Moon Drunk: Origins

Coronation Day

There is much to celebrate today.

It is the day of her coronation.

Today, Felicite becomes queen of the Three Kingdoms, fulfilling the collective dreams of her father and Jolis. She becomes the true queen the people are calling for on this day, and after this royal celebration, she will rule beside Julien in a dark wooden throne with four direwolves carved at the feet. They've a strong, healthy son in the nursery. Her sisters are safe, for now, at least, with the exception of dear Cosette, but the plague could not be helped. Soon, Claude and Dulce will be married, secure and safe in marriages to Fleming nobles, and she will no longer have to worry for them. 

And yet, there is much to bring her sadness. Much to regret.

This coronation, as joyous an event as it may be, stands as a jarring reminder that her family is defeated. Her mother is, as always, conniving and scheming, waiting for just the right moment to bring Mariusz or Richard forward to make their claim. 

Dulce's white face is the worst. She was closest of all to young Richard, and despite Felicite's constant promises to be Richard's protector, Dulce is no fool. She knows that her beloved brother is in as much, if not more, danger than her oldest brother, Mariusz, and the doubt that Felicite can fulfill her promise shows in Dulce's weary eyes. 

Julien handles the whispers of Mariusz and Richard and their eventual return better than Felicite expects of him. If he is afraid, he does not let his fear show, not even to Felicite when they are alone together, and one cannot hide true fear from their mate.

Margrithe fusses with the beading on Felicite's elaborate coronation gown while Dulce brushes out her hair, arranging it so it flows neatly over her shoulders and cascades down her back. 

"You've such beautiful hair," Dulce says wistfully. 

Felicite blushes at the compliment; she has never been one to take praise well, even as a child. Dulce arranges a gold net over her head, and atop the net, a golden circlet encrusted with burgundy rubies (such a perfect shade, for a Fleming queen) and diamonds that sparkle in the firelight of the chamber. 

"So many rubies," Dulce declares as she arranges the circlet. "I heard that King Julien's Lady Mother insisted because they represent virtue. Because a queen must be virtuous." Dulce lowers her mouth close to Felicite's ear and whispers, "and diamonds at Julien's insistence, for your strength and passion."

Felicite smiles at that; how sweet her mate is, to insist she have a piece so representative of her personality to wear for such a momentous occasion.

"Oh, how lucky you are," Dulce says, studying Felicite's face as she makes the final adjustments. "The favored daughter of the most beloved king in all of Breton history, the mate of the king of the Three Kingdoms, and the mother of a future king. Aren't you so happy, Felicite? History will remember you as the greatest female werewolf to walk our earth."

A gilded carriage with an open top and a golden throne cushioned with crushed burgundy velvet arrives to take them through the streets to the Abbey of Allium. Claude and Dulce hold the magnificent train of her gown high above the damp ground to protect it from the mud; the Abbey is a sacred place, and she cannot enter if she is unclean. Her sisters, her mother and Lady Margrithe help her arrange her gown inside the carriage, and the footmen, assisted by Prince Killian, place the gold cloth of estate over her head. 

Margrithe pats her hand comfortingly. "This is your day, my love."

Felicite glances at her ladies, and her heart swells with pride at the beauty of her court. Dulce and Claude are both stunning beauties, as the Agincourt girls tend to be, but her ladies-in-waiting, Shimara and Bragnae, are beautiful as well, and her newest attendants, Julien's nieces Amariah and Anya, add to the glamour of the court. They are all dressed in their very best today.

As Felicite's ladies make their way to their own carriage, Killian offers Dulce his arm. 

"Your beauty is surpassed by none, Princess Dulce," he says, dipping his head to press a kiss to her hand. "Not even your lovely sister, our future queen, on her coronation day."

Dulce blushes. "You flatter, Your Grace."

"On the contrary, I speak only the truth. Will you sit with me at the banquet this evening?"

Dulce's blush deepens. "Surely you've dozens of ladies eager to dine with you at the coronation banquet?"

"Of course I do," Killian says. "But you are the only one I wish to have seated beside me."

Dulce giggles. "We must be on our way, Your Grace, or my sister shall be late for her coronation."

"But you have not yet answered my question. Will you dine with me this evening?"

"Have I a choice?"

"Of course, but do not forget, my big brother is the king, and I am his favorite, and he will be in a happy mood today and inclined to grant my wishes."

"You are incorrigible, Prince Killian."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Aye, that is a yes."

The cobblestone roads that the procession will pass over are bedecked with burgundy flags and banners and swags of flowers. People have lined the streets of Ravaenna, singing songs of her praise and playing music to brighten her journey. She forces a smile onto her face and waves to the people. Her people. 

Someone cries out from the crowd, "long live the House of Agincourt!"

And Felicite smiles at the faithful love and devotion the people still bear her family. 

"Felicite," Dulce gasps, her eyes widening with a combination of terror and excitement. "Do you see it?"

"I do," Felicite replies softly, softly enough so only Dulce can hear her. 

She gazes up at the blue standard that waves in the breeze. It is not burgundy; it does not bear the sigil of the direwolf. 

The blue standard carries the sigil of the Agincourt bear.