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Selena, as a very high ranking general, had a fairly thorough understanding of the political landscape. She knew the names of all the foreign leaders, knew the names of their children, their heirs, the manner in which their militaries were structured, and even had a rapport with most of the foreign generals. She was updated when these things changed, to the best of Emperor Vigarde’s knowledge, and to the knowledge of their spies. It was all friendly, the peace had lasted for so long no one even bothered to obscure this knowledge.
But she’d never met any of them. Not King Jehanna, before his death. Not King Fado, King Hayden, or Pontifex Mansel. Not their spouses, not their children. She knew about some of them. Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika were destined to be friends with Prince Lyon due to their mothers’ close friendship, but she didn’t know the twins, and she hadn’t met them. She knew General Forrest, the head of Frelia’s army, and had kept up a correspondence with the High Knight-Priestess of Rausten, a queen in her own right, who had chosen to abdicate the throne to follow what she thought was her divine duty.
This changed when King Jehanna died. His wife took the throne, and Grado had sent a delegation to the funeral and coronation, as Lyon had fallen desperately ill, and the Emperor could not leave his side. The prince was a toddling child of two, and the king had wished for his wife to take his place, to lead the country after his death. And Selena had been the forefront of the Gradoan party, the delegate destined to speak with Queen Ismaire and give Emperor Vigarde’s sincere condolences, and heartfelt well wishes for an easy transition of power.
Selena’s first impression of Queen Ismaire was that of a woman held back by her grief. There was still a sense of power in her positioning, her skirt flowed out from her careful positioning on her throne, her back straight and her hair a river of red on the green of her dress, touched on by delicate, golden jewelry, but the throne dwarfed her, and she seemed to always half-look to someone on her right, someone who wasn’t there anymore. Her face was lined with a heartbreak Selena recognized, and it hollowed out her smile and her graceful acceptance of other people’s sympathies. It made Selena pause, made her think twice about passing on her Emperor’s well wishes.
She got her turn to speak, and bowed deep. “Queen Ismair, it is an honor.” There was a tiredness to Ismaire’s eyes, and General Fluorspar caught that gaze with her own, and then blinked slowly. “The Emperor sends his deepest apologies, Lady, for not being able to deliver his deepest condolences personally.”
Selena then knelt, and took Ismaire’s hand in her own, and gave it a supportive squeeze, before the Fluorspar got to her feet, bowed again, and paused, thinking about the second part of her intended message. “He hopes that our nations’ friendship will continue to be a boon to both our peoples.” And then Selena flashed a there-and-gone, regretful smile. And then she moved along, as was protocol, as her orders had intended. But she kept thinking of that lonely figure, on a throne too big for her, with grief riding at her shoulders.
It was so rare, for women to have such power in Magvel, Selena knew. She was the first woman general, and queens who held power in their own right weren’t very common either. The thought that Ismaire could use a friend who understood the struggle dogged at her heels, even as she and her people settled into the ambassador’s wing of Jehanna Hall. It was a thought that kept her mind running even after she had formally retired to her chamber. She sat at the edge of her bed, the image of Ismaire unbending beneath her grief and stunning in her strength and her determination stuck in her mind.
Frowning at herself, Selena resolved herself to sleep, and to think nothing of it in the morning.
She thought of it again in the morning, though. And again the next morning. And again and again, without ever seeing the queen again, until the coronation. Ismaire had been, in that throne room, a living, breathing statue, stone unyielding against the wear of life, of her grief. Selena was...struck by her. She found it admirable, she found it...relatable. Balancing the need for firmness, for emotional stability in the face of duty, and the softer, more vulnerable self underneath that duty, the self that had to support the veneer of duty.
Her next impression of Ismaire, two weeks later, was that of a woman who had resolved herself to live. The grief in her face was still visible to Selena, because she knew how to spot them, but with her son by her hip, her gaze was no longer distant, and she only looked to her son, on her left and very much there.
General Fluorspar stood in her row, as Queen Ismaire was led by her son up to her throne, where she accepted officially her role as the head of a nation, the head of all the guilds of Jehanna. There was no crown on her head, but her headdress seemed to catch the light more. The audience applauded somberly, the death of King Jehanna still weighing down the ceremony, and Queen Ismaire stood at the head of her hall, her figure tilted in order to hold young Prince Joshua’s hand, and she held the gaze of all with an expression Selena could only describe as stoney.
And that was it. Her duties in Jehanna completed, the Fluorspar went home.
Still, she had comported herself well, and Queen Ismaire had written Emperor Vigarde about her well-received tact, so it was that she was sent back, relatively often. Fluorspar to Queen Ismaire, bringing Emperor Vigardes missives, letters, and sometimes gifts with a familiar, professional face. A kind, professional well trusted Grado figure, ranked high enough that her use as...something like an ambassador wasn’t an insult.
It allowed Selena to see Ismaire more, and sometimes they spoke. Not really general to queen, but something more casual. Not quite familiar, but not quite distanced. In the time between delivering and receiving, Selena could shed her sense of duty and speak from a place she would almost call her heart. And in that space between, Ismaire was not quite a queen, but more a woman. They were of a similar age, and time kept bringing them together.
Perhaps that was why it wasn’t so odd, that they grew closer. Prince Joshua would eventually come to beam at her when she visited, showing off his gap-toothed smile and holding her hand, while Ismaire sat at a table, smiling at the two of them in a dreamy, pensive manner. Selena could look up to Ismaire, Joshua clinging like a monkey to her shoulders, and think: I would die for this woman.
Instead of being a cold stop, when Selena brought it up in a quiet moment between them, Ismaire took her hand in a slow, graceful motion. There was no shadow between them except for the way the lighting cast Selena’s shadow against Ismaire’s own. “Could I kiss you?”
Ismaire smiled, and brought Selena’s hand up to hold it against her heart. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”