“Take me to my parents,” Guinevere said. “I would have words with them.”
Lancelot blinked confusedly at her. “I-Immediately?” he asked. “Would you perhaps like tea to be set out, or a welcoming party to be arranged —”
“It was not a request, Lancelot,” Guinevere said, fixing a stern-eyed stare on him. “My parents.”
“Y-Yes, My Queen. Right away!” Lancelot turned, called out orders to the Knights, and they led the entourage in, forming up in a protective diamond around them.
“Ooh, I quite like Guinevere the Queen,” Alice said, smiling up at her.
Guinevere was trying to be grim and fierce, but she couldn’t resist a little smile at Alice’s endorsement. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said.
As they headed in, Guinevere asked Lancelot if he would send someone to retrieve certain documents. Lancelot obliged, and though he clearly wanted to ask her intentions, he held his tongue. They continued further in without delay — Guinevere had no interest in putting the coming confrontation off any longer than necessary.
Through a grand gate, a spacious entrance chamber, and two more sets of double doors they went, arriving at last in an elaborate sitting room, where Guinevere’s mother and father were sitting by the window taking tea together. Guinevere’s portly father sat reading the paper, a pipe in his mouth, his cheeks flushed slightly. Guinevere spied the glass in front of him beside the large slice of cake, and suppressed a sigh. Not tea for him, then. Something a bit stronger — as usual. Across from him, Guinevere’s mother, the picture of refined elegance, sat reading a book, turning the page just as Guinevere and her entourage entered.
They both turned to look, rather slowly, languidly, no doubt expecting some unimportant message or announcement. But when they saw Guinevere, her mother shot to her feet, eyes wide, raising a hand to her mouth. Her father stared, and then fumbled with his pipe as it dropped from his mouth.
“Guinevere, darling,” Guinevere’s mother said in a soft, awed voice. A jolt of surprise flickered through Guinevere’s heart — were those tears in her mother’s eyes? “You’re safe.”
“Indeed,” Guinevere said.
“But… your clothes,” her mother said, looking her up and down. The surprise and worry swiftly vanished, replaced by disappointment. “What in the world? Guinevere, darling — what are you wearing?”
“Clothes fit for an adventure,” Guinevere said, “and they served me quite well on exactly that.”
“And your hair,” her mother continued. “What have you done to it?”
“It’s called a ponytail,” Guinevere said. “It helps to keep my hair out of my face when fighting.”
“Fighting!?” her mother asked, making it clear she thought that was the most absurd idea in the world.
“Yes, mother,” Guinevere said, with disapproval for her mother equaling her mother’s for her. “You know I’ve been taught to fence since I was a girl. Those lessons weren’t just for show.”
“Is that a real sword at your hip!?” her mother asked, gaping.
“Mother,” Guinevere said firmly. “Father. I have returned home, and I will tell you the full story of my adventures. But firstly, there are things we must discuss.”
“Yes, there are,” her mother said, matching the firm tone of her daughter.
So it’s to be a power struggle, then? Fine. It’s not as if I didn’t foresee this. Though I tried as hard as I could not to hope for something better… I couldn’t quite avoid hoping.
But, fine. They haven’t changed in twenty-five years. Why would they start now?
“This is the Queen’s Manor, is it not?” Guinevere asked. Her mother arched an imperious eyebrow. “And I am the Promised Queen, am I not?”
“And you are in grave danger ever since the Promised King’s —” Guinevere’s mother began, her exasperation igniting Guinevere’s ire.
“He is not dead,” Guinevere said. “And I have reliable eye witness accounts, now, to back up that claim. But I don’t expect you to believe me, even then. You’ve used Artorius’ ‘death’ as a convenient excuse to lock me away long past my coming of age, all so you could continue to be in control of my life, and this house. I won’t stand for it any longer.”
“Is that any way to talk to your own mother?” her mother asked sharply. She glanced aside at her husband. “Dear, aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I, um, well, that is, of course, I…” Guinevere’s father started, fumbling with his pipe. “Really, now, Guinevere, you don’t need to be so harsh. I’m sure we can all have a nice, relaxing discussion. Cooler heads, eh? Your mother’s run this house very well, and the things you’re insinuating are, well, troubling, to say the least.”
“I make no insinuations, father,” Guinevere said. The man Lancelot had dispatched returned with the documents Guinevere had requested, and she took them and looked them over. “Like the deed to the Queen’s Manor states,” she began, “upon the Queen’s coming of eighteen years of age, ownership of the manor, and authority over it, all its assets, income, and connected estates and programs, shall pass to the Promised Queen.” She fixed a steely gaze on her mother. “Seven years, mother, dearest. Seven years you’ve played Queen in my castle.”
“Guinevere!” her mother cried, fury and shock intermingled. “What are you —”
“But fear not, parents,” Guinevere said coolly. “I have no intention of denying you the life of luxury you’ve indulged in since I was recognized as the Promised Queen. But there are things I must do, things that are my royal duty to my people, and I cannot do them locked away in my bedroom for my own protection. I return now to prove to you that I am fully capable of protecting myself — and, failing that, I have made excellent friends who will stand in my defense whenever, and wherever, the need arises. It is time I claimed my birthright, and stood tall and fast as the Promised Queen, for all to see me as I am. Not as some pretty princess in a cage, to be put on display when my mother desires it, no — as a Queen, fully and completely, under my own power and authority.”
A stunned silence filled the space between Guinevere and her parents for several long, taut seconds. The distance between Guinevere and her parents — still a full ten yards at least, for Guinevere had made no move to close the distance since the confrontation began — seemed ever larger, ever wider.
But it was a gulf Guinevere had always felt. A chasm without a crossing, separating her from this man and woman who had brought her into this world, who lived with her all her life, and yet had always seemed so distant, so alien, to her.
“Well, of course, sure, I see,” Guinevere’s father said, clearing his throat several times. “If you simply want to be in charge, I don’t see why that’s a problem, as long as we can stay and continue living here as we have been. That seems reasonable, doesn’t it, dear?”
“You don’t care about anything as long as you get to keep eating the finest cakes and drinking the best wines,” Guinevere’s mother snapped. “Guinevere, darling, this is absurd. Surely you know we have always had your best interests in mind. We’re your parents — we know what’s best for you.”
“I have plenty of arguments against that assertion,” Guinevere said with careful restraint, “but I didn’t come here to argue. Mother. Father. It is in writing, laid down as stricture when I was but a child. You knew this day would come. Now it has, seven years later than it was meant to. You have had seven years more authority over me than you were meant to. It is time to move forward. I have much of actual substance I need to discuss with you.”
“So you intend to ‘discuss’ matters with us,” her mother started, “after declaring authority? Which is it, Guinevere, darling?”
Guinevere clenched her jaw, swallowing a thousand angry retorts. “I have no intention of removing you from my home,” she said. “And I would hope that you can be involved in my decisions going forward. At the very least, I would like you both to understand my choices going forward, and to feel free to offer advice. I can, of course, choose whether or not to follow your advice, but I do still wish to hear what you think of my intentions. I don’t want there to be conflict between us, if possible.” And as she said this last, she softened somewhat. It was an earnest hope — a fool’s hope, she thought, but even so, she had to hope.
Years of being functionally raised by Artorius’ parents, of watching her own parents’ indulgence and vanity consume them, had, she thought, left her cold and hardened against her parents. But standing here, saying so much she’d never spoken before, she realized that this gulf that stood between her and her parents was one she wished did not exist.
If it was at all possible to cross it, she wanted to find a way.
But instead of directly responding to Guinevere’s declaration, her mother swept an imperious gaze over Guinevere’s companions. “Do you intend to have this very sensitive family discussion in front of your guests?” she asked. “I’m sure it makes them very uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Alice said cheerfully. “I think this is fascinating. Please, carry on.”
Guinevere suppressed a smile. “They shall stay,” she said. “I trust them completely.”
“Some in your company know… They know exactly where Artorius is. But they won’t tell you. Don’t you think that’s rude?”
Even if that’s true… No. No doubts. After all we’ve been through, I must trust them.
“Well,” said Guinevere’s mother. “If you’re so determined to assert your authority, please. Tell us how things shall go, now.” She perched herself back on her chair with perfect posture, resting her hands in her lap, watching Guinevere with amusement, as if indulging a little girl’s fantasies.
I must not be provoked. It’s just as Tycho always taught me. There is a war raging inside me, a battle of emotion and self-control. I am a Queen — and Queens are not ruled by their impulses. They are the rulers.
“Lancelot,” Guinevere said, turning aside to the young Knight. “Would you please arrange seating for myself and my companions, and then leave us to speak with my parents in privacy? Though I do expect one more guest — if she arrives, do show her in.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Lancelot said quickly, bowing and then seeing straight to the task, his fellow Knights following suit. Guinevere didn’t miss the spark of irritation in her mother’s eyes at Lancelot’s address of her.
When they were all seated, Guinevere and her companions in a semi-circle in front of the tea table, where her parents sat, and the Knights had departed, Guinevere composed herself, adopted her mother’s perfect posture and hands resting in her lap, and spoke calmly. “Things are going to change, and quickly. Firstly, we will be fully funding the restoration of Saint Gloriana Primary School. We shall also reimburse all those affected by the fire for their medical expenses, and pay for the funeral arrangements for the school’s headmaster. We shall also make a donation to his family that is double the payout of his life insurance.”
Her father stammered dumbly for a moment, before gathering his words. “T-That’s an awful lot of money, sweetheart,” he said, fidgeting with his pipe. “You can’t honestly expect us to —”
“You know as well as I how deep our coffers go,” Guinevere said. “You will still have more than enough money than you can ever spend in a lifetime.”
“I… I suppose that’s true,” her father said, sitting back. “Well… it is a good and noble thing to help those in need, of course. Yes, quite right.”
“And what, pray tell, inspired this sudden altruism?” her mother asked.
“If you think altruism is a newly acquired trait for me, then you don’t know your daughter at all,” Guinevere said. “More than that, it is a Queen’s duty to tend to her people. We cannot, of course, uplift every single soul in need with money alone, nor can we pay for every single disaster that strikes, or every medical emergency of every individual. But Saint Gloriana’s stood as a beacon of light and learning for the children of this city, and it must not be allowed to waste away in uncertainty, a burnt-out husk of no use to anyone. It is a symbol, a symbol of utmost importance, and will be restored.”
“And of course,” her mother said, “having it restored by the Promised Queen proves your worth to the people of the city. But you have nothing to prove, Guinevere, darling. The people know you, and love you, without you ever raising a finger to help them.”
“This isn’t about me, mother, dearest,” Guinevere said. “But you can think what you like. I will see that the money is allocated where it belongs by the end of the day. I have other plans to help uplift the children of this city, but those details will take time to work out. I will, of course, inform you of those plans once they are fully realized.”
“Very well,” her mother said, surprising her with her easy acquiescence. “But tell us, Guinevere, darling — where have you been? What have you been doing? Who are these people you insist sit in on a private family conversation?”
And so Guinevere told her story. She told how she escaped, how she ran away, to Wonderia. She talked of meeting Tobias, Flynn, and Alice, of being captured by Saoirse’s soldiers, of being imprisoned with Sheena, and their eventual escape. She talked of the fight at the Fourth, where she saw her first real combat, and prevailed. She told of the encounter with the Knave of Hearts, and how it was her glyph arte — releasing the light she’d stolen from the Queen’s Manor — that allowed Tobias and Sheena to dispatch the Knave and his forces, and then resolve to defeat the queen-pretender once and for all. She told of the Mirror — though not any details of what transpired therein, for that was far too personal — and how it was her glyph arte that dismantled the Mirror, the heart of Saoirse’s power, and brought her castle to ruin. She told of the triumphant escape, and then meeting Elliot, Hector, and Ninian, before moving on to seek the Library. She once again omitted certain details — she didn’t feel the need for her parents to know about the Phantom, the supposed Nightmare King, who had haunted her for ten years. She didn’t mention the Lighthouse in Ars Umbra’s undercroft, or the focusing stone recovered from it, though she did mention her and her companions’ overarching goal: to reach Elysia.
“And so I finally returned,” Guinevere concluded. “Healthy, whole, and with allies, friends, whom I can trust wholeheartedly.”
“You fought?” her mother asked, and here her hand went to her mouth, and she seemed not only shocked but genuinely worried. “You engaged in actual combat against dangerous foes who sought to end your life? Guinevere, darling — it’s a miracle you’re all right! If I’d known where your journey would have taken you, I would have been worried sick! Are you sure you’re unhurt? You remain unblemished, unscarred by mortal peril?”
“I am well, mother,” Guinevere said. She was almost touched by her concern.
“But… hold on, now, sweetheart,” her father said, and she could almost hear the gears creaking in his wine-addled mind, “you say you seek Elysia, yes? You still have yet to find it. So, well, I say… you…” He paused, and now he, too, looked at her with open concern. “You don’t intend to stay. Do you?”
“Guinevere, darling!” her mother cried. “That can’t be true! After all you’ve endured to make it back home, surely you can’t intend to go back out there into the rugged, perilous wilderness!”
“I can, and I do,” Guinevere said. “I won’t be going alone, so you needn’t worry for my safety — I’d hoped my tale would serve as evidence of that.”
“But if you’re leaving again,” her father started, thinking deeply as he spoke, “then how are you to continue being in authority over this household? I mean, well, this is your house, as the documents state. What are we to do in your absence if, well, we aren’t strictly in charge, anymore?”
“She shall need a steward,” her mother said, and Guinevere was almost relieved to not see a hungry glint in her eye, an opportunistic power grab in motion. “Won’t you, Guinevere, darling?”
“I shall,” Guinevere said. And then came a knock on the door, and she smiled.
Perfect timing.
The door opened, and Lancelot announced a guest had arrived. Guinevere turned and stood to greet Rosalie, clasping her hand and smiling warmly. “Welcome,” she said.
“I came as soon as I could,” Rosalie said. “I must say I’m rather surprised, though —” she showed Guinevere the letter Guinevere had written to her that morning, with her intentions, “— You really want me to be your steward?”
“Hold on a moment, Guinevere, darling,” Guinevere’s mother started.
“Mother, dearest,” Guinevere said, turning to face her mother, bringing Rosalie beside her. “I have requested the services of the capital’s best Knight and my best friend, a most trustworthy servant of the Kingdom and the most loyal, dependable, remarkable person I know. Rosalie — do you accept?”
“As long as you have the staff to allow me to delegate, then yes,” Rosalie said with a smirk. “I do have my own duties, after all.”
“But Guinevere, darling, what about us?” Guinevere’s mother asked, rising to her feet. “After all the time we’ve spent running this household, vetting the staff… we know this place! We know its people! Surely you can trust your father and I.”
“Regrettably, no,” Guinevere said. “And if you do not know why, then I would advise you both to spend some time in deep self-reflection. Now, then. I shall make all the arrangements to formally install Captain Rosalie Grants as my steward by the end of the day. But there is one other matter to attend to — and this, I hope, shall raise your spirits immeasurably.”
“Oh, yes?” her father asked, perking up. “There’s more, eh? And what is it that should raise our spirits, hm?”
Guinevere smiled. “I would like us to host a ball.”
——
Guinevere stood in front of the mirror, taking in her transformation.
I enjoyed running around in pants, wearing and wielding a sword, having my hair tied back and functional. But it does feel wonderful to be made-up in “fancy-dos” once again.
She’d taken a long, luxurious bath, and then submitted herself to the exceptional work of her three handmaidens, Flora, Starla, and Perla. They’d transformed her into the perfect example of Queenly beauty, and utilized Guinevere’s chosen theme for the ball — promises — with wondrous creativity.
Gold was the color for Guinevere — the gold of Elysia. The gold of a promise, of a precious treasure, a wish yet to be fulfilled. Guinevere’s gown was like a sunrise, a breaking dawn over a world bathed too long in deep, shadowed night.
Aurora.
Her long, lustrous red hair was done up in layers, braided through with golden thread, and embellished with golden feather ornaments. Upon her brow was a golden circlet, inlaid with three glittering emeralds.
And Guinevere smiled, then, as she heard the annoyed protestations of a young girl behind a separate dressing screen. “Oi, don’t cinch that so tight! Honestly, it’s like you don’t want me to take a breath!”
“Trust them, Rose,” Guinevere said. “They know what they’re doing. The process may be unpleasant, but I promise you, the end result is not just beautiful, but comfortable, too.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Rose muttered. “Imagine, a grown girl needing three people just to dress her. Ridiculous.”
“You said you wanted to look like a princess,” Guinevere said.
“You were nice enough to invite me,” Rose said. “I don’t wanna be an eyesore.”
“My Queen?” Flora asked, coming around the screen. “She’s ready for your review.”
Guinevere came back to look at Rose, and beamed at the sight. “Oh, Rose,” she said, “you look magnificent.”
Rose was wrapped in a flowing blue gown, beaded with tiny silver accents that looked like water droplets shining in the sunlight. Her hair had been done into a long, single braid, this too beaded with silver and blue, and above her right ear was pinned an aubelis, the delicate white flower colloquially known as the daybreak lily.
“Is it okay, though?” Rose asked, and Guinevere noticed how she ducked her gaze, how she wouldn’t even look at herself in the mirror. “I mean, I’m just…”
“You’re my friend,” Guinevere said, gently touching Rose’s chin, tilting her head up to look at her. “You have my personal invitation, so of course it’s all right. More than that…” she turned Rose by the shoulders to face the mirror, “how does it make you feel? Are you happy with your transformation?”
“I…” Rose started, eyes still downcast. Slowly, she raised her gaze, taking in her reflection. “I’m… beautiful.”
“Yes,” Guinevere said, beaming. “You are.”
“But it’s just the fancy-dos, the get-up an’ make-up an’ all,” Rose said, shaking her head — but shaking it carefully, and then reaching up to lightly touch her hair. “I feel like if I move wrong, it’ll all break, and I’ll just be me again.”
“You are beautiful,” Guinevere said. Rose met her gaze in the mirror, and something passed between them, that words couldn’t capture. Slowly, a smile touched Rose’s lips.
“Let’s go check on Teddy, eh?” Rose asked, and her smile turned conspiratorial.
“Let’s!” Guinevere said.
They headed into the next room, where Teddy stood pouting at his reflection. He was dressed in a sky-blue tuxedo, with a white vest and shirt beneath his jacket, and a sky-blue bow tie. His hair had somehow been tamed, combed and gelled into a very dashing, neat style — one that he clearly did not appreciate, as he was already trying to rearrange his hair into something messier, to no success. It reminded Guinevere of Artorius, and she smiled at the memories of the Promised King always arriving to formal events with his blonde hair untouched, untamed, left to its wild, natural state. He was such a cheerful boy, but he hated people trying to do things to his hair.
“Aww, you’re adorable!” Rose said, wrapping her brother up in a hug.
“Get off!” Teddy said, squirming out of her grasp. He fidgeted with his bow tie. “It’s too tight.”
“Aww, what’s a little discomfort for a party?” Rose asked teasingly. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“You look weird,” Teddy said, finally looking at his sister. She slapped him on the shoulder, and he flinched away.
“Brothers,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, then. It’s a party! Lots o’ good food, lovely music — we’ll have a blast.” She looped her arm with Teddy’s. “And you can be my dashing escort.”
“You said I was adorable,” Teddy said, pouting. “I don’t wanna be adorable.”
“You’re handsome, too,” Rose said.
“You cut quite the dashing figure, Teddy,” Guinevere added.
“Well… I guess that’s okay,” Teddy said, his pout disappearing.
Guinevere smiled, and then led the siblings out into the corridor. She took them down to a lounge, where her friends were also gathered. The ball had already begun, though it was in a preamble, waiting for the host to officially announce its proper start. Guests were already arriving and entering the ballroom, the orchestra was tuning and warming up, and h’ordeuvres were being served. But Guinevere had set aside this room for her friends to gather, until she was ready to start the ball properly.
She was quite impressed with all of her friends, who had made sure to dress for the occasion. Alice had gone home and returned in a lovely red gown, the skirt of which had a red-and-white checkered pattern. Her hair was, for the first time Guinevere had seen it, actually pulled up into a style, a braided twist pinned in place with interesting ornaments that looked like looking-glasses. She completed the ensemble with ruby-red heeled shoes, and glittering emerald earrings.
Sheena was dressed in a flowing, elegant kimono the color of a purple sunset, with leafy stem patterns that bloomed not into flowers, but sunbursts. Her hair was pinned with similar sunburst ornaments, and cinched in the sash around her waist was her katana. Akko perched on her shoulder, his blue-and-silver fur looking recently groomed and extra soft.
Elliot and Ninian were a matching pair, dressed in white, Elliot wearing similar feathered ear ornaments as Ninian, his hair neatly combed. Hector almost looked out of place beside them, his fur such a deep blue it was almost black, but his joy and ever-wagging tail made it inarguable that he belonged.
And then there was Tobias. While he had changed into more formal attire, he was still dressed all in black, with only a few small accents of silver. More than that, he hadn’t done anything to his hair — he’d left his black hair in its unkempt, natural state. Guinevere had a sudden urge to try to comb it for him, but she didn’t think that would go over well. Beside him, Flynn was as joyous as ever, head and tail held high, cheer sparkling in his pale blue eyes.
“Thank you for waiting,” Guinevere said. “It’s a shame Rosalie can’t be here, but her duty calls when the sun sets, after all. Now, if you won’t mind joining the rest of the guests. I shall make my entrance, and announce the beginning of tonight’s festivities.”
“Good luck, Guin!” Alice said, beaming. “I can’t wait to hear your speech.”
And then they left, and it was just Guinevere, alone.
But not really alone. Not ever. There was always one faithful, calm, gentle companion by her side. She looked down at her white shadow, who was looking back up at her expectantly.
“Well, Ava?” Guinevere asked. “Shall we?”
Together, Queen and canine made their way up to the second floor. Two Knights of the Promise flanked the door to the balcony over the ballroom’s grand staircase. They saluted as she approached, and then opened the door for her. Guinevere stepped across the threshold, head held high.
It was time for the Promised Queen to take the stage.