Her Rightful Place

55: The Inspiration

Xavier sinks into a chair by a window in the suite he shares with the Duke of Pelanshire. Although it is barely past noon, his Royal Advisers have insisted that he take the rest of the day off. Normally this would be impossible, but Queen Bêtel has come down with a nasty cold and is bedridden. All the staff of Cloiche Fuar have united to keep their Prince away from her, lest he also become sick and remain so once the Queen has recovered and thus be unable to protect them from her volatile temper. Jerôme should be joining him shortly; his friend wanted to make one last check of the prisons and Torture Wing, to see if any more unfortunates might be rescued before they begin their much-deserved break, but he insisted that Xavier get a head start on relaxation.

"I got something like time off while you were supervising the Queen's interactions with those Khandazarian assassins," Jerôme had reminded Xavier when they were debating what to do with their free time. "You have not had any such treat in ages. Go. I will join you as soon as I can. I just have to take care of a few things first."

Grateful though he is for some time to himself, his thoughts race once he is seated and alone. I wonder if Mireille and her father are back from their royal progress yet. It has been more than a week since we received that encrypted message from Mireille and Christelle, but we have heard nothing. Have they received our messages? Will they still come to the Midsummer's Eve Ball, in light of our unconventional invitation to Khandazar? What will the Grand Chancellor do with our invitation?

After some moments of like occupation have passed, however, the view from Xavier's window serves to tame his thoughts a bit. He is only a couple stories off the ground, but that is just enough to see over the walls of Cloiche Fuar, enough to see the countryside beyond them. His view is but a minuscule sliver of the country he is to rule, and he is momentarily overwhelmed by his desire to rescue Mordalce from his mother's tyranny. Once I am King, I will make a royal progress of my own, he vows There is so much of my country I have not seen, and so many people who will have to meet me to believe that things will really be different under my rule than they are now.

When he will be able to fulfill this promise, he wishes he knew. Perhaps it will be soon, within the next year, depending on Mireille and her parents and whatever agreement they can draw up at the Midsummer's Eve Ball. If she will have me; that is, if she can love me. She said she could not refuse, when last we saw each other, but if there is no love in it... he worries. He knows what befell his father in a loveless marriage, better than anyone else alive. Indeed, if his mother knew how much he saw and heard of what went on in his father's last days, Xavier would be in grave danger of perishing at her hands. Fear and circumspection have sealed his lips on the matter, but he does not plan to let his father remain unavenged once the crown rests upon his own head.

"I will do it, Father. I promise. One day your soul will rest in peace," he whispers for the millionth time since King Tristan's passing. "I have not forgotten you, Father. I promised you I would be King, and that I would right her wrongs, and I will do it. Soon, Father. Soon."

He might have said more, but at that moment the Duke of Pelanshire enters the room where Xavier has been brooding.

"Ah, good," Jerôme remarks upon seeing his friend. "You are awake. I feared you might have taken advantage of the chance for a nap before I managed to meet with all of my courier friends and come up here."

"Anything from Vyrunia?" Xavier asks, trying and failing to keep his tone disinterested.

"Why, yes, there is a parchment for you from that country. Addressed in a very elegant hand, I must say." He pulls the parchment in question from the small pile he is holding, and Xavier nimbly snatches it out of his friend's grasp. "Eager, are we?"