The Princess and The Pirate

In the afternoon, Lillian was sitting on Rocqueburne’s mighty throne. It was a huge thing with lustrous gold carving of crowned lions and crashing waves. It propped up her tiny body and her massive navy dress nearly ate the legs of the chair.

The rumors had already started. Some had started calling her the Raven Queen, partly for her looks, but more fittingly, because when she arrived, death followed. The deaths of the King and queen were ill omens for the kingdom’s future. Some even went as far to call it cursed. The more religious spit at the ground when Lillian’s name was uttered.

Currently, the old queen was being prepared for the family crypt, having tragically perished under the weight of a broken heart. Simultaneously, the preparations were underway for Lillian’s crowing reception.

“My lady, you should wear your mourning veil,” Versetti mentioned while looking over the new monarch who seemed to sincerely enjoy her new position. “It’s only proper.”

“I no longer have to cater to senseless formalities,” she retorted back.

Her guard twisted his mouth to the side at her terrible attitude.

The large doors to the chamber opened. A herald, nearly out of breath, threw himself into the room. Heaving, he bowed deeply. He was a squire for the empire, clad in soft whites and gold.

“P-presenting, Sir Magnus of Whilmshire. Master of the guard, general to our empire’s armies.” That was a mouthful, but Lillian stood up nonetheless, giving a small nod to the servant.

Following a clattering of armor, footsteps, and voices, a grand sight appeared in the throne room. A man clad in bright golden armor, set with glistening mother-of-pearl edges, entered. A white half-cape was draped over his shoulder and the mighty stag’s head of the Emperor was embroidered upon it. His face was marred by war but he was handsome, having both his eyes and most of his nose.

Upon seeing only Lillian at the head of the room, Magnus looked troubled, for he had known the King and queen personally.

“This here is but a child, where are the King and queen of Rocqueburne?” he asked, looking at her, then to Versetti, for an explanation. “Do not tell me they’ve left on vacation whilst summoning a war?”

Lillian crushed an indignant scream under a very polite smile. Leaning over, she grabbed the mourning veil and clipped the piece into her hair.

“My dear general, I assure you my youth does not hinder my leadership.” The new queen spoke softly, hoping to keep her tone light. He was just another idiot.

“The king and queen have met untimely ends. Surely you’ve heard the news?” Versetti chimed in, noting the glaze of his superior. He strode across the floor while motioning to Lillian. “This is Rocqueburne’s new ruler, Lady Lillian, by blood and God’s will.”

“I’ve heard no such thing,” Magnus started, already annoyed. He and his brigade were the saviors of the empire, beseeched by the Emperor himself to help bring justice to a murdered princess. And now, he found a child queen? What nonsense was this? “My men have been marching for an expedited fortnight relentlessly, to bring requested aid. News is not a privilege to us.” The general was completely not amused at the sheer amount of wasted resources it took to simply be here quickly. And he was not a babysitter.

Starting down the small stairs to the common floor of the room, Lillian bent her ruby red lips in a coy, gentle smile. “The pirate menace has planted deep roots in this kingdom. The king—poisoned. The queen—heartbroken. The Princess—defaced and murdered. I’m the last blood left. Does my age bother you?” she asked with a gentle coo, her pale features obscured by exotic black lace. “You’ve ridden so hard, for so long, and only to be greeted by a baby?”

Versetti looked over to the conversation, knowing that alluring tone. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. What was she doing?

“My men have families. Families they are no longer with, separated by dirt and hard labor. If the legitimate Rocqueburnes are dead and gone, it seems the pirates have won. There is no war to fight,” the golden-armored man said shortly, looking down at the eerie girl.

Legitimacy? He questioned her legitimacy? Lillian pulled the veil away from her face, revealing her pastel features. “What were your orders, sir?”

“To aid Rocqueburne’s plight.”

“Well, I am Rocqueburne,” Lillian still smiled, with a confident authority. “Soldier, what would you do? Go back? Claim everyone was dead and simply wash your hands of the Emperor’s request? I live and so does the country. There is still much work to be done, if you would only look past my age.” With as much grace and sincerity as she could muster, the queen gave a soft pout. She slowly slid her fingers down along the fine stitching of her veil, dragging the tips of her nails across her bare collarbone to the ruffles of her collar.

Her chest certainly suggested she wasn’t a child and Magnus’s eyes followed her finely manicured fingers. The sight alone was enough to excuse her insolence for calling him a mere soldier.

Versetti looked off to the side, an uncomfortable jealousy cooking in his veins.

“I will write the Emperor and see what he decides. Then—” She stopped him before he could continue.

“Where are my manners? You and your men must be tired. Please, if anything, rest, relax, allow yourself all the care you need. It is the least we can do and sir,” the queen said, touching the general’s arm, her nails clicking against the warm gold gauntlet, “...Do have some lunch with me. Let’s retry this hospitality thing, where I’m not planning a funeral and you haven’t been marching for two weeks.”

With an exhausted sigh, the general looked off to the side. They had come all this way; to simply turn around would be such a waste. “Fine,” he grunted, not particularly soothed by the proposition, “but I write the Emperor tomorrow.”

“I’d have it no other way.” Lillian gave a gentle curtsy, dipping her chest downwards.

Clearing his throat loudly, Magnus bowed his head and exited as quickly as he had arrived. His stomping was audible all the way down the hall.

“What the hell was that?” Versetti demanded, scorning her. How dare she flirt with another man in his presence!

Lillian looked over her shoulder at the captain of her guard. Looking at his feet, then back up to his chest, she put the veil in front of her face again. “Nothing that concerns you,” and she left as well. A faction of the empire’s army could be awfully useful.

But a man’s jealousy? That could be useful too.

It was late afternoon when the general arrived on the outside patio. He had put his armor away and was now wearing a more casual white outfit adorned with gold chords. Magnus looked at his pocket watch. The queen was late.

Rolling his eyes, he clicked the contraption closed. Looking at his surroundings, he noticed this was actually a very secluded patio. Creeper vines and bright violet morning glories covered the walls of this intimate spot. He felt uneasy. The small table, built for two, was already set. Tea, sandwiches, and sweets were already laid out for him.

All it did was make the seasoned old veteran miss his wife, and when those feelings arose, Magnus did what he did best. He avoided them. He needed to leave. No good would come of this said the little voice in his head. Turning towards the door, it was already too late.

“Oh, forgive me!” chirped Lillian, who came prancing through the doorway. She had changed as well into a brilliant blue gown with white lace and pearls. It was a summer dress, flowing easily with her graceful steps. Hugging her body and showing off her neck and shoulders, it was rather inappropriate for a mourning stepdaughter. “Business waits for nothing, not even tea with new friends!” There were so many fine jewels in the woman’s tiara, it nearly blinded the man!

However, for all her exuberance, Magnus said nothing but only looked from the fair, beautiful queen to her guard. Versetti was presently giving him the meanest glare, leaving him more unnerved.

Hooking his arm, Lillian dragged the general to the small table and offered him a seat.

Following loyally behind, her captain pulled out the queen’s chair, still fiercely glaring at the general.

“You’d carry your sword to lunch?” Lillian chuckled, picking up the teapot and pouring him a cup as well as her own.

“Old habit, I guess.” Magnus leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry for the misfortune that has befallen your family.”

She sipped the tea carefully. “It is quite sad. I’ve never been to so many funerals.”

“Some of my men are originally from Rocqueburne. To my surprise, the more devout of them are getting on the bandwagon of your cousin’s sanctification.” He wanted to poke the bear, knowing the one thing that royals hated the most was talking about people greater than themselves.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Lillian said as politely, but flatly, as possible. It was absolutely uninteresting to her. “Do you have family, general?” she asked, changing the subject.

He noted it. She wasn’t very clever. “I had some family once,” he muttered, watching the queen drink her tea, “but that was a long time ago. Here I am, going to war for the sake of war and yet I managed to outlive them all.” Magnus looked at Lillian and her black hair which hung straight down absolutely flawlessly. There was a haunting coldness in her eyes that suggested she didn’t know what generosity was.

“God is cruel,” she added, taking another sip.

“Don’t get me started on God.” He leaned forward and picked up his teacup, which was awkward in his large, scarred hands. If he listened carefully, the old man could hear the waves crashing clear across the city.

“I need your brigade to stay, Magnus.” Lillian figured it was best to try a direct approach.

He huffed but took a sip of his own drink. “My Grace,” he began, feeling awkward using that title for a girl who could have been the age of his granddaughter, “there are two other wars going on. Active, grave wars. Wars that could affect even Rocqueburne if not quelled. Men are dying so you and your subjects may live in this little bubble in which pirates and assassins are the worst of your worries.” He looked off over the edge of the patio towards the east.

“Are you trying to say it’s a privilege to worry about assassins?!” With a tone of outrage, Lillian put her cup down.

“I’m saying they’ve already accomplished killing the bloodline. What use could they have for killing you?” He sipped his tea.

“But I am blood!” the queen defended hotly.

“Blood, like how a dog is to a wolf,” Magnus unkindly replied. “We will not stay, as we have other battles to fight. And this one is lost.”

Her fine, ruby red lips fell apart, staring at the general, offended to the deepest part of her soul. Like how a dog is to a wolf? She stood up but swayed slightly, overcome by weakness.

“You dare talk to me in such... such a w-way?” Feeling sick, Lillian gripped the table.

“My queen?” Versetti interjected, pushing himself into the meeting, seeing her waver. “What’s wrong?”

At first, Magnus dismissed the show. Then, he himself began feeling ill. His mouth felt dry and his head felt heavy. As he stood up, the entire patio seemed to spin. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, the general fell over, unable to stand under his own power.

“I c-can’t feel my f-feet.” The Queen then wilted, falling straight into Versetti’s arms while watching the general stumble and rely on the stone banister behind him.

“The tea, w-what was in the tea?!” Magnus shouted as the world was falling away from him. On pure adrenalin, he tried to climb back up. Not to be beat, he clawed his way to the table, knocking the treats off and roughly grabbed the teapot.

Nausea, sickness, and pain started to run rampant in his body. Slick with sweat, he deeply inhaled the drink’s fumes. It smelled of fennel. Rich, flowery fennel. No one makes tea out of fennel.

“H-hemlock!” Magnus hoarsely cried, pushing the pot away. He then collapsed to the ground, pulling the tablecloth with him. All the food and their plates smashed into the stone floor. His strength was gone.

“Poison?! H-here?” the queen weakly whined before completely losing consciousness against Versetti’s silver breastplate.

“Guards! Call for a nurse!” He whisked her away from the commotion as golden soldiers and Rocqueburne’s finest rushed onto the small patio. Men pulled the general from the debris, a cluster of bodies and orders flying about.

In a mess of fabric and the noise of armor, Versetti looked down at Lillian’s sweating, porcelain-white face.

“That was a stupid risk. You could have killed yourself. What if you had put in too much?! For what, a few more hired swords?!” He criticized her under his breath and carried the weakened woman to her chambers.

Lillian opened one eye, looking up at him under a veil of lashes. “Oh, ye of little faith,” and the queen delicately gave the side of her lover’s face a soft pet. He nuzzled the palm of her hand, only worried. Insanely jealous, but mostly worried.

She’d get over it with some vomiting and a few days’ rest. So would Magnus for that matter. The pain would be worth it. Nothing worth gaining was ever easily attained.

And, really, it was only a little hemlock.