Forced Into Tyranny

14: The Proposal

Thevalon Castle,
The Royal Passages.

        Decked in her full regalia of Queen, Morgana gracefully navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the third floor. Her gaze was drawn to Lyra's partially open new room door, where she paused and leaned in to observe the masterpiece taking shape on the canvas. As she watched, a wave of pity washed over her, for she had experienced similar pain at the age of fourteen. But she had overcome it, and she hoped that Lyra would find her own balance as well.
        Indeed, it had been a fortnight since Lyra's arrival at court, and the king had displayed no inkling of interest in her, not even a flicker of friendship, let alone romance. Morgana could relate, for her own husband had been similarly disinterested. She vividly recalled, at the tender age of fourteen, being compelled to seduce her own husband, the king. But she had persevered and triumphed, so Lyra should muster the courage to give it a try as well.
        Queen Morgana believed that painting wasn't the duty of a future queen. Instead, it was to support her king and govern her people, embracing her reality. However, on a far lighter note, she also considered that Lyra could occupy herself with a fictional world, possibly not even noticing that the king had been spending a significant amount of time with her maiden. The situation had become so apparent that even the king's chamberlain had brought it to the attention of his mother.
        Morgana was not keen on causing a scene just yet, as she was determined to ensure the king's attention remained on Lyra. Discussing his actions of sleeping with his betrothed's maiden would anger him more than it would compel him. All Morgana wanted was to make Lyra charm him into spending time with her, even if he had already perambulated with thirteen other women. Yesterday was supposed to be Lyra's day, yet the king had once again chosen Lady Phaia. If he was showing interest in that girl, Morgana would certainly handle the situation. Lyra, or no one would be queen.
        "That is a beautiful painting," Morgana exclaimed as she stepped into Lyra's room, coming to a stop. Lyra turned around, setting her brushes aside and greeted Morgana. "What is it you are painting?" She inquired, her eyes curious as she admired the canvas.
        "A portrait of a serene sunset over the rolling hills."
        Morgana took a quick look around the new chambers and realized that Lyra had seamlessly fit in during her one-week stay here. At least, she would be safe from the haunting of that space. For now.
        "Indeed, it's a marvelous creation." She stepped closer and gently relieved Lyra of the stained brushes. Paint was stuck in her hair, which Morgana dusted off. "But you know what's equally marvelous?" Lyra looked at Morgana, puzzled. "A lady taking matters into her own hands."
        Lyra blinked, clearly confused. She implored, seeking clarification, "Pray enlighten me, Your Majesty."
        Morgana sighed and her regal demeanor softened. "It has been a fortnight, Lyra. You still have not perambulated with the king," she explained sternly.
        Lyra wanted to defend herself, her frustration peaking. "The king shows no interest in accompanying me on such walks." Her sharp riposte didn't go unnoticed. Stepping away from the stool, she continued, "If the week passes without change, I shall write to my father, deeming this mission futile. I shall return to Elderham."
        "Pray, utter not such words!" Morgana's gaze pierced Lyra like daggers. How ignorant and foolish it seemed. Who would reject the chance to become a queen? "Listen, my dear," Morgana began, gracefully lowering herself onto the vacant stool. "Nothing alters. People remain the same, as do things. We seize hold of people, of things, with our grip so firm, and we mold them to our desires."
        Though Morgana's tone was stern, it was the weight of her words that struck Lyra deeply. She felt herself falter, almost stumbling. Was the Queen implying that a mere girl could compel a king's attention? Such a notion seemed utterly ridiculous.
        "Lyra's voice stumbled, struggling to find the right words. "Um... er ...What..."
        "What I mean is, you should put down the brushes, take a bath, dress in your finest attire, and find the king." Her punctuated words made it impossible for Lyra to resist the impact. "If Agora seems unwilling to come to the merchants, then the merchants should go to Agora."
        Fair advice. However... "I was not taught to seek a man. I was only taught to be prepared for when a man seeks me."
        Morgana let out a soft chuckle, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Poor thing. There isn't much difference between both, is there?"
        Lyra's eyes widened as she struggled to find an answer. Eventually, her gaze settled on her bare toes, and she let out a sigh. What had she truly accomplished in the past fortnight? Painting pictures that offered solace to her heart, but provided no aid to her physical ailments. Also, thinking about Raven and the two encounters they had had. She had been negligent in her duties, perhaps because she held no strong interest in the king. However, if she recalled her father's words on the night of her arrival at court, she would remember that her opinions and desires held little significance.
        She resolved to cease her unholy excursions to the Valcum woods and put an end to her amiable exchanges with Kōgon, as they had been distracting her from her responsibilities. Duty must take precedence, and she would dutifully adhere to it.
        "Make use of what you have, child, for time is fleeting and soon all is lost." The Queen rose to her feet. "Necessity is the mother of all inventions."
        "I hear you, Your Majesty," Lyra said with resolution and a forming grin. "I shall seek the kin—"
        "And you shall triumph. Better to be a lion in war than a hound in peace."
        "Lyra's smile bloomed, genuine and radiant, a rarity in the past weeks. The queen had revealed a side of herself that even her own maidens had never witnessed. The queen was not one to offer solace, not even to her own kin. She was not a diplomat. Her relentless nature would always demand contemptuous action. Lyra considered herself fortunate and she immediately vowed to never disappoint her.
       Lyra indeed readied herself to catch the king's eyes, while Queen Morgana scoured the castle herself for the scoundrel. A queen who had intentions of being candid with a maiden did need no escort.
       Monima entered the hall, unaware that the queen herself awaited her there. Her heart pounded in her chest, as she heard the soft rustle of silk and the click of jeweled slippers upon the stone floor.
       The queen glided forward, a vision in royal purple, her eyes cold and calculating. "You have been summoned. Do not keep me waiting."
       Monima's palms grew clammy her heart pounding in her chest, but she sank into a deep curtsy. "Your Majesty," she murmured, "I am at your service."
       As she started to ascend the stairs, Monima made the grave mistake of reaching the queen's line. The queen abruptly halted, turning to face her in disbelief, and she let a cunning smile play at her lips. "Monima, you must never walk alongside your queen," she declared icily. "Take two paces back, or you shall forfeit your legs."
       With haste, Monima swiftly descended three steps, bowing her head in complete submission. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I humbly beg your pardon and assure you it shall never happen again."
       The queen resumed her ascent, her gaze fixed ahead. "You are forgetting yourself. You are too comfortable, and I certainly will see to that."
       Though it may have seemed bold, Monima, emboldened by her connection to the king, couldn't resist responding. "The king shall not permit such actions," she proudly declared. However, the queen was not one to engage in such games. Someone had failed to tell her that.
       "What do you, little one, know of the king's duties, what he can or cannot do?" Morgana asked with an uproar of laughter - a very ironic one. "You're a child. How old?"
       "Twenty." Monima's response was dripping with irritation. Morgana found it impossible, and a punishment truly awaited the low life.
       "At that age, I had been queen of Thevalon for six years, my honor unsullied by the fickle promises of vainglorious men. At twenty, I bore the next king in my belly, a comfort to my people and my house, and a boon to mine own self."
       "I am not useless, Your Majesty. I am simply not privileged."
       "Oh you certainly are anything but useful, and you will remain unprivileged if you keep up with this hopeless attempt to climb, you hungry wretch," the queen spat, her countenance a mien of disappointment. "You're a burden to the crown." She stopped once she reached the last step. "And even you would agree that when the council sees a threat, a knife in the heart will indeed be a mercy."
       They ascended to the third-floor passages, where Lyra and Hecuba awaited, embellished for an afternoon perambulation with the king. Lyra's smile widened as she instructed Monima to prepare, for their departure was imminent.
       Yet, Morgana interjected, "You shall be accompanied by but one maiden. Monima is excused for the day, for she has much to attend to in my service, is it not so?" Monima nodded in agreement, though a flicker of horror danced in her eyes.
       Lyra, comprehending naught of it, spun around and clasped Hecuba's hand as they departed. As the Queen and her subject found themselves accompanied solely by lone guards who secured the passages, Morgana persisted in her leisurely stroll.
       Face hard like a carved effigy of Balius, Morgana shared, "The king cannot and shall not intervene in your affairs, despite your belief in his genuineness." Spotting a window overlooking the castle gates, she leaned over, while Monima's impatience grew. "Just a fortnight past, I discovered him in a similar situation with another. Oh, how I wish you were there to hear his promises. She knew nothing, but I could sense the emptiness in his words. Devoid as a leaking barrel. Where might she be today?" Morgana chuckled once more. "Gone and forgotten."
       Indeed, the king's words in their private moments left an indelible mark on Monima. She seemed as unresponsive as a stone, as unaware as a baited cockroach, yet as outspoken as a skilled negotiator. "A barking dog is loudest when restrained, Your Majesty."
       An effrontery. A whole lot of it. The Queen raised an eyebrow in surprise, then smiled with pity. Monima had insinuated that if the queen crossed her, she would retaliate. Though young, one should even know that only the gods themselves could shield the Queen from her wrath.
       "Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Turning and marching closer to her, the queen added, "Bearing the child of a king will bring ruin upon you. For your sake, I so dear pray you understand the gravity of your actions."
        In that moment, Monima fell silent, recognizing the consequences she herself had contemplated days ago. She understood the chaos that would ensue if she bore a king's bastard child. Thevalon would not accept that, as it had resulted in bloodshed before, a tragic and gruesome outcome.
        Even the current king had faced challenges to his legitimacy before his coronation. They had alleged that his grandfather was the illegitimate son of the king at the time. If such a contentious issue has caused chaos for years, who was Monima to start it again?
       The remainder of the Queen's words continued to flow, "I, myself, will ensure that that child never sees the light of day, even if it means what you are starting to understand it to mean."
        As the Queen departed, a chilling breeze brushed against Monima's skin, carrying the fragrance of oleander. The scent alone filled her with fear, as the flower was a deadly poison used by nobles to eliminate their wives and even young women who found themselves with child. Surely, the Queen wouldn't dare anoint herself with such a toxic extract. Alas, it was in that moment that Monima grasped the true nature of the threat.
       If Monima dared to oppose the Queen, she would be silenced with the lethal oleander. The kingdom's crowner would conceal the truth of her demise, for revealing such a tragedy would incite unrest. Sad to say, her death would go unnoticed, and justice would elude her.
       In her haste, Monima rushed to the king's chambers, only to be informed by his guard that he had just departed. Determined, she commanded them to notify her upon his return. Time was of the essence. Even if the king failed to see reason, she would make him recognize the treacherous nature of his own mother. Once the threat-filled queen was cautioned by her own son, everything would be set right between them, or so Monima thought, with the wisdom of a fool.

~~~

Thevalon Castle,
Weald of Valcum.

        "Are you comprehending the words that leave your mouth?" Questioned the king, abruptly stopping in his tracks and fixing Lyra with a perplexed gaze, woven with surprise. "That I marry you?"
       Oh, the embarrassment reached new heights as Hagnon continued to gaze at her, as if she were unworthy of being anything more than an object for his pleasure - one he would dispose of after days.
       She pressed on through the dusty forest trails, the grass clinging to her lilac gown. "I have no desire to love you, nor do I wish to be loved by you. We can either choose the path of least resistance by surrendering to this heart-wrenching marriage, or we can make it challenging by defying the queen."
       "Truly, my mother's unyielding nature is well known to you," he spoke up, a mischievous smile gracing his lips as he continued to admire Lyra's comeliness. Yes, she was fair, albeit not of his preferred ilk. Too slender, too delicate, too innocent, too forthright. "However, she grows weary quickly. I know not what she sees in you, for I cannot perceive it myself. Nevertheless, I am certain that once your strategies fail her, she shall cast you aside. You must, in turn, show unwavering determination in your relentless pursuit of freedom."
       "Don't try to derail me, Your Majesty. I know what I want to be, and a rebel is not one of them."
       Hagnon's grunt didn't pass his lips, as frustration scrunched up his high spirits. "A queen, perchance, will suffice, not so?" Lyra's nod held unwavering conviction. "Very well then. Run off, tell the queen that I have been captured by your marvelous absence, repulsed by your wits and charm, found your beauty rather dreadful, therefore, I shall unfortunately take your hand in marriage. You shall be queen, get what you want, and you shall leave me be, to do what ever it is that I please. Do we have an agreement?"
       Nothing had ever sounded so crushingly wrong. Lyra's heart sank as she heard those words, feeling a weight of worthlessness and inadequacy. Yet, as she had always known, love and respect were not qualities commonly found among rulers. Her destiny had been predetermined, revealed by the gods through the priestess in Khiortos. What lay ahead, what she could accomplish as a monarch, held greater significance than how the king perceived and even treated her.
       "I shall tell her of your decision to marry me," Lyra said with a grim. No sign of delight or even accomplishment. Just a hint of hope. "And I hope to perform my duties in the manners the king sees fit."
       "Begone from my sight," he said and breathed out in anger. "You're naively too young to understand that not all paths lead to success and most should be avoided. You remind me of a foolish gambler - one who he and his coins are soon parted."
        As if the crown on his head went unseen, Lyra could not ignore her disgust and she infused her prepared words with bitterness. "A drowning body will clutch even at a straw. I am desperate, not foolish. Clearly you would not understand that, because you spend most of your time yelling instead of thinking."
       With a swift and forceful motion, his hand met her delicate cheek. "Never..." He took a step forward, then another, observing her stunned expression as she cradled her reddened face. "...shall you dare utter a word without forethought. A queen you shall be, not a bothersome insect. Silence yourself, heed and comply. Clear?"
       Ignoring the urge to nod, Lyra curtsied in a manner that lacked courtesy and hastily fled the woods, tears streaming down her face. Meanwhile, Hecuba stared at the king with such intensity that he felt as though he might tumble off the edge of the world.
        "Your majesty, I beg your pardon," she started, "but I believed that Gurgos, her whip boy, was to face punishment in her place—"
       "Such thinking is what breeds doom upon you women. If you too do not disappear from my sight this very moment, I shall deliver the remnant of your lady's slap onto your own cheek. Whip boy, my arse," he cursed, leaving her standing there, frozen and perplexed.
        With trembling hands and a whirlwind of thoughts, Hecuba clenched her lip to gather herself.
        What a disgraceful union they were about to witness, she pondered, one where the king would reproach his queen before her maids. Shaking her head in disgust, Hecuba vowed to shield the lady from the clutches of this wretched beast. He would not turn her into a monster like himself.