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The queen was at her usual desk, combing through a thick and dense set of documents, making quick notes on the margins with her favourite pen, the swirling patterns of its iridescent inlay catching the light as she scribbled.
The door to her office opened, but she made no sign of outward reaction, and a casual observer may be forgiven for thinking that her indifference can be attributed to the deep engrossment in her work. But an astute observer would be rewarded for noting the slight pursing of her lips, the minute flaring of her nostrils and the tighter grip around her pen, as the attendees to the meeting she summoned filed into her office.
They were the highest-ranking nobility in her land, men and women who held the most power and acted with the most abandon. The seventeen of them now shuffled awkwardly into her small-ish office, like a row of schoolchildren called to discipline, and stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder across a semi-circular table that looped around the queen's desk. Before each of them was a simple wooden chair, and before each chair was a piece of paper, each carrying the queen's scrawling signature, and a pen.
They stole glances at each other, wondering if they had been given leave to sit down, but none of them daring to make the first move under the oppressive air of disdain as the queen continued to ignore them.
The queen finally finished her last note and gently placed her pen beside the stack of papers. She looked up and gave them a curt nod, which was quickly followed by the scraping and occasional creaking of chairs.
When they were seated, she swept a deadly look across the table, making even the most outspoken and antagonistic of the nobility nervous.
"My lords and ladies," she began, her voice calm but barbed with quiet fury, "It has been five years since the burden of the throne was placed upon my shoulders. And I wonder if any of you remember what it is that I hate the most?"
The nobility stole glances at each other, some vaguely recalling the queen's coronation speech. but honestly, who was taking the new queen seriously enough to pay attention?
The queen scoffed at their silence.
"I thought not, and so I will remind you again." Her eyes narrowed and her voice grew lower, "The thing that I hate the most is war."
The look of recollection appeared in a few faces, while others tried to suppress their rising giggle at the queen's naivete.
But the queen continued, her rage spilling forth into her words,
"I told you, five years ago, to settle your differences howsoever you wanted, but without war. And then I watched as your petty squabbles became fracas, which became skirmishes, which became clashes. And last night, I hear tell of an outright battle that displaced five hundred farming households, with thirty-eight deaths. This is unacceptable."
Again, the nobility stole glances at each other. And what enraged the queen most was that these glances said, "So what? What's the big deal?", "Only five hundred?", "Only thirty-eight?", "She called us all in for that??" To them, it was an incident so small that perhaps even the perpetrator themselves didn't know they had instigated it.
But to the queen, this was not a minor incident. They were messing with her farmers. Her people. Her land.
"I will give you one option out of this room," she said, her voice calm once again, "Sign the peace treaty before you."
Looks of befuddlement and indignation spread quickly across the table. Some began reading the document before them in earnest for the first time. Then, slowly but surely, looks of horror began growing as they took in the clauses stipulating the public execution of the entire noble clan associated with any battle resulting in the deaths of more than fifty commoners.
"What is this utter nonsense?" yelled the Duke, dropping all pretence of etiquette, "We can't sign this! What can you do to us if we don't sign this?"
The queen smirked, as the door to her small office clicked shut.
"Death is your only other option."
Roars of opposition exploded around the room, echoing in a senseless din within that confined space.
"This is a futile act of a desperate maniac!" "What will this achieve?" "This will create chaos!" "She is insane!"
The Duke lunged up close to the queen and screamed in her face, "How dare you? Even if you kill me, it will not stop the wars."
The queen stared back at him, unflinching, and smiled.
"Maybe not. But let's start with you and see how it goes."
