Electra Rose
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Swordpoint diplomacy 38
🕑 Added 2023-10-29 22:00:01 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 38
The Princess’s friend was a little creepy, Marcel decided. She had eyes like an owl and no unnecessary movements. He gave her a smile and took off the sweaty helm with relief.
“It will be my pleasure,” he agreed. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other if he traveled with this woman. If she was trustworthy, he could bring up what he truly cared about. “How fare my companions?”
Rose lifted her head from her writing to give him an inscrutable look. “I confirmed that there were no outstanding orders in regards to them,” she said. “Their position is unchanged.”
He felt his smile threaten to falter. “Unchanged,” Marcel repeated. A spark of temper threatened to emerge. He forced it down but his voice was a little tighter when he continued. “When shall you release them? What shall you do?”
On some level, he was begging her to have a good answer for him. He wanted to be able to believe in her, to trust her. If she was reliable in this way, then he didn’t have to find out if he was the type of person who betrayed his promises. He wanted to be able to rely on her.
Her face was very still. There was a long moment with no response.
“Perhaps this discussion should be set aside,” Kian interjected.
“I think not,” Marcel bit out. His voice was sharp now. She had theoretical control, did she not? “Surely if what we agreed upon stands, it is reasonable to expect an improvement of circumstances for my companions.”
“And be so obvious?” Rose said, a little condescension coming through. “Should I announce to everyone that there is a sudden change in leadership, when we have yet to announce the death of the king?” Her face twitched. “Shall I throw away the equilibrium we need to protect in order to slightly increase the comfort of three people who sleep on mattresses in a camp where soldiers sleep on the floor?”
That was outright scorn by the end, and Marcel lost control of his temper. “You promised something much more difficult,” he pointed out. “Do you expect me to trust that you are capable, much less willing, of ending this conflict when you are too timid to do right by my allies?” He needed to be able to trust her! He was wagering a lot on her ability and willingness to call an end to the fighting.
“As if you did not take me hostage,” Rose pointed out. Her face twisted into something mean, eyes somehow darkening as she leaned forward. “I thought that was water under the bridge. We are adults and we surely understand necessity and pretense.”
“I understand that you do not believe yourself capable of controlling the narrative with this limited number of your citizens, who have no one else to tell them differently,” Marcel bit back. He gestured broadly with one hand across the tent as if to show that there was no one else of interest. “Who will countermand you if you are bold enough to take action?” He scoffed. “Not the general, not your absent brother, not the body in that cart-”
“That is enough,” Kian cut him off.
Rose did not react. She stared at him in total stillness.
‘That was her Father. Whatever else he was, he was genuinely her parent.’
Her face was a hard mask of cold fury and contempt. He didn’t feel afraid. But a little bit of shame bloomed in his chest, and empathy.
“…I apologize,” Marcel said stiffly. “That was ill done of me.”
The muscles in her shoulders relaxed incrementally. That was the first time he noticed that she had gone tense in preparation for expected violence. “Thank you,” she said, stiff. “I will consider your thoughts. Is there anything else you wish to say to me?”
He took a deep breath. He examined his thoughts. “No.”
“Thank you,” Rose repeated. “If you’ll excuse me, I will finish writing these.”
The five of them waited in a cold, tense silence. Avoie fidgeted in his peripheral vision. Kian’s face was hard to read but his shoulders were extremely tense. The young woman- Vivian? - seemed least affected. She sat in perfect posture that had gone from unremarkable to eerie over the minutes. Marcel cast sideways glances at her as time passed, increasingly unnerved that her blandly pleasant expression had never broken.
‘She’s more dangerous than the princess let on,’ he decided. ‘There’s some reason that she didn’t interject or react.’
“Miss Treveylan, if you would kindly?” Rose finished rolling up the final scroll and offered it to the woman. “Thank you for your patience, and good luck. I look forward to seeing you all at the capital.”
‘She calls her friend by her family title?’ Marcel wondered.
Vivian stood in a practiced flurry of skirts and took the travel papers, bobbed on her heels, and murmured a thank you before leaving. It took Marcel a moment to realize that he ought to follow.
None of them spoke. Kian followed Vivian, and Marcel followed suit.
He was feeling less confident in all of this. At the moment, the person he felt most comfortable with was Kian. So he walked and let his brain churn.
That had become an ugly situation so fast that he wasn’t sure how it had happened. It- it wasn’t like him to be ill-tempered and uncivil, much less so gauche as to make light of a girl’s dead father. It hadn’t even been 48 hours yet. Princess Rose would still be reeling and drowning in sudden emergencies.
…He’d been unfair. Marcel sighed. If he took the time to think about it– the princess had probably been busy in her every waking moment since the accident.
Did he regret everything, however? He did think that she should do something. At the very least, Aunt Yvette and Willame ought to know that he hadn’t been sent home after all. They would be hoping that he was past the river ford by now, and afraid that the Princess had lied and had him beheaded.
“Stablemaster, I require three mounts,” Vivian said, diction clear but her voice so quiet it was difficult to hear.
Marcel watched, disinterested, as the man scrambled to obey. He was concerned about the quality of the horses available, but Vivian waived off his apologies and his offers to get permission to use deceased officers’ horses. In very little time at all, they were backtracking to sign out supplies.
This was much easier than it had been to get supplies with Kian, Marcel noticed. If he hadn’t already recalled that Treveylan was one of the most eminent families, the way people jumped to obey would have hammered that point in. The mild-looking girl got them everything that they could possibly need, which Kian and Marcel lugged to the stables where their horses were being hurriedly prepared by the stable master and a young assistant.
“How many minutes will it take?” Miss Treveylan asked. At the response, she nodded. “Send a messenger to my tent upon completion,” she directed. She gestured for Kian and Marcel to lay down their burdens. “Thank you. Come along.”
Marcel felt his eyebrows shoot up. It sounded like she was calling dogs, not men. But he followed regardless.
She let both of the men into her tent without comment, only a no-nonsense gesture that they should enter. Marcel immediately assessed the space- two cots, two dressers, two trunks. Miss Treveylan apparently had a tent she shared with another woman. Whoever it was, they were absent at the moment. When the tent flap fell shut behind them she flicked her hand at the rug.
“Please make yourselves comfortable. I usually eat there.”
He only now noticed the low table. Kian was already folding himself down onto the rug. Marcel cautiously copied his posture.
“I’m sure that you are hungry,” Miss Treveylan continued. “I’ll call for a meal. We should eat something hearty before we depart.” She bustled back to the tent entrance and he could faintly hear her quiet voice. After a few moments she came back in and started fluttering around the space, packing.
It felt… nice. Marcel began to relax despite himself. This was the most relaxed he’d felt in months. Perhaps he had run out of stress to feel, after the keep fell, he was captured, his hopes had risen, and then doubts had crept in. There had been no time to rest.
This would be a good experience, Marcel decided. He stole looks at both of his potential companions- Kian, with his clever eyes and Vivian with the shining crown of brown braided hair and gown fit for tea at the palace. They both seemed more relaxed in this space as well, more personable and real than the stiff caricatures of manners that they had been in Rose’s tent.
He was doing the right thing in trusting Rose, he decided. Rather, he chose to believe it. He wanted it to be true. These people were as funny and varied and sharp-tongued as anyone back home. He wanted peace with them to be within reach.
‘So Rose needs to be the Queen.’
