The Mad Queen

Chapter Fifty: The Capital

I am standing in the grand entrance hall of my grandfather's estate. On either side of the large wooden doors, the Baylon house banners hang. My father must be thirteen at least in this vision. He stands on the marble stairs, his mother's hand gripping his shoulder. My Grandmother looks beautiful. She is the perfect picture of how a woman should look and hold herself. Her long black hair falls in thick waves, ending just above her bottom. A style which is still the height of fashion even now. Her light brown eyes are surrounded in soft bronzes and her lips are painted a delicate pink. The royal blue dress she wears perfectly fits her torso and the skirt falls to the ground in layers of shining silks. My grandfather appears from a corridor off of another room. He looks at my father.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," he tells the boy. Father only nods. His dark hair has been smartly styled. He wears a red coat embroidered in gold. The coat falls all the way to his knees, showing little of the fine black trousers he wears. His calves are covered in high, polished leather boots the same brown shade as the leather belt that goes around his waist. My grandfather looks over him, his eyes slowly taking in the boy before him. My father visibly looks uncomfortable as he tries to avoid eye contact with my grandfather. Finally, my grandfather nods in approval.

"This is an important meeting. If it goes well, the throne is just that little bit closer," Sebastian Baylon tells my father.

"Do you understand, Matthias?" My grandmother asks. My father nods his head quickly, gulping. The two adults look at each other before getting ready for the arrival of their guests. A few moments later, the doors open and a messenger walks in.

"My Lord. Prince Hanlon Drake, the King Brother, has arrived." Sebastian nods his head to the men standing on either side of the doors. In unison, they open the doors up completely. Beyond is a large set of stones leading down into a large stone square. The centre of the square is decorated with a large horse fountain. Around the square is perfectly cut grass and bushes. Leading away from the square of stone is a long, straight road that ends at a set of black gates in the distance.  Coming up the road is a large, white carriage drawn by four great warhorses. My father and his parents move away from the foyer of their manor house to stand atop of the steps that lead into their home. They watch as the carriage draws up to the front of the house. A staff member is quick to open the door of the carriage when it stops.  A man gets out of it slowly, a cool smile on his face. He is not a particularly tall man and is slightly chubby. In fact, his fine green coat seems to be that tiny bit too small and clings too tightly to his protruding belly. His golden hair is neatly groomed and tied into a little ponytail. He looks over the three of them. They quickly bow or curtsy as he walks up the steps to greet them.

"Lord Baylon," the man says cheerily. My grandfather stands up, towering above the Prince. Unlike the prince, my grandfather is slim and tall. The black coat of leather he wears only seems to emphasise that.

"You've met my wife, Renee...Drake," he pauses before speaking the surname, an annoyed look passing over his face. In the Dulavelle family, the only people allowed the Dulavelle names are those who are ruling. Any siblings of the King has to change their name to their partner's name when they marry. Meaning that even though Prince Hanlon was the Prince of Vivelle, he didn't have the name. His title also wouldn't pass down to his children.

Renee elegantly steps out of the carriage, her green dress flowing around her.

"Lady Renee," my father says, bowing his head slightly. "It is nice to meet you again." She just smiles before looking unimpressed at the manor house.

"This is my son, Leander Drake." I recognise the boy instantly. His gold hair and smug smile. He is the current Lord Drake and High Councilman of Military. My father and grandparents nod their heads in respect again.