Long Live the ..........? [ONC 2024]

Chapter Three: The Privy Council

Roz's face was as red as beetroot and whiffs of smoke kept popping out of her nostrils."You mean to tell me I cannot inherit the throne unmarried?"

The councillors before her shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Their eyes glanced in the Lord Chancellor's direction. Beregold stroked his long grey beard and kept his eyes fixed on the scroll in his hands. He then looked up from the parchment and cleared his throat. "That is, essentially, what is written in your father's will, Your Grace."

Roz leaned over, snatched the parchment from him, and scanned the words. Among all the waffle, nonsense and legalese. Her father's wishes for the succession were clear, signed, and stamped by the royal seal.

In the event, that my beloved Queen Elspeth or any of my darlings (the term he used for his mistresses) fail to produce a male heir. Then my eldest daughter Princess Rosamund shall act as Queen Regent. If she is unwed, Rosamund must at least secure a contract of betrothal by her 21st birthday and be officially wed within twelve months before she may claim her birthright as the rightful Queen of Metica. In the interim, the Privy Council will run the Kingdom, of which the aforementioned Princess shall consult and concede to their guidance during her regency.

In the event that Princess Rosamund is unable to fulfil her obligations, she may continue in her role as Regent until my next legitimate child, Princess Saffron, comes of age, by which time a marriage contract should already be in place for her.

Roz should have known her father would pull something like this. They had once been close, and she had been a comfort to him with every passing of her stepmothers. All the previous three Queens had died in mysterious accidents, including Roz's mother. Who had died in Dragon form, bathing her scales in Mount Boom, Metica's largest Volcano. When it had chosen that very moment to erupt.

But things had changed after King Sylvanus had married Lady Elspeth, previously one of his mistresses. He became more distant, rarely summoning any of his daughters. Roz had heavily resented this and rebelled to get her father's attention, but to no avail. And so instead, she had embraced her destiny as heir to the throne.

Saffron, on the other hand, was a sweet, adorable child of twelve. Who deserved the carefree life of a spare, not dragged into the responsibilities of State. That was Roz's job. A small flame whipped out of her right nostril, which caught the end of the parchment, and she quickly extinguished it. Beregold gave her a kindly smile, reached over and gently took the parchment from her. "I think I had better take care of this, Your Grace."

Beregold was a loyal and trusted servant who had devoted his life to the Kingdom. Not that it meant he lived a monastic lifestyle. He and his wife had been married for over thirty years and they were often spotted around the palace, attempting to keep up with their numerous grandchildren. He wore a red velvet robe trimmed with gold and had a grandfatherly demeanour.

The Archbishop flexed his green-stained fingers. "I know this must be a lot for you to take in, Your Grace. Perhaps you should pray on the matter. Your father, may he rest in the Mother Hen's downy embrace. Consulted with the Great Mallard over this matter many times."

Roz flashed her amber gaze in his direction. "Oh? And you just happened to be there to advise Archbishop Starbouquet?"

"The king and queen often sort my guidance in such sensitive matters. I am always there for my flock. Your father had been increasingly concerned about the republican movement. He wanted to ensure that when he joined the holy flock, the monarchy would be strong. There are individuals within the kingdom who advocate for the crown to be handed to the people.

Roz brought a fist to bear on the table, waking the Master of Coin and the Master of Arms from their naps. "A republic? It is bad enough I have to consult with you lot every time I wish to do anything. But to hand the kingdom over to a bunch of people who spend more time arguing with each other than doing what is right is ridiculous!"

"Then, with the guidance of the council. You must seek out a suitable match in order to honour your father's will and secure the throne," said Beregold.

"Marriage is a very serious matter, Your Grace!" piped up the Master of Coin, who had been dozing for most of the meeting. He was a thin, frail gentleman with thick lenses in his gold-rimmed spectacles that made his eyes look enormous. He wore black velvet robes and a little black velvet hat with a gold tassel that he continually pushed out of his eyes. "We are a small but wealthy kingdom. Many of our neighbours envy our good fortune and with a young and, may I say, attractive queen upon the throne. Some of these neighbours may well make offers of marriage."

"And what would be so wrong with that? My family has always made alliances through marriage." Roz had never been sentimental about matrimonial matters. To her, it was just part of the job of ruling the country. Besides, her ancestors had always taken lovers. Why should she be any different?

Her own parent's marriage had been somewhat unusual. Not only had it been a love match. But to wed a dragon sire was extremely advantageous, even for a king. The little she did know about her kin was that Dragons usually married other Dragons or the occasional Fae. It was very rare for a Dragon to marry a human, especially with all the misinformation that had occurred between the two peoples over thousands of years. Roz had often wondered if any of her dragon relatives still existed. Her mother had never spoken of them while she was alive.

"Your Grace, if you were to marry a king or prince from a larger kingdom, they may decide to annexe us to enlarge their territory," replied Beregold.

Roz pulled out a short, thin pipe and a small pouch from her top pocket. She opened the pouch and placed some dried herbs in the tiny pipe bowl. With a slight grin, she blew gently on the pipe bowl. A small flame came out of her mouth, setting fire to the herbs. Then she put the pipe to her lips. Took a long inhale and blew it back out across the table, causing a couple of councillors to start coughing. "Well then, gentlemen, who should I wed?"

(W/C 1103)