Chapter 13: 12: At the Whim of the Wicked

When Isabella was abruptly singled out and summoned to the royal court, that did little to quiet her anxiety. She’d already seen King Edgar II once today, and judged that he was hungover. That boded poorly for his already bad judgment. When it became apparent that she was one of many that’d been summoned, she was further uneased.

Entering into the throne room of Dovhain, Isabella could recall nothing but bad memories. Even when she’d been sitting up there on that throne being coronated by the archbishop, it wasn’t entirely without its bitter memories. How many executions had been held here? How many coups had started here? They were almost without count.

“His Majesty has instructed that he wishes for you to be close to the throne,” the leading servant told her. “Please stand there.”

The place arranged for her was right by the stairs leading up to the throne, right beside the red carpet. She stood there, undoubtedly drawing the gaze of the many new arrivals that poured into the throne room. Before long, Arthur of Hamore also joined, standing just opposite her. Two columns of people formed on either side of the red carpet in the center of the throne room.

Soon enough, an attendant walked out from behind the throne. “All kneel for His Majesty the King of All Dovhain, King Edgar!” the man shouted.

The whole room obeyed, falling to their knees. Isabella took the opportunity to look around. The majority of the high nobility were in attendance. She spotted Archduke Felix, Duke Albert, Duke Valerio, and countless others of equal rank. The archbishop was in attendance, even. Soon enough King Edgar walked out, looking resplendent. He wore dark colors flanked by red, symbolizing his intent. Isabella’s thoughts darkened.

“Rise,” the king shouted, and everyone obeyed at once. He looked out at all of them, then sat down in his throne. “Princess Isabella. Duke Valerio. Count Faust. Arthur of Hamore. Approach the throne.”

Isabella felt nauseous when she was called upon, but proceeded closer nonetheless. She was soon joined by those that had been called, each of whom seemed similarly unsettled. She took her place at the edge of the line, with only Duke Valerio to her right. They all stood at the base of the stairs.

“Arthur,” the king said, looking down upon him. “Will you affirm that everything you wrote in your letter of complaint is fair and honest?”

Called upon, Arthur stepped forward and kneeled. For a few moments he was silent, but then he said, “Yes, Your Majesty. I laid out the events of the reception objectively.”

King Edgar looked over. “Crier,” he said, calling a servant over. “Read out the letter to the assembled.”

Isabella listened closely as the letter was read out. It was an objective retelling of the prior night, including the disparagements made against her person and the efforts made to undermine her position as the ambassador. She could only lower her head, though, knowing that this was the reason all of them had been called.

“…after attempting to rebuke a nobleman for a comment I believed questioned the princess’ virtue, I became overwhelmed with rage and left the venue,” the crier read.

Isabella looked at Arthur. The man looked off-balanced, but nevertheless committed to his words. She was grateful he had made some attempt to protect her reputation, but… there was a reason she didn’t bring this matter before King Edgar. She clenched her hands together tightly.

“Duke Valerio,” the king said once the letter was finished. “Will you affirm Arthur’s words?”

The duke stepped forward. “I wasn’t present from the beginning, but from my understanding, the wizard speaks truly, Your Majesty.”

King Edgar nodded. “Count Faust,” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Count Faust stepped forward and kneeled. “I have no excuse for my actions, Your Majesty,” he admitted calmly. “Out of base jealously and greed, my judgment erred from what is natural and good. I can ask only for your grace, hoping that my years of service to the crown as a loyal servant will outshine this one blemish.”

Isabella assumed the count hoped his admittance of fault might abate the king’s wrath somewhat.

“Ascend, Princess Isabella,” King Edgar said, calling her forward.

With butterflies roaming her stomach, Isabella did her best to walk forward with dignity. She walked up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the silent hall. When she arrived at the throne, she kneeled.

“Your Majesty,” she said.

“Rise, and look upon the count,” the king said.

Isabella did so, looking back at him and the hundreds of gathered nobilities uneasily.

“The count has undermined you, my personal appointment for this reception,” the king said. “In so doing, his actions could be interpreted as a direct challenge to me and my royal authority. In attempting to embarrass you before envoys of the state, his actions could be likened to treason.” King Edgar’s voice was hard and unforgiving. “Tell us, princess. How do you wish for Count Faust to be punished?”

Isabella considered her words carefully. She didn’t feel the need to push this further. For her, embarrassing Count Faust with success had been revenge enough. She understood his position and his situation, and the insults levied against her were nothing new. She decided to give her fair and honest judgment.

“Despite the count’s efforts, the ambassadorial reception was a success,” Isabella began. “We succeeded in achieving more favorable terms for the kingdom than even our father had enjoyed with the republic. In light of this fact, and in light of his previous service to the crown, I would temporarily suspend the count from his role as head ambassador, levy a fine upon him and all offenders, and arrange a public humiliation.” She looked at Edgar. “I believe this gathering today qualifies as the latter punishment, Your Majesty.”

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King Edgar looked upon Faust. “The princess wishes for you to be temporarily suspended, fined, and humiliated, count. Are you willing to endure these punishments without protest?”

Faust knelt and lowered his head deeply. “I am, Your Majesty. I will use my suspension as a period to reflect upon my inexcusable behavior.”

King Edgar leaned back in his throne. “Still, that is the opinion of the gentler sex. A king cannot afford to be so merciful. My opinion is different.” He gestured toward Knight-Commander Gaspar, standing at attendance not far away. “Gaspar. Cut off his head.”

Murmurs spread throughout the hall. No voice was as loud as Gaspar’s, though, who loudly asked, “What?!”

“Did I stutter?” Edgar demanded. “Separate the traitor’s head from his body.”

Gaspar stood there woodenly for a moment, but a prodding from one of his fellows brought him back to attention. Isabella looked to the floor as the events proceeded.

“Your Majesty, mercy!” Faust shouted. “Please, mercy!”

Some other people in the crowd boldly stepped out to defend Faust verbally, but their loud voices only seemed like an annoyance to the hungover king. Gaspar kept glancing back to the monarch, obviously uneasy with his instruction, but the king didn’t rescind his order. When Gaspar drew his blade, Faust attempted to run. Other holy paladins stepped forward to stop him, grabbing him and bringing him back before the king.

Faust was placed at the foot of the stairs, and Gaspar raised his blade high. The Knight-Commander looked at King Edgar, perhaps desperately hoping the order would be recalled. But the pleas of those present could not change the whim of the king. Isabella closed her eyes as the sword fell, hearing a sound that she’d unfortunately heard many times before.

The throne room went dead silent after Faust’s decapitation.

“Now, onto other matters,” King Edgar continued. Servants emerged to remove the body, but Edgar held out his hands. “Stop. Leave the body there.” He waved them away, and after hesitating, they left. “Duke Valerio. Ascend.”

The duke stepped past the body of Faust, rising up the stairs to the throne. He knelt, but Edgar quickly told him to rise.

“As my sister outlined, despite the efforts by Count Faust to make it otherwise, the ambassadorial reception was the most successful of any ambassadorial reception, perhaps ever. I expect as much of those under my command,” the king said. “As such, the princess deserves a reward. And I’ve decided upon it. Crier,” he called out.

The crier stepped forward again, holding a prepared document. “Princess Isabella, for extraordinary service to the crown, is to be awarded one thousand gold coins.”

King Edgar nodded. “Furthermore… Duke Valerio. Do you consent to an engagement between yourself and Princess Isabella?”

Valerio regarded the king evenly. Isabella felt a dark pit in her stomach. After what had just happened, there was no reason for the duke to agree to the engagement. She’d just been nailed to the sinking ship that was the king. Valerio was smart, and politically neutral. Frankly… if she were in his shoes, she wasn’t sure she would agree.

But Valerio nodded. “I do, Your Majesty.” His confirmation shocked Isabella.

“Wonderful,” the king said flippantly. “After a six-month period of courtship, you will be wed. Descend, both of you.”

Isabella and Valerio walked side by side down the stairs. She couldn’t help but look upon the head separated from the body, still lying there and turning the red carpet a far darker color.

“Let this serve as an example to all present,” King Edgar said loudly. “The princess, a leal and faithful servant doing her best to strengthen the crown. And Count Faust, a petty schemer who dared challenge my good wisdom and judgment. Allow them to be the models upon which all of you must base yourself,” King Edgar finished. “My father is gone. It would be wise of all of you to remember that.”

Isabella looked around. Judging from the calculating gazes, all of them realized that. Edgar the Great had died… and in his place, Edgar the Terrible had risen.

***

Duke Valerio hovered near Isabella as they rejoined the congregation of nobility, doing his best to position himself so that she couldn’t see the headless body. He lightly touched her shoulder and asked, “Are you alright?”

Isabella looked up at him, her expression as indecipherable as ever. “Yes,” she answered in a quiet whisper. “I just didn’t expect this.”

Valerio concurred with a nod, looking around. Arthur of Hamore, who’d ostensibly instigated this, looked quite rattled. He wasn’t alone in that. The nobles that had so ardently defended Count Faust looked mortified, as if their own heads might be parted from their shoulders in a moment. All of the others were similarly distraught.

This wasn’t a small issue. A prominent count—perhaps the most prominent count—had been executed without due process.

Valerio was no stranger to shows of strength to inspire fear. But this? This was a farce. The count had erred, certainly, but Isabella had been wise to give him a relatively light punishment. The king had been given the perfect way out, but had trampled all over that in sake of establishing himself as a ruler to be feared. Why was it a mistake?

Because fear inspires two things: flight… or fight.

Amidst the calculating gazes, however, Valerio noticed one set of eyes fixed on him. He turned to look, and saw the hateful glare of Duke Albert. He met the old man’s gaze. He’d seen looks like that before. They came from people that were going to be a problem. They came from people that would act obsessively, compulsively.

When the king dismissed them all, Albert turned and faded into the crowd. Valerio joined Isabella, intending to make sure that she was alright after the way that things had occurred. She seemed to be holding up well, but people could do many things in public only to shatter in private.

When they were alone in one of the decadent halls of the royal palace, Isabella stopped and looked at him. He turned to her.

“That was a disaster,” she said.

Valerio didn’t say anything, but inwardly he agreed.

“The king’s just shown his true nature,” Isabella said. “And he made a particular point of holding me up as an example. Meaning… chaos is coming to my door.” She stared at him for a while, then asked, “You had to have known that immediately. Why in the world did you agree to the engagement?”

“I said I would,” Valerio responded. “And I did.”

Isabella’s face was complex tapestry of emotions after he said that. There was one he couldn’t miss, though. Suspicion. He’d gained some insight into why that was warranted, considering the people she’d lived around.

“It seems I’ll be in your care for a while,” Isabella said formally and aloofly. “We’ll speak again soon.”

Isabella walked away, and Valerio watched the back of her head for a time. When she turned the corner, he walked to a window in the hall, looking out across the bustling city below somberly. Valerio felt that instinct to play with his knife again, but suppressed it by wiping his coat down.

Trust would be difficult to earn from someone who’d grown up in a court like this.