The Devil… Your Greatest Ally.

[14.03.1623]

Faywyn.

With each passing moment, the late afternoon sun dipped further towards the horizon. In the cool crimson light, Iris fiddled with the rim of her veil, her gaze fixed straight ahead as she observed a small flock of songbirds hunting for pollen in the canopy of a wire tree. She stood by the windowsill of her mother’s room, steadfastly avoiding glancing to her right. The princess was still unsure if she was willing, or even capable, of meeting the queen’s reproachful glare.

An awkward silence hung between the two. So severe it was that even the maids tasked with waiting on them appeared disinclined to approach. The princess could feel the disappointment wafting off her mother’s still form. Suffocating.

Iris was indignant.

How was she supposed to know that the earl would indeed follow through with his threats? Or that the duke, his father, would simply accept his demands rather than dismiss them as she had expected. He tried to kick them out! The Queen and Crown Princess? The gall of that man! Iris pouted as she flicked a piece of lint out the open window. Had she known she would have simply continued to ignore the infuriating fool.

“Iris,” the queen called behind her.

“...Yes, Mother?”

“You know what you must do, no?”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Iris. You will apologise for so tactlessly antagonising the noble lord whose generosity and protection sustains us.”

Iris winced at that.

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it. When the earl returns, you will find him and apologise. Understood?”

“Yes, Mother.”

The room fell silent. Iris turned back to stare out the window with a pout. In the distance, she could see the indistinct blob of a large crowd gathering at the harbour to see the earl’s newly captured vessel. The Codfather, hours ago, had been moored at the port. Iris had heard whisperings of how, through guile and cunning alone, the earl liberated the Brig from the lion’s employ. Tall tales of Ricos harbour being blown to hell and back ran amok; enough to create a distraction potent enough to mask the aura of desperation that hung over the heads of the townsfolk. The earl—not one to let any opportunity to make himself look good—was currently giving another grand speech to the people, reassuring them of his superiority over the Lion. A thought which would have been laughable in and of itself if Iris hadn’t known better.

If even a shred of what she heard about the attack on Ricos was even remotely correct, then Iris’ suspicions regarding the earl would have been undoubtedly confirmed. The thought irked her for reasons beyond her ken. How could such an insidious fellow be held in such high regard by so many? Could they not see him for the serpent he is? How was any of his methods any different from the bastards that plotted to unseat her father? Iris pouted as she leaned against the windowsill. That two-faced, scheming, conniving―

“Iris…”

The princess glanced at her mother who rose to approach her. The queen's soft, unblemished palms came to rest on her shoulder, kneading them. “I am sorry,” her mother said as she stared forlornly at the setting sun in the distance. Seeing this a pang of guilt struck Iris’s heart.

“...Why don’t they see it?” Iris muttered. “He is just like them; those conniving old bastards.”

“Of course, he is,” her mother chuckled in response. “That’s why they follow him.”

Iris’ expression warped in confusion. “What?” she said, stunned.

Her mother smiled. “In times of peace, people seek benevolence in a ruler,” her mother said, massaging her shoulders. “In times like this, benevolence is of no use to anyone; people begin to search for more militant traits in their rulers. Cunning, ruthlessness and a burning lust for vengeance. Only a ruler capable of inflicting terror in the hearts of the enemy can assure the people of their security.”

Iris froze as she picked the insinuation in her mother’s words. “Mother!”

“Iris, you need him. For the sake of the kingdom. For your and your father’s sake.”

“But―”

“You do remember the stories of His Majesty, Leonard the First?” her mother asked much to Iris’s confusion.

“I do,” she said, frowning. “He quelled the southern rebels and liberated the eastern coasts of the scourge of the Luscan raiders.”

“That he did,” her mother nodded, “with the aid of the legendary Seawolf, Captain Tomas Lokrane. But what your governess might have failed to tell you was that the king absolutely detested the Seawolf. His loathing for the man's existence grew worse after an… incident concerning the captain and one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting was made public. It was a scandal. A terrible one, I might add. Say what you may about tradition, customs and the civilised distaste for openly keeping mistresses, no man, talk less of a king, would tolerate another snooping around his harem.”

Iris grimaced. Her mother paused, noticing her expression. “Great-grandfather fornicated with his wife’s ladies?”

“That he did,” the queen giggled, shooting her an odd glance. “Frequently. Quite extensively even. Your father might very well be the only king in Udorian history to maintain a respectful distance from the ladies of his court, and for that, I would forever be grateful. At the very least, I was spared the drama your grandmother and great-grandmother had to endure. Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that despite His Majesty’s loathing for the Seawolf, he was not blinded to the blackguard’s other more valuable aspects. In fact, the king made a point of exploiting them to their fullest. Regardless of how bleak things might seem now, I believe you will be Queen someday. Should you desire to be a ruler as renowned as your great-grandfather, I would implore you to consider forbearance as a key tenet to live by.”

Iris fell silent, her ponderous gaze turning back to regard the blur in the distance that was the dispersing crowd at the harbour.

“The earl, should he survive the trial that is the Lion could prove to be your greatest ally. Swallow your pride, my daughter. You would do well not to push him away.”