Deep within the west wing of the capitol, she stood. Rows of benches were at her side in this chamber, seats empty, that it was only the small bench ahead of her with people at this time—a small bench and a throne. A pleasant smell lingered in the air, late-morning sunlight falling through the high-up windows with a laziness, not quite dispersing every shadow, the old paintings a touch hazier since her last visit.

"Your Majesty, My Lords," she said, curtseying for her liege and the King's Bench, a curtsey she did not hold this time.

Despite the older age of the members and the long time since her last visit, a majority were the same, which did include the familiar Baron Spitzhut. Time had not been kind to this most senior member, voice now rough and thin.

Nor had he grown any kinder.

"Countess Augstadt—"

"You are to address me as Princess Julia."

Her voice cut through his, firm, not particularly loud, yet enough to fill the room. She said those words with a mouth bereft of a smile, her arms now folded across her chest with one hand inside the other's sleeve.

Spitzhut stilled for one moment, then lurched forward the next, his foot coming down in a stomp. "You are not to speak out of turn!"

"I am to speak whenever I so wish or shall leave," she said and, to emphasise that, made half a turn.

"Such insolence!"

Behind him, another familiar member of the bench spoke up. "We are in agreement, Lord Spitzhut. How could someone as experienced as yourself not address Ma'am correctly?"

Time had not been kind to Viscount Erberg either, had already been unkind a decade ago. However, as she had often read in the letters from his wife, this work was what gave him reason to wake up in the mornings.

Turning around with a scowl, Spitzhut said, "It is a matter of respect."

"And I vividly recall how you gave Ma'am no reason to respect us the last time."

While there was no Köslanz—his seat one that had changed—there was a new member who wished to keep some semblance of professionalism. "Please, let us not squabble in front of others," Count Cheb said, face wrinkled by the broad smile he wore.

Erberg gave a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Lord Cheb, I would rather squabble than sit idly as My Lord would denigrate a person of good standing; however, I understand others care about reputation more than doing what is right."

As Cheb gave an awkward chuckle, she put his face to the name she knew. Someone under Duke Bohemia, one with particular influence as—although not the owner of the mining rights any longer—his lands included a significant gold mine, the only such one under the Empire's direct control. In a sense, the minting reforms of Erberg had elevated Cheb as revoking the mining rights required suitable compensation, both monetarily and in favours. That he had navigated himself to be nominated and confirmed to the King's Bench spoke to how he and his father before him had "spent" the compensation well.

Which made her wary, this little exchange clear that, like Spitzhut, Cheb held ulterior motives. That, when something had been "bought", of course one consciously wished to maintain its prestige.

Three did not make a Bench; it was the last familiar face who now spoke up, albeit one who hadn't spoken last time. "Princess Julia, do allow us to continue," he said, eyes narrowed with a wrinkled brow, smile gentle.

As she had been addressed, she had no choice but to respond. "Although My Lord would speak as if I am the one holding up these proceedings when I merely requested to be correctly addressed, I confess that, now it is put to me, I refuse to continue without an apology."

Her voice held no heat, instead so very cold, and her gaze drifted back to Spitzhut by the end.

The one who last spoke went to talk, saying, "Ma'am, it is—"

"Introduce yourself. After all, it is customary to do so, is it not?"

His smile thinned. "I am Lord Bartensleben," he said, then took in a breath before continuing. "It is not that I am unsympathetic; however, I think it is in all of our interest to not draw this out longer than it needs to be."

"How disappointing," she said to him.

Silence followed as if waiting for an explanation which did not come. Instead, she merely fixed him with a stare, without an expression, and a woman's face seemed awfully cold lacking a polite smile.

Spitzhut took that silence to step forward again. "Has Ma'am truly so little respect for us to speak to us all in such a manner?" he asked, heated, yet tempered by his thin, rough voice.

"To be perfectly honest, I have no regard for this court's norms nor would I respect its authority if it had any." Her words came without pause, her face still blank and voice cold, arms still folded across her chest.

"Would you like to test how little authority we have?"

Her lips curled. "Would you?" she whispered, then laughed, hand leaving her sleeve to cover her mouth. "My Lord forgets that the authority he wields inside this room is the King's and the King's authority cannot be wielded against me. After all, I am a princess, wedded to the Empire's ally. My Lord does not consider matters of diplomacy; however, Sir very much does.

"It is precisely because Sir does that I insist on such an apology. My Lord has insulted my husband, the second-in-line to the Grenzsteinland throne. Whatever opinion those present may have is insignificant, that whether or not my husband considers this an insult is all that matters, and I am stating that he would. If my word is unsatisfactory, then we may invite him here with haste as he did accompany me today."

Her echoing words gave way to a heavy silence, those of the Bench not eager to break it, each with their own considerations. Which was indeed her intention, her words not shallow and her gaze finding the other person in the room not of the Bench.

"Lord Spitzhut."

Those two words fell like hammers, hammering the person so-named into a deep bow. "Yes, Your Majesty?" said a voice which sounded even older without spite.

"One may make a fool of oneself as one pleases; however, one does not impinge on the reputation of the King and the King's Bench. Is that clear?"

The whole time he spoke, he looked, not at the one his words were directed, but her, and she looked back. She looked at the man she had once so admired, who had looked strong enough to carry the Empire's burdens alone, who had promised her the world after her own father had passed away.

And she only saw a shadow of who that man had been.

The Crown Prince had not been the first born to the Queen, simply the only one who had survived. While the full extent was not something easily known, her old position had given her a greater insight, paintings and sketches and birthdays not celebrated of those who had need to return to God's embrace. Some who had not known their mother's embrace, others who had required urgent baptisms, and their first who had celebrated but one birthday.

Of course, such things were far from rare. Both her father's and her mother's notes included references to a name which soon thereafter was never mentioned again.

The importance of all this was that the King was not a young man when the Crown Prince had been born, and he was an old man now. For how well he held himself, for how focused his expression, for how clear and commanding his voice, she knew, knew him well, had known him so very well.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

The King was old.

While she regarded the King, Spitzhut held his bow and gave an almost breathless reply. "Yes, Sire."

Despite his age, Spitzhut straightened up in a smooth motion, only a flicker of discomfort on his face. That flicker became more pronounced once he turned to her.

"Princess Julia, my humblest apology," he said, and now his professionalism showed, voice entirely clear, lacking any heat or anger.

She held his gaze a moment, then broke into a polite smile. "I do not accept your apology. After all, I think it is rather clear who owes whom an apology in this situation, is it not?"

By the end, her gaze had met every other person's gaze before settling on the King once more.

Despite how much she knew certain people in the room wished to speak, she had made it clear that they would follow her rules now, and the King had tacitly agreed. So there was an unwilling silence for a long few seconds before the King tapped the armrest of his throne.

"Of course, one shall personally meet with Prince Frédéric at his convenience."

Old did not mean weak. That, she knew, one of such standing had to hone other strengths as certain strengths shrivelled into weaknesses.

"Wonderful," she said, the word light and warm, a vast difference in how she had spoken before. That warmth continued as she then said to the Bench, "I am ready to be congratulated now."

Her words brought about another silence, those men she had addressed frozen in place for a long second, only then that they thawed, still silent, until Erberg asked, "If I may, why is it that Ma'am would be congratulated?"

Her smile twinged, yet remained. "Is it not that the Bench wished to thank me for bringing my father's murderers to justice? After all, this is something the Bench failed to do for well over two decades by now. It truly is troubling given how, if anyone had ever asked me, I could have told them exactly who had been behind it. That it took so long was only because I had need to lure that vile man and his fellow conspirators within my grasp. Although I could have had him slain abroad, I am not that kind of person."

She spoke with a candidness, almost rambling, but every word came out clear and at an even pace. Once she finished, she turned her gaze upon the Bench again with an expectant smile on her lips.

"Ma'am," Cheb said, his hands together, "while that is… certainly good news, it is not for that reason which we requested Ma'am's presence."

"Really?" she said, tilting her head. "Then I would not have come. Pray excuse me." She gave a slight bow, the next moment her foot already stepping back.

Spitzhut jumped a step forward. "Ma'am, this is a serious inquiry! If not now, we shall have to compel your testimony—" he said, only to stop himself as if realising, in the face of everything else that had thus happened, how empty a threat that to be.

Regardless, she paused, presenting them with her side. "My testimony for what?"

"Marquess Bavaria's murder," he said.

"Oh, that matter," she said, her hand touching her chin, then sliding down to once more settle inside her other arm's sleeve. "I am certainly the right person to ask. After all, I know who is responsible."

Her words, spoken without weight, lingered in the air as each man of the Bench took a moment to hear them.

In his eagerness, Spitzhut stepped forward once again. "Ma'am knows? How? Why has this not been reported?" he asked, a mild mania bringing life back to his voice.

"The late Lord Bavaria showed me a letter from someone who wished me harm which immediately preceded the incident."

"Where is this letter? Did it have a signature?" he asked, another step closer, the gap between them now only a few strides.

She shook her head. "Of course, I had it burnt."

Eyes wide, his mouth opened, voice a noticeable moment delayed. "What? Why would you?"

Her gaze that had settled on him now eased over to meet someone else's. "Because I recognised the handwriting," she said, almost a whisper.

"Then tell us who! This is a matter of utmost importance," he said, his earlier ire returning.

"No. If I am to give this testimony, it must be before the entire Diet and it must be sworn on a relic."

He threw his hands up, shaking his head, only to sigh and say, "Fine, if that is—"

"There is no need."

Those words came, not from a member of the Bench, but from the throne, bringing a stillness to the room. At least, for most of the room. "Very well, then I shall take my leave," she said, a small smile on her lips as she gave her liege a last look, etched his expression into her mind.

In even steps, neither hurried nor unhurried, she left the room.

She knew—more than her husband, more than the Crown Prince, more than the late Marquess of Bavaria as he lay there dying—the King knew her best. He, too, had read her mother's book.

"Is everything in order?"

Her husband spoke in a quiet voice, a handkerchief in his hand that he now used to dab at the corners of her eyes. She accepted the gesture with docility, shyness, her head so slightly bowed as he did it, then lifting her chin afterwards with a broad and gentle smile.

"It is. Despite making such a fuss to invite me, they did not even wish to hear my testimony," she said, her voice quiet, yet still it carried her words along the corridor.

"Well, let us finish this other appointment and be on our way." He took her arm in his as if escorting her to dance. In a sense, he was.

While grand, the capitol could only be so large, their journey not a long one. It took them towards the back of the building where a certain quiet pervaded, distant from both work and the public.

Nor did they journey alone, with them a senior clerk of sorts who, as today, had the duty of escorting important guests. He brought them to a room flanked by guards and announced, "Prince Frédéric of Grenzsteinland, and his wife, Princess Julia."

Naturally, those guards looked to her husband—and what he had at this side. "May we ask Sir to leave his weapon with us?" the one said.

"You may certainly ask and the answer is no," she said lightly, almost breaking into a laugh. "Prince Hector requested this meeting, so I would hope he is not afraid of my husband."

The guards looked at each other, helpless, until her husband gave a small wave. "Ask His Royal Highness. We are old friends, after all."

Those words more comforting, one guard opened the door and stepped half-inside, his voice muffled as he went back-and-forth with the Prince for a moment, then he stepped back out, opening the door as he did. "Please, enter."

Her husband stepped inside first, waited for her to join him, and then closed the door. While he did that and then stayed there, she walked forwards.

It was like a parlour, a room for passing time, with a square table for games and velvet curtains, a lingering smell of stale tobacco in the air. The Prince sat at the table with a slight smile, eyes so slightly narrowed. He held himself well, comfortable, gaze heavy as he watched her approach the table.

"Do sit," he said, gesturing.

In a smooth motion, she drew her hand from her sleeve and it held a pistol. Without hesitation, she aimed it at his chest, pulled the trigger and—

A spark flickered, flash pan flared, but no more. She tossed the pistol onto the table with a thunk. In the next moment, she drew from her sleeve a few bullets in paper cartridges and scattered those in front of the Prince too, one bursting, powder spilling out.

"If I wished you dead, then you would be dead. If you wish me dead, then do it now," she said, gesturing at the pistol. "However, know that when I should die, regardless of whether or not your involvement is clear, there shall be retribution the likes of which are beyond your grandest imagining."

He had not reacted to her drawing the pistol, quite unfamiliar with them, something which queer people used for hunting small game in his mind. Hardly dangerous to a grown man. Nor did he react to her speech, composed throughout. In this moment, then, he gave those things on the table a cursory look before meeting her gaze once more.

"Is that a threat?" he asked, his voice quiet, yet sharp, cold, at odds with the same small smile he showed all along.

"Shall I load it for you so you may test my sincerity?" she replied.

There was no heat in her voice, no chill, no sense of weight despite what she was offering to do—and it ate at him. An old hatred which he had forgotten, now reignited. His hands tensed against his urge to clench them, smile thinned as he held back the urge to scowl.

"Please, do," he whispered, heated.

So she did. From that broken cartridge, she added some powder to the flash pan, then took another cartridge and slid it into the barrel. Before she could hand it over, though, her husband appeared at her side. She offered no resistance as he pressed the pistol down onto the table.

"Hector, I should make it very clear that, while my wife is prepared to die by your hands, I am not willing to accept such a thing." His other hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword.

The Prince gave a single laugh, short and sharp, then shook his head. "What theatrics," he muttered.

"After you test this pistol, remember well that I aimed it at you, that I stood before your father with it. If you think murder something I am incapable of, know that I killed Lord Bavaria with my own hands because he sided with you."

At last, the smile left his face, no trace of warmth to be found. "Is that a confession? I wonder what would happen if I shared it," he said, drawing himself taller.

"Please, do. It would give me no greater pleasure than to stand before the Diet and confess that you wished to illegally imprison me."

"Is that a threat?" he whispered.

"Your father certainly thought so. It is the first time I have seen him look afraid," she whispered back, lips curling. With that, she turned around. "Let us have no need to meet again."

He half-rose, hands on the table. "I am not done—"

"I am," she said, her strides continuing to the door.

His gaze flickered to the table, fists unclenching.

"Hector, if our friendship meant anything to you, you will leave her to live in peace. She truly has never spoken a word of going against you, and all her efforts are devoted to her own affairs."

Those words landed on deaf ears, the Prince shaking his head, then he raised his gaze to meet the other prince's. "How blind are you, Frédéric, to be so close to her and not see her for who she truly is?" Compared to how he spoke earlier, these last words came out as if merely speaking of her brought a foulness to his mouth.

To that, the other prince could only shake his head, then turn around. While he walked away, though, he heard something that gave him pause.

"How does it feel to know she only married you for your title? To be no more than a substitute for me?"

In his pause, he turned around with a small smile. "I have never been happier." Then he turned back and continued to the doorway, joining his wife outside.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.