The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 8: Aebbé - Queen

"To all the girls who no longer believe in fairy tales or happy endings: You are the writer of this story. Chin up and straighten your crown, you're the queen of this kingdom and only you know how to rule it." - B. Devine

"Queen Claira invited you for tea," Ria announces when she enters my room the next morning.

Upon my return yesterday I fell into a fitful sleep - filled with distorted memories of burning flesh chasing me.

"And you have received three gifts. One is a basket of apples and the other a poem. Knowing how you feel about apples, I took the liberty of taking the basket to the kitchen, and the poem is quite good."

"Who would send me apples?"

"Lord Dareios Picard."

Something clicks in my brain, but I am not aware of it.

"That means that the poem came from De Berchelai."

"Yes. Neither are too extravagant gifts, so you need not send a token of gratitude or schedule an audience, but I warmly thanked them on your behalf."

"Thank you."

Apples and a poem. Two gifts.

"And the third?"

She hands me a white pebble.

I smile: "Aelfraed?"

"Yes, he says that it is the most exquisite gemstone he has ever seen and that it matches your teeth."

I clutch my stomach and rumble. I place the pebble on my dressing table - in my jewellery box.

What should I send him in return?

"Would you be able to reacquire one of the apples?"

She grins. "Of course."

"But take a bite from it first and then tell him that it reminds me of his face."

She smiles: "As you command."

"Will I be meeting Claira for tea in the Queen's Courtyard or the Private Courtyard?"

"In her courtyard."

I make my way to the upper floor via the lesser restricted areas. No guards stop me this time. I pass through the Queen's Waiting Room before being announced as I enter the courtyard. The queen is seated on the grass with two small girls running in circles around her. Their infectious giggle causes me to smile.

"Queen Claira, may the sun rise brightly for you," I say as I make my way to her.

"Aebbé, I am just Claira to you," she says with a beautiful smile. "You don't mind sitting on the grass, do you?"

"Not at all," I say and fold my legs under me.

"Girls, there is someone I would like you to meet."

My nieces approach me. They look so much like Friduric and my father. They have the same wild red hair, but it has been done into adorable locks with golden ribbons.

"Aesce, Aenne, this is your Aunt, princess Aebbé."

The older one is the first to speak: "You are also a princess? We've never met another princess before. Father said we were the only ones who could be princesses."

"Pwetty!" my smaller niece says in awe and tugs at my hair.

"So are you," I tell her with a smile.

Aesce is barely five, and Aenne turned three not too long ago. Claira sent me a portrait after both of their births, but the toddlers in front of me are unrecognizable from the babies in the portraits.