“Madame…” Zephyrin’s voice sounded odd to his own ears, as if an invisible hand were compressing his throat. The knowledge that he was possibly about to set upon a new path, that of creating an ideal world that exceeded even his most optimistic imaginings, as well as the dread that he was on the threshold of making a terrible mistake, gave rise to an exhilarating, almost dizzying rush of feelings that he could not recall having ever felt before. He let his trembling hand fall from the pendant around his neck as the queen turned from her murmured conversation with her lady-in-waiting to face him, her gaze expectant.

I need to go about this carefully. She’ll think me insane if I broach the possibilities of armed resistance or fleeing the capital without preamble. Taking a deep breath, Zephyrin said with a calmness that poorly reflected his interior state, “Madame has spoken truly. I confess that the thought of the riots weighs heavily on my mind, as does Madame’s safety.” As the queen opened her mouth with the apparent intention of chiding him, he added quickly, “I am worried because the situation in the capital is worsening, and risks lending itself to a repetition of the events of ten years past.”

“What makes you say this?” inquired the queen after a brief pause. She spoke simply, as if to draw out the thread of Zephyrin’s thought by her unassuming demeanor. He would only too gladly take advantage of the opening offered to him. “Perhaps Madame’s courtiers are reluctant to inform her of this, but the people is—”

“—heavily against my lord husband, while my very existence is deeply resented?” Adelaide-Estelle suggested, then smiled faintly at his evident surprise. Zephyrin had not expected the queen to have her finger on the pulse on public opinion, and she knew it. “On the fateful day of our meeting, did you think I had ridden all the way from the Isle in that eye-catching carriage—and only to watch an opera, at that?” she remarked playfully, gauging his reaction to her words. “Well, watch and enjoy it I did; but not before meeting a friend to the throne in a secure location, who apprises me of all the going-ons in the capital.”

Though unexpected, this development was not unwelcome and Zephyrin absorbed its implications with a sense of increased optimism. If the queen was at least partially aware of the ill-will bubbling up to the surface of Gaulyrian society, warning her would be that much easier. “If Madame is aware of the people’s discontent, then may I ask if she has been inspired by the Goddess to alleviate it by some especial means?”

“What do you propose I do? How should I act to become beloved by my countrymen?” Though perhaps making an effort to keep a patronizing undercurrent from her tone, the queen’s eyes were alive with interest. Zephyrin could tell that she was genuinely desirous of hearing his thoughts. He weighed his words before replying, “The harvest was poor and the people fear the coming winter. As a show of solidarity, could not Madame implement certain cost-cutting measures in her household?” Zephyrin glanced at Madame d’Aurellis as he spoke, half-expecting to be reprimanded for his temerity, but the princess manifested no objection as she listened; possibly, he thought, she approved of his suggestion.

Adelaide-Estelle, however, seemed less convinced. “By ‘cost-cutting measures,’ I detect an intention to wage war on my wardrobe. And yet,” she continued patiently, after a moment's displeasure, “if I were to simplify my wardrobe, incalculable damage would be wrought upon not my reputation only, but also that of His Majesty. The aristocracy and continental courts follow the trends I set, and fabricating this season’s court dresses provides employment to thousands of workers; if I shun silk, Lyonesse’s dyeing and silk textile industries will collapse. The gutter press would then accuse me of indifference to the plight of the mill workers and contempt for Gaulyria’s commerce.”

“Surely cost-saving measures can be implemented elsewhere?” Zephyrin offered.

“Where, pray tell? If the balls and fêtes I hold are too austere, the Exalted and other high nobles will cast aspersions upon His Majesty, accusing him of frugality; worse still, visiting dignitaries will consider themselves snubbed. Diplomatic incidents would ensue, my lord husband would be shamed thereby, and all this would serve but to embarrass Gaulyria on the continental stage and provide more fodder to the odious, execrable libelers, who would give free reign to their malice.”

Zephyrin tried a different tack. “Could not Her Majesty offer alms more frequently to appease the people?”

The queen smiled gently at this line of thinking, which, Zephyrin was nettled to realize, she thought endearingly childish. “Mon cher petit, an overt display of charity would draw upon me the ire of the so-called reformers, who would be quick to misconstrue it as a show of religiosity—an overture to the pious and staunchly conservative element of the court. As a precaution I already take care not to let Roland distribute alms too often, lest I be accused of raising him more priest than prince.”

As Zephyrin mulled over Adelaide-Estelle’s words, she continued, “Moreover, you must know that my image received a severe blow not two months ago, when a group of my supporters acted most foolishly, submitting a petition no less unnecessary than unwise. Their request,” she elaborated with a significant air, either guessing that Zephyrin was unacquainted with the incident, or presuming him too young to understand it, “was that I personally intervene to obtain a pension for a mother of five, the widow of a loyal soldier fallen in battle, who had admirably distinguished himself in his service to the throne.”

“And this put Madame in a delicate position?”

“To say the least. Had I been discreetly apprised of the widow’s distress, I could have assisted her in secret, with the king’s adversaries none the wiser today. Instead, her advocates made a grand display of their petition, laying it out in the presence of my courtiers!” The queen shook her head slightly, still in disbelief over the rashness shown by the king’s most loyal subjects. “Had I publicly granted the pension, I would have been accused of rank favoritism, of rewarding absolutists while the common people perish for want of bread; had it been declined, the absolutists would have been outraged, and the Royal Army discomfited by His Majesty’s apparent indifference to the death of one of their own.”

“… What was Madame’s choice?”

“I gave the pension, of course,” said the queen simply. “But I did so in secret, through an intermediary. That was my intention all along; unfortunately, the increased scrutiny on the family made it quite obvious that they had received the assistance of a benefactor, and in the end my hand in the affair was still suspected by the reformers. Now they are unhappy, as are the nitwit absolutists, who in their idiocy fail to appreciate why I could not accede to their demands in public. At least I can console myself with the thought of having kept the widow and her children off the street.”

The queen expelled a soft sigh, while her sister-in-law looked on sympathetically. “Strange though it be,” the queen continued, “oftentimes it is my allies who lay traps in the king’s path even as they seek to clear it of obstacles, and who fill his enemies’ quivers with poison-tipped shafts in their attempts to disarm them.”

“… I see.” A silence fell. Zephyrin said nothing for some time, taken off balance by his grand-aunt’s political acumen. Though he had applied his adult intellect to improving her precarious position and delaying the attack, he saw clearly enough that his proposals would have only undermined her standing and that of the king.

The queen’s lips curved into a smile as she watched Zephyrin visibly grapple with her words. “So you see, the ostentatious displays of wealth decried by the gossip-mongers are quite essential to the machinery of the state. And since one cannot very well do without lavish balls and sumptuous dresses, it would be a waste not to partake in the enjoyment they offer!” The queen laughed lightly, lapsing once more into that attitude of insouciance that Zephyrin only now belatedly recognized as a facade.

Clearly Adelaide-Estelle thought enough had been said on the subject, and was beginning to crave a new form of entertainment. “Come! I propose we have a nice little stroll around the lake.” Just as she reached out but before accepting Madame d’Aurellis’s hand, extended to raise her to her feet, Zephyrin said with some precipitation, “Earlier, Madame said that she was familiar with the contents of the libels. If this is the case, then she must know the risk she runs by allowing me the honor of remaining in her presence. To the charges of Elysian vice and inappropriate intimacy may be added yet another, graver accusation.”

He stopped there, certain he had said enough. Distant from the hamlet though they were, the area was not devoid of courtiers and the guards observing the queen behind the trees were not so invisible as they imagined. From the wagging of a single tongue, Zephyrin knew, a malicious pen could extrapolate from their peaceable outing a multitude of rumors and innuendo.

While Madame d’Aurellis’s round features underwent no change as she failed to pick up on Zephyrin’s oblique reference, the queen’s brows furrowed and a deep-seated concern etched itself on her visage. “Zephyrin,” began Adelaide-Estelle worriedly, “I am acquainted enough with the sordid emanations of the gutter press to hope with all my heart that you are not similarly well informed.” When he made no response, she persisted in a tone of earnest solicitude, “Did I correctly hear you say ‘Elysian vice’? How does a child your age know about—”

“—Madame, I beg your pardon, but how one of your subjects acquired knowledge of such matters is of lesser importance than a queen’s good reputation.” As Adelaide-Estelle’s expression only became more troubled, Zephyrin hurriedly continued in a bid to arrive at the crux upon which the queen’s fate rested. “Though I must regrettably decline the incomparable honor of abiding in your presence, Madame, I pray that my humble offering will be accepted.” Reaching behind his neck and undoing the chain’s clasp, Zephyrin slid the asterite into his hand and presented it to the queen.

She accepted the proffered gemstone with a curious expression, one caught between the pleasure of receiving something from Zephyrin and bemusement over the nature of the gift. “Oh! It’s very pretty…”

“It’s no ordinary gem,” Zephyrin hastened to clarify, all the while praying that he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his combined lifespans.