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[Rough Draft] Chapter 63: A Conjunction of Ambition
Day one of the Ice Witch’s Slumber.
Octavia finished reading the report from Peony Palace, which Lady Delphine had delivered that morning with a cup of ** tea. “It seems my grandson has taken to baring servants from his bedchambers and office, everyone except Marquess Serilda, of course.” The Dowager snorted as she tossed the letter aside and motioned to Lady Delphine, who was arranging a morning outfit for their usual walk in the gardens. “Has your brother learned anything new regarding the Prime Minister’s empty seat.”
“Nothing new, I’m afraid, your Majesty,” Delphine replied as she moved towards the vanity desk where her mistress waited and picked up a silver hairbrush decorated with pearls. “The Noble Faction is clearly set on having the young Earl take his father’s seat, while the Royal Faction appears to be putting all their energy behind Earl Coldwell.”
“The work of Lady Priscilla and Duchess Verity no doubt,” Octavia observed with a rueful smile as she folded the report. She slipped it inside the top draw of her vanity desk alongside another letter, this one a rather vengeful greeting from Lady Verity Hargreve herself. “We’ll have to see how quickly Earl Percy can move then. Once Duke Hargreve gives his support to Earl Coldwell, any supporters Hawthorne might have been able to persuade to their side temporarily will quickly return to the fold.”
“But surely if Lord Percy obtains Duchess Kirsi’s support—”
“Kirsi will remain neutral unless she has something to gain,” Octavia interrupted with a cynical smirk as she locked the drawer and set the small key down on the glossy oak surface. “But I doubt she will remain quiet for long.”
‘Kirsi may be in need of allies once the Pope arrives for Nicholas’s coronation. I need to be ready to make my move before Hana is reunited with her older brother.’
“Has Lord Linby sent a response to our invitation?” The Dowager’s ice-blue eyes rose from the key beneath her fingers to focus on the transfixed look of horror that Lady Delphine wore. “What is wrong with—” Octavia stiffened as her gaze focused on the large clump of pale, white hair caught in the trembling brush held by her lady-in-waiting. The Dowager turned her head slowly and flinched at the sight of her bare scalp.
“I-I—I’m so sorry, your Majesty!” Delphine all but shrieked as she collapsed to her knees on the floor.
Octavia remained silent as she slowly grazed her fingertips across the patch of skin. “I didn’t feel a thing,” she whispered, then combed her fingers through the remaining white hair below and watched as it pulled free. “How is this—possible?”
The answer stared back at the Dowager from her reflection in the mirror as deep crow lines etched themselves beneath her eyes as her once smooth skin puffed and folded beneath newly formed wrinkles as spots darkened around her eyes, temples, and neck.
‘I am—aging? But how?’
“Your Majesty?!” Delphine’s trembling, terrified voice echoed beneath the weight of time that fell upon the Dowager like a shadow of doom.
“Im-possible,” Octavia wheezed as she stared down at her bony, swollen, and wrinkled hands. “Viktor’s magic—it has left me.”
‘But—that can only mean!’
The Dowager’s thin lips drew apart in a snarl. She ignored the ache in her stiff hands as she slammed them against the desk and rose to her feet. The room tilted sharply as her knees locked and then collapsed beneath her. The corner of the desk smacked against the Queen Regent’s cheek as she fell gracelessly between her desk and chair to the floor.
“Your Majesty! Lady Tiffany!”
Stars danced behind Octavia’s eyes. Her arms trembled weakly beneath her as she pushed herself up. ‘If Viktor’s magic has left me, that can only mean—but if Viktor is dead then—how much longer do I have left?’ She stared at the foreign, aged hand with its swollen joints and blotched skin, then pressed it against the warm trickle of blood that fell down her cheek.
Gentle hands turned her over and pulled Octavia away from the desk. The room darkened as a familiar visage filled the Dowager’s blurred view. The woman with golden blonde hair and radiant blue eyes stared down at the trembling monarch with an almost triumphant smile.
‘Is that you—Queen Lucetta? Have you finally come to punish me for stealing King Leon and your son from you?’
“Your Majesty!”
Octavia flinched in confusion as the long-dead ghost of her murdered rival vanished, leaving only the frantic and worried Lady Tiffany Cleamont kneeling beside her. Tiffany quickly turned a worried look to Delphine, who supported the Dowager’s head and shoulders. “I’ll fetch Leo.”
“Your Majesty,” Lady Delphine’s trembling voice whispered against Octavia’s ear. “What is—are you alright, your Majesty?”
Octavia narrowed her eyes as she plucked up another clump of white hair that had fallen onto her dress. “It would seem my time is running out much quicker than we expected.”
The attendant’s body stiffened behind her before Delphine asked, “What can I do?”
“You need do nothing. If I am suffering such severe repercussions after years of drowning my magic with aconitum, then the remaining ice coven witches will have felt far worse.” A dark chuckle wheezed past the Dowager’s lips at the thought of the cowardly elders’ current terror. “They will come to me soon enough—for answers.”
Lady Tiffany returned with Captain Leo, who lifted the Dowager carefully from Delphine’s arms and carried the monarch back to bed.
“I-I send for a royal physician,” Tiffany whispered, standing in a daze while Delphine tucked their mistress under the covers.
“No!” Octavia used what little remaining strength she had to push herself up against the pillows. “You will speak of this to no one!”
Tiffany flinched beneath the Dowager’s tone and hastily bowed her head. Captain Leo bowed his head humbly before he moved back to stand beside his trembling fiancé.
‘What a loyal couple they make,’ the Dowager observed coldly.
“If anyone asks, you will tell them that I have gone into seclusion to prepare for Holy Saints Day,” Octavia explained carefully. “Captain Leo, you will take a message to Colonel Isaac at Bastiallano. Tell him the matter is urgent and that he must present himself before me immediately!”
“As you wish, your Majesty,” the knight captain replied with another bow before he turned, touched Tiffany’s arm reassuringly, and quietly left the room.
“As for you, Lady Tiffany,” Octavia refocused on the trembling attendant as Lady Delphine adjusted the pillows around the Dowager. “I would suggest you pray that I live a few moons longer. Without my support, your tenuous engagement to Captain Leo may meet an untimely end.”
“Your Majesty knows that I am grateful to you,” Tiffany replied as she hastily wiped her cheek. “I would pray for your return to health regardless.”
The Dowager arched a brow as the attendant moved over to help Delphine arrange an extra blanket around the monarch’s shoulders
“If there is anything I can do, your Majesty.” Tiffany knelt beside the Dowager’s bed and raised her lilac-blue eyes to Octavia’s determinedly. “Please instruct me. I want to help.”
“In my present condition, there is only one thing that could lengthen my lifespan a little while longer,” Octavia replied sourly.
Lady Delphine’s worried expression stiffened as her gaze moved from the formidable Dowager to the naive, quivering girl. “Your Majesty?”
“Lady Delphine, give Tiffany my garden key.”
“But—your Majesty!”
A single look from the Dowager’s cold, ice-blue eyes silenced the senior attendant’s protest. Delphine wordlessly left the bed to return to the vanity desk, where she unlocked the top drawer and pulled a cast iron key from a small jewelry box inside.
Tiffany eyed the key with evident confusion as Delphine placed it in her hands. “What am I to do with this?”
“That is the key to my secret garden, Lady Tiffany,” Octavia replied. She smiled as the blood completely drained from the stunned attendant’s face. “You needn’t look so terrified. I simply need you to fetch something that lies buried beneath my garden.”
“Bu-th-gho-garden,” Tiffany stumbled out incoherently, her lilac-blue eyes transfixed on the cold iron key she held. “Wha—”
“Lady Delphine will accompany you,” Octavia added with another stern look towards the senior attendant.
Delphine, who had composed herself, bowed her head submissively before the Dowager’s command. “Of course, your Majesty. We shall go at once.”
***
Royal Consort Priscilla felt the burn marks around her lips pull and tighten as she smiled behind her veil. Earl Coldwell bowed as he entered her room, and Priscilla noted the curiously simple wooden box her guardian carried under one arm.
“I hope you are feeling better this morning, my Lady.”
“I have finally had a decent night’s sleep thanks to the herbal tea your physician recommended, my Lord,” Priscilla replied, ignoring the raspy texture of her voice as she waved to the chair beside her. “It allows me to sleep without dreaming—which turns out to be a blessing in my case.” She eyed the box curiously as Coldwell placed it on the table between them. “What have you brought me?”
The Earl smiled as he pulled a letter from his inside jacket pocket. “We’ve finally received a response from his Holiness.”
“The Pope!” Priscilla leaned forward eagerly as Coldwell slid the letter towards her. The stiffly wrapped burn on her fingers made opening the message irksome, but she little cared as the masterful penmanship of the Divine Heir appeared before her eyes.
My dear child,
We are overcome with remorse to hear of your great loss and misfortune. Your house has been steadfast servants of the church for many generations, and we have not forgotten the charitable works of your mother and her ultimate sacrifice.
Thank you for the information you provided us regarding the witch Kirsi. Please know that the conclave has voted unanimously in support of your request. We believe the future of Lafeara demands a new queen of strong faith and conviction. Continue to gather the nobles and ensure that the Royal Faction retains control of the government. You have our blessing and support in this matter, as well as our promise to address the issue of your marriage with Crown Prince Nicholas upon our arrival.
Please accept the gifts we have sent in advance. These are holy remedies that will cure your burns and aid in the removal of scars if applied daily and taken while abstaining from all but the purest of food. A list of acceptable foods is included with the box we sent along with this letter. The servant who brought our gifts to Lafeara will prove of great use to you should action be required in the meantime.
We look forward to seeing your beauty restored on Holy Saints Day. Such a miracle will only enforce your position as one of the church’s faithful, blessed by the Saints themselves.
Be at peace, Royal Consort Priscilla Borghese. With our help, you shall reclaim all that is yours and more.
Regards,
Pope Jericho I
“He—the Pope—has sent me a divine cure?” Priscilla breathed out shakily as she watched Coldwell remove a key from the envelope and swiftly unlock the box.
The Earl opened the lid and blinked down at the sparkling bottles of shimmering liquid, crystal glass tubs of pink cream, along with several carefully written letters of instructions. “So, it would seem, my Lady.”
Priscilla felt numb as she rose to her feet and touched the carefully packaged bottles reverently.
“With Jericho’s support, the Royal Faction can move forward now,” Coldwell said with a sigh of relief. “We’ll let the Pope’s witch hunters handle Duchess Kirsi and Earl Percy. All we need do is focus on your recovery and our petition to make you Lafeara’s next Queen.”
“Yes,” Priscilla breathed out as she blinked back tears. “Yes, this is but the first step. Once I have been reinstated into rooms of my own inside the royal palace, it will be easier to deal with that barbarian princess.”
“You should write to your cousin, Lord Norley,” Coldwell suggested quickly as he turned and paced beside the empty fire hearth. “Have him deal with that commoner quietly while Nicholas is distracted.”
“No,” Priscilla shook her head and smiled despite the pain that itched and burned across her face. “No, Lady Rosamund may prove more useful alive than dead.”
The Earl arched a brow as he turned to study her. “Too many moving pieces will only complicate our goal, my Lady.”
“Think, my Lord. I am not the only woman with a reason to resent his Majesty’s harlot.”
Coldwell narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly in understanding. “Your lady’s meaning is clear, but I still feel it is an unnecessary risk. Why not kill her now and make it look like the Crown Princess’s work?”
“No one would believe it, not after Eleanora has tolerated the affair for so long on top of Nicholas bringing in a second Royal Consort.”
The Earl shrugged and nodded ruefully. “Then what is your plan.”
“Callum will handle it for me,” Priscilla replied as she lifted one of the letters with written instructions from the box. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord. It looks like I require a bath before using these.”
“Of course, I’ll send in the maids.” Coldwell bowed and turned back towards the door. “If Callum needs any help—”
“I shall advise him to write to you, my Lord,” Priscilla replied as she pulled back her veil and turned to face him. “After I’ve been moved back into the palace.”
“Good. Of course. Enjoy your bath—Your Highness.”