Bea has invited me to become a contributor to her blog, despite my constant objections that beside a couple of short stories, I really don't have anything to contribute. In terms of the greater issues of the TG/TV reality. Bea insisted, however, so here we are.
Bea has posted a lot of my short bits in the past, so I figured I'd do the same. Until I can come up with something better.
Hugs to all,
Rosie.
The Queen, the King and the
King’s Aide
“The King will see you shortly,”
said the girl at the reception desk. The wait gave me time to admire her dress
– it was most definitely made of pure silk, in a pale shade of purple. The
fabric of her sleeves seemed to dance around her arms and when she got up to
let me through the door, I saw there was a flounce to its skirts, as if she was
wearing a petticoat.
This was just another sign of the
Queen’s influence in the Royal Court. Immediately after our King Philip married
Princess Gertrude of the house of Bergen and made her his queen, she started
transforming the court. Transforming might be too mild an expression. With the
help of her handmaiden (as she called her) Frieda, the giantess from the East
(as we called her), she terrorized the whole court. Her idea of the Royal Court
was very romantic, if this is the correct term. While the royal heads of today
try to dress as much like the ordinary citizens as possible – and as far as I
know don’t make attempts to influence the outfit of their staff, our new Queen
wanted just the opposite. More and more of the staff were given a new style of
uniforms – or were ordered to wear a uniform if they didn’t do so before. The
serving staff now comprised of girls in full skirted uniforms with starched
petticoats underneath them and pageboys in short trousers and silk stockings.
But it wasn’t just the staff that wore clothes more fitting to the 18th
century. The queen herself wore an extravagantly rich, if not bouffant gown for
her crowning. That, however, didn’t surprise us as much as when it turned out
that she would be wearing gowns of similar style for the most of the time.
This time, however, she was
wearing a men’s dark blue suit with a double breasted jacket. In fact, when I
entered the hall and saw her from afar, standing by the throne, I thought it
was the King. The nearer I got, the more I thought that the King looked different
– bigger somehow, perhaps taller, and more powerful. I put it down to the
padded shoulders of his jacket until I realized it was actually the Queen.
“Your majesty,” I said as I bowed
deeply before her – another custom she introduced at the court, “I was told
that the King would see me.”
“And he will,” she said – then
sat on the throne and put the King’s crown on her head. I was abhorred by such
audacity, yet I had little choice but to kneel before her.
“My King,” I said humbly.
“You may rise, Robert,” she said,
“You are one of the first to know. This evening I will be crowned as King
Gerhardt.”
“What about King Philip?” I
asked, “The land can’t have two kings.”
“King Philip is no more,” she
said bluntly.
The words pierced me like a spear
– I had been the King’s aide for years and though we weren’t as close as before
the royal wedding, hearing of his demise was a terrible shock to me.
“My sincerest condolences,” I
said, fighting my tears.
“Oh, he’s not passed away,” she
said, “Let’s just say that he has abdicated his position in my favor. He is
still very much with us. In fact – “she clapped her arms twice, “Darling!”
A door behind the throne opened
and a lady, dressed in a very flamboyant gown, even by Queen Gertrude’s
standards. I looked at her in puzzlement until I recognized the face of King
Philip under the makeup, framed by masses of blonde curls. Although he was
smiling, I could see his eyes brimming with tears. Not knowing what else to do,
I bowed down before him.
“My queen,” I said.
“No, no, no!” Queen – I mean King
Gerhardt stopped me, “Melissa is not the queen. Being the queen implies having
a certain power, of which Melissa here has none. For now I call her the royal
wife. You may address her as ‘madam’, I suppose.”
“Madam,” I said and bowed down
again – though not as deep as before.
“You must be wondering what is
going on,” she said, then continued without waiting for me to answer, “You see
I came to this country hoping to become a queen to a powerful King. While in
most monarchies the royal families are reduced to mere figureheads, in this
land the king still held the reins of power. However, King Philip had no desire
to keep them, as I have learned to my regret. Instead of taking firm action
when it was needed, he talked about the will of the people and the acts of the
parliament while the country slowly crumbled and decayed. I tried to convince
him the country needed a firm leader and when he wouldn’t listen to me, I asked
him to give me the power to act on his behalf. This he refused more
vehemently than anything else. As long as there is a King, no one can rule but
him, he would say, which made me realize I would have to become the King,
not the Queen. Did you know that there is an article in your constitution which
says that the Queen may challenge the King to a feat of strength? And that if
she wins, she has the King at her mercy?”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” I said
– then remembered something.
“If it really is in the
constitution,” I said, “Then the feat of strength surely must have take place before
the High Judge, at the court of justice.”
“There isn’t any article like
that,” she said, “But that didn’t stop King Philip from believing me. We had a
little informal feat of strength last night, for a selected audience, which saw
quite clearly that I was perfectly able to repeatedly defeat him in all of the
events. In the end, I convinced him it would be less humiliating to just get it
over with now and abdicate the throne to me there and then, then to suffer the
indignity of being pinned down on the ground by his wife in a wrestling match
that the whole kingdom would see.”
“That is a coup d’état,” I said,
shocked.
“Is it really? The King had
voluntarily abdicated and thus thrown himself at my mercy,” she said, “I may
have spoken misleadingly about the content of the constitution, but who should
know the constitution better than the King?”
I looked at the former King
Philip – for a moment our eyes met and as if to apologize for falling so
stupidly in his trap, it was him that looked at the floor, not me.
“Read this document, please,” she
said, handing me a piece of formally stamped paper, “I don’t want you to think
I’m pulling the same trick on you.”
I quickly scanned the paper –
above the official seal it stated that King Philip has abdicated his throne and
legally changed his name to Melissa von Bergen.
“Which brings me to the question
of what shall we do with you,” she said, “You were the King’s aide, but this
position has been terminated. However, the court would like you to retain your
services – if you are interested, of course.”
“I would be honored to,” I
answered.
“I understand that you and the
former king, now the royal wife had developed quite a close relationship,” she
said, “And while there is no position of an aide to the royal wife, you could
become the royal wife’s companion.”
“Companion, your majesty?” I
asked.
“To be honest, you would be her
handmaiden to all intents and purposes, but maybe that is an outdated
term.”
“Handmaiden?” I repeated after
her.
“More or less,” she said, “But I
do need to warn you that your immediate superior will be the new head of the
Royal Court staff, Frieda.”
On that cue, Frieda, wearing a
pantsuit instead of her usual style of gowns, entered the room, accompanied by
six maids. She bowed before the King, but completely ignored both the royal
wife and me. The maids bowed deeply before the King, then curtsied to the royal
wife, and then to me. It was then that I realized that they all were the
pageboys from the serving staff, except that they were wearing the girls’
uniforms.
The thought of having to work for
that woman sent shivers down my spine. Even before, when she had no formal
power, I found her nothing less of intimidating. Being her official subordinate
didn’t seem to be a very fortunate prospect.
“If I were to accept the
position,” I began warily, “Would I have to wear…” I paused for a moment,
before I could bring myself to finally say it, “dresses?”
“That’s up to Frieda, really,”
the King replied, “But if you work as a handmaiden, it would be expected that
you dress like one as well.”
“I see,” I said slowly, “With no
disrespect or ungratefulness, but what would happen should I refuse your
offer?”
“Then I would remind you that you
are bound to serve the court until your contract is terminated by the King,”
she said, a little less pleasantly, “There is always room for another maid.”
I thought for a second, though it
was obvious there wasn’t anything to think about.
“I humbly accept the position of
the royal wife’s companion,” I said with a trembling voice.
“I am sure the royal wife
appreciates your loyalty,” the King said, “But before I give you over to
Frieda, there’s one last formality of your name to be dealt with. What shall we
do about your name?”
“My name, your majesty?” I said.
“Perhaps ‘Roberta’ will remind
you too much of your former position,” she said, “So I thought ‘Priscilla’
would be a goon choice for you. What to you think? Any objections?”
I stared, with my mouth agape, and
then slowly shook my head.
“No, your majesty,” I said.
“Splendid,” she said, and handed
me another officially sealed document. This one stated that my given name was
now Priscilla.
“We’re done here,” the King said,
then turned to Frieda, “She’s all yours.”
“What are you waiting for, silly
girl?” Frieda barked at me when I failed to follow her maids out of the room,
“Get a move on! I need to make you presentable for the crowning ceremony.”
4 comments:
Welcome aboard, love your stories.
hopplewite
I read this story at the fictionmania and I like it.
Hi there Rosie, thanks so much for finally 'relenting' and posting here. I've always enjoyed your writing, you are so adept at expressing the best emotions and details in your short stories. Invariably they touch something with me. Keep it up.
Gentle horizons beckon, pleasing exploits await, let's proceed.
2bteased
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