Meeting the Queen.

You return to your quarters, retiring early, catching up on the sleep you missed, both through your various trysts the past few nights, and your exploits with your grandfather's cult.

Early on the following afternoon, you hear a rap at the door. You had been sat at your desk, speaking a few missives into the Retention Crystal your magical advisor had provided you with earlier in the year. Rising, you tuck the crystal into your pocket and move to answer the door.

Chancellor Bistodeau stands before you once again. The rakish bureaucrat has taken to wearing his spectacularly unconvincing wig again, despite his dressing-down from King Pierre.

"King Edward, Your Majesty, what a continued honour your presence with us is!" Bistodeau says, with a smile of questionable sincerity.

“Chancellor.” you nod. “Does King Pierre desire to treat with me once again.”

Bistodeau twiddles his fingers slightly before speaking.

“His Excellency is otherwise engaged at the moment.” Bistodeau responds. “Camille, our queen, however much desires to meet with you, to speak over drinks.”

“I'd like that as well.” you decide. After hearing Madeleine badmouth her so much, you were intrigued to meet Pierre's young bride for yourself.

“Splendid.” Bistodeau remarks. Taking a moment to set your affairs in order, you follow the Chancellor into the corridors.

-

“It's been a couple of days, to my great sorrow.” Bistodeau notes. “I do hope you're enjoying yourself. I've heard you've been spending quite a bit of time with Madeleine, as well as our recently departed Beathan allies.”

“T-that's true.” you respond, willing yourself to keep pace with Bistodeau. He could move at a decent clip, no doubt used to scampering from meeting, to council session, to audience with the king. “The princess is a fascinating young woman.”

“She is. Madeleine has been through a lot, has overcome many difficulties.” Bistodeau concedes. “I only wish life had dealt our princess a gentler hand. The throne and her may be a poor fit.”

“You don't think she'll make a good Queen?” you ask.

“I... never said that, Your Majesty!” Bistodeau laughs awkwardly. "Madeleine is a... fine young woman, but even she would agree that her standing ready to take the throne is a cruel twist of fate. Though, in confidence, I pray for dear Camille to bear our king a true-born son."

“Who knows?” you say, trying to sound non-committal, even as your remembered form Swain's gossip how remote a possibility that was.

“Who knows indeed...” Bistodeau echoes, before guiding you to Queen Camille's quarters.

-

Camille is a haughty blonde, of sharp features and a certain regal bearing. She sits before a fireplace in a fine red gown. She's still reasonably youthful, perhaps less than a decade older than her adopted daughter.

“Your Excellency.” you nod to the striking queen, as you enter her parlour.

“King Edward, it's such an honour.” Camille says, gracing you with a smile. “I've been wanting to meet you ever since I heard you were in contention for my daughter's hand. I have an affinity from Itheria, my grandmother was from there, of course...”

The two of you talk for a few moments, the Queen doing her best to ingratiate herself to you, the Chancellor perching nearby like an overdressed buzzard. Eventually, Camille catches Bistodeau's eye.

“Grégoire? Would you be so kind as to fetch the three of us something to drink? From the... special stocks?”

“Of course, Excellency.” he responds, nodding curtly before ducking out of the room.

“Y-you know, it amuses me somewhat, to hear you refer to Madeleine as your daughter. You must be, what, five years older than her?” you smirk.

“Be that as it may, I've tried to help her develop. As a princess, and as a woman. The gods only know what state she'd be in without my intercession. Totally unfit for marriage, I'd wager.”

Given you'd heard Madeleine fantasize about feeding her adoptive mother to tigers not scant hours ago, you could only imagine how Queen Camille's instruction had went.

Shortly thereafter, Bistodeau returns, bearing a silver tray, a bottle of the Sinnabarrovian's red spirit, and three crystal glasses. The spindly, hairless bureaucrat carries it with a certain poise. A cruel part of you almost makes to tell the Chancellor he missed his calling as a butler or manservant, but you decide to avoid earning his ire. Bistodeau does have a significant amount of influence in Pierre's court. And besides, you'd hate to do anything to jeopardise your chances with his cousin, Amelie.

“Have you partaken of our spirit before, Edward?” Camille asks, a little impertinently dropping your title. “We are so accustomed to it here in Sinnabarrow, one does forget how... bracing it can be for neophytes."

“Once.” you tell her, your stomach churning a little, as you think back on that time in Beatha. You'd only had a glass of the stuff, but had been left with a pounding headache afterwards.

On Camille's urging, Bistodeau pours out three glasses, the first for you, then his Queen, then finally for himself.

“To your good health, Your Majesty.” Bistodeau toasts.

“And may my lord think favourably of you when the time comes.” Camille adds, taking a drink.

Screwing up your courage, you do the same, knocking back the bright red liquor.