“My Queen, it is a proposal we cannot afford to initiate,” says
Sir Fredrick; a member of the Royal Court.
“It is a proposal to be considered nonetheless,” Ericia says,
raising a quizzical brow. “Though we may not have the finances to
supply all the necessities now,” she adds, “we can begin gathering
our resources and planning better ways to save up for such an
outreach.”
The court goes into uproar as Ericia pauses. King Charles sits at
the opposite end of the table, listening to the noise. Ericia raises
her chin a bit, supporting her own proposal, and knowing that
Rowan would not so much as raise his voice to agree with her, she
doesn’t turn in his direction.
“I think she’s right,” says Prince Henry. His voice is enough to
silence all those in the room.
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“What?” asks Sir Bernard, sitting beside Sir Fredrick. “Your
Highness, with all due respect, this is a matter concerning the
caste system of a kingdom that isn’t like yours.”
“Forgive me, Sir Bernard, is it? But is it that simply because my
kingdom does not hold the caste system I know nothing of it?”
Sir Bernard goes silent as the Prince stares at him –stares as
though he’s genuinely waiting for a reply.
“Please do expand on your thoughts, Henry,” says King
Charles, practically bored by the topic at hand.
“Queen Ericia is proposing that we help those of the lower
castes. Her methods of attack on the problem are quite straight
forward; plan and save resources, cut the budget of other areas in
general and create an entirely new program and fund dedicated to
these people. Her concept could use some adjustments, but it’s
quite effective.”
“We cannot afford to cut the budget as things are,” says Sir
Fredrick, though he says it lowly. “We are already using all of the
finances and scavenging for more to maintain the things we are
already using it for.”
Henry almost wants to smirk, raising a brow and folding his
arms, shifting in his seat and hoping that Sir Fredrick would catch
on to what he’s thinking. Prince Henry glances at the King and
then turns to Ericia, two seats away from him, before turning to
Sir Fredrick once more.
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“Then clearly,” he says, “the proposal is not the problem, Sir
Fredrick, but in fact a lack of proper budgeting.”
“That’s not what I mea-”
“-Your Majesty,” Prince Henry cuts him off, turning to King
Charles, “if I may...” King Charles hums at him and he stands.
“When I arrived here in Vynier, I noticed one particular pattern
followed by the lower caste. They all either work in fields or they
do not work at all. This is the problem, obviously, because the
lands on which they plant are not fertile and so due to a lack of
supplies, there is no market in the lower caste villages. I observed
this as we passed through the villages in all of Merrington –since I
had passed from the lowest to the highest before arriving here at
the palace. Ballier have its markets and their products are fairly
produced since they have access to the basic farming equipment
and agricultural supplies –not to mention their soils are much
more fertile than in Merrington, and they have access to water far
superior to that of the dreg outpours flowing into the lower caste
villages. I know that the majority of the spices are cared for in
Aeriston and in some of the middle caste villages close to that city,
but this is precisely why there is such a problem in places such as
the Demarnia Village and the Isla Village in Merrington, which are
practically falling off the edge of Vynier –completely deserted.”
There is silence in the room as everyone considers what Prince
Henry has said.
“There is a lack of propriety in the lower castes because there
was never an expectation among the castes concerning each other.
I’ve overheard it myself; if you marry into a rich family, you have
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been blessed and brought honour to your family. If you do not
have a job, do not marry, and do not spend your life fighting to
survive each day, then with or without family, you are nothing,
have done nothing, and will never be anything,” says the Prince.
“This is the mindset of the majority of the lower caste individuals.”
He pauses, searching the room for silent responses before turning
to the Queen. “Queen Ericia proposed planning, cutting the
budget, saving for a new initiative and providing for the castes,
but that may not be the only angle from which this problem can
be attacked.”
At this, Ericia looks directly at him, intrigued. Prince Henry
steps out of his seat, grabbing a stick of chalk and walking over to
the blackboard at one end of the room. On it, he draws a circle
and begins writing key words connected to the circle by long
lines.
“Work,” he says, writing the word, “is a problem.” He turns to
the people in the room. “This can be addressed by a rotation of
tasks among the people. Yes, I know that the caste system means
certain people have certain jobs, but even in this way, the
problem can be helped. In every caste there is a group of people
that understand how to do things even if they haven’t done them
before. For example, in the lowest caste, though sales may be the
least common form of employment, the people there know how
to trade. Mercantilism is an art of the middle caste and the higher
caste. If perhaps the few of these individuals from the lower caste
could use their skill, develop it and earn enough from doing the
work of someone in a higher caste who could perhaps teach them,
they can take their earnings back to their caste and build –and
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build –and build. This, of course, doesn’t just apply to trade. It
can apply to farming, since your trade to other lands is mainly
based on the spice industry.” Henry lets out a soft, single laugh.
“Imagine if your lower caste could do rotational work around the
active farms all around Vynier,” he says, turning to Ericia,
“eventually, Your Majesty,” he says, turning to the King, “your
lowest caste will be of a higher standard than the lowest caste of
those who are at war against you.”
King Charles considers this, and at the thought of it, all court
members begin to mutter and chatter among each other.
Henry turns to Ericia, allowing the idea to seep into the depths
of her mind. Ericia stares at him, glaring for a moment at his
genius idea and at the practicality of it, and then turns to her right
to spot Princess May, staring directly at her before turning away,
coldly.
“Rotational work is your proposal, is it not?” asks a court
member by the name of Lady Elise.
“Rotational work can be a foundational piece for this redesign
of the society, yes,” says Henry, “and if it is a concept that
becomes functional, then cutting the budget would not seem like
such a burden. You won’t have to cut the budget and put money
aside for an entirely newly funded program, and you would not
have to save up resources. Instead, the people will be learning,
working, and growing, and eventually their standards will rise in
every manner, form or fashion. Workers of each caste will earn a
certain amount for their input, and those who are teaching them,
instead of earning for the teaching, will be rewarded with the
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amount of supplies they may find sustainable to compensate for
the loss of finances which they will not earn while they are not the
ones working but instead teaching.”
“It’s certainly something to consider, indeed,” says King
Charles, sitting up attentively.
King Charles begins to feel as though he’s about to fall ill to
another migraine and so, with closing words, he dismisses
everyone.
On the way out of the King’s Study, Princess May purposely
bumps into Queen Ericia, causing her to stumble forward. May
turns to her, briefly, bows and says “Pardon me” in the most
artificial tone, and walks away.
***
Princess May fires the arrow –it hits the bull’s eye –she firesagain.
And again.
And again...
And aga-
“Your fingers are going to end up bleeding at this rate,” says
Rowan, to his anxious, angry sister.
“Leave me alone, Rowan, I’m not in the mood,” she says, firing
another arrow.
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“You’re not in the mood?” he asks, folding his arms in
annoyance. “I thought you said you were going to do something
about that bastard prince?”
“Shut up and let me think,” says May, “I know I have to do
something. It’s clear that he likes her, and it’s clear that she’s
starting to like him, too.”
“I kissed her the other day,” says Rowan, after a pause. At the
thought of it, he smirks.
May turns to him, her expression undecipherable. “How
romantic,” she says, her words dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose
you were drunk and desperate as you always are, dearest brother.”
“So what?” he asks, “I made an effort.”
“An effort,” she laughs, turning to him. “You’re going to kiss
her until you’re bored with her, and if you actually end up
marrying her like you’re supposed to, then what? Will you have
mistresses? How many? Should I prepare a list on which I should
write their names down for future reference? Will you then come
to me asking for help to woo them one by one?”
“Oh for God’s sake, May, be serious. Ericia is my betrothed,
yes, and I will marry her, regardless of whether or not we fall in
love. She’s the Queen of Vynier. Don’t you remember why this
alliance was formed in the first place? Her parents want to secure
wealth. You heard from the meeting today what it’s like in the
castes. Do you really think they’re not hoping to pull money from
us? If that’s the case, we can do the same. We’ve got very
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different trades, our kingdoms, but we can always find a way to
better ours.”
“You’re not seriously just doing this for the money, Rowan,”
May says, oblivious. “What am I to do when I eventually have to
rule a kingdom on my own? Will you and mom and dad marry me
off to some Prince I’m not in love with, too? How pathetic,
Rowan. Truly pathetic.”
“Well,” Rowan says, with his teeth clenched, “if you’d just do
something about the man trying to ruin my engagement, you
wouldn’t have to consider it at all.”
“Then leave me alone,” May says, tired and wide-eyed. “And
let me think.”
***
Ericia sits in her study as the doors to the room open and herfather walks in. She stands, closing her book and bowing to him.
“Are you daft?” he asks, approaching her.
“I’m sorry?” she asks.
“What were you thinking even conceptualizing such a
proposal?” he asks. “Are you trying to destroy our otherwise
smooth running country?”
“Your Majesty,” she says, “I’m trying to provide a solution to a
major problem relating to the people.”
228
“Ericia, you are not a Queen,” he says, as though to remind her.
“Your title doesn’t make you someone. You don’t know the
slightest bit about what it’s like to be a ruler. Don’t you dare put a
hand in anything that’s not yours.”
Ericia stares at her father who is clearly arguing but not yelling
enough to attract attention from the outside of the room.
After a beat, King Charles stares at his daughter properly. “Ah
yes,” he says, “perhaps you do need a reminder like that. This
kingdom is not yours, child!”
Ericia swallows –though she has nothing to swallow- and though
there is nothing happening directly, she can already feel the cuts
on her skin throbbing for no reason whatsoever. She bows. “I’m
sorry, Your Majesty. I will not interfere.”
“Your immature behaviour and useless apology matters the
least right now. There is to be a court matter in the throne room
at noon. You will be there, and you will be there promptly.”
“It will be so, Your Majesty,” she says.
King Charles storms out of the room, shutting the doors behind
him. Ericia drops onto her seat, exhaling a shaky sigh.
***
Standing in shackles before the King and the Queen are the men,women and children who had staged a protest against the royals in
the Hyre Village not two days ago. Ericia is looking down at
them, tears clearly formed in her eyes but unwilling to yet fall.
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King Charles, had just ridiculed them; mocked them, laughed,
joked about their situation, made sarcastic comments to the point
where they felt utterly hopeless and could say nothing to defend
themselves –though, there was nothing they could say to begin
with.
“You’ve all wasted your time and now you have to pay a
terrible price for having destroyed the beauty of something so
well observed in Vynier,” King Charles turns to each and every
single one of the individuals before him. “Hmm,” he says, “I’ll find
some useful employment for you later.” He turns to Ericia. “What
are we to do, Ericia? Having been insulted at such a celebration?”
Ericia, shaking in anxiety, forgets about her voice as her father
calls on her. She stares at the faces of the people, the children
crying, the older individuals falling to their knees with their heads
hanging lowly as they beg for mercy and help.
“What are we to do with them, Queen Ericia?” asks King
Charles, slower this time, and quite obviously more infuriated.
Set them free... she wants to say. Let them live... let them work their
way up... they were only crying out for help...
“Perhaps the laws should change,” says King Charles, casually,
“perhaps there should be a death penalty for crimes like this.”
The fear of another execution taking place –especially more than
one- frightens Ericia –sends a chill so cold up her spine she cannot
control her next words.
“Throw them in the dungeon,” she says, suddenly.
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Her voice almost echoes across the throne room as she speaks.
Her father goes silent and turns to her.
“What was that?” he asks, though he had heard her clearly, as
did everyone else in the room.
“Throw...” she says, lowly, her voice breaking, “Throw
them... into the dungeons...”
Ericia stares at the people, her tears finally falling. She drops her
head to stare at her skirt. Her hair blocks her face as she begins
crying silently.
“The dungeons,” repeats King Charles, considering it. “Well,
yes, I suppose that would be a good place to dispose of them until
further notice.”
Before Ericia looks up, the guards have already taken the people
away, and they cry out to the Queen, begging for mercy, before
King Charles orders the guards to silence them and keep them
locked away with no visitors until he allows it.
King Charles returns to his seat, laughing. Ericia wants to turn
to him, but she’s still crying, and so instead of lifting her head, she
stares at the colour of her blue skirt, which teardrops have begun
soaking into.
“From the little speech you made earlier and the proposal of
the Honourable Prince Henry, I could almost believe that the
treatment they’ll receive in the dungeons is better than what
they’ll ever have to deal with outside of the palace walls,” says the
King, laughing again. “It’s rather hilarious.”
231
By the end of it all, Ericia is the only one sitting in the empty
throne room. She stares out at the aisles, the empty seats, the
thrones beside her. She looks at her hands, resting on the arm
rests of the Queen’s throne. She wonders how her mother could
have ever done it? How she could have lived a life fashioned to
follow the rules of such a man? Her shaking hands fall onto her lap
at last, and Ericia doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there
before she’s summoned to her room by the maids to prepare for
the dinner party to be held. This night’s party will bring the
Flower Festival celebrations to an end.
***
Carter crosses the stream just down the hill from the palace andtakes a while to make it back to the top. He had just visited his
family –who he had managed to find with the help of some
citizens from the Hyre Village.
His Callie family was particularly ecstatic to see him and warmly
welcomed him in, but they hadn’t related the story of Marie to
him until the nearing of the end of his visit.
Carter, returning to the palace, has every bit of determination
to discuss the matter with Prince Henry at the final Flower
Festival gathering. Carter had already decided in his mind that he
would look for the evidence of wrong in the case of the late
Queen Olivia Avington, but this plan he would not yet relate to
anyone.
232
Carter spots Avie busily taking a covered dish outside into the
courtyard with a heavy piece of what smells like Lystotian-style
steamed meat. He remembers the order of the gathering.
It would be a dance –a truly magical dance; in fact, he would
consider it much more like a ball.
Carter smiles, somehow forgetting every bit of conflict when he
observes the young lady. She is everything the world needs when
it is dim –she is like sunlight breaking through the dark hours of
the morning; she is like the light of a single candle in a room
enveloped in darkness.
“Avie,” he says, calling to her as she finishes her task and turns
to head back inside. She stops and smiles as she acknowledges him
with a slight bow.
“Hello, Carter,” she says, “are you back from a bit of a stroll?”
she asks.
“A bit of a stroll indeed,” he says, smiling, “I brought back bits
of sweets from the village. I’ve only heard of their delightfulness.”
“Yes, they are quite delicious,” she says, laughing, “so I do hope
you enjoy them.” There’s a pause, and then Avie turns to find
everyone else working too busy to listen to them. “As you can
imagine,” she says, turning back to Carter, “I’ve been quite busy
doing my job.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” Carter says, wanting to frown but deciding
not to. “But worry not,” he says, offering her a comforting smile,
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“tonight is the last night of the festival... the hurry will cease –or
at least slow- by tomorrow.”
“Thankfully so,” she says, tiredly. “Will you be attending the
celebration tonight?” she asks, “Or have you had too long of a
day?”
“Actually,” he says, beaming, “I was hoping to attend, but only
with the success of one positively confirmed inquiry.”
“And that is?”
“Would you...” Carter begins, staring at the attentive girl,
“accompany me to the dance?”
Avie’s smile drops. She stares at Carter. “Um,” she pauses,
staring at him, “me?”
“I’ve no intention of going alone, and there’s honestly no one
else worth going with, I suppose,” he says, laughing. “You and I
are acquaintances enough. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting
anyone with more of a pleasant spirit. I’m also sure you’re
accustomed to such celebrations. I’m not aware so much of the
order of things here. I’ve only been to so few royal parties but
perhaps it was so by choice.” He laughs nervously. “I was never
fond of the formal things –especially having to face them alone. As
you can imagine, I’m not one to interact with others for simply
the satisfaction of a bored spirit.”
“But,” Avie pauses, still startled by the proposal, “I’m just a
palace worker,” she says. “Can it be possible?”
234
“I’ve heard that some of the Phillimont soldiers have asked
other ladies of the staff to attend with them, even though they
would be doing their work as usual. I don’t suppose all the staff
workers will be running about doing their duties all night. I’ve
observed well enough that the workers all take shifts –except for
perhaps the select few inclusive of you. I propose you take tonight
off, be my accomplice to the royal dance, and enjoy one night of
your life here, work free.”
Avie stares at Carter, hoping to find the sincerity in every inch
of his face. He sounds sincere enough, and he looks genuine
enough, and judging from the Carter she knows, she should
believe him.
Aside from that, she really believes she could use a night of
freedom.
She smiles, nodding at him. “Sure, Carter. I’ll attend the
celebration with you.”
“Great,” he says, genuinely excited. “I’ll meet you in the
courtyard tonight. It’s getting pretty late. The party will start
before I’m done preparing. I’ll leave you now.” He nods at her,
and she bows in return, and they part ways.
Avie turns to look at him, blushing at the thought of enjoying a
royal party with a soldier –and not just any mere soldier, but one
from the greatest army of the three neighbouring kingdoms within
the entirety of Europe.
***
235Princess May reaches the ground floor with her servants trailing
loosely behind her. She’s wearing the traditional dance gown of
Lystotia –made from fine textiles that are metallic in the light, and
a waist band that is a strong, warm colour. Her flowing dress is a
shining