Figurehead

"The Queen knows a thousand different military tactics for destroying an attacking army, and she has a mind that was custom built to calculate the most efficient moves in chess and war. But she isn't sure how to rule a divided people, or how to bring peace and comfort to the survivors." The Black Queen tries to lead her people after the Session ends.

Notes:

This is an AU inspired by the ending of the Troll's session that explores what might happen to Prospit and Derse in a world where the Black King is killed by the players but the players are killed before they can enter their new universe. An explicit version containing sex scenes can be found on livejournal.

Work Text:

The Black Queen arrives in time to stop the players from progressing through the door, but not quick enough to save her husband. Even with the Baron of Time's stolen pocket watches, she is unable to intercept the killing blow. She picks off the survivors one by one, until the last blue-faced creature is begging for its pitiful life. The Black Queen breaks the thing's neck, which is about as merciful as she gets, and rushes to her husband's side.

He is dying. His sceptre lies in pieces nearby, and he is unprototyped, looking like he did the day she first saw him, except far more mangled. She presses her hands over the wound in his chest and presses down, trying to stem the flood. His heart keeps pumping, and the crimson mess just swells over her hands.

"No, no," She tells him, pressing down as hard as she can, "You can't. I won't let you die. I'll go back, I'll- I'll fix this."

"Your shoulder," His voice is deep as mines and just as rocky. He's dying, and yet he's more concerned about her, and the Baron's overlarge butterfly pin stuck through her left shoulder. It hurts everytime she touches it, so she's given up on trying to take it out, choosing instead to pretend it simply isn't there.

"Just hold on. I'll be right back." She almost takes her hands off of his wound, but there's the gentle tick of watches, and a version of her appears nearby, shaking her head. The Black Queen feels her throat swell, and she refuses to look her double in the eye, "Just hold on. I'll be here with you when you face them. We'll kill them all together."

The Black King just reaches out with his one remaining hand and cups her head with it. He tries to smile, but he can't quite do it in time, and as he dies, that hand falls away from her face, and the blood gushing out of him slows to a trickle. Her hands and uniform are coated with red, and her double is gone, lost in time, and all she can do is wail.

And then she presses her face against him and weeps helplessly.

They find her on the Battlefield, holding her husband's head in her lap. She doesn't look up when they approach, eyes intent on watching her husband's face. The dark luscious black has faded from his skin, leaving him a sort of grey. Her hands stroke his head and face, as if maybe doing so bring him back to life, but she knows better.

"Your Majesty." One of them says, and she finally turns her eyes upwards. She finds herself looking at a motley group of soldiers, medics, and what appears to be a farmer. It's the farmer who addresses her, purple hood covering his head, "I… we hate to interrupt. But there's a messenger from Prospit. They're trying to surrender and…" The farmer trails off. Prospit can only surrender to the ruler of Derse.

She looks down at the Black King. He should be accepting their surrender, not her. But he's dead, and she's the only royalty left.

The Queen sets her husband's head back on the battlefield and gets to her feet. She barely feels the pin through her shoulder, and ignores the soldiers when they attempt to ask her about it. Surrender is far more important than a slight pain, "Where's the delegation?"

The remains of Prospit's royal guards and bureaucracy are waiting near the shuttles. There is a tension in the air so thick that knives could cut it. It was only twenty-four hours ago that the Black Queen killed the White Queen, and three hours after that when the White King was beheaded and his sceptre used to begin the Reckoning. They've come to unconditionally surrender, not because they wish to, but because Derse will crush Propsit if they don't. This is the golden city's only chance of survival.

Their careful blank looks turn shaken when they see the Black Queen in her bloody gown and torn wings, and the deadly pin still impaling her left shoulder. She feels calm when she greets them, which is strange because she can still feel tears rolling down her face, "I am here. Speak your piece."

"We surrender to Derse." The Crestenvoy, Prospit's equivalent of Derse's Archagent, extends one of their golden flags. "Our lands are your lands. Our soldiers are your soldiers-"

"Your surrender is accepted." She interrupts and takes the flag. There isn't any time to waste on formalities. Despite the pain in her shoulder and the blood covering her hands, her voice remains steady and dispassionate, as if she all her emotions had been cried out over her husband's body. The Black Queen addresses both groups, "Set up base camp here. Search for survivors and spread the word that we are now at peace. Who has the authority to get supplies from Prospit?"

The delegation exchanges looks, and the Prospitarian Crestenvoy steps forward, "I do, Your Majesty."

"Find every medic you can and get them down here and working on people. Contact Archagent Jack Noir and coordinate with him. We'll need clean-up crews to bury the dead. Pick someone to delegate that to. I need an escort." She looks over the crowd, and points to one of the women standing in back, "Come with me. You too." She directs this last statement at the farmer.

They head for the shuttles, the Black Queen and her makeshift escort. Her shoulder hurts, but she pushes it aside, focusing instead on organizing her thoughts. She's not entirely sure what to do. Technically, they've lost the war. There's a doorway floating above the Battlefield, and the Battlefield isn't destroyed. But the players never proceeded through the door, so in a way, they haven't won either. And this is where the extent of her knowledge on what to do has run out.

She stops and turns to look at the two following her. They quickly stand at attention, as though they're afraid of her, "What are your ranks?"

"Parcel Mistress." The tall white woman says.

"Warweary Villein." The short black man responds.

A farmer and a postal worker. These are not the advisors she needs, but they are what she has, "What else needs to be done? We have a base camp, and medics on their way, and crews to clean up the dead."

The Mistress and Villein exchange looks. It's the Mistress that speaks first, "There isn't anything to eat or drink down here. At least nothing clean."

She nods. That's good. They'll need food. The Villein, heartened by the Mistress' suggestions, makes a few of his own. "And other supplies too. Blankets. Clothing. But… Your Majesty, your shoulder-"

"It looks worse than it is." She brushes off his concern and begins walking again. It is a lie. She can feel the throb in her arm growing slowly worse and worse. But despite the pain, she sees no point in wasting time to have someone look at it. There are more important things at stake besides an arm, "We will need to go to Derse immediately and make arrangements. Can either of you pilot?"

They both shake their heads no. That's fine. If they can't find a pilot, she'll have to remember how to do it. She knows that at least. Everything else is strange and unfamiliar, but this is something she can grasp and hold onto. Knowledge is easy and she has so much of it, so much that it fills her and shuts out any emotions that could interfere.

The Queen leads and they follow.

By the time they reach Derse in a ship piloted by an Intrepid Aviatrix, the first of the supply ships have begun to arrive on the Battlefield. Peace has not gone all that easily. There are reports of fighting breaking out in the southern hemisphere of the Battlefield, White and Black skirmishes that have resulted in some bloodshed. She's put out orders that prisoners are to be taken alive, if possible, and if not, then to be made an example out of.

The pain her arm stopped a while ago, but now she can't feel it. Her fingers are so numb, and they barely respond to her commands. The others don't seem to have noticed, and she takes care to do everything with her right hand to keep from arousing suspicion. She also orders the Parcel Mistress and Warweary Villein to assist her in carrying the assorted bricabrac she accumulates along the way.

There's a crowd waiting for her at the docks, and a mighty cheer goes up as she emerges from the ship. However, it dies down once they get a good look at their Queen and realize that she's not nearly as unscathed as they thought. She raises her good hand to them, flashing the sign for victory, and the cheer rises again.

The royal guard opens a path for the Queen to a carriage. Jack Noir is waiting inside, and the sneer on his face dies as he sees her, "What the fuck is in your arm?"

"A pin." It's hard to climb in with only one arm, but she manages to make it look effortless, even if it isn't. "I haven't had time to remove it. It has some sort of enchantment on it."

He shakes his head in disgust and puts his hands on the pin, only to jerk them away a moment later. The Archagent rubs at his stinging hands, "And nobody thought you needed a doctor? Why didn't anyone get her a doctor?" Jack says the last bit to the Villein and Mistress, who freeze up as they climb into the carriage.

"Jack, just give me your report." She's too tired for this. The last thing she wants it so put up with is another of Jack's fits over a pin that they can't do anything about. She wants cold emotionless facts, "I saw the moon on the way up. What happened?"

"What happened is that those idiot players decided to destroy two of the moon's towers. They would have taken the third out too, if they'd had the chance, but they turned around and headed for Skaia." Jack sits beside the Queen, forcing her to lean forward as he looks to see how far deep the pin goes into her. She focuses her eyes on the windows of the carriage and the crowds lining the streets, "Casualties were minimal, since the entire industrial sector was working on a skeleton crew. We were about to start repairs, before we had to redirect workers to help on Skaia."

"The moon will have to wait." She says, and winces as Jack pushes on the end of the pin, jutting out the back of her shoulder. The Queen shuffles to the side, out of Jack's reach, and gestures to the farmer and postal worker, "This is the Parcel Mistress and the Warweary Villein. Find them uniforms as soon as you can."

"Uniforms." Jack just shakes his head and digs out his radio, pressing the button, "Diamonds, get the Royal Physician and meet us at the base of the Tower. This is an emergency."

"Forget the pin Jack. I need you to get in contact with Prospit's Crestenvoy-"

"I already am. I'm on top of everything." Jack looks at her, just looks at her, and finally says, "An hour ago, I got reports from the Land of Shadows and Shrines that you were dead. I don't want to have to change your status again."

Her heart goes cold, and for a moment, she's back there, fighting the Baron. He pushes the pin into her shoulder and she screams in pain as her carapace cracks and splinters. She slashes his thorax open with her sword, spilling out his bright blue guts all over the ground. The Queen blinks, and she's back in the carriage, Jack Noir staring at her like he doesn't believe what he's seeing. She rests her hands on the pockets of her dress, feeling the pocket watches underneath crackle in her hands, "I fought the Baron of Time. It was not an easy battle."

"Yeah, I bet." Jack doesn't quite wait for the carriage to slow down, pushing open the door while it's still rolling and jumping out. The others follow and she leaves the carriage last, nearly falling when her good arm loses its grip. The Dignitary and the Physician are waiting on the steps, and they quickly usher her inside before any crowds can notice.

She makes it twenty feet, and then her legs give out and she falls to her knees. The throbbing in her arm returns, worse than before, and she can't even find the words to say before she simply passes out in the main hall.

It's dark by the time she wakes. The orbs on her ring are dark and her prototyping is gone. For a moment, she feels like she's woken up out of a bad dream, and when she looks over, she'll see her husband sleeping beside her. But this isn't her bedroom, and she's in pain. Her shoulder throbs, but her arm doesn't hurt anymore. In fact, she can't feel anything from that side of her body. The Queen carefully looks to the left, and discovers that there's no arm there at all.

Her right arm is still in place, and she reaches over with it to touch the stump of her left shoulder. It's strange. She feels like she should be sad, but she doesn't feel anything at all.

The hospital ward is empty. All spare personnel must be on the Battlefield. Her uniform is missing, along with the pocket watches. She slips out of the bed and finds a robe to pull on over the thin hospital gown. It's rather difficult without her left arm, but she manages, leaving it open instead of fiddling with the belt. She finds the way out of the hospital, and makes her way up the stairs.

The Black Queen feels off-balance without the scorpion tail and butterfly wings, but most of all, she misses the ability to turn invisible. She could use that right now. The empty arm of the robe sways as she walks, and she stops here and there to avoid the few guards patrolling the Tower. It isn't as if she's running away. It's just… she doesn't want anyone to see her like this. Not yet.

Her chambers are unguarded. There's no reason to have anyone posted here. After all, she's supposed to be in the infirmary. And the King is dead.

She pushes open the doors and steps inside. The chambers look exactly like they did three days ago, when she last saw them. The chess board in the middle of the room shows a half-played game that will never be finished now that her opponent is dead. She crosses the room and heads to her own bedroom. But instead of going to bed, she opens her closet.

Most of her dresses will need to be modified. That is no large matter. She has always preferred sleeveless dresses anyway. Moving the zippers to the side will be somewhat annoying, but preferable to needing someone to zip her up each day. The Black Queen begins to pick the dresses out of her closet and sets them over the back of a chair. It will be best to remove both sleeves. Then things will look more balanced.

When she finishes with her dresses, she begins to sort through her other clothes, the occasional tops and jackets she wears during the cold of winter, or in the privacy of her chambers, and a few skirts that aren't slip-ons. They'll need to be modified too. At least she didn't lose one of her legs. That would have been a real disaster. A Queen only needs one arm.

She is further separating the dresses when she hears the door to her room open. The Black Queen glances back, and finds the Parcel Mistress standing there. "Oh good. I need someone to help me."

"Your Majesty, you should probably go back to the infirmary." The Parcel Mistress speaks carefully, looking around the room with unease.

"These dresses all need to be modified. The arms need to be adjusted, and anything with a zipper on the back needs to have it moved to the side," She tells the Parcel Mistress, gesturing to the pile with her one arm, "There are a number of tailor shops. I would suggest asking the Dignitary if you need assistance choosing a location. He seems to be fashion conscious. Have the tailor send a bill to the palace."

"There's no hurry. These dresses could wait until you feel better," The Mistress is hesitant when she speaks, but the audacity of her statement is startling. Not a single citizen on Derse would dare make such a suggestion. But the Mistress isn't from Derse.

"I am better," The Queen says, her voice flat and toneless. Of course she's better. It was just an amputation. It's hardly as if something awful happened, "I am not asking for you help. This is an order."

The Parcel Mistress hesitates again, a habit that the Queen will need to break if she plans on keeping PM's company, then nods, "Of course, right away Your Majesty. But I'll need someone to help me carry them. Can I call for help?"

"If you must," The Queen glances at the chess board, and walks over to it, staring down at the game. She is three moves away from winning. Except she never will. Her opponent is dead. His blood is no longer on her hands, but she can still feel it there. The Queen reaches out and begins to clear the board, "Do you play?"

"I… no." The Parcel Mistress seems confused by everything. "I don't."

"We should play a game while we wait for your help to arrive." The Queen takes a seat on the black side of the board. There's a certain symmetry to it: White playing white, Black playing black. The return to something resembling normal is beyond comforting, "I'll teach you the game."

They play while they wait. The Parcel Mistress asks many questions about the game, and the Queen is happy to answer them. She isn't much of a challenge, but her eagerness to play makes her a good opponent. The Black Queen passes up a few easy checks to help the Parcel Mistress learn the game, and only goes in for kill when the help arrives. There are a few guards, and following them is Jack Noir

"What the fuck are you doing up here?" Jack Noir demands to know, angry as ever. The Queen ignores him and places white's king in check. "If you rip your stitches and bleed out-"

"Jack, brief me on the status of the Battlefield." She interrupts his tirade. "Guards, assist the Parcel Mistress with the clothing. And Parcel Mistress, I would like to play another game with you. Perhaps tomorrow, if there is time."

"What the hell are you doing with your clothes?" Jack takes the Postal Mistress' spot. The Black Queen cleans off the board and sets up the pieces again, "And why are you playing chess with someone who doesn't even understand the game?"

"I still want that status report." She finishes setting up the board. Her hand shakes for a moment as she sets the last pawn in place, but it stops when she sets it in her lap, "White moves first."

Jack stares at her. Just stares. And then reaches out and moves one of white's pawns. "We've got every ship available transporting things to the Battlefield. The resistance is dead over there, but there's some trouble on Prospit. Some assholes are trying to make claims for the throne. I've already sent some men over there to deal with it and prop up the government that's supporting us. We need to get that shit sorted as soon as possible."

"What about Skaia? How goes the clean-up of the Battlefield?"

"It's going. We're filling graves as fast as we can dig them." Jack eyes her, like he's waiting for her to crack. "That farmer you brought back with you thinks we should start planting as soon as possible. Skaia makes crops grow faster than normal, and the food supplies we've got won't last forever."

"Put him in charge of the reallocation of lands. Try and make it equal between Derse and Prospit. That may help relieve some of the tension and undermine our opponents." She focuses on the game in front of her, and barely notices the lack of left arm as she plays. "I want you to keep a close eye on his work at first, just to make sure he does his job."

She knows Jack won't challenge her appointment of the Villein. Without him, this job would fall on Jack's shoulders, and Jack has never been one to volunteer for extra work. Still, Jack takes one of her pawns, and continues to look at her like she is a stranger, "You never answered my first question. What are you doing with your clothes?"

"They're being modified." She considers her next move and sends a rook out, "I can't very well wear them as they are. The empty sleeve will be far too distracting. Your move, Jack."

Jack leans back in his chair, staring down at the board instead of at her. When he speaks, it's with a caution she didn't even know he could have, "If I win this game, you have to go back to the infirmary."

The Black Queen smiles a little. She always has enjoyed her games of chance, "If I win, I stay here."

It's a long, hard game that lasts longer than either of them expected. But in the end she squeaks by with a win. By that time, the royal physician has arrived in her chambers and insists on looking at her arm again. She lets him while she plays Jack, though she doesn't understand why the physician needs to check on it. It's already amputed. It's hardly as if there's anything more to be done to it.

He finishes when she finally puts Jack in check, and by then, the sun is beginning to rise. She dismisses the pair so she can sleep. But before she does, she returns to the chessboard and puts the pieces back in order. She could leave the aftermath and return the pawns back to their proper place when she plays the next game. But she doesn't.

The Queen heads to her bedroom and lies in her bed, waiting for sleep to take her. But it doesn't. The moment her eyes close, she sees the Baron's pins covered in her blood and her other selves sprawled across dark ground. The Queen opens her eyes and sits up, forcing her hand to stop quivering.

By the time sleep does come for her, its three hours later, and she has the first draft of a victory proclamation written. She passes out on the sofa in her parlour and sleeps uneasily, remembering the nightmarish time loops.

War is easy. Rebuilding is hard.

She does her best, despite her complete lack of knowledge of how to run a kingdom that isn't warlike. The Black Queen involves herself heavily in the process, filling dozens of empty seats and creating new positions. She attempts to pick an even distribution of Dersites and Prospitarians to further undermine the Prospit Independence Movement. The Parcel Mistress becomes her Perspicacious Mediary, and fills the role of the Queen's left hand, in both respects of the word.

While Jack serves as the right hand, and ensures that Derse continues to run as it always has, the Perspicacious Mediary helps with Propitarian matters. She serves as a sort of translator, helping the Queen learn the lay of Prospit's political landscape. The Mediary does not master the game of chess, but she continues to improve every time they play. PM also assists the Queen in more personal matters, like adapting her wardrobe, and ensuring that anything needing two hands to operate is replaced by something that needs only one.

On the Battlefield, the last of the graves are finally being dug. The western hemisphere has been completely divided and replanted, and the first harvests have begun. The Wellvouched Villein's land distribution has been well received among farmers, and with indifference from all other quarters. In a Kingdom as divided and tumultuous as the newly combined Prospit and Derse, indifference is the best one could hope for.

The Black Queen does what she was meant to do: she leads. The crowds cheer when she appears, and she raises her one arm to them, acknowledging their love, their trust. There are no such cheers when she visits Prospit, but there are no riots either, at least none where she can see them, and the citizens applaud politely when she speaks. The Queen announces the Colonization Project to settle the six worlds orbiting Skaia and the reopening of the Cloning Chambers to repopulate the devastated nation, and she speaks in a voice that's clear and confident.

Speeches are easy. Orders are easy. It's the more intimate interaction she hates and finds she is unable to master. There are even some who feel they have some right to ask if she is fine, as if perhaps she has given some indication that she is not. The Royal Physician is the worst of all, always asking questions. He pokes and prods at the shell slowly growing over her shoulder and asks, "Are you having any headaches? Does the thought of the war make you feel sick?"

"Your concern is appreciated, though misguided. I'm fine," She tells him with full confidence. The Queen suspects the Physician doesn't believe her, but it doesn't matter. She is fine. If she wasn't, she would know. These symptoms are nothing to worry about. They rarely interfere with her duties.

Though... some days, she's so tired that she can barely leave her Tower. She rarely sleeps, and when she does, she never sleeps well. Her dreams are always a tangled mess of blood and pins, and the crackle of energy from the pocket watches in her hands. The very same watches sit in the bedside drawer of her table, never too far, but always too close for comfort.

Jack is the one who keeps her moving on those days. He's insubordinate, as always, and doesn't ever bother to hide his disdain. She finds it comforting. The rest of her nation holds their tongue around her, as if perhaps the loss of her arm and husband has made her too fragile to function. But Jack is his usual vulgar and irritating self, all but badgering her into doing her duty, or snidely implying that she should simply give up and turn over the throne to someone whole. The latter is only said on the worst days, and those are the days where she continues to spite her Archagent.

She misses her husband so much. The Black King should be here. Her bed is too big without him, and their chambers are so empty with only her inside of them. At night, while the rest of Derse sleeps, she feels loneliness press down on her hard enough to suffocate her. The watches in the drawers hum loudest in the night, reminding her that all she needs to do is pick them up and think about returning to this world six months ago. She could tell her husband everything, write a happy ending. Except, not for her.

The timeloops are burnt into her mind. Her fight with the Baron had been a vicious crash-course in how time travel worked. She understands doomed timelines, and dead duplicates, and unstable loops. If she goes back to change something, anything, she dies. Some other version of her may live, but she will die, just as the other versions of her died in the fight with the Baron. Her shoulder throbs, and she always retreats to the sofa in the parlour, which is not so large and empty, and is far away from the maddening hum of the watches. This is the only place she can sleep most nights, and she often wakes up on the floor.

The Black Queen has not visited the Battlefield since the day she left, but she has regular reports, and if she wishes, she can view it from her balcony. She refuses to step foot on the land of Shadows and Shrines. If she could have had her way, she would have never included that land in the Colonization Project, but there was no real reason to exclude it, except her own discomfort. She sends the Perspicacious Mediary and Wellvouched Villein to deal with those matters. They are well liked and have a way of speaking with ordinary people that the Queen can never quite master, simply because they were once ordinary, and she never was.

There are no longer any clocks in her chambers. No clocks, but the pocket watches. She can't stand the sound of ticking any longer. Everywhere she goes, she avoids clocks. She knows the Baron is dead. The Queen killed him with her bare hands. When she finished with him, there was nothing large enough to pose a threat. But the steady unstoppable ticking of a clock still floods her with an almost crippling fear.

She was never meant to live to see this. Somewhere, deep inside of her, she knows this to be true. She was meant to die in battle. The Queen knows a thousand different military tactics for destroying an attacking army, and she has a mind that was custom built to calculate the most efficient moves in chess and war. But she isn't sure how to rule a divided people, or how to bring peace and comfort to the survivors.

But she tries. It's harder than she could have imagined, but she tries. She swallows her fear and pushes it deep inside where she never needs to see it again, and tries to be the ruler he would have been.

The bad days aren't the ones where her shoulder hurts. Those days are easy. The Royal Physician gives her something for the pain, and she simply delegates any unimportant tasks and only meets with the representatives and diplomats she can't afford to put off for another day. She knows how to deal with physical pain, how to hide it behind a placid mask so no one can see.

But there are days when she wakes up on the couch out of nightmares, and she can still taste blood in her mouth, and hear the Baron's screams ringing in her ears. Those are the bad days, and they never come one at a time, but all at once. There's no medication that can take away the terror she feels when she steps out of her chambers, or the hate in her heart when she hears the ticking of a clock. She has no way to articulate these things to anyone else. A Queen should not be afraid of anything. And she should especially not flinch at the sound of a ticking clock.

But. She is, and she does. And there are days when she can't hide this fear.

She knows that it will be a bad week when she wakes up screaming, her shoulder burning with an old remembered pain. The Queen struggles out of her bed, forgetting for a moment that she has only one arm, and realizing too late when she reaches out to help herself up, and falls back against the mattress. She lies there, wanting to cry, but knowing that she can't. A Queen doesn't cry when she forgets her arm is missing.

There are appointments to attend to today, but she doesn't attend to them. Jack will arrange things. He always seems to. Instead, she makes her way to the parlour and spends the bulk of her day drafting battle plans. There's no war to be fought, but she finds the act comforting. It would be easier if she had two hands, but she makes do with her right.

The Perspicacious Mediary bring her meals, as she always does when the Queen is unable to leave her chambers. The Prospitiarian sometimes tries to engage the Queen in conversation, but she's learned that the best way to deal with PM's concern is to dismiss her before she can ask a single question. The same method doesn't work with Jack, so she simply ignores his attempts to reach her on the radio.

She waits for the fear to go away, and she plays out a war that never happened against opponents who never existed. And when that campaign ends, she drafts another and plays that one out as well. When her heart beats so fast that she feels it might explode in her chest, she immerses herself in the game until it slows and she no longer feels like she may faint. She sleeps on the couch and barely leaves the parlour, except to shower when she wakes up in a cold sweat.

It is a little before noon on the fifth day when Jack storms into her chambers. She looks up from the plans, the beginning of her third campaign, then goes back to drawing, "Jack, I don't know how you got past the guards, but I do not appreciate the intrusion."

"You know what I don't appreciate? You shirking your duties and making me pick up the slack. Do you have any idea how fucking annoying their Creastenvoy is? He's been here for two days now, and the only reason I haven't gutted him is because we need his signature on the treaties that disassemble the remains of their armed forces!" Jack walks up to her desk, reaching out and pulling the pen out of her hands, "I've had to watch him paw through my paperwork and tell me over and over again about how much more efficiently their bureaucracy runs on Prospit. Two days, and he's already made me a week behind schedule! And everything would be fine if you had shown up and met with him, like you were supposed to, instead of hiding up here and forcing us to cover for you!"

"I'm sure his time with you was more informative than you think." She reaches for the pen, but he refuses to hand it to her, and she leans back in her chair, "Send my apologizes to the Crestenvoy. I'll meet with him the next time he returns."

"You can meet with him now. He's still downstairs, waiting to see you, like he has been for the past two days!" Jack gestures to the door. "You don't even need to be nice to him. Just make him sign the treaty!"

The Queen does not want to step outside her chambers today. The very though makes her heart seize up. And she does not want the Crestenvoy brought here. Instead, she stands up from the desk, "Have you eaten yet? Tell the guards to bring up lunch for the both of us. We'll play chess and speak about this."

"We're not playing a game." Jack stands as well and moves to block her path, but she slips around him, settling down at the chess board. Her Archagent stares at her with something akin to disbelief, "Are you deliberately trying to sabotage the negotiations? You know there's been plenty of people talking about how we should switch to a democracy! Do you want that? Voting?" He nearly spits out the word.

"That's just idle chatter." She sits at the board and sets up the pieces, and Jack sighs in frustration, refusing to take the other chair, "We'll play one game while we eat-"

Jack stomps over and and knocks down his king, "There, you won. Checkmate. That's what you want right? To humiliate me until I finally give in and let you stay in here while the Kingdom rots!"

"There's no reason to be so melodramatic," She goes to turn the king the right way up, and Jack just grabs hold of the board, throwing it on the floor with all the pieces. They go this way and that, rolling under the couch and tumbling end over end on the floor. She looks down at them, and sees her husband bleeding out on the Battlefield. Her heart starts to beat faster.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but where's the bitch I used to know? What happened to the woman who broke my balls over every late report and lorded her powers over me?" Jack rants on, and she carefully slides off of her chair, picking the black king off the floor. The force of Jack's throw has broken part of his crown, "All you do is sit up here and play your stupid fucking games! It's over! The war is over! We won! Isn't that enough for you-"

His rant stops midsentence. She barely notices, still staring at the broken piece. All she can think about is how pale he was on the battlefield, and how red her hands had been. She's not even aware that she's crying until Jack starts to dry her face with a handkerchief, and that almost makes it worse, because she last thing she's supposed to do is cry, especially over a broken chess piece. The Queen holds it up, trying to articulate what's going on her mind, but nothing comes out.

"Yeah, I know." Jack gets his arms under her and helps the Queen to her feet. He doesn't sound angry anymore. Just tired, "Come on. You're going to go lie down and I'm going to call the royal physician."

"I can't." She says, and tries to explain when Jack shakes his head, "Not in there. The bed… the bed is too big."

"Then you can lie down on the couch. Is that okay?" It's the first time she's ever hear him use that word. She nods the affirmative. It is okay. Jack helps her over to the couch and she stretches out on it. He goes off to call for the physician, and she holds the broken king to her breast, staring at the other pieces still scattered over the floor.

The Royal Physician knows what's wrong with her. He's seen the same thing in the ranks of regular soldiers. They don't have a name for it, or a treatment, or anything tangible and useful. But they know that she's not insane, and that is enough to make her cry again, this time from relief.

She is required to speak to the Royal Physician. The Queen finds it very difficult to do such a thing. After all, her private thoughts are her thoughts, meant to be shared with only the King if shared at all. But the King is dead, and she can't sleep in the master bedroom, and the ticking of clocks makes her heart pound in her chest. So perhaps her private thoughts should no longer always be so private. The Royal Physician promises to keep anything too revealing to himself, and as she speaks, he makes notes on a pad of paper.

Her public appearances are scrolled back, and some of her other tasks are further delegated. Jack Noir picks agents that he trusts, and agents that seem harmless enough, and the Queen grants them authority to make decisions on things like policing and tarrifs and the rebuilding of Derse's moon. It is a bit rough at first, but Jack has a way of forcing people to get along with one another, and fights over jurisdiction come to a swift end. The Archagent even begins to delegate his own tasks, and she watches with wry amusement as Jack legitimizes the neglect of his duties in order to 'better serve' her.

Somehow, she becomes Jack's personal project. There isn't a day that goes by when he doesn't visit her. He is as frustrating and pig-headed as ever, demanding that she leave her chambers to sign paperwork or to simply walk down to his office so he can show her the progress they're making on the moon. Some days she relents, and other days she refuses to leave her chambers, and they yell at one another until their throats are both sore and until she is nearly in tears. There isn't much room for compromise with Jack, but they slowly find ways to do so.

It's Jack who notices that she refuses to go down through the main stairwell. She hasn't even told the physician why she always takes the side exits. But Jack figures it out, and one afternoon, he forces her to walk down there instead. The clocks that normally hang at each floor are gone, replaced with banners that make no noise at all. She can't find the words to say, and when she tries, Jack brushes her aside, replying with, "They were fucking useless anyway."

One by one, all the clocks disappear from the Tower. Even her pocket watches are moved, though they are simply sent to the Vault. Her bed is still too big to sleep in, but she no longer fears her bedroom the way she did before. Her parlour is where she sleeps, surrounded by the safety of her things. Jack notices, but does not push her on this matter, even though he seems unable to let any other matter be. Or, so she thinks.

Prospit's Crestenvoy is a man named Henry Gris. She remembers him vaguely from the surrender on the Battlefield. He is Jack's counterpart on Derse, but they are only alike in job, and in height. Where Jack is loud and abrasive, Henry is quiet and patronizing. But much like Jack, Gris is the key to making Prospit work with Derse instead of against it. She tries to imagine Jack and Henry forced to work with one another without a Queen to make the final call on all things, and can only picture a second war, even bloodier than the first.

The Crestenvoy is charming in his own way, and far better at controlling his temper than Jack. They spend a productive afternoon discussing Prospit's affairs and at the end, Gris bows to her, something that she can't remember Jack ever doing. The Perspicacious Mediary escorts the Queen back to her chambers after the meeting, and is surprised when the Queen inquirers about Henry Gris, "I don't know much about him, your majesty. But he's very well respected on Prospit."

"I would like to know more about him. Inquire about the Crestenvoy and bring me whatever you can find. I'm sure the Dignitary can assist you," The Queen pauses as a few labourers walk by, carrying their tools. She doesn't remember authorizing any construction, and finds it unlikely that Jack wouldn't have mentioned it in a report, "Is there a public works project happening somewhere?"

"I'm not sure," PM quickly changes the subject back, "I'm not sure the Dignitary would be best for this project. His methods are... well..."

"Violent? I am certain you can keep him in line. If not, remind him that we are at peace." The Queen finally reaches the floor the royal chambers are on, "I do expect a report in two days time."

"Yes, your majesty." PM nods, and then smiles a little, "Say hello to Jack for me."

Before the Queen can question what she means by that, PM is already hurrying down the stairs. She shakes off the strangeness of the question and passes the guards stationed outside her chambers. It will be nice to sit in the parlour and relax after her meeting with the Crestenvoy.

But as she walks down the hallway, she notices the doors to her bedroom are open. She pauses, trying to decide if she should alert the guards or not. If it's the Baron... the Baron's dead, she reminds herself, and takes a few silent steps forward. As she gets closer, she can hear Jack, and the sound of his voice instantly relaxes her. It sounds like he's giving orders to someone. The Queen continues to approach silently, and peeks through the gap in the partly open doors.

The too-large bed is gone. In its place is a bed of a far more appropriate size. The builder has lowered the bed as well, and encased the underside so there's no open space there. There will be no shadows beneath her bed anymore, nor too much space surrounding her while she sleep.

Jack is directing a few other agents to help him shift the bed around, "No, not here. Look, away from the window. Right here, against the wall," The Archagent takes one end of the bed and shoves it the right way around. Even as the other agents notice her and stand at attention, Jack continues to ignore them, getting the bed in just the perfect place, "Are you assholes paying attention? I'm giving you a direct-"

His voice stops dead as he turns around, and sees her standing in the doorway. The Queen steps into her bedroom, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, "I see you've been busy."

"I'm just sick and tired of you being sick and tired," Jack gripes in only the way he can gripe. He dismisses the other agents with a wave of his hand, waiting until they leave before he speaks again, "And it's a security risk having you sleep in the parlor. The last thing we need is some nutcase from the Prospit Liberation Front trying to kill you. The windows aren't even reinforced there."

"As always, you are one step ahead." The Queen approaches her bed and sits on it. It is comfortable, and the bedding soft. She almost feels like curling up and napping at that exact moment, "Your service is appreciated."

Jack nods, "I've got other duties to attend to."

"Naturally," She waits until he turns away before adding, "Jack? The Perspicacious Mediary says 'hello'."

He snorts, "Of course she does. If this doesn't work, tell me so I can go yell at the builders."

"Of course." She demurs as Jack storms out. But she knows the difference between his angry storming, and his flustered storming by now. The Queen slides a hand over the quilt, wondering how long it took him to find someone to make it, and then lies down on the bed, just to see how cozy it is. From there, it's so easy to close her eyes, and to drift off. And for the first time in quite some time, she doesn't wake up in a cold sweat in her bed.

The Battlefield is nothing like she remembers.

Even from the windows of the shuttle, she can see how much has changed. The checkerboard surface is mostly hidden by fields and orchids, and dozens and dozens of other crops.

The Wellvouched Villein greets the Queen and takes her on a tour of nearby farms. Jack remains on Derse to ensure nothing grinds to a halt, but he sends along the Hegimonic Brute as a bodyguard. The Brute is a silent fellow at first, but as the day passes, he begins to open up and speaks a little more, asking what sort of animals they farm down here.

She spends the entire tour on edge. The Queen hides it well and no one asks if she's alright, but all day long, her heart beats a little too fast. She does not put her back to any doorways, and she chooses to stand out in the open where there are no shadows for anyone to hide in. The only reason the Queen is able to stand the tour is because of the dagger strapped to her thigh. It took her an unreasonable amount of time to place it there, but the knowledge that it is there keeps her nerves just collected enough to make it through the tour.

The Wellvouched Villein has preformed admirably. Each farm they see is lush with produce, and each farmer greets the Villein with a friendliness that is not faked. Some of them are astounded to see the Queen has chosen to visit them, while others seem to fear and distrust her. But the Villein puts those men and women at ease, coaxing them into showing the Queen their wells, or the corn that is nearly tall as she, or pumpkin patches that sprawl out this way and that until you can't tell where one plant begins and another ends.

Their last stop of the day is one that the Queen has been dreading all day. But despite how her heart flutters in her chest like a trapped bird, she is able to hide her fear and to insist that yes, she does want to see it when the Villein offers to take her elsewhere.

She remembers this part of the Battlefield, though the last time she stood on it, the ground was thick with blood and bodies. There are roses here now, and wildflowers that sway with the breeze. Graves stretch out on either side, marked by pieces of metal and other implements of war that have been marked with the names of the dead and set in the ground. Her husband's grave is marked by part of his sceptre, a name and a date carved into the thick broken handle.

The Queen kneels at the side of his grave and looks at the black and white ground. Even after all this time, she feels as if she should be the one buried here while he kneels by her graveside. She suspects she will never stop feeling this way, like she is a mistake waiting to be corrected.

Villein and the Brute wait a ways away, giving her some privacy. She imagines that they expect her to speak to the King. But she doesn't see the point. He is dead. He can't hear her. And if she wished to talk to herself, she could do so in her Tower. The Queen isn't sure how she's meant to feel standing by his grave, but whatever the appropriate emotion is, she doesn't feel it. Maybe if she had seen him buried here, it would be different. But she was on Derse when they laid him to rest, and she never saw him lowered into the ground, and so this grave could hold anyone. She picks up a handful of white dirt and rolls it between her fingers and then casts it back onto his grave.

She's been better lately. But there's something that's been lingering in the back of her mind. The Queen doesn't like to think about her husband's death, but it's impossible not to think about it with his grave in front of her. It isn't the memory of him dying that sticks in her head today, or the way his blood covered her hands. What sticks with her is the other Queen, the one who stood by and shook her head.

The one who had two arms.

The Queen presses her palm against the rough carapace surface where an arm should be. The Physician has said that many of the others feel like being alive is a mistake, and that they feel they have no future. But none of those others have time travelling watches, or a memory of someone who they can never be.

It takes her a moment to stand since she has to place a hand on his grave marker to keep her balance. By the time she reaches her feet, the Brute has returned, and he offers her his arm. She takes it, and feels somewhat comforted by his size. There is still white dust on her hands, but she leaves it there, and instead listens to the Villein talk about his future plans as they head back to the shuttle.

Not for the first time, she finds herself struck by how charismatic the Wellvouched Villein is. His charisma is even more evident after meeting so many other farmers, and watching them interact with WV. The pawn is a natural leader, and it seems so out of place with his old role in society. Perhaps this ability is an accident, some unexpected outcome from the imprinting process in the cloning chambers. Or maybe he was made to serve as a replacement if both the King and Queen were removed from the board. But that's Jack Noir's secondary purpose, just as the Crestenvoy did step up to take over the bureaucracy and military after the death of the White King and White Queen. Something about his charisma makes her feel paranoid, but she dismisses it, simply because everything makes her feel paranoid on the Battlefield.

It is a relief when they finally return to Derse, and for the first time all day, her hearts beats at a normal speed. She quietly hopes she'll never have to set foot on the Battlefield again, but knows that the day will come when she ventures there again. At least she knows she can survive standing on the Battlefield, even if her nerves are shot by the end of the day.

But she'll never return to the Land of Shadows and Shrines. That isn't up for negotiation.

Six months after the surrender Derse hosts a ball to celebrate the mostly peaceful transfer of power. It is almost a relief to be attending a real diplomatic function. She knows these waters well, and she navigates them with an ease that her new entourage isn't quite able to match. For once, it's the Queen making introductions, introducing the Perspicacious Mediary to the Ancillary Reconciler, and the Wellvouched Villein to Crestenvoy Henry Gris and the Metropolitan Planner who accompanies him.

Jack Noir refuses to be introduced to anyone, staying by the Queen's arm and making sarcastic comments under his breath when no one is listening in. More than once, she has to bite her lip not to laugh, or has to pinch Noir's arm as a reminder that his voice carries. His own entourage mingles, and the Queen feels confident enough to allow herself a glass or two of champagne.

There is a string quartet from Prospit that plays chamber music and they play it well. But somehow, it almost seems out of place as time goes on and both the agents and envoys begin to loosen up. Jack slips away when she's busy talking with Henry Gris, and she doesn't realize he's gone until she hears his voice over the microphone, counting off, "One, two, one two three four-" before the band launches into an upbeat tune.

The quartet's still on stage, but Jack and his own agents are also up there with their own instruments, and the entire tone of the function changes as the music does. She watches at the Wellspoken Villein convinces the Metropolian Planner to join him on the floor, and as the two begin to dance to the lively music. Two by two, other agents and envoys pair up and dance, and the Queen watches with a sort of amusement.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Henry Gris interrupts her thoughts, "Six months ago, this wouldn't have been possible. Who knows what we'll be capable of in another six months?"

"I'm sure we won't entirely know ourselves until the day has passed," The future is a tricky thing. Somehow, she doesn't see a future for herself, even if she feels there's one for Derse and Prospit. It's easier for her to take the days as they come and to let Jack Noir arrange the long term stuff. "I find it best to take these things one day at a time."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gris defers to her, and she expects to hear something patronizing from him. But instead, he offers his hand, "Would you honour me with a dance?"

The Queen pauses. She hasn't danced with anyone since her husband died, and she's not entirely sure how to dance with someone so much shorter than her or what to do with only one arm. But his hand stays extended, and she relents, taking it after a moment, "I make no promises about the quality of this dance."

"Let me worry about the quality." Gris assures her, placing a hand on her hip, and the other on her back. She settles her hand on his shoulder, which seems to be the most reasonable place to set it. He leads them in a simple waltz, and while hardly suiting for the uptempo music, they managed to make it work. As they nearly float across the dance floor, she catches a glimpse of Jack as he hammers away on his piano. He's making a face at her and the Crestenvoy, and for a moment, she makes a face back. She and Henry spin, and on her way around, she glimpses the half-second of confusion on Jack's face before he shakes his head and goes back to playing and singing. He doesn't have the most melodic voice, but he sings with passion and somehow that suits the music.

She dances for most of the night, alternating between half a dozen partners. The exercise and the champagne go straight to her head, and by the time the ball comes to an end, she's nearly giddy from the combination. The Perspicacious Mediary is missing, and it's Jack Noir who ends up walking her back to her chambers to ensure she doesn't go wandering off.

"While I'm glad to see you're not being mopey, this would be a lot easier if you'd just follow me." Jack yanks on her arm when she stops outside her chambers and tries to look out the windows at Derse, "Who even let you have anything to drink?"

"I'm the Queen. No one is going to say no to me Jack," She reminds him, and almost stumbles over her own feet, "Except you."

"They should say no. You were cloned in the same facilities as the rest of us. They just gave you a different imprint," Jack straightens her out, and then glances up and grumbles, "And made you pointlessly tall."

"Not pointlessly. Regally tall," She corrects him, and keeps her arm settled on his shoulders so she doesn't fall into the wall. But her bedroom is right there in front of them, and Jack gets the door.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," He gets her settled on the small bed, the one that's the right size for just her. "If you need something, call somebody else because I'm not dragging my ass all the way up here because you want something to eat."

She's long since learned to tell the difference between Jack when he's really angry, and normal Jack. This is downright friendly for him. And that's why she leans forward and kisses him. She misses a little, and ends up kissing the side of his mouth instead of dead-on. He freezes up, and when she pulls away from him, he's still frozen and staring at her with an expression that is unreadable.

Jack is a hateful little monster. He pushes her too hard all the time. He has no respect for her. He refuses to let her quit. He won't ever take no for an answer. He keeps Derse running. He removed every last clock in the whole Tower for her and built her a bed that wasn't too big. The Queen may be a little in love with him.

"Stay with me," She says, and reaches out with her hand to cup his face. But he flinches and she draws her hand back, realizing too late that she's crossed some invisible line. The Queen does not cry or slap him or indulge in any other frivolous emotion. When she speaks, her voice is steady, "I have had too much to drink and I should sleep it off."

"It's- you-" Jack tries to put the words together, but she just lies down and closes her eyes. "Don't-..."

Her eyes stay closed until he leaves, and even then, they stay closed a while afterwards. She doesn't cry. Instead, she plays out a game of chess in her mind. White wins, much to her chagrin, and by the time she finally falls asleep, she doesn't feel so twisted up.

The Queen wakes in the early hours of the morning with a hangover, and a heavy heart. She lies in her bed for a long while, allowing herself to momentarily wallow in misery. How could she have done something so impulsive and foolish? Jack's actions were those of a loyal Archagent, nothing more, nothing less. Only some senseless idiot could have read romantic intentions into anything he did for her.

She only rouses herself from her bedroom when she hears the click of a door closing. The Queen is still wearing last night's gown, but she pulls on a robe just the same, slipping out of the bedroom. There's a light coming from the foyer and the Queen approaches with caution, looking inside

The Perspicacious Mediary is there, also wearing last night's dress. There's a large bouquet of flowers in her arms, and the Queen watches as PM sets them into a vase, taking time to arrange them. There is a moment where her heart flutters with hope, but the Queen squashes it. Flowers aren't Jack Noir's style. And he certainly wouldn't send them through PM if he were to bring her a gift.

"Who are they from?" The Queen asks, and startles the Perspicacious Mediary.

"Oh! Your Majesty!" PM puts a hand over her heart, "I didn't expect you to be awake."

"The excitement from last night made it difficult to sleep," She lies, choosing a far less personal answer than the truth, "I see the same can be said for you."

The Perspicacious Mediary glances down at her dress and blushes, hastily picking up the card by the flowers and extending it to the Queen, "The flowers are from the Crestenvoy."

She opens the card. Henry Gris' handwriting is neat and even, thanking her for the dances and the lovely evening. Her eyes glance over at the flowers, and back at the card again. It appears she made a positive impression on someone last night. Just not the someone she wished to.

"Send him a small token of thanks on my behalf." She places the card on the table and touches the white hyacinths. The flowers are lovely and delicate, but the scent is somewhat strong. The foyer is the best place for them. The scent will disperse through her chambers without overwhelming any other room, "And schedule my shuttle for departure. I've decided to make a surprise tour of the colonies."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I'll wake Jack-"

"I see no reason to disturb him," She keeps her voice level and calm as she speaks, not revealing the inner turmoil she feels at Jack's name, "He'll be too tired and irritable to help out. I'd rather have you accompany me, assuming your young man doesn't mind."

PM blushes again, harder than before. Even if she had noticed the strangeness of the Queen's request, her embarrassment will keep her from acting on it for quite some time. "I'll make arrangements right now. How long will we be gone?"

"I'm not sure. I would suggest you pack a suitcase." The Queen says, and watches as PM excuses herself and leaves to arrange things. She pauses, and smells the hyacinths, pretending for a moment that they're from Jack instead. And then she retreats to her chambers to pack for herself.

Her tour takes longer than even she could have expected. Her reception in the colonies is far friendlier than in Prospit, possibly because the division between Dersites and Prospitarians doesn't exist in the colonies. They identify themselves by the land they're from, whether it be the Land of Tundra and Echo or the Land of Fevers and Mirrors, and not by the colour of their carapace. Such a change in attitudes is still beyond most Dersites and Prospitarians, but the Lands hold hope for the future.

The Queen takes her time touring the lands of the region, and what was simply meant to be a way to delay the inevitable awkwardness between her and Jack becomes legitimately interesting. The planets were created to interest the game's players, not to serve as homes to anyone. But their original intention hardly seems to matter. Everywhere she goes, she finds towns and small cities built wherever they can take hold, rustic cottages surrounded by apple orchards or homes carved into the sides of gigantic half-buried emeralds.

Venerated Governors and Faithful Administrators take the Queen on grand tours of their respective Lands, all too happy to talk about crop production and imports and exports. This would be the sort of thing she would pass off on Jack, but he's on Derse and she can't stand even thinking about speaking to him after making such an ass of herself. So instead, she listens intently, and has PM takes notes for the Queen.

There is only one land that she does not visit. She attempts to visit Land of Shadows and Shrines, but they get no closer than orbiting the planet before her heart starts beating so hard that she feels she's going to die. The Queen has to sit in the back where she can't see the surface, head between her knees as she fights to keep from passing . PM contacts the Land of Shadows and Shrines and explains politely that the Queen is unable to visit them due to unforeseen circumstances, but she appreciates what good work they're doing. She knows this is seen as a snub, but there's nothing she can do about it. This isn't something she can power through like she did with the Battlefield. Her body will simply give out and die before she sets foot on the planet surface.

The Battlefield is the same as before. It is harvest time, and she has a chance to observe the process of purchasing crops. WV hands out fair prices and distributes the goods as soon as they come in, sending crops like apples and corn, or straw and hay, to whatever planet needs them. Shipments to Derse and Prospit still make up the bulk of their exports, but the colonies' needs grow larger each day.

Her husband's grave is the same as always. She stays there for a few hours, just listening to the quietness of the land and watching the wind push the flowers back and forth. The wild roses have all but overtaken the entrance to his grave and she makes note to have WV send someone to keep the King's resting place neat and tidy. She still does not speak to him, but she does listen, pretending for a moment that she can hear his wonderfully gruff voice advising her. The Queen misses him terribly. If he were here, he would know what she should do. Of course, if he were here, she wouldn't have foolishly asked her Archagent to spend the night with her, and she wouldn't need to be advised.

The last stop on her tour is Prospit, and Henry Gris is all too happy to greet her. The Prospitarian Liberation Movement protests her visit, but she only knows this because PM tells her. Gris keeps them out of sight during her visit, filling her days with tours of Prospit. It is nearly identical to Derse, except for all the gold of course. It is strange and familiar at once, and the experience is somewhat novel.

Gris insists that she stays in the Royal Chambers while she visits. They are laid out like her chambers, but the decorations and furniture are changed. The White Queen's things still fill the closets, and the Black Queen finds herself looking through her doupleganger's fashions, comparing their tastes. It is a shame that they were enemies. The more she looks through the White Queen's things, the more she becomes sure that they would have been grand friends under the right circumstances. But the Black Queen beheaded the White Queen and even her pocket watches can't fix that act.

Prospit is lovely, and the Queen spends four days there, dinning with Gris and Prospit's other ministers and agents. Most of her time is spent with Gris, who is still arrogant and condescending, but also charming and straightforward. His intentions are clear to her, even those intentions that aren't part of his duties.

On her last day there, she wakes to find a dozen white gardenias waiting in the foyer. The Queen is not entirely caught off guard by them, but she still finds herself unsure of how to react. Gris is a fine Crestenvoy, but her feelings for him are nowhere near what he seems to feel for her. She could nip this in the bud and send the flowers back, make it clear that she has no interest in being pursued by him. But…

But it isn't as if there's anyone else who wishes to pursue her. She may be Queen, but she is missing an arm, and she can't stand the sound of clocks, and that hardly makes her a catch. Besides, she can think of no reason to say no to his polite advances other than "because he isn't Jack Noir". The Queen breaks one of the gardenians off of its stem and twirls it between her fingers.

When she heads down for breakfast, she wears it on her dress. Gris smiles at her when he sees it, and over their meal, they discuss the future of Prospit and Derse, and a single name to refer to the united kingdoms by. She is still wearing the flower when they finally arrive home on Derse, greeted by crowds once more. In a moment of deja-vu, she finds herself waving to the crowds, but this time, they cheer without any hesitation. PM assists the Queen into the carriage, and rides up front with the driver.

Jack Noir is sitting inside the carriage, a stack of files on his lap. She settles herself and crosses her legs, waiting for Jack to speak. He doesn't. The carriage moves forward and heads for the towers, and the Queen waits for Jack to go first. But still, he maintains his chilly silence. After Gris' warm reception, Jack's reaction is like a pail of ice water down her back.

The Queen breaks the silence, hoping to garner some reaction. Even screaming would be better than this, "I trust Derse has been fine in my absence."

Jack doesn't respond. He just stares at her, clutching the files in his hands. The Queen turns her attention away from him and looks out the windows of the carriage, refusing to indulge him. Perhaps he expects her to beg his forgiveness for her indiscretion. That isn't going to happen.

Just before they reach the towers, Jack speaks, and it catches her off-guard after all the silence, "Who gave you the flower?"

"Henry did," She reaches up to touch the delicate petals, and glances at Jack, "This was part of a bouquet he had sent to my room."

"Henry," He says flatly. His eyes are narrowed.

The carriage comes to a halt. PM helps the Queen down, and they head into the building, Jack Noir trailing behind. She expects to feel at home when she steps into her Tower, but instead she feels like she did on Prospit: strange and familiar, but not home. Jack hurries past her, and she wonders if she did the right thing after all.

Jack hates her. She reminds herself that this is simply a return to the status quo. Jack openly hated her before the War and it never bothered her then. She shouldn't let it bother her now.

She has other things to keep her days busy with besides Jack Noir. Henry Gris begins to court her, sending flowers every few days, or gifts now and again. He sends her necklaces, strands of white pearls and delicate chains of white gold. They always fit her neck perfectly, though it seems odd to look in the mirror and see white around her neck instead of something darker.

His courting is hardly a secret, and there are repercussions to deal with. The Prospitarian Liberation Front denounces Henry Gris as a traitor to Prospit, and there are some small outbreaks of violence. She leaves Gris to handle these matters on his own, knowing that a show of force is the last thing they need to convince the average Prospitarian that things are fine. There are some grumblings on Derse about the courting as well, many of the Monarchists upset at the thought of the Queen allowing herself to be courted at all. She simply chooses to ignore such rumbling, knowing better than to engage them over this. The Queen is aware that they wouldn't say the same thing if it was her husband in her position, but there's a lot he could do that she simply isn't able to, and vice-versa.

But for every person who protests it, there are half a dozen who vocally support it. It is easy to say that Derse and Prospit are united kingdoms, but often harder to ensure that the average citizen believes this to be true. A union between Derse's Queen and Prospit's Crestenvoy would cement those claims as truth, and silence some of the critics, and perhaps finally undermine the PLF. The advantages far outweigh the disadvantages.

She does not love Henry. The gifts are lovely, and his company is tolerable, but she doesn't have the feelings for him that he has for her. She mentions this to him once, while playing chess in her quarters.

"I know," Henry says and moves his rook, taking her bishop, "It's been obvious for a while now. There's someone else, isn't there?"

"No," She takes his rook with a pawn, "If there was someone else, I would tell you. But the only person interested in courting me is you."

Henry takes his eyes off the board to look up at her, idly moving his bishop to take the pawn, "And if this person was interested?"

"He isn't," She moves her queen, trapping his King between the queen and her other bishop. "Checkmate."

"Damnit," Henry shakes his head, knocking over his king. "My Queen, you may not love me now. You may not ever love me. But I love you. And I can love you enough for both of us."

It's a sweet statement, though it does nothing to change her feelings about him. But even a sweet statement is better than the outright hostility she receives from Jack at every turn. It hurts more than it should when he sneers at her, or when he sends his agents to meet with her instead of coming himself. She refuses to rise to the bait. If this is how Jack wants to conduct himself, then this is the way that it will be.

His behaviour doesn't go unnoticed. Everyone in the Tower seems aware of their return to old ways, and it's not seen as a good thing by anyone. Even the Perspicacious Mediary, who never knew the old Jack directly, hesitantly brings it up while helping the Queen into one of her few unmodifiable dresses. As she tugs the zipper up, PM asks, "Your Majesty... Jack Noir seems-"

"Like Jack Noir," She cuts off the Perspicacious Mediary's train of thought before it can land her in trouble. The Queen likes the Prospitarian. She's an excellent assistant, and she understands discretion, "I've always had troubles with him. It just depends on his mood."

She expects PM to drop it, but she doesn't, even as she zips the back of the Queen's dress up, "I think his mood might have something to do with your tour. Your Majesty," PM quickly adds the last part when the Queen turns around to look at her.

"His mood is his own concern, not ours," The Queen makes it clear this time that this isn't something they'll be talking about. The Perspicacious Mediary drops it, but the Queen knows she isn't satisfied. But the Mediary knows better than to bring it up to Jack directly, and if Jack's friends care or notice, she certain doesn't hear or see it.

Perhaps pretending that nothing is wrong is childish and nothing but avoidance. But it's hardly as if confronting Jack will accomplish anything. He made his disgust for her clear, and that embarrassment was enough to force her out of the Tower she considered her home. The last thing she wants is to rip the scab off her heart again and let Jack know exactly how much he hurt her with a simple motion.

If he knows, he'll do it again. And she's not sure she can take any more heartache. She's already lost a husband. Losing what little dignity she has left to Jack Noir is simply inexcusable, and unbearable. A political marriage seems simpler. The Crestenvoy may not be able to touch her heart, but that isn't so bad. If he can't touch it, he can never hurt her.

Later, when people ask, she will tell them that it was the pearl necklace that saved her life.

It isn't strictly true. The pearl necklace is what saved the Perspicacious Mediary's life since she was the one fetching it when the bomb went off. But it didn't necessarily save the Queen's life, as she would have entered the carriage and waited there for PM to return with the necklace before they left for the docks. And when the bomb exploded, destroying the carriage and killing the guards and the Royal Physician, the Queen would have been killed too.

Jack Noir saved her life. But that's a remarkably harder story to tell.

It is just another trip to Prospit. They had become as regular as clockwork since the Crestenvoy began to court her. Gris had also begun to bring up the subject of marriage, not immediately, but sometime in the future. The anniversary of the end of the war seemed fitting, and it would give them a few months to prepare. She couldn't think of any logical reason not to agree and so she did, even though part of her felt as if this was far too soon.

Henry agreed to keep preparations quiet and to only contact those who needed to know. It was only after he left Derse that it occurred to her that Jack Noir was one of those people who needed to know. The Queen knew he would have to find out eventually, but she quietly hoped that he would be one of the last to discover it. She already knew how he would react.

They always depart in the early morning to avoid the crowds that often form at the docks at other times. The Queen is waiting for the carriage pull around to the front of the Tower that she realizes she's forgotten her pearls. She turns to PM, "Could you hurry upstairs and fetch my necklace?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," PM nods and heads up the Tower stairs, past a descending Jack Noir. Jack Noir never sees her off on her trips these days, and he very rarely meets her at the docks when she arrives back home. So to see him coming down the stairs is a bad sign.

All he says is, "We need to talk," And it's clear from the look on his face what they will 'talk' about.

"I'll be along in a moment." She tells the guards, not wanting to fight in front of them. The Queen and Jack step off to the side of the grand hall while the rest head out to the waiting carriage, "Yes Jack?"

"I just received a message from the Crestenvoy asking what your ring size is," His voice is level and emotionless, and terrifying. A calm Jack is something she has no experience with, but knows that it can only mean trouble, "I asked why he would need to know that. Do you know what he told me?"

"That he needs the measurements for an engagement ring?" She would like to cross her arms over her chest, but it looks remarkably silly when you only have one arm to cross, "I'm aware of his plans Jack. He ran them by me first."

"And you said yes. To him. To the fucking Crestenvoy," Jack's voice is still flat, but she can see the spark in his eye, that one and only warning of the oncoming rage, "A Prospitarian."

"Henry Gris," She prompts, since he seems to be using every title except the Crestenvoy's name. The name makes Jack's eye twitch, and she can't help herself, "I agreed to marry Henry Gris."

"Why?" There's so much anger in that word, but that isn't all. There's confusion as well, and it may just be her imagination, but she thinks she hears some hurt in that word as well.

"I'm sure you've already considered the political advantages of our marriage," She glances around the hall to make sure no one else is listening in. But everyone else is outside, or further up in the Tower, and she doesn't need to hush her voice, "I accepted because he asked me Jack. He asked me to marry him. I can't think of a single reason to say no."

"He's a patronizing social-climbing bootlicking piece of trash!" The rage comes back into Jack's voice, and it's almost a relief after the flat tone. His anger is something she knows how to control and guide, "The only reason he wants to marry you is so he can scale to the top of the ladder! You're a fucking Queen, you're better than this!"

"Am I?" She should let him rage on without indulging, but she can't let it go, "What else are my choices Jack? Stay a widow forever? I'm tired of being alone."

"You really want to marry? Fine, marry someone! Marry anyone!" Jack stabs the air, "But not that piece of shit! He's not worth your time and we both know it!"

"I can't marry anyone. We both know that." Marrying the Crestenvoy will be controversial enough, and he's already the rightful leader of Prospit with their own royalty out of the picture, "The King is dead, and the closest I can come to a socially appropriate match is the Crestenvoy, who wants to marry me, or you. And you made your answer clear."

"I never-" Jack starts to say, and his words are blotted out as the carriage explodes. The blast shakes the foundations of the Tower, and Jack and the Queen both stumble from the force. Jack manages to catch himself, but she isn't so lucky, falling onto the ground.

There's the snap of a switchblade as Jack pulls out his weapon. The Queen gets to her feet, feeling cold and numb all over, and reaches for her own weapon. She isn't supposed to carry one by orders of the Royal Physician, but she has never felt completely safe while travelling without something on hand. Her derringer holds only two shots, those two shots are still better than being unarmed. She draws it out of the holster on her thigh, and catches Jack staring at her as she pushes her skirt back down. He quickly glances straight ahead and heads for the front doors, the Queen following close behind.

The remains of the carriage burn with such intensity that they can feel the heat from twenty feet away. There's no way any of the occupants could have survived, and the Queen regards her burning carriage with a sort of numb fascination. She should have been in there. She should be dead. If Jack hadn't stopped to pick a fight with her, she would be dead.

Off in the distance, someone screams out, "THE QUEEN IS DEAD!", and the statement is followed by the sound of gunshots. Jack grabs onto the Queen and shoves her out of the doorway, forcing her to stand behind the thick tower walls instead of out in the open, "Stay here! Don't get killed!" He demands, and heads outside.

"Jack! Come back here!" She yells at him, but he doesn't return. The Queen can't risk charging after him and she can barely keep her hand steady. She has no choice but to wait for reinforcements to arrive so she can send them to back Jack up.

It is a long and tiring day. The entire Tower is searched from top to bottom to ensure there isn't another explosive device somewhere. Her chambers get the worst of it, and she watches as they tear her life apart to make sure she won't be killed while she sleeps. There are no other devices there, but they do find one on the shuttle she was scheduled to leave on, and they manage to disarm that one without any causalities.

The Perspicacious Mediary goes into a state of shock when she realizes how close she came to being killed. The Queen sticks close to PM, preferring the quiet of dull shock to the questions and blind panic some of the other agents appear to be entering. This is also how the Queen discovers the identity of the Perspicacious Mediary's paramour, and most shockingly, that there is more than one. The Wellvouched Villein and the Ancillary Reconciler get in contact within minutes of one another, and the Queen watches with some fascination as PM has to assure both of them that she's safe and intact. It is a much needed distraction from an otherwise grinding day.

All shuttles to and from Derse are grounded immediately, and across the city, roadblocks pop up here and there. Anyone suspicious is stopped and searched. Within half an hour, Jack has the entire planet under lockdown with orders to bring in the would-be assassins alive if possible. The Queen tries to help, but every time she turns around to do something, Jack's beaten her to it.

The Hegimonic Brute and Draconian Dignitary are assigned as temporary bodyguards. They're far more thorough than prior bodyguards, but then again, her other guards ended up dead, so there's incentive to be thorough. Her chambers are bomb-free, but they agree that they can't risk placing her there, or anywhere else in the Tower. And so, a little before noon, they spirit her through the city's back alleys to someplace safe.

Safe, as it turns out, is Jack Noir's home. She's never given much though to where Jack lives. After all, he almost always seems to be in the Tower. But he has a home, not too far away, in a smaller apartment building. It's a pigsty, but she doubted Jack knew anyone else would be setting foot here when he woke up that morning. The Brute and Dignitary do their best to pick up the worst of the mess, and she settles herself at Jack's crowded desk, ignoring the sheets of music and other notes in favour of the Illuminated Lunette.

The small curved window does not have access to the tower, but it does have the news from Derse. She sorts through the headlines, shocked to find that there are still reports of her death. The Prospitian Liberation Front has come forward to take responsibility for the act, and it's no shock to discover why they had done it: someone had leaked the news of the engagement.

Eventually, she grows tired of seeing rumours and half-truths, and perhaps a few too-pointed truths, and she turns the Illuminated Lunette off. The Brute looks up from the paper he's reading as she turns around, "Is there anything to drink?"

"Drink or-" He makes the bottle-tipping motion.

"Drink. I just need a cup of tea or something like that." She could use something stiffer, but this isn't the time or place. They may need her at the Tower at any moment, or she may have to give a speech to prove that she is alive, and her nerves are already shot enough without liquor to make them worse. What she needs is something calming.

"Lemme check." The Brute ambles off into Jack's kitchen. While he sorts through the fridge, she glances at Jack's desk again, turning over one of the notes. His writing is awful, and she can barely make heads or tails of what the paper says. But for a moment, she thinks she sees her name there.

The Illuminated Lunette blinks. The Queen reaches out and answers it, making sure to keep the screen off so the other end can't see her. The picture flickers into place, and it's Jack, "Don't turn on the screen. There's others around and I don't want them knowing where you are."

"What's wrong? The PLF already took responsibility for the bombing."

"But somebody knew exactly which carriage and shuttle you'd be taking, and they had access long enough to put bombs under both of them. Maybe the shuttle was obvious, but we've got six different carriages, and only one of them had a bomb under it." Jack checks over his shoulder at the nearby crowd, but none of them seem to notice Jack's conversation with a blank screen, "Brute and Dignitary taking care of you?"

"Yes, they're performing admirably." The Dignitary glances up from where he's seated near the window. He returns to looking out at the street once it's clear there are no orders for him. "Jack, why hasn't anyone addressed the conflicting reports? Half of Derse thinks I'm dead."

"Because they're working in our favour. All sorts of nutcases are stepping out of the woodwork now that they think you're dead. The last thing we need is those bastards trying to find and kill you while we're looking for them." Another shoulder-check, and Jack starts wrapping up the conversation, "Stay where you are until I call and give you the all-clear. If you need anything, Brute and Dignitary can get it for you."

"Of course," She has no plans to go running into the streets, not after the gunshots earlier, "Does the Crestenvoy know I'm alive?"

"No, and it's staying that way until we know who leaked your 'engagement' to the fucking PLF," Jack rubs the side of his face, looking like he has a headache coming on. She know the feeling all too well, "He'll find out when everyone else does. Jack out."

And with that, he ends the conversation. The the screen goes dead, and all she can see is the desk behind the clear panels of glass. The Brute chooses that moment to leave the kitchen, holding a glass in his hands, "There wasn't tea or nothing, but he had some lemons and sugar, so I made you some lemonade."

The Queen takes the glass, feeling somewhat leery of the lemonade. There are large chunks of lemon floating among the ice, and the whole drink is sort of cloudy. But her good manners win out over her distrust and she tries it. The lemonade is surprisingly delicious, and while it isn't tea, it's more than acceptable. She inclines her head to the Brute, and turns her attention back to the note.

The Brute coughs, "Um. Your Majesty. Jack's got a bunch of books if you're looking for something."

She really would prefer to try puzzle out the note, but she knows a hint when she hears one. If she really wanted to read the note, she could. She is the Queen after all. But her heart is already running a bit fast from the stress of the day. Reading a note about how Jack thinks she's a bitch isn't going to make her feel any better. She leaves the note be, setting her glass down and getting to her feet, "Where are his books?"

There are two shelves full of them in Jack's room, which is even messier than the room outside. Uniforms litter the floor, along with even more paper and books, and whatever else Jack has decided to set on the floor instead of putting away. The Brute shrugs apologetically at her, and the Queen does her best to ignore the clutter. At least the shelves are an interesting cross-section of Jack's interests, from jazz music to weapons of war, to (oddly enough) terriers. She chooses a few of the more interesting looking books, and heads back into the main room to read.

Time passes agonizingly slowly. She can't quite concentrate on the books, not with the occasional distant pop of gunshots now and again. Her kingdom is under attack, and this time, there's not a damn thing she can do about it. Even worse, she can't help the feeling of unreality, like this is all a fantasy and she's dying on the streets. She should be dead. But she isn't. But the two-armed Queen...

Just thinking about it makes her feel exhausted. Now and again she gets up and checks the Lunette for news, but it's only more of the same. The Brute and Dignitary are good bodyguards, but not good company. They seem to prefer absolute silence, and that wouldn't be so bad, except the quiet just makes it easier to hear the sounds from the streets.

The couch grows uncomfortable sometime around the fifth hour, and she begins to pace, just to have something different to do. She can't take being cooped up in here. If she could get back to the Tower, she could get the pocket watches from the vault. It would take less than a second to find out who had set the bomb. It's the first time in months she's seriously considered using the watches, and that says more about her state of mind than all the pacing does. The Brute asks her every so often if she needs something, or if she would like to watch a program or two, but the answer is always no.

The Dignitary tolerates her pacing for a while, but it turns out that even he has his limits. He gets up from his seat at the window and steps in front of her, forcing her to stop. "Stop. Please." The last word is obviously tacked on, as if at the last moment he remembered that she was the Queen and he couldn't give her an order, just a suggestion.

"Maybe you should get some rest," The Brute suggests, a hopeful tone to his voice.

The last thing she wants to do is rest. But the pacing has only made her more restless, and her shoulder is beginning to hurt again, as it always does when she's stressed for too long. "Wake me the moment anything happens," She orders the men, and after a moment of deliberation, heads into Jack's bedroom again.

His bed is nowhere near as comfortable as hers, but it isn't too large, and it smells like him, which is oddly comforting. She lies there a while, reluctant to close her eyes. It feels like the moment she does, something will happen and no one will tell her. But eventually, her eyes shut of their own accord, and she falls into a restless sleep.

The mattress shifts as Jack kneels on it, and that's what wakes her up, eyes snapping open and hand automatically going for the derringer. But before she can grab it, Jack catches her hand, "It's just me."

Her brain is still clogged with cobwebs and sleep, but she manages to brush aside the worst of it. Jack looks awful, the sort of tired that you reached only after everything has gone wrong. She sits up, leaning her weight on her arm, "How's the Kingdom?"

"I don't even want to talk about it," Jack shakes his head with disgust, "It's there, that's all you can ask for. We've got some suspects in holding cells. Droll's been working them over all day, softening them up for the Dignitary."

The Queen's not sure how much stock she puts in the Droll's softening-up abilities, but she has no doubt the Dignitary will get answers. How he'll get the answers isn't pleasant to think about, but the moment the bomb went off, all pleasantness went out the window. Nearly eight months of hard work had been undone in a second, and trying to rebuild it was going to be twice as hard as before, "How long before I can make a public statement?"

"The earliest I'm letting you announce you're alive is noon. And that's only if we find out who the mole was. I don't trust any of those meatheaded jackasses right now," Jack digs through his uniform and pulls out the two-way radio, setting it on his dresser beside some unevenly stacked books, "The Brute's grabbing some shut-eye, and the Droll will keep an eye on the street until Brute's back on his feet."

"I'll start composing something to say. Get some sleep," She starts to turn so she can get her feet off the bed and onto the floor, but Jack stops her, grabbing onto her legs and turning her back around so she faces him, "Jack-"

He kisses her. It isn't gentle or tentative. He just grabs onto her head and pulls her forward, and kisses her like this is his one and only chance. Her hand is the only thing holding her up, and she can't do anything unless she wants to fall back and risk cracking her head open on his headboard. She tries not to kiss him back, but she's not entirely successful, mouth opening against her own orders as Jack kisses her again and again.

They finally break off, but Jack doesn't let go of her head, keeping her close to him, "You didn't give me a chance. You made your move, and when I didn't say yes right away-"

"You flinched," She reminds him, because she can't go anywhere and because she remembers it vividly, "You recoiled from me."

"You caught me off guard! And then, you say you're too drunk and you pretend to go to sleep! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Shake you until you stopped pretending?" The Queen should be annoyed that Jack's yelling at her, but honestly, it's a relief to have him returning to normal. There's an intense sincerity to his words, and that's a little less relieving, "I was going to say something! I was at the doors of your chambers first thing in the morning, and you weren't there! All I found was a huge fuck-off bouquet of flowers in the foyer, just this great big smelly middle-finger pointed straight at me!"

"Your ability to make everything a slight against you is amazing," She snipes, and Jack kisses her again, and this time she does kiss back. At least for a moment or two and then she does her best to pull back. It isn't easy, and her arm ends up at an awkward angle that she knows she won't be able to support for long, "Jack, stop. It isn't that simple anymore. Henry-"

"Fuck Henry! He's only doing this to make a desperate grab for power, and you're only tolerating this shit because you know how much I hate him! Well mission fucking accomplished, you got under my carapace!" Jack pulls her forward, and her arm slips out and she just falls, head barely missing the wood and smacking pillows instead, "Shit!"

"This is the worst declaration of love I've ever heard," She tells him, struggling to sit back up, "Is this how it went in your head?"

"You weren't such a fucking smartass," Jack doesn't let her up, pinning down against the bed. That's when she remembers that she's been lying in Jack's bed this entire time. Her mouth goes a little dry, and she feels a twinge deep down in her pelvis. It's been a long time, and Jack is so close to her. He must feel it too, because the hands on her shoulders loosen a little, and he doesn't close the distance between them, "I'm not letting anyone else have you. You're mine."

She should tell him that she's not anybody's. She should remind him that politics are a nasty complicated business and that she nearly got killed over a possible engagement to his Prospitarian equivalent. And she should snub him, just to show him how it feels to be snubbed when you've put yourself on the line. But this morning, she almost died, and it was Jack Noir who saved her life by being his usual frustrating self. She'll never admit it out loud, but loves him, temper and all.

The Queen cranes her head up, and Jack meets her halfway.

Jack's still sound asleep when she extracts herself from his grip and from the bed. She does the clasps on her dress back up and heads into the kitchen to start composing something to say to her people. The Droll proves to be good company, listening eagerly to the early drafts of her speech and applauding in the appropriate places.

She is nearly done the speech when the Illuminated Lunette starts flashing. The Queen is far more reluctant to answer it than before, and she puts the Droll in front of the window since his presence would not be completely unexpected in Jack's apartment. The Droll perks up the moment the window turns on, "Hi!"

"Where's Jack?" It's the Dignitary.

"He's sleeping!" The Droll waves for the Queen to come around to the front. He does. The Dignitary is standing in Jack's office, clearly speaking over the Fenestrated walls, "We were working on a speech."

"Have you found anything?" The Queen gets to the point.

"A guard was responsible for allowing the PLF access to the carriage and shuttle. He insists that he was unaware they planned to plant a bomb, but I don't buy it. He accepted a large bribe and we found him trying to book passage off of Derse." The Dignitary's voice is deathly calm as he speaks. Something about him always put the Queen slightly on edge, "We also discovered that one of your Ministers is a member of the Derse Democratic Movement, but he insists that he has nothing to do with yesterday's acts."

Turns out Jack was right not to trust the guards. But what catches her off-guard is the second half of the Dignitary's update, "Which Minister?"

"Agriculture. The Wellvouched Villein." The Dignitary adds the last bit, but it is entirely unnecessary. The Queen knows all of her Ministers, and most of Prospit's, and it is a shock to hear that he was arrested, and that he's part of the DDM. They aren't outlawed, but their entire movement is frowned upon and associating with them is political suicide.

"I want to speak to him. And I need to make a statement at noon. Arrange for security," The Queen glances over at the Brute, sleeping on the couch, "I'll have the Brute escort me to the Tower, meet us downstairs with whatever guards you trust."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Your Majesty." The Dignitary is far better at this than Jack is, managing to make his orders seem exactly like suggestions.

"Your concerns have been noted." She replies back with her own polite fuck-off. Jack may be angry about this later, but she needs to get out there and start leading immediately. "We'll be there in twenty minutes. And fetch the Perspicacious Mediary. I need to speak to her as well."

The Dignitary does not narrow his eyes or sneer. He simply nods and kills his connection. But despite this, she knows he isn't pleased by her actions.

She fetches her speech and wakes the Brute, "I need you to escort me to the Tower."

"Now?" He asks, rubbing at his eyes, "Where's Jack?"

"Still sleeping. And I expect him to stay sleeping for at least another three hours." Unlike the Dignitary, she can make a direct order and know that it will be followed. "Wake him up before my speech at noon."

"Yes, Your Majesty," The Brute gets to his feet, and they quietly leave the apartment. The streets aren't quite so empty today, and it takes them a bit longer to make it to the Tower without being seen, even through Derse's back alleys. The Dignitary looks remarkably unimpressed when they show up a few minutes late.

PM, by contrast, looks like she's been crying most of the night. AR stands beside her, and clears his throat when she approaches, "Your Majesty? Pardon the intrusion, but… if you need to speak to Mediary, then you need to speak to me as well."

"Fine. We can talk and walk," She continues into the Tower, getting out of sight of the street, "Brute, head back and keep an eye on Jack. Dignitary, lead the way."

They head up the stairs, PM raising her voice to be heard as they hurry, "Villein's innocent, I swear. He wouldn't ever be involved in violence like this. He's a good man, and he's loyal to you."

"If he's loyal, why is he part of the DDM?" The Queen notices the shocked looks on the faces of passing agents. Reports of her death must have been very convincing.

"He believes in fairness and in everybody having a voice. But he only supports democracy working with the monarchy, not against," She argues passionately, and it isn't entirely wasted on the Queen, "This isn't his way. He wants peace, and Villein knows that this isn't the way to get peace."

"It isn't illegal to be part of the DDM, or even the PLF, or a dozen other organizations. And an unconnected political group that has nothing to do with the PLF, and disavowed yesterday's violence, shouldn't be used as a reason to imprison and interrogate him. We're a just society, we believe in justice," The Ancillary Reconciler cuts in, approaching from the other angle, "We should live up to those values. Just because we can imprison someone doesn't mean we should."

"Your points are well made, but yesterday, someone attempted to assassinate me with a bomb. And if I hadn't forgotten my pearls, I wouldn't have been the only one caught in the blast," She stops on the stairs and turns to face PM, "If you're wrong, then you're defending the man who was willing to risk having you murdered to get to me."

"I'm not wrong," PM says, with the fullest confidence in her voice, "Villein is innocent."

The Queen glances over to the Dignitary. His expression is carefully blank, but after a moment, he says, "He willingly confessed his Derse Democratic Movement status, but insists that he has nothing to do with the Prosptarian Liberation Front, or the Derse Preservation Alliance."

She nods, and continues to the prisoner's cells. The Wellvouched Villein has always presented himself as the sort of man you could trust. He is charismatic and well liked by people on Prospit and Derse. If she died, he could stand to gain a lot. Jack could lead, but he would lead as a tyrant, not as a King. WV could be a King, the sort of King the people felt connected to.

And yet, she had seen WV's panic with her own two eyes. That hadn't been faked or a performance. It had been real worry, real concern as he called to make sure that PM was alive. She doubted that WV could ever be cold enough to put her life on the line, even for his own ends.

The prison is under heavy guard. The Queen steps inside with the Dignitary, motioning for PM and AR to wait in the hall. Most of the cells are empty, but the few full ones hold prisoners in bad shape, and those prisoners seemed shocked to see the Queen walk by, alive and intact.

WV is in the cell at the end, and he doesn't look up when the door opens. The Dignitary has been hard at work on the minister. The Queen can see a dozen injuries on him, and his voice is thick when he speaks, "I told you everything I know."

"You didn't tell me," The Queen steps into the room, and WV's head jerks up in surprise. She takes a seat on the chair sitting in the corner. WV attempts to rise to his feet, but she motions for him to stay sitting, "Your friends made a very passionate case for you. And your record of service in the past has always been exemplary. But you also hold a membership in the DDM."

WV cast his eyes down for a moment. His voice is still thick when he speaks, but there's a power to it, power that she remembers clearly hearing in her own husband's voice, "In a democracy, there's mutual respect between the people and their leader. Everyone gets a vote and a voice, and they can choose who represents them. But in a monarchy, you can't. You get a King and a Queen, and all you can do is hope they're good. It isn't about respect. It's about fear."

He falls quiet. And she looks at the cuts and bruises on WV's body. The Queen reaches out, and helps WV onto his feet, "It's not just fear," She tells him, leading him out of the cell, "It's love too."

PM and AR are overjoyed when she emerges with WV, both embracing him and checking out his wounds. There are a few nasty looks sent in the Dignitary's direction, but the Dignitary pays them no mind, speaking directly to the Queen, "Your Majesty, can I continue with my duties?"

"Try to minimize the physical damage," She points to a few of the guards, "Accompany me to my quarters. Are the preparations for my speech ready?"

"Nearly. They'll be done before noon, your Majesty." Dignitary heads back to the prison, and PM and AR help WV down the stairs. The Queen heads up instead, posting the guards outside of her chambers and entering. She undresses and enters the shower immediately, letting the hot water wash away everything. As she scrubs, she attempts to rehearse the speech in her mind. But all she can think about is Jack Noir.

She presses her fingers to her neck, and finds the love bite he left there. It hurts, but it's such a good hurt.

The Queen only leaves the shower once the water begins running cold, drying herself off and stepping into her room. She chooses a dress with a high neck to hide the love bite, and she's doing the last snap up when she hears the tell-tale ring of her private line. The Queen sits in front of her vanity and answers it, knowing almost immediately who it will be.

The middle mirror lights up and Henry's face comes into focus. He looks worse than Jack did, a deep down worry that she assumes must be from not knowing her fate, "My Queen, oh thank god. All the reports… no one could get a straight answer."

"From what I understand, Jack used the panic to ferret out those responsible for the bomb," She's glad to see him, but in a way, she almost wishes he hadn't called at all. The Queen knows what she's going to have to do, "Henry, the engagement is off."

"I know. We can't go forward with it, not now," He put his head into his hands, "I'm so sorry. I can't ask for your forgiveness. All I can ask is that you understand why I did it."

This isn't what she was expecting to hear. And she's quick enough to catch the meaning of his last words, "What did you do Henry?"

"I. I," He searches for the words, barely meeting her eyes when he finally speaks, "I leaked word of the engagement to the PLF."

The Queen looks at Henry, not with anger or shock, but with something much colder, "I see."

"I was just trying to judge their reaction. I thought it might only be a few protests, maybe some angry letters. I swear, I had no idea what they were planning. If I'd known…" He shook his head, "Your Majesty, I-"

"You are hereby relieved of your duties, Crestenvoy," She speaks without any emotion, cutting off his plea, "I will appoint a successor for you as soon as possible. Until then, your job will be turned over to a minister of my choosing."

"Your Majesty," He says, voice breaking, "My Queen."

"Goodbye Henry." She hangs up and stares blankly into the mirror. The Queen hadn't been in love with Henry Gris. But she had liked him, and she had accepted his gifts and let him court her, and more than that, she had trusted him. And despite all that, he had sold her out to the PLF to see if he could still stay on their good sides.

The Queen forces herself to stop thinking about that, and picks a minister. She settles on the Metropolitian Planner, a short woman who has always seems level-headed and practical. She is surprised to hear from the Queen, and downright dumbfounded to receive the sudden promotion. The Queen doesn't give her an opportunity to turn it down, promising the Planner that this is a temporary situation, and then excusing herself to prepare for the speech.

She's through the second run of the speech when she hears her door slam open, and Jack's voice as he yells at the guards trying to block his path. The Queen stays where she is, finishing the speech instead of going to find Jack. He'll come to her soon enough.

He does, the guards trailing behind. She motions to the guards to leave them by, and they quickly and happily retreat. Jack is nearly vibrating with rage, and she sits at her desk, "Good morning Jack."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?! We haven't found who's responsible for the bombing!" Jack rants, and she simply listens to him, "And then I hear you just let one of the suspects go! You can't trust anyone who supports democracy! Especially not somebody like him! I've heard him speak, and so have you! And let's not even get into the part where we still don't know who's leaking information on the Crestenvoy's staff-"

"Henry leaked it. He wanted to see how the PLF would react to an announcement, presumably so he could post-pone our engagement if it looked like it would reflect badly on him," She tells Jack, "I've removed him from his post. The temporary Crestenvoy is the Metropolitan Planner until I can find a better candidate."

Jack is pleased by the turn of events, "I told you he was scum."

"You did. I concede that point to you." She turns back to her speech, "I'm speaking at noon and you don't have a say in this one. I know we haven't found who's responsible. But we can't waste any more time. We'll just have to heighten security and hope for the best. A Queen leads no matter the circumstances, in times of peace and times of war."

"Is that part of your speech?" Jack looks at the paper, and gets momentarily distracted. He reaches out and touches the high collared dress, "What's with this? You never wear this thing."

"You know why," She replies, perhaps a bit sourly. The Queen has remembered why she rarely wears this dress. The high neck feels strange and awkward.

It takes Jack a moment to realize her meaning, and the sly smile that blooms across his face hits her right in the pelvis. He opens the top clasp, revealing the bite, "That's right."

"Don't Jack," The Queen warns him off, knocking his hand away, "We don't have time for this."

"The speech is at noon? We've got plenty of time," He bows his head, and presses his tongue against the bite. She shivers, and he chuckles, his hands resting on her thighs. His teeth nip at her throat again, "I want to put marks all over you."

"Keep them under the clothes, or I'll have you removed too," It's meant to be threatening, but Jack just licks at the bite again, and the noise she makes undermines any of the menace.

When she gives her speech at noon, she's the Queen she should be, defiant in the face of her opposition and vowing to continue to move forward with Prospit and Derse's unification. It isn't a day for open cheers, but a day of quiet contemplation, and of decisions. She knows even before the steps off the stage that they will choose her and a future that's less divided. Her cheeks all but glow as she stands in front of the podium, and only she and Jack know the reason reason why she's so flushed.

They never find everyone involved in the bombing. It bothers Jack more than it bothers her. There's simply no way of finding every person involved, not without turning Derse into a tyrannical state and interrogating everyone even vaguely connected to the PLF. She doesn't want that sort of a Kingdom.

The PLF's popularity dies as the weeks go by. There are the hardcore hanger-ons who still make threats, but the rallies shrink and shrink, until there's only half a dozen people with signs. The new Crestenvoy preforms admirably, doing her best to keep Prospit moving forward. Derse's Preservation Alliance sees a swell of membership until the Queen comes out and denounces the xenophobic party, and then the numbers drop down. It isn't perfect and there are still plenty of people on both sides that would prefer another all-out war, but most of Derse and Prospit simply want to move forward and to forget the war.

There are a few changes. Travel arrangements take twice as long now. She can't simply wander off unattended. Background checks are preformed on everyone she meets. And Jack sleeps in the same bed as her most nights. He still keeps his own apartment, which is good because some days, the only thing keeping her from throttling him to death is her missing left arm. He's as smug and angry and infuriating as before. It's just that now she actually gets some benefits from the singled-minded focus he occasionally shows. The tailor also gets a boom in business as the Queen is forced to order more dresses with high neck collars.

The strangest thing is that she doesn't have nightmares about the explosion. She still dreams about the Baron now and again, and there is the occasional day when she finds it hard to step outside her chambers, but she never worries when she steps into a carriage or a shuttle, and the PLF never keeps her up at night. It's the sort of thing the Royal Physician would understand. But he's dead, so she doesn't have anyone to tell it to.

Even thoughts of the other Queen, the one with two arms, don't intrude as often as they used to. She doesn't worry about the pocket watches in the vault, or what they're meant to do. Maybe she did see that Queen. And maybe she shouldn't worry about it until the moment comes when she has to go back. In a way, it's freeing.

The other strange thing is her sudden interest in democracy. Something about what WV said to her sticks in her head and refuses to leave: mutual respect. The concept is mostly foreign to her. There are people who love her, and people who fear her, but no one really respects her. Her power was given, and until he spoke, she never stopped to think about that. Now it's never too far from her mind.

She asks WV for more information, and after an initial distrust, he gives her pamphlets and books, and even broadcasts a few meetings to her (they both agree that attending in person would be a poor idea and likely to scare off some of the more antsy members). Jack notices her reading through it and just rolls his eyes, or occasionally asks if she's got anything planned. He's thinking of raids. She's thinking of something far different.

Two months before the anniversary of the War, she drafts up a proclamation and takes it to the Wellvouched Villein to read over. She's never cared much for pleasing others, but she wants him to like it, mostly because without him, she would have never considered this possibility. His eyes light up as the Villein realizes what it means, and he looks at her, "Is this real?"

"Yes, it's real," She leans against his desk, "You told me that democracy was about mutual respect. That's what we need right now. I can't do this alone, not when I'm a symbol of the way things were. We need someone to represent our future."

WV smiles, but it slips away for a moment, "You won't be able to pick who the people choose."

"I know," And this time, it's her chance to smile, "I think it will be exciting to see what sort of a leader they want."

Jack is horrified. She tells him over dinner and he just stares at her like she's sprouted a second head, or maybe another arm, "Are you insane?"

"I'm sleeping with you. I think that answers your question," She teases him, and when he twists up his face, she just laughs, "The term is only one year. I can snap my fingers and end it whenever I wish. And if I don't wish to, then we can talk about extending the term to something longer, maybe three or four years."

"You're giving them the ability to dismiss and appoint ministers! And they've got more authority than me and the Crestenvoy combined!" Jack shakes the paper at her, "You're making yourself into a figurehead!"

"Hardly. Maybe one day I'll only be a symbol, but not anytime soon," The Queen reaches over and takes it out of Jack's hand before he can rip it up, "There are enough Monarchists on Derse and Prospit to keep me in power for decades. But an elected official will go a long way to mending the division between Prospit and Derse."

"I still think you're insane. This is going to be a huge mistake," He grumbles, and that's as close as she'll ever come to him letting an argument go, "Just make sure they know it's only for one year. If you end up crownless because you couldn't make this shit clear enough-"

"If I do, then I'm not much of a Queen. And your apartment has room for two people," The look on his face is one of delicious horror. She hides her smile behind the glass and finishes her wine.

The elections prove to be a tense time for everyone. To no one's surprise, the Wellvouched Villein enters the race early on. And on Prospit, ex-Crestenvoy Henry Gris does the same. By the time the two-week cut-off comes, there are two dozen candidates vying for the position of Prime Minister, ranging from ministers to ordinary citizens.

The Queen is fascinated by the entire process. She has never had to fight for recognition or been forced to back up her views on anything. After all, she's the Queen, and there has only ever been one other person like her in size and shape and thought. But in a sea of candidates, they need to be loud and vibrant to be recognized and heard and taken seriously. There are endless pamphlets and leaflets, and political rallies and fundraising, and signs and photos everywhere.

Jack hates it. Half the fun is watching him lose his mind over the campaigns. If he wasn't forbidden from attending the public rallies (she doesn't want the public to be influenced one way or another, and Jack represents Derse's interests as much as she does) she suspects he would go just so he could bait the candidates into screaming matches. She deliberately leaves leaflets lying around, just so she can listen to the soothing sounds of Jack raging out over someone's ill-thought-out campaign promises.

Sometimes, she feels that he's even more devoted to the concept of a monarchy than she is, since the very thought of electing a leader disgusts him on a deep level. She says as much as they watch a campaign speech by a Prospitarian over the Fenestrated Walls, Jack steadily bitching through the entire speech. She sits up on his desk, and during a break in his rant, she says, "I'm a little surprised that you never considered running. Prime Minister will be a powerful position."

"Not powerful enough," Jack leans beside her, eyes still fixed on the screen, "I'd be an idiot if I gave up Archagent for something that's not guaranteed, and is just a bunch more work than what I've already got. And then there are all the fucking yokels you've got to play nice with just to get a vote. If you offered me it, I might take it. But I'm not fighting anyone for it."

"How powerful would it need to be before you'd fight others for it?" The question isn't exactly rhetorical. She and Jack have kept their relationship quiet, but enough of the Tower staff knows, and there are plenty of rumours. It comes out now and again, and the answer is always the same: Derse doesn't need a King, and it especially doesn't need Jack Noir as a King.

He meets her eyes, "We both know what I'd expect. And we both know I'd be better at it than him," Jack is the only person on Derse who would dare say that to her face. And he's the only person she would ever allow to be so insolent and flippant about her deceased husband, "But there's a difference between taking power, and letting the uninformed masses decide if you should have it. The only person who decides how much power I have is me. And you," He reluctantly adds, scowling a little.

She loves him. But he will never be the King of anything. The bombing crisis decided that once and for all. What he accomplished in less than a day's time was astounding, but also terrifying. Jack is impatient, violent, vicious, single-minded and determined. He's a tyrant, pure and simple, and that makes him an excellent Archagent, but an awful King. So she simply kisses the top of his head to annoy him, and turns her attention back to the debate.

Despite her attempts to stay neutral, there are a few candidates who push for her endorsement, and a few more that claim to have been condemned by her. The PLF's candidate does her best to claim she's been censored, but the Queen is careful to make sure that she's allowed to do everything the other candidates do, even if she's a reprehensible person. This first election needs to go well and if that means tolerating such a hateful person, then she'll be tolerated. And once the election is over with, she'll let Jack go ahead with his 'investigation'. She's still a Queen after all and only bound by laws when she chooses to follow them.

Henry Gris doesn't seek an endorsement, but he does request to meet with her. This proves to be one of the more difficult decisions to make. She has no interest in meeting with him, professionally or personally. There's nothing more to say to him. But if another candidate requested a meeting, she would acknowledge their request somehow. She tries not to meet face-to-face with the candidates, but she has had either Jack or the new Crestenvoy attend the meetings in her place. Sending Ms. Paint to meet with Henry Gris seems cruel. Sending Jack is nothing but an incident waiting to happen.

She finds a compromise of sorts. The Queen calls him from her vanity mirror, setting a clock to keep track of time. Fifteen minutes it all he gets. Henry answers promptly, and he looks unchanged, except for the uniform, "Your Majesty. Thank you for speaking with me."

The Queen inclines her head, face set into a calculatingly blank expression, "Henry Gris. Go ahead."

He raises a sheet of paper, "Do the ballots look like this?"

She takes a look. It appears to be an exact replica of the ballots, which should be impossible since the ballots have been kept secret to prevent anyone from copying the design, "They do. How did you get your hands on them?"

"It arrived in the mail this morning from a supporter," Henry sets the paper back down, "They didn't say how they'd gotten their hands on them, but they didn't appear to be part of the ballot design committee. If they got them from somewhere else, then I can't be the only candidate that received a package."

The Queen frowns. This is a troubling development, "We'll need to reevaluate the design committee and have tighter control over who has access to the ballots. Your integrity has is appreciated."

"Thank you Your Majesty," Henry visibly hesitates before speaking, "Pardon me if this is inappropriate, but you look radiant."

"Asking to be pardoned doesn't make your comment any less inappropriate," She reminds him. Asking for forgiveness instead of permission may be acceptable to some people, but not to the Queen.

"I'm sorry. I know. It's just… you do," For a moment, she's sure he's about to propose to her. But sense takes hold of Gris at the last moment, and he returns to the proper topic, "I also have some concerns about how the tallies are going to work."

They spend the next ten minutes discussing the finer points of the electoral system and the fraudulent voting measures in place. They aren't perfect of course, but this is the first election, and inevitably things will go wrong. The hope is that they won't go too wrong, and the person elected will be the right person, not the one who figured out how to rig the system.

Henry seems less arrogant, but ten minutes isn't nearly enough time to decide if someone has changed, or if they've simply gotten better at hiding it. She does find that she has missed speaking with him. Ms. Paint has preformed admirably considering she was never meant to be a Crestenvoy, but she doesn't understand how to craft an artful conversation the way Henry does. Of course, Ms. Paint also never unintentionally assisted an assassination attempt, so by default she was a better Crestenvoy.

She silences the timer out of politeness and draws their conversation to a close, "If you have any further concerns, please direct them to the election committee. Good luck with your campaign."

"Wait! Just…" His hesitation is beginning to try her patience. She had hoped he would avoid the personal business, but it appears that Henry is still hung up on her, "Forgive me for my rudeness but… out of respect for what we had, may I ask you a question?"

"You may ask. I may not answer," Her fingers cover near the disconnect button.

"That's fair," Henry doesn't pause this time, and that's the only reason she doesn't simply hang up on him, "Are you happy with him?"

So it seems the rumours aren't just on Derse. She considers how to answer it, and decides that this is one time when she can throw caution to the wind, "Yes."

Henry nods, "I hope it lasts. I really do."

"Goodbye Henry," The Queen disconnects, and sits at her vanity, staring at her own reflection. Her hand goes to the collar on her neck, and she undoes it, pressing her fingers into the fresh marks from Jack. It feels impossible that she ever took the Crestenvoy's advances seriously, and yet, she was ready to let him propose. She idly wonders if she would have gone through the the marriage, and then dismisses the thought. That sort of speculation is pointless, especially when there are real things to worry about.

She closes the collar and stands. Election day is only a few weeks away, and there's a ballot that needs to be redesigned. She'll have time to indulge in this later.

Election night finds the Queen sitting at her window, watching the celebration in the streets. Less than an hour ago, the unofficial totals were released, and Derse's first Prime Minster was named. The Worthy Vanguard is somewhere in the crowd, celebrating with the people he will be leading tomorrow. And she is sitting at her window, watching from afar.

She doesn't mind. The Queen would hardly know how to behave around them. But he knows. He's one of them. The agriculture minister's position is open, and she's heard rumours that Henry Gris may get it. She hopes he does. He needs to be busy, or that clever mind of his will just cause trouble for everyone.

The Queen feels satisfied by the whole affair. There seems to be a real sense of unity in the air, almost like what she saw in the colonies. Not Derse, or Prospit, but just a Kingdom. A few people have attempted to put the names together, but Derspit just sound... bizarre. She doubts it will ever catch on.

The knock at the door shakes her out of her thoughts. She's not sure where Jack is at the moment, but she knows it's not him at the door. He never knocks, "Come in."

The Perspicacious Mediary pokes her head in, "Your Majesty!"

"PM? Shouldn't you be celebrating with your gentlemen?" She stands, leaving her half-finished glass of champagne behind.

"I'm going back right away. But, we wanted to give this to you," PM extends the parcel in her arms. It's large and long, and wrapped with a dark purple ribbon, "It's a thank you. And... a resignation letter."

The Queen isn't surprised to hear this. The Prime-Minister is going to operate out of Prospit for the first six months, then back to Derse for the rest of his term. The Ancillary Reconciler already put in a request for a transfer to Prospit, and it's hardly a shock that PM would follow, though her position isn't one that can be transferred so easily, "Of course. Your service has been appreciated. I'm sure you'll be glad to return home."

The woman smiled, "It will be. But, it's not just that. There's other good news. I found out today," And shyly, she presses a hand to her stomach.

If she were a more open woman, the Queen would hug the Perspicacious Mediary. But she's not, so she smiles instead, "Congratulations. I'm sure you must all be very excited."

"They don't know yet. I'm going to tell them when I return to the party," PM sets the gift down on the Queen's vanity, and without a moment's warning, she reaches out and hugs the Queen. The Queen manages to pat PM on the back, an astounding achievement considering the circumstances. PM draws back, "Thank you, You Majesty, for everything."

"Thank you," The Queen says, and the words sound strange coming out of her mouth, "For everything as well."

It's only after PM has left that the Queen approaches the box. The ribbon opens up with one easy tug, and she flips open the lid. There's a card inside, and something wrapped in tissue paper. The Queen opens the card, reading the Vangard's handwriting. Something to replace what we've taken tonight. She sets it aside, and flips back the tissue paper.

It's an arm. Not a real one, but a prosthetic. She's seen them before. There are enough soldiers who didn't escape the war unscathed. But this is the first time she's seen an arm this detailed, or even vaguely suited for her stature. She reaches out to touch the dark surface, and her breath gets caught in her throat.

And she understands. She finally understands.

It takes some effort to put the arm on, but not as much as she thought it would. It was clearly designed by someone who had lost their limb as well, since once she figures out how the harness works, she easily slips it on and snaps the arm into place. It's a lovely replica, but it's just a replica. Anyone who looks closely enough will see that it's nothing but a fake.

But if you didn't look closely, if you only glanced over while your husband bled out on the battlefield, it would look real. And you would think you were seeing someone with two arms.

The Vault is unattended. The pocket watches sit inside on the shelf, still crackling with unused energy. There is fear in her heart as she sets the watch into the false hand and closes the fingers tightly around it, but there's also excitement, and a giddy sort of hope. She dials the time in, takes a deep breath, and heads into the past.

The Battlefield stinks like blood and death, like the smell will never come out, even though she knows it will some day. There she is, kneeling on the ground by the dying King, and her heart breaks just looking at him. He doesn't see her, but the broken Queen does, with her ragged wings and bloody dress. The pin in her arm glints in the light, as if mocking the Queen across all time and space. And when the broken Queen's fingers try to move off the wound, she shakes her head, watch clutched tightly in her wooden fist. They both watch the King die, and when she can't take it anymore, she just leaves, appearing back in the Vault.

This is where Jack finds her about an hour later, all cried out and sitting on the floor. The shattered remains of the watches lay scattered everywhere, and the false arm is still on her side. He looks at her and doesn't say a thing. Jack just helps her off the floor and takes her back to her room, leaving the broken watches behind.

Outside, the last of the fireworks go off, and the purple buildings of Derse are washed by the glow of democracy.

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