Queen's Light

The Royal Ball

"My lady Queen, the royal ball approaches."

Queen Rhiannon glances up from her writing. "Hmm? I am afraid I was lost in thought."

The knight's Squire nods understandably. "The royal ball. Largest event of the year?"

"Really?" Asks the Queen. "When?"

"In a few months' time," says the Jester, bounding into the study.

The Queen sighs. "Dear Jester, do keep from knocking over the bookshelves."

The Jester ignores her, and clambers up onto a ladder. "How could ye forget the royal ball, my Queen? Perhaps thy nose has spent too long trapped in books to notice the rapid passage of time."

The Queen sighs again, and folds the letter she had been writing. "I do not know of what you speak, Jester."

"I certainly do," speaks the Knight, as she strides in full of zeal. "My Queen, thy nose might one day fall off if ye spend too long looking down."

"Ah, good," says the Queen, "I never did like it."

"Do not speak like that," says the Ambassador as she prowls from behind a bookcase, "Thy nose is as good as any other part of thee."

"Not very good, then," retorts the Queen.

The Ambassador throws her hands into the air, and leaves as soon as she had arrived.

The Knight gives the Queen a pointed look. "Your Majesty, really, if thee would cooperate."

The Queen smirks, pulling out a second sheaf of parchment. "My dear Lady Knight, I know not of what you speak."

The Seneschal enters, a stack of books in arm. "My Lady Queen, do not pretend. Thou spends more time burrowed in parchment than all of us combined. Personally, I find it quite ironic. A queen's duties do not involve writing thine own letters."

The Queen sighs. "My sweet Seneschal, do not presume to know what a queen's duties entail."

The Seneschal bows, leaving with a derisive curl of his lip.

The Jester appears from the rafters, hanging by her knees from a beam. "Never mind all that, Queen, what about the ball? Hast thou given it thought?"

The Queen's quill scratches across the parchment. The candle on the desk flickers. "Given that I learned of it mere minutes ago, no, I have not given it thought. Now, all of ye, give me space. I must finish this correspondence to the neighboring kingdoms."

The Ambassador, being closest to the door, is the first to shuffle out, followed by the knight's Squire. With a scowl, the Jester flips down and cartwheels away. But the Knight does not move. She remains, staring at the queen with a crease in her brow.

The Queen glances her way, a brow raised. "Have thee not business to return to, goodly Knight? Or am I company enough for thee?"

The Knight scoffs. "Company enough, my queen? Nay, there are things I wish to discuss with thee."

"Oh?" The scratch of the quill ceases. "What manner of things?"

"This... ball, my Queen," the Knight begins cautiously, "who will be invited?"

The quill begins again. "Whomever I choose, when I have the time to decide. The Seneschal and I will meet soon to discuss it. Will that be all?"

The Knight sighs, looking as if to say more. "I suppose, my Queen. I take my leave of you."

With an incline of the head, Knight Conri exits.

Odd, Rhiannon thinks. The Knight never acts without purpose. It had seemed there was more she wished to speak about.

A darkly robed figure enters the hall, feet whispering on the stone floors. The Queen adjusts her veil, wishing to remove it. She wishes she could remove her gown as well, and replace it with something more practical. Alas -- appearances would not allow it. If others saw her wearing a man's garb, despite their open-mindedness, they would think less of her.

The figure turns, and the Queen sees the shadowed hood of the Assassin. "My dear Lady Assassin," the Queen calls (or rather, whispers) to her, "what brings thee to the library this late in the night?"

The Assassin approaches, fearless nearly to a fault, and bows her head. The silver of her dagger's blade flickers in the dim candlelight. "I was merely searching for some reading material, Your Majesty," she responds.

The Queen's mouth slants and her head tilts. "Reading material, Lady Assassin? Hast thou gotten bored already?"

The hood shakes to and fro. "No, certainly not, goodly Queen, but I find that the time between my missions is better spent in the worlds of fantasy."

The Queen's smirk diminishes not, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. "I see. Well, if thee wouldst allow me, I can suggest tomes that may grab thy attention. The section nearest the back wall in this very library, for example, offers a wide range of intriguing works."

The Assassin makes no motion. "Really?"

"It is my personal favorite."

The Assassin bows. "Then I shall look there. I thank thee, Your Majesty."

"T'was my pleasure, my dear Assassin. I hope thee finds what thou is searching for."

The Assassin leaves, melting into the long shadows of twilight.

The Queen spares a glance toward the candle, meant to burn for an exact hour. It is merely a stub now, on the verge of going out. With a sigh, the Queen closes her book and makes her way to the tall, oaken doors of the library.

When in her own chambers, she places her books and writings upon her spacious desk, arranging them to lie neatly on top of one another. Her veil leaves her head with a sigh of gauze, and covers the books with a film of grey.

Once dressed in nightclothes, Rhiannon sits at the edge of her bed. She refuses to allow her chambermaids to help her dress, as she rarely begins readying herself for sleep before midnight. With a sigh, she looks out the tall windowpanes beside her bedside desk, peering out at the moonlight that cascades onto the ground below. A shimmer of silver metal catches the Queen's eye, and she knows that her faithful Captain of the Royal Guard is going about their nightly rounds, likely joined by Knight Conri. Rhiannon had offered the Knight the position of Captain several times, but the modest Knight turned it down at every opportunity. She supposes things were better the way they were -- people were happier when they were.

The Queen closes her eyes, wondering if her sleep may go uninterrupted that night. Not likely. Her dreams were enough to wake even the strongest sleeper in a bitterly cold sweat. Dreams, she laughs. Rather, nightmares.

She fears them, as she does not fear any other. Though during the day, the kingdom runs as smoothly as a freshly inked quill (she thanked the Seneschal daily for his unending dedication), at night, she is plagued with images of death and absolute destruction.

It rattles her bones.