My adored queen

18

"Your Highness, your loyal servant is at your service," the head of security said, barely concealing a skeptical smile. "Answering the unspoken question in your eyes: I came to deliver important news. His Grace Cardinal Mastermal wishes to convene a council today, which you must attend."

"Alright, I'll come," I promised, pulling my hand away from the count's. He just smiled. "However, it wasn't necessary to come in person; you could have sent a lackey."

"I couldn't. I had to make sure you were alright and that you would come. You are our hope now. Get used to seeing me very, very often..."

It sounded like a threat. I was about to "reassure" the count that it would be worse for him, but the door opened again, this time admitting Gilbert. I glanced involuntarily at Nicole, witnessing her transformation from a relaxed, indifferent marchioness into an excited girl whose eyes suddenly sparkled like the sun. Was I like that yesterday too? It's strange how Bert affects the fairer s*x.

"Count Dillian, I am immensely pleased to welcome you again. Do you remember my cousin Nicolina?" I addressed my friend formally, again successfully forgetting Daniel's presence in the room.

"How could I forget!" Bert exclaimed, turning his gaze to my sister. Nicole, disappointing my expectations, didn't throw herself around his neck like I did yesterday. Instead, she quickly jumped to her feet and curtsied (why, I wonder? A marchioness is of higher status than a count?). Her beautiful face turned pink with excitement, and her eyes, modestly lowered to the ground, sparkled.

"Is this lovely lady Marchioness Nicolina? Are you kidding me?" Bert, taking advantage of my cousin's temporary speechlessness, began to shower her with compliments, and my surprisingly silent friend continued to blink and blush. However, as someone who knew Nicole well, I was sure she would soon shake off this shyness.

"You are charming, so changed! I wouldn't have recognized you if I had met you by chance in the corridor," the man confessed, taking the young woman's hand in his and kissing her fingertips.

"Thank you. And I would have recognized you immediately. I remember Gilbert exactly like this before he left, Annie. When did you arrive? Why didn't you warn us? We would have met you!" as expected, Nicole shed her shy mask too quickly and now chattered merrily, bombarding the count with questions.

"Your Highness, we shouldn't be late," Daniel's quiet voice sounded in my ear. And what's with this habit of sneaking up? I, caught up in the friends' conversation, completely forgot about business and the head of security. And, by the way, I haven't had breakfast yet. I wanted to say so, but I bit my tongue. Count Arron was right: the advisors are already skeptical of me, I need to build relationships.

I hastily drank a cup of tea, deciding to limit myself to just a drink in the morning. This should be beneficial: pastries add extra weight, and power is no excuse to neglect one's figure. If I refuse a full breakfast, I'll look better. Then I apologized to my sister and Bert, asking them to have a good time and share news. My cousin, almost jumping for joy and clapping her hands, nodded solemnly, promising not to let our guest get bored. For some reason, I believed her.

"If you allow, I would like to accompany you to the council. I can be your advisor, I have enough experience for that, you know," ignoring my generous offer to entertain Nicole, Count Dillian was courteous again, and this time I almost jumped for joy. But I restrained myself. A crown princess shouldn't have such turbulent displays of emotion. I gently touched Bert's hand, smiling brightly at him. I should have refused, giving him this day to rest. But then... having such an advisor would be an honor.

"But we'll have lunch together, and I won't accept refusals," the man agreed to my decision, but on his own terms.

"I promise," I agreed, still noticing the dissatisfaction of Nicole, which she tried to mask in vain. We couldn't share Bert in our youth either, and he, unaware of it, was friends with me. And who else should he be friends with if he lived in my (that is, my parents', of course) family estate, being a distant nephew of my father? "Nicole, he's yours. At least until lunch," I joked (although why joked? It's the honest truth!) and nodded to Daniel at the door.

Count Arron let me go first and hurried out, just barely avoiding stepping on the short train of my elegant dress. He was silent, although he gave me strange glances that I couldn't decipher. And I didn't particularly try. What do I care about him?

It was already crowded in front of the Throne Room. I never thought that state affairs started so early. I didn't sleep too long, but for some reason, I always blamed other nobles for this. And they turned out to be early birds. My usual perception of the world was starting to c***k.

The master of ceremonies, seeing me, announced my Highness's arrival in advance, forcing the courtiers to stop their clamor. I responded to the numerous bows with slight nods of my head and slowly and gracefully walked into the hall, allowing everyone who was waiting in front of the doors to follow me. If someone had told me that such an easy and elementary task would seem so difficult, I wouldn't have believed it. But being the object of absolute attention is not as carefree as it might seem from the outside. Even if you are a member of the dynasty and used to publicity from childhood.

I stopped in front of the throne, not quite understanding if I could occupy it now. It seemed that I was the main heir of the deceased monarch, but at the same time, still not crowned, and therefore not the ruler. I turned back, looking for my father. He should have been present, but for some reason, I didn't see him.

"Your Highness, the throne is rightfully yours. You are recognized as our future queen, the coronation is a matter of time," the cardinal's warm voice sounded nearby. Oh, Almighty, thank you for not abandoning me in the form of your faithful servant!

I thanked His Eminence for the hint with my lips alone, sitting on the throne for the first time in my life, not as a joke and in front of so many people. The feeling was... To be honest, not at all what you might imagine. The throne should symbolize luxury, majesty, power, but mine was like a pillow stuffed with needles. Sitting on it, I felt all those needles pierce my body. Even more – my soul. That's how the scrutinizing, watchful eyes of elders, advisors, nobles, sages, knights, and priests, invited by the cardinal, affected me. It seemed as if they were dissecting me into molecules, studying the components of my now probably blue blood. Only now did I realize the madness of the expression about the color of rulers' blood. I, of course, am not a chemist, not a biologist, and certainly not a healer, but I have an idea about red blood cells. So what happens if the late uncle's will made my red blood cells turn blue? And what were those who invented this nonsense thinking?

No, what am I thinking about? I have my first meeting as crown princess, by the way. And my first one in general.

Among those present was my father, who, winking at me cheerfully, confidently approached the throne and sat in a chair on the left (the cardinal sat on the right). I couldn't help but notice the queen dowager and Robert in the first row. What winds brought them? Are they advisors too?

"With the permission of Your Highness and the mercy of the Almighty, I begin the meeting," Mastermal said solemnly, and I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that now he would speak, they would listen to him, and they would leave me alone. Or rather, they would give me the opportunity to calmly understand the meaning of things.

Naively. Very naively. "Not here it was!" the advisors decided, and instead of shifting their attention to His Eminence, they continued to pierce me with their eyes, which made the chair under me incredibly uncomfortable, and I felt like a princess on a pea.

"The coronation of the new queen will take place on September 5, exactly one month from today, as required by the orders. By order of Her Highness Crown Princess Annie, the responsibility for all preparations falls on the shoulders of Her Grace Duchess Ileria Wilson, whom we will call the queen's mother," Mastermal's loud and rough voice echoed from the high walls, ornamentally decorated windows, and a lush chandelier decorated with numerous garlands of crystal beads, and echoed throughout the large hall. Those present listened to him attentively, while watching me, as if they knew that I was about to grow horns and a tail and were afraid to miss the moment. Meanwhile, the man continued: "The time from the funeral to the coronation is called the interregnum. All responsibility for Lantonia is now in our hands. I support Crown Princess Annie and call on the faithful parishioners to support her as well. With the permission of Her Highness, until the time of the coronation, I will personally rule the kingdom together with the first advisors. In addition, the will of the late King His Majesty Leonard must be fully executed. I'm talking about Prince Robert. You, Your Highness, must immediately leave the capital and head the Duchy of Logan.

Did I mention that Mastermal and the former heir have strained relations? Here's proof. But it's to my advantage, no matter what.

"My father's command is sacred to me, I will depart for Logan at dawn," my cousin said from the first row. Dad glanced at me suspiciously, and I at him. Robert gave up so easily? I'll never believe it. So, he's planning something.

"Alright. Now let's talk business," our captain commanded. That is, the cardinal.

"Business" turned out to be my first test of endurance. If I were suddenly offered to put on a saddle and give someone a ride around the palace garden, I would agree with more enthusiasm.

"Your Highness, what do you think?"

"Your Highness, what will your policy be regarding...?"

"Your Highness, what do you say to that?"

My allegory about the saddle is not in vain, I felt like a real horse (an old nag, to be precise), harnessed to three carts of stones and forced to circle around, while constantly having poems read in my ear. In a word: I didn't understand anything, considered everything illogical, and felt absolutely physically heavy from this conversation: my back ached from sitting straight, my hands, nervously clutching the hem of my dress, went numb, and my head was splitting, refusing to find any connections between the bedlam of words that the advisors shot at me, and then shook their heads sadly, saying: "The kingdom will perish with such a ruler!" If it weren't for the cardinal, who mostly answered the questions asked to me, I would probably have been completely confused, but as it was, I assured myself that everything was fine.