Prologue. To give a preview and to make sure this works as an opening?
The door to the Grande Royeaux’s royal box closes behind her and Celene leans against it in the dark hallway, Michel at her side. They knew. They knew about her and Briala, knew that her efforts to help were out of love of one, and they were using the one thing she had kept to herself against her. She only had a few options. If only Briala had heard about Halamshiral days earlier so the matter could be settled by now. If only there would be evidence linking the play to Remache. If only there was a way to save face and keep her lover. She could not be seen to do nothing.
“It seems cruel for Gaspard to use your love of the arts and scholarly sciences such,” comes a soft voice from the shadows. A voice Celene recognized.
Celene stands straighter and turns to face the Divine’s redheaded Ferelden. “Theatres are fickle, Leliana, and I do not believe the university has turned on me.” To Michel she adds. “Collect the others and find out what they know. We are leaving.”
Michel nods and disappears, the rest of the servants in tow behind him, leaving her alone with Leliana. Celene steps closer to the other, allowing the shadows to envelop them both.
Holding up a scroll, Leliana responds. “Many at the university have been asked to write papers on the elves, none of them flattering. One compares them to rabbits, calling them naught but prey animals relying on base instincts. Another claims laying with one akin to laying with animals and an affront to the Maker.”
Celene resisted the urge to look away, keeping her face carefully still. She had been on the throne for twenty years. That was twenty years of helping the theatre, the university, and yet they turn on her for this. Reducing her alliances to the result of a silly girl’s crush backed by the power of the nation. Undermining all the efforts she had made on the throne for one truth. She had wanted nothing from her rule but a period of enlightenment and education and yet Gaspard insisted on trying for his war with every turn. She had to stay ahead of him. Had to do what he wouldn’t expect.
Celene closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “And what are the Divine’s thoughts?”
Leliana smiles. “The Divine has never had much love of the theatre.” Celene stays silent and Leliana sighs. “The elves are children of the Maker, same as us, and just as deserving of his grace.”
“But the Divine will not be the one to say such,” Celene ventures.
Leliana looked away. Despite knowing she was trained as a bard, Celene thinks this discomfort genuine. “I have…. Been comrade in arms with elves and do not wish to see them hurt. But that is not the matter you requested her support in.” She looks back at Celene, face carefully controlled again. “You asked for her support in calming the templars and the mages.”
“I did.” Celene nods. “And she will give that support?”
Leliana lets out a breath and Celene internally braces for what that means. “She will,” she starts, nodding slowly. “But she needs to know that this matter with the elves is under control.”
Even braced, the words hurt Celene. She knows what Gaspard wants to force her into doing, suspects that even the Divine would agree with the action should she do it. They wanted her to control the elves. They wanted her to control the elves. And she didn’t wish to. But she knew a way to curb in what was needed. “Of course. I would not ask the Divine to keep her affairs in order if I could not do the same. I apologize as I suspect I will not be able to make the ball in Justinia’s name, but I do hope you enjoy it all the same.”
“The Divine understands,” Leliana said and adds in a soft, sad voice “Walk with the Maker’s blessing.”
Michel’s voice brings Celene’s head sharply up and she takes a steadying breath, even as her mind is still running too fast looking for options. She pulls herself upright as Michel approaches, the rest of her entourage in tow, including the two she had sent out earlier, returning disheveled. Both of their makeup had been smeared, one as though she had been slapped, the other as though she had been crying.
“What have you found?” She asks, glancing at the darkness, noting Leliana had disappeared.
“Much the same as you saw in the play,” he replies with a grimace. “The crowd is saying you are too….lenient with the elves.” At Celene’s impatience, Michel continues. “They claim you tax them less, that you wish them free from our laws. They say you pity them and have made secret deals with the Dalish to strip nobles of their lands, returning the Dales to the Dalish. They even speak of Briala.” Michel looks at the wall, incapable of continuing while looking at his Empress. “They say she is, ah, that you are…”
“The word is lovers, Michel.” Her words sound weary to even her own ears. Could she try to protest it? Did she want to? It would be relieving to no longer be hiding it but at what cost?
“Yes Majesty, that is what they are saying.” Michel’s fists were clenched at his sides, offended at her behalf and Celene wonders how loyal even Michel would be should he know the truth. How much would she lose? “I would be happy to go back out there and silence them-”
“And give rise to many more whispers, no, my champion. If the people think I am too soft, I only have but two options.”
Two options. She could go burn Halamshiral to the ground as Gaspard would like her to, most likely losing Briala in the process. It would be easy. Gather her forces, march on the city and raze it to the ground. Surely Comte Pierre would know such was coming. He certainly wouldn’t stand in her way, she knew he had too little spine. He couldn’t even crush the rebellion himself.
The other option was more perilous. It could cost her everything.
With a deep breath, Celene stands straighter, holds herself higher and looks Michel in the eye. “Call the carriage. I have a proclamation to make.”
“The elves will be free. Gaspard will get his war.”
2087
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