First of Her Name
Queen Margeaux, First of Her Name and Brat Extraordinaire, sat on her throne, auburn locks of hair falling over her emerald eyes. She was bored, and that was never a good sign. Gathered around her were her most trusted “Advisors”, a title whose true significance was ‘sycophants’, wealthy men and women who would stop at nothing to see her smile.
“I need to be entertained.” She demanded. “Which one of you has a good idea for that?”
“How about a tax raise?” The Countess of Villamont suggested.
“What a splendid suggestion, my dear.” Her husband, Jacques, agreed. “Why should the people be allowed to save up? Won’t fresh gold make your eyes sparkle, Your Majesty?”
“No.” She yawned as the servant standing to her right held a diamond-encrusted fan to her face. “I did that last week, and the week before. Is that really the best you can do?”
Flustered, the noble couple receded into the background while other eager voices stepped up to the plate.
“May I suggest a ball, Your Majesty? We haven’t had a festivity in The Summer Palace in ages!” Madame de Montessor said.
“I really don’t feel like dancing and neither should you.” The Queen dismissed her with a frown.
“Of course, Your Highness.” Madame gave a curtsy and then added. “Your will is law.”
“Yes, it is, don’t you ever forget it!”
The ideas kept pouring in, all readily shot down by the coldest of stares. Eventually, the throne room fell into silence, the proverbial calm before a young woman’s relentless storm.
“You disappoint me. All of you.” The Queen said.
Everyone trembled. The last time she had uttered the dreadful ‘D’ word, the entire circle of confidants had received a one-way ticket trip to the underground dungeons. They could not allow History to repeat itself again.
“I have just what you need, My Queen.” A grave man’s voice was heard.
Marriott approached the throne on his knees, holding a crystal ball the size of a large pumpkin in his hands. Supposedly, the court’s alchemist was over three hundred years old, but no one would give him more than thirty. His dark robe was the exact opposite of the Queen’s virginal dress, a facade she loved to maintain, despite everyone knowing her sexual partners amounted to more than a few hundreds.
“And what is that, Marriott?” She glanced at the spherical object. It was enveloped in a beautiful green glow.
“An early birthday present, Your Majesty. This is a magical orb.”
“Magical, you say? And what otherworldly things can I expect from it?”
“Place it at the top of the highest tower and let its light spread through the kingdom. Everyone will love you for it.”
“Everyone already loves me, Alchemist. Unless you’re suggesting otherwise...”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant everyone will love you even more.”
“We’ll see about that.” She snapped her fingers to call the Captain of the Guard. “Do as he said and report back to me when you’re done.”
The Captain nodded, taking the mystical object in his hands. It was warm and heavy, filled to the brim with incantations of yore. The longer he held it, the weaker he felt, the Queen’s image piercing his thoughts.
With the help of two of his finest officers, he carried it across the circular stairs and attached it to the main pinnacle of the tower. Its green haze slowly descended on the unsuspecting city underneath and all the surrounding areas. Touched by it, the peasants and farmers smiled sheepishly as the life they knew became a distant memory, replaced by everlasting adoration.
“Long live Queen Margeaux!” They moaned, drenched in sexual ecstasy and mindless surrender. The echoes of their voices pierced the Heavens, and even The Old Gods peeked from above the blanket of clouds to see what power was so strong to rival their own.
Queen Margeaux, First of Her Name and Brat Extraordinaire, finally let out a smile to the relief of everyone else present. Another potential crisis averted!
And she lived happily…
… until the next day.