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One: Nigel
"You're seriously willing to cause a schism with Rome over this?" King Regent Nigel said, staring at his wife, aghast.
"If that is what it takes, then that is what it takes," Queen Miranda replied primly.
Then she sighed, and folded her hands in her lap, affixing him with an imploring gaze.
"You know as well as I do that this was a marriage of convenience. The treaties are secured now. It is only fair to you that you seek marital companionship elsewhere. I desire a daughter, and you do not wish for children. It is the obvious route to take."
"I suppose that is a fair point," he sighed. "That is not to hold out much hope that His Holiness will see it the same way."
"What His Holiness thinks will be entirely immaterial," Miranda murmured, "once I have established my own church. And it comes with the added benefit of no longer having to spend any further monies on vassal's tributes."
Nigel perked up. Noticeably. "Might I propose further subsidisation of the royal wardrobe in light of this excellent fact?"
"You may. Although if you dare to so much breathe a word about the additional expenditure, I shall demote you to court jester."
"I already serve that function anyway," he grumbled.
"What was that, Nigel?" she asked sweetly, bending down to stroke the comically large dog at her feet.
"Nothing, Miranda."
"That's right. Oh, yes, Gio. You like a good head scratch, don't you? Yes you do!"
"Softie."
"Court. Jester."
"I retract my statement."
Two: Jacqueline:
"You can't! How - how dare you!"
Jacqueline stared at Miranda in horror. The Queen rolled her eyes and brought down the seal on the execution warrant with a dramatic flourish.
"Not only do I have direct evidence that you are plotting against me, but you have solely seen fit to provide me with a son!"
"What's wrong with Charlie?"
"Look," Miranda glared, "love him though I may, he nonetheless remains a he. When I married you it was under the express conditions that you give me a daughter. You failed. That's all."
"But - but -"
"No excuses - and certainly no interruptions. Guards! Take her to the tower!"
Three: Stuart
Life, death, death, life. Such was the cycle of existence.
But how cruel a cycle it was.
One life for two. Stuart had not engaged her mind as Nigel had, but he had been loyal to her where Jacqueline was not, and unlike the both of them, he had given her what she desired most. Even if it had cost himself to do it.
Miranda stared down at the twin newborn girls squirming in her arms. She had finally gotten her wish, but the victory felt hollow. The body had been carried away, and in due course would be anointed and prayed over and laid to rest in the proper ways.
"Miranda?" her ex-husband called softly from the threshold. "Have you decided names for the Princesses?"
"Yes, Nigel," she whispered. "The firstborn is Caroline. The second shall be Cassidy."
Four: Emily
The reality did not match the fantasy. Well. It had not been fantasy, exactly - rather a (tremendously, falsely) flattering portrait.
The individual stood in front of her now, however?
Intolerable.
Then again, getting married in absentia should probably have been a sign.
"They did not tell me you were a redhead," Miranda intoned. "Was it not by explicit decree that I dictated my girls were to be the only souls in the entire kingdom permitted to sport such a color?"
"Well, if you're going to be like that," Emily of House Charlton replied haughtily, "then I shall take up one of my other - numerous - offers."
"You do that, dear," Miranda retorted. "Although I'd suggest presenting them with a more representative portrait beforehand."
Ignoring the gasp of outrage which met her pronouncement, she paused.
"Even if false promises are more in keeping with your evident status as a vendor. For you are no vision."
Five: Stephen
"Really, Stephen?" Miranda smoothed down the rich purple velvet of her robes and peered through the bars of her (soon to be former) husband's cell.
"Of all the women and men in the kingdom you could have been unfaithful to me with, you chose Lord Ravitz?"
"If you'd just have serviced me properly -"
"Me?" she spat incredulously. "Service you? Let us not forget who is the Queen here. And let us not forget who has the larger member!"
"Like you'd ever let me forget it," he muttered resentfully.
"Now, why on earth would I do that?" she sneered. "Although both you and dear Irving are soon to forget everything."
His pasty, sunlight-deprived face stared back at her in horror.
"After all, it is very difficult indeed to retain any semblance of memory when one's head has been severed from one's body."
Six: Andrea
"So," Miranda said. "Andrea. How does it feel to be the sixth wife of Miranda the First?"
Andrea - for she would not deign to address her by the horribly pedestrian 'Andy' the woman had attempted to request become her official moniker - smiled, and stretched out over the sheets.
"Are you not technically Miranda the Eighth?"
"My ancestors professed foolish fidelity to the Bishop of Rome. For this dynasty, year zero - for lack of a better term - began with me."
"I see," the woman - the young woman, only recently graduated from the category of girl, really - replied.
"You do not seem to be particularly daunted at the title you now hold," the Queen observed. "You are aware of the assorted fates which have befallen your predecessors?"
"But of course. Yet you know as well as I that Sir Nigel would not have recommended me to you in the first place had he not possessed utmost faith in our compatibility and future successes together."
"You are," she sighed, "I must admit, by far the most proficient in the bedchamber."
"Forgive my impertinence, but you made wedding night proceedings terribly easy."
Miranda cursed herself for the furious blush which she felt spread across her features. Really. How embarrassing.
"Hmm," she hummed. "Let us hope they bear fruit."
"Even if they don't, would it really be so terrible?"
"Excuse me?" Miranda propped herself up on one elbow, fighting the urge to scowl as she noticed her indignation dissipating somewhat upon noticing Andrea's eyes sliding down to her breasts.
"Well," Andrea, replied cheerfully. "I find myself relatively ambivalent on the matter of birthing children. And you have daughters already, and quite delightful girls they are, as well as a thoroughly charming son."
She paused, then continued.
"And if my timings are correct - which I am all but certain they are - a new arrival to the household shall be joining us shortly. I trust you will find them a welcome addition."
The Queen blinked, and opened her mouth to deliver a doubtless withering rejoinder. But before she could do so, a knock sounded at the door. Her new wife slid out of their marital bed with all the gracefulness of a three-legged ferret and threw on a nearby robe.
Miranda could only watch in stunned anticipation as Andrea padded over to the entrance to their bedchamber and cracked the door open ever so slightly, concealing the view beyond from the Queen's vantage point.
"Oh, good morning, Lily! I see you come bearing the gift I arranged."
"That I did, your highness," the lady-in-waiting replied. "Here you are."
"Thank you so much! Have a wonderful day!" Andrea turned and kicked the door behind her. She had to, after all. It would have been impossible to use her hands.
Because both were full of a chunky, squirming Saint Bernard puppy. Whose big brown eyes were as innocent as Andrea's big brown eyes were mischievous.
"We can see about another daughter in the future, but at the moment? I have this girl for you."
Miranda's heart clenched. "And just where did you get this idea?"
Andrea bit her lip and offered her a lopsided grin.
"Nigel told me how much you loved Gio - if that wasn't already apparent by the whole six months of national mourning you declared when he passed. I thought you might not be opposed to another furry bundle running around."
"You did, did you?" Miranda breathed, but any final attempt at nonchalance was firmly extinguished by the shift in her countenance that could only be accurately (and humiliatingly) described as 'melting'.
Andrea nodded vigorously. "Yes." Then, slightly sheepishly, she added, "And I also pieced together that the only former spouse of yours who did not end up beheaded, dead or banished was the only one who bequeathed a dog to you."
"Fair enough, I suppose," the Queen said, biting back a rueful laugh at what really was an admittedly astute observation.
Miranda climbed out of the bed and walked over to her wife and the puppy, caring not one jot for her complete nakedness.
Neither did she care that the dog proceeded to cautiously sniff - then enthusiastically lick - her outstretched hand.
In fact, she found she rather liked it.
Queen Miranda the Eighth (or First, depending on who one asked) was by no means renowned for her gentleness. Quite the inverse, in fact.
Yet gentle was the slow, steady beam which lit up fearsome features as she whispered, "Well hello there, Patricia."
Six times, Miranda had attempted to wed a spouse suitable in all ways.
Five times, she had failed.
But the sixth?
The sixth time? Why - the charm.
FIN