Best Served Cold

“As graceful as always.” He leaned closer, murmuring under his breath. “You did not come to me last night.”

“Other commitments.”

“Truly?” Rogont raised his brows as though amazed that anything could possibly be more important than fucking him. “I suppose a head of state has many demands upon her time. Well.” He waved her scornfully away.

Monza ground her teeth. At that moment, she would’ve been more than willing to piss on him.

The four porters set down their burden behind the throne, one of them turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid with a showy flourish. A sigh went up from the crowd. The crown lay on purple velvet inside. A thick band of gold, set all around with a row of darkly gleaming sapphires. Five golden oak leaves sprouted from it, and at the front a larger sixth curled about a monstrous, flashing diamond, big as a chicken’s egg. So large Monza felt a strange desire to laugh at it.

With the expression of a man about to clear a blocked latrine with his hand, Lirozio reached into the case and grasped one of the golden leaves. A resigned shrug of the shoulders and Patine did the same. Then Sotorius and Cotarda. Monza took hold of the last in her gloved right fist, poking little finger looking no better for being sheathed in white silk. She glanced across the faces of her supposed peers. Two forced smiles, a slight sneer and an outright scowl. She wondered how long it would take for these proud princes, so used to being their own masters, to tire of this less favourable arrangement.

By the look of things, the yoke was already starting to chafe.

Together, the five of them lifted the crown and took a few lurching steps forwards, Sotorius having to awkwardly negotiate the case, dragging each other clumsily about by the priceless symbol of majesty. They made it to the chair, and between them raised the crown high over Rogont’s head. They paused there for a moment, as if by mutual agreement, perhaps wondering if there was still some way out of this. The whole great space was eerily silent, every man and woman holding their breath. Then Sotorius gave a resigned nod, and together the five of them lowered the crown, seated it carefully on Rogont’s skull and stepped away.

Styria, it seemed, was one nation.

Its king rose slowly from the chair and spread his arms wide, palms open, staring straight ahead as though he could see right through the ancient walls of the Senate House and into a brilliant future.

“Our fellow Styrians!” he bellowed, voice ringing from the stones. “Our humble subjects! And our friends from abroad, all welcome here!” Mostly Gurkish friends, but since the Prophet had stretched to such a large diamond for his crown… “The Years of Blood are at an end!” Or they soon would be, once Monza had spilled Orso’s. “No longer will the great cities of our proud land struggle one against the other!” That remained to be seen. “But will stand as brothers eternal, bound willingly by happy ties of friendship, of culture, of common heritage. Marching together!” In whatever direction Rogont dictated, presumably. “It is as if… Styria wakes from a nightmare. A nightmare nineteen years long. Some among us, I am sure, can scarcely remember a time without war.” Monza frowned, thinking of her father’s plough turning the black earth.

“But now… the wars are over! And all of us won! Every one of us.” Some won more than others, it needed hardly to be said. “Now is the time for peace! For freedom! For healing!” Lirozio noisily cleared his throat, wincing as he tugged at his embroidered collar. “Now is the time for hope, for forgiveness, for unity!” And abject obedience, of course. Cotarda was staring at her hand. Her pale palm was mottled pink, almost deep enough to match her scarlet dress. “Now is the time for us to forge a great state that will be the envy of the world! Now is the time-” Lirozio had started to cough, beads of sweat showing on his ruddy face. Rogont frowned furiously sideways at him. “Now is the time for Styria to become-” Patine bent forwards and gave an anguished groan, lips curled back from his teeth.

“One nation…” Something was wrong, and everyone was beginning to see it. Cotarda lurched backwards, stumbled. She caught the gilded railing, chest heaving, and sank to the floor with a rustling of red silk. The audience gave a stunned collective gasp.