of your tier one soldiers and have them report to the castle in three days. The Royal Army will supply the remaining thousand.” Some of the courtiers glanced at each other but she continued.
“Lady Mary,” she nodded toward a powerfully built woman halfway down the table who looked out of place amongst the soft colourful fabrics in her highly polished armour. “You will coordinate the soldiers for my inspection in four days’ time. Lord Merril,” she nodded toward a man in a gold and blue suit. “You will coordinate the supplies. Lady Dana, you will coordinate the weaponry. Everyone else will assist as required. I will meet with Ambassador Harlem to inform him of our decision.”
Wood scraped on stone as the court rose with her. Chancellor Petra scurried over from the far end of the room. “Your Majesty,” she said with a bow of her head, trotting at Dahlia’s side as she strode through the large wooden doors, leaving the court muttering behind her. “Are you sure you want to commit so many soldiers while the plague situation continues to worsen?”
“Surely you are not also questioning your queen Petra?” she asked, keeping her eyes ahead, her strides unfaltering.
“Never Your Majesty. It’s just, well, a Royal Aid Order is irrevocable. We cannot rescind it once you sign it.”
“I am well aware of Irrevocation Clause Petra.”
“But the plague-“
“Petra.” She halted, turning to her Chancellor. She wasn’t much taller than her Chancellor. Mustering all the authority she could, she said “Do you really think I have not considered all the available options and their possible consequences?”
“N-No.”
“Then draw up the Order and have it ready for me to sign by the end of my meeting with Ambassador Harlem. Specify the soldiers must be tier one in the Arms Clause, I won’t have any of them getting away with sending lower tiered soldiers.” She swept off, leaving Petra, quill scratching, in the middle of the hall. “And send word to Sofia I will return in two hours,” she called over her shoulder.
***
“Fuck me,” Dahlia huffed, flopping onto a fainting couch in the corner of her bedroom with a puff of her skirt, kicking off her heels.
“Meeting went well then?”
“Went as they always do, Sof,” she said, eyeing the tray the tall brunette was carrying.
“Let me guess,” Sofia said, putting the tray down on the ornately carved dressing table and turning to Dahlia. One hand on a curvy hip, the other ticked off her mental list. “The court rattled off all the points you’d already considered, Fyf questioned your decision outright, the rest questioned your decision behind your back, and Petra questioned your decision as you left. What about Harlem?”
“He’s grateful. Wanted more of course, but he didn’t push it.” Dahlia stared unseeing at the ornately painted ceiling. When was her court going to start seeing her as their queen, rather than the young princess who joined her father at the meetings? Her throat tightened at the thought of her dad. God, she missed him so much.
“Com’on Dee,” Sofia said gently, “I’ve got your favourite, strawberry tarts and rose tea.”
Dahlia smiled at her lady-in-waiting. “Thanks Sof.”
Getting up, she let Sofia undo her corset. She slid into a silky nightgown and sat in front of the dressing table mirror, taking a huge bite out of the bright red strawberry tart in front of her. Sofia grabbed a brush and started running it through her long red hair. Dahlia let out a sigh.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged you know,” Sofia said.
“I know, but what can I do? Ruling a kingdom isn’t exactly easy,” Dahlia said, taking a sip of her rose tea.
“You can ask for help. Ruling a kingdom essentially on your own is impossible,” Sofia said, her brown eyes catching Dahlia’s blue ones in the mirror.
“Who am I supposed to ask? Fyf probably has the best skill set…”
“Na, fuck Fyf.”
Dahlia laughed. “Yeah, fuck Fyf.”
They slipped into companionable silence. Dahlia closed her eyes as Sofia brushed and plaited her hair and washed her face. She was drifting on the edge of sleep as Sofia removed her rings to moisturise her hands. “What about Florian?” Sofia asked.
“What about Florian?” Dahlia murmured, cracking an eye open.
“He can help you,” she said tentatively.
A tingling wave of guilt rolled over her as she closed her eyes again, frowning. “No, I can’t ask Florian to do that.”
“Why not?” Sofia asked, pausing her hand massage.
Dahlia gave her a side eye. “He hates diplomacy. Besides, it’s not what he signed up for.”
Sofia raised her eyebrows. “You’re telling me he didn’t sign up for ruling a country when he married the only heir?”
“That’s not what I mean,” Dahlia sighed, a cough tickling her throat with the noise. “He didn’t sign up to do it so soon. Dad- Dad should still be here.”
Sofia squeezed her hand as Dahlia’s eyes stung. “Oh Dee.”
They lapsed into silence again as Sofia finished massaging her hands. God, it was so relaxing, and she was so tired. Sofia’s heel tapped on the timber floor, the second set accompanied by a sloshing sound. Sofia gently lifted Dahlia’s feet into a small tub of warm water and started scrubbing them when there was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” Sofia called, pausing her scrubbing.
“It’s me,” came a muffled male voice through the door.
Dahlia’s stomach filled with butterflies. Was the jittering ever going to stop? They’d celebrated their first wedding anniversary last week and she still tingled whenever he brushed her delicate hands with his callused ones.
The door cracked open and a mop of blonde hair atop a handsome smiling face popped round the door. “Hey Dal.”
“Hey you,” she replied with a grin, as the tall man shut the door behind him and strode over. The light blue jacket and pants accentuated the bulge of his muscles perfectly. Along with another bulge.
“Take the rest of the night off Sofia,” he said, kneeling before Dahlia and taking her foot from Sofia. It felt so small as his large hands started washing and massaging.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Sofia said, backing away and shooting a smirk at Dahlia. “I’ll see you in the morning, Your Majesty.” She bobbed a curtsey and Dahlia smirked back as Sofia hurried from the room.
Dahlia looked down at her husband, who picked up the rose soap. “How’d the meeting go?” he asked, massaging the arch of her foot.
She let out a satisfied groan and settled back, closing her eyes. “As always.”
“Fucking Fyf,” he muttered under his breath. “Keep kicking his ass ‘til he gets in line.”
She smiled to herself. “Don’t worry, I will. But I don’t want to think about it right now. Tell me about your day.”
“Oh, mine wasn’t very exciting. I went over to Kitford to check on the crops. They’re fine. The rose fields are looking especially lovely, I had a bouquet sent to your office. They always make me think of you.”
The tub scraped across the timber floor, and he started gently drying her feet with a fluffy towel.
“It sounds like a wonderful day. I’d rather do that.”
“You work too hard, Dal. Leave all the diplomacy shit and come with me next time,” he said, gently putting her feet down.
Her skin prickled as she felt him move closer. Cracking open an eye she found his arms braced on either arm of her chair, smiling at her. “Alright,” she laughed.
He brushed his lips softly against hers. She breathed in his windswept flowery scent as he moved to her ear. “But right now, I have another place for us in mind,” he murmured, his breath tickling the sensitive skin.
“Hmm,” she smirked, tilting her head to expose her neck to him.
With a soft growl he pressed his lips below her ear, trailing a string of them down her neck. A wave of heat spread through her. She ran her fingers through his soft hair. One of his hands slid behind her shoulders, the other under her knees, and he scooped her up to his chest in one easy sweep.
She closed her eyes as she lent her head against his chest. Her eyelids were so heavy. His strides swayed her gently as he carried her across the room. Vaguely she felt him lay her on the soft silky bed. She sunk deeper into the bed as sheets whispered over her skin.
Tap, tap, tap.
She awoke with a jolt, Florian already throwing off the sheets and reaching for his dagger. A lone beam of moonlight speared through the dark curtains. How long had she been asleep?
“Who goes there?” Florian called, positioning himself between the bed and the door.
“Urgent message for the queen.”
Dahlia leapt out of bed, slipping on her dressing gown. Florian cracked open the door and she could make out the feathered hat of one of the royal messengers over Florian’s shoulder. She hurried over as Florian stepped aside for her.
The man before her was covered in dirt and dust. He was pale with dark shadows under his eyes, but he stood to attention, turning his slightly bloodshot eyes to Dahlia. “Your Majesty,” he said, bobbing his head in a quick bow. “There’s been mass flooding in the south. As of twenty-four hours ago we had counted approximately 43,000 displaced, 6,000 missing, and 900 dead.”
***
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