A Queen Redestined

Chapter 5

Waiting was always the hardest thing for Marie. 

The week both seemed indeterminably long and fleetingly short. Before she knew it, it was time to leave.

For the first time in her life since she was ten, Marie did not attend morning training. Instead she sat at her vanity and allowed Madam Belrac and Elizaveta to help dress her in court fashion, an unwieldy and extravagant dress made of grey watered silk and heavily embroidered- a nod, at least, to the colours of Vifort. 

It wasn’t even a proper court dress, to Marie’s consternation, it was a travelling dress. Once in court, she would be subject to even more items of clothing, like tighter stays and bigger hoops for her dresses, and headpieces besides.

At the main gates, Marie went through the motions of Vifort’s traditional sabre salute numbly. It felt strange to have a sabre in hand but to be dressed up so oddly. Only the familiarity of the routine saved her from stumbling. Her family likewise received the salute with nary a trace of expression- except for Hugo, who seemed on the edge of tears, throughout it all, although he was doing his best to keep calm.

Their personal goodbyes had already been said earlier that day, with many shed tears and embraces, so when the salute concluded, Marie merely bowed, a low deep bow, before she turned away and headed towards the carriage waiting for her. 

—

Madam Belrac did not give her time to ruminate. Marie couldn’t decide if she was irritated, or if it was for the best.

The moment the horses trotted off, the older woman had flipped out a folding table from the side of the carriage door and placed several heavy books on it. Marie barely stifled a groan. Elizaveta clearly could see her dread, and gave her a sympathetic smile.

”We have twelve days on the road,” Madam Belrac began. ”From what I’ve seen at Vifort, the daily lives of its inhabitants could not be more different than what we do at Marimiers, so twelve days will be little time to learn everything you need. I suggest we begin reviewing the rules of conduct and protocol in addressing the various courtiers.”

If Marie had any say in this, she would happily have thrown all those damned books out the carriage window right that instant.

But she was going to Marimiers as a bride, as a representative of House Vifort, even if she had been forced to abandon all physical signifiers of it. If she made any missteps at court, bumbled her way through social encounters, they’d be snickering at House Vifort behind their fingers.

There was no way she would let any of those damned peacocks mock her house.

So she girded herself and sat up straight, to start taking notes and reviewing what she had memorised so far over the last months.

The king and queen were, naturally, at the top of the hierarchy. Everything in the palace revolved around them and in gaining their favour, for with it came power. Then came the royal children- in this case, only the crown prince, as his brother had long since died in childhood and his sister had married to Eldfyerd, a neighbouring country just the year before. 

Below them were the various members of nobility, and this was where the protocol became difficult. 

Marie much preferred the simple system of the Southlands. If you were a noble, you were bowed to, and called a lord or lady, regardless of what kind of noble you were. Townspeople were similarly grouped into another social class, and servants another. It was easy to remember.

That was the problem with being a Southlander, in the eyes of the court. They used to be several different countries until Gadilida, about a hundred years ago, had subsumed them entirely. House Vifort had been one of those small nations. Today they were one of the strongholds of the country against the borders of the nomadic Graemurs. But their ways and customs were still entirely too different from Vemae, considered the cultural capital of their country.

In Vemae, it was the height of rudeness to not accord each member of nobility the respect they deserved. And so Marie had to learn by heart the five classes the courtiers were ranked into, who she had to accord a grand curtsey and when she should do it, who she could simply nod at, and where exceptions to the rule would occur. Her semi-outsider status of being a Southland princess-consort only served to muddle up the hierarchies even more.

The hours in the carriage went by like snails.

Marie found herself looking forward to the lunch breaks when they would stop for an hour or so, to allow the horses to rest and for the people inside the carriages to walk around for a little bit.

”Can’t I ride one of the horses for an afternoon? Just for a change,” she prodded Madam Belrac on the second day. The older woman only raised an eyebrow.

”Do you already know exactly how to greet any noble who might come across your path? And can you demonstrate the correct forms for the grand curtsey, the day curtsey and the little curtsey?”

”... No.”

”Well then, I believe you have your answer.”

Elizaveta patted her on the shoulder, trying to comfort her. ”Don’t worry, you’ll get it soon. And we’ll practice the curtseys tonight when we stop for the evening.”

Marie could only accept her offer with half-hearted thanks.

She was grateful for the other girl’s presence though. The two of them were similar in age; Elizaveta was only a year older than her, and she seemed much more sympathetic to Marie’s struggles than Madam Belrac. It wasn’t that the latter was a cruel teacher- it was just that she had a job to do, and she intended to accomplish it well, regardless of Marie’s feelings about it. Elizaveta in comparison was only her assistant, and had more inclination to be compassionate.

They took to chatting about themselves during the lunch rests, and in the evenings when they stopped at some inn or noble house for the night. 

Marie learnt that Elizaveta was a natural born politician, through and through. She had been born and raised at court, and followed closely in her father’s footsteps from a minor noble to claiming one of the highest spots in Marimiers. It was pretty admirable, Marie thought. No mean feat at all, for Count Camrault to climb the ranks like that in the highest court of the land, especially when there were always other scheming nobles, each with a more cunning plan than the last. 

”Tell me,” she said, one of the evenings, when they were taking a stroll just outside of the inn. ”There are many ladies in waiting at court who would be around my age. Were you sent here or did you arrange for yourself to come with Madam Belrac?”

Elizaveta laughed. ”What a question. What do you think?”

”My guess is that you wanted to come, and so you ensured that you did.”

”Hm.” The smile that she gave Marie was non-commital. 

”So did you already bet on getting close to the future princess consort, or did you simply want to know who I was before the rest of the court got to know?”

From the start, Elizaveta had always been in the background, placidly watching everything unfold. Marie had not thought anything of it at first, simply assuming that she was there to quietly assist Madam Belrac. But in the days since, talking to her, sharing space with her for hours on end, Elizaveta reminded her more and more of a silent serpent in the grass, waiting for its opportune moments. 

That enigmatic smile appeared again.

”It is always prudent to know exactly who the players are at court,” she said. ”I hope you won’t forget that, because it’s rule number one. Those who forget end up leaving Marimiers in disgrace or in a coffin.”

”My sister said Marimiers sounded like a nest of vipers. I don’t think she’s wrong.”

”Be that as it may, you’ve been forced into it. And you’ve been given a very good starting hand, so you may as well play the game to win.”

Marie took a deep breath. The evening was beautiful, fresh clean air all around them and the stars were coming out now too, bright points in a darkening sky. It felt strange to be having a conversation like this when it was so nice out.

”Is it wise to be so blunt with your future princess consort? I’ve heard one shouldn’t be too straightforward at court.”

Elizaveta made a low hum of agreement. ”One shouldn’t. But we’re not at court, are we? And you are, for better or worse, quite thoroughly a Vifort.” She turned to face Marie, her smile softening to a slightly warmer, more genuine one. ”I think you may be the change the court and Prince Alfons need, if you don’t mind me being honest. I look forward to seeing your progress at Marimiers.”