Find me on a pedestal; a Queen in her castle /
Wrapped in clover and lace.
But, there she spins every wicked game;
A matriarch in charge of their place.
She stood atop the piled rubble, glancing over her shoulder as James addressed and pursued her with the rapaciousness he frequently carried. Viola lowered her amethyst gaze, tilting her chin and regarded him with some curiosity; his monologue seemed misplaced and was met with bewilderment. It was not the place, she thought or perhaps (with the surrounding cerulean blaze aglow in every hearth and lit torch) it was the most appropriate place.
Her mouth fell agape with sheer awe and admiration for James’ generosity. Entirely stupefied, Viola’s gloved fingertips grazed her swollen lips and spread over the bottom portion of her face. Since her former lover, she had been dubbed a Queen; since Elspeth’s arrival in Ebonhawke, she had been regarded its rightful heir and since her advisor, she was Ascalon’s noble future. She swallowed and cleared her throat gently, her eyes were filled with veneration, “From this day, until our last days and to all that is destined and forthcoming — yes, I will.”
As though she had been groomed from birth to accept her inevitable Queendom, Viola bent her front knee and stepped into a gracefully executed curtsy, preparing her head for the crown that should lay atop her locks and for the oath that would tie her legacy to Ascalon.
Tome in hand, the baptised Queen peeled through the foxed leaves and traced the Ascalonian letters carved into the pages. She sat on her knees and laid the book upon a piece of shattered stone that served as a makeshift lectern. Viola removed a needle-point blade from the elastic that fastened her various weapons to her thigh and extended her arms outwards, palms facing the moonlit firmament that bled through the partially open roof. There, she pronounced her oath of servitude and fealty to the Ascalonian people, though manipulated the language so that she might speak in two dialects to allow James to hear her professions.
“Under the watchful eyes of King Doric and with the grace of Gwen Thackerary who brought us home; I, Viola Amirah Valen, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Ascalon and its noble citizens, according to the laws set forth by the Kings of Old. Come to the fore, o' sons of Ascalon and together we shall fight once more. Where the battle lines are drawn between human and charr, so help me Gods, Ascalon will live once again. Glory to Ascalon.”
Viola stabbed the blade’s sharpened point into her flesh and smeared her claret plasma over the stained words. She sat against her heels and lowered her hands to each side, where droplets of blood trickled down the length of her forearm. Under her breath, the Ambassador muttered several inaudible words and titled her chin to the broken ceiling. She heard that same fanfare of trumpets and choral odes that James had spoken over earlier and relished in the reward that finally sought her name.
