Private All the King's Horses

[Mahaut]

Expect poison from standing water, and that you will find at Avibauges' pediment.

So began the L'éloge de Gwenaël.

Or else, so swore Gabin.

Mahaut didn't ask because she had reason to believe he contorted her dictations, but because she had every one to skepticize lines of dried ink holding the meaning of speech. That sounds could be uttered, caught midair, and pressed into paper. It left a wonderful and a terrifying impression all at once, that something may play her larynx after six feet of dirt stopped it up.

All she could think about in the mine shaft was what to say, what to have him write, next. She dare not practice her speech aloud, but as she swung at the craggy walls or panned for small crystals of Phrik, she rehearsed in her head. Even so, she said too much to herself, and such also to her ghostwriter, because there was so much to say. Her ramblings filled out tree innards which were hard enough to get their hands on from the few traders that would brave the highest and most mysterious crests of Illyria. No one, she was convinced, knew her hamlet existed, let alone her or her countrymen of barely a hundred. And surely the traders forgot after leaving. She never saw any two faces twice.

Everyone, but nearly no one, happened on Gwenaël by chance.

Maybe that was why Lord Achille had began his subjugation.

Well-played.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

The mountains of Illyria were far and wide. Several noble lords laid claim to these rolling hills of rock and metal. It was their duty to ensure the resources of the mines were promptly released to the Director of Economy so that they could be utilized by the Illyrian Government and the Illyrian Metalworking guilds. Most lords employed a number of "mining towns" which were mostly inhabited by the many refugees that have been brought to Illyria over the past year. In exchange for a fair wage and citizenship, the townspeople would enter a contract agreeing to work the mines for a prearranged amount of time. Generally, the longer a person's contract, the more their wage would be. No refugee would be building any riches from this arrangement to be sure, however it allowed for an honest wage for honest work, which was all the decrees of the King called for.

Fair wage. Fair work.

Most followed this guideline closely, so they would not raise the ire of the King and his adjudicators.

Most. Not all, but most.

Baron Desmond Achille had turned his eyes from the decrees of the King. Pride and Prosperity were the words of the humble House Achille and for Desmond, he took those words to the center of his heart. Achille was a characteristically young man with charming features. To others he often seemed open and positive, however in the dark he was another individual entirely.

He was a monster.

The town of Gwenaël had long since been a pain in the Baron's side. However, recently it had become more than a pain. It had become a threat. Were the Baron's actions to be found out by the King, he would have a great many things to explain. This thought did not please him.

While night had fallen on Gwenaël, it was certainly something that would be short lived in terms of rest. Above the mining town a number of repulsorcraft began to fly overhead, drawing dangerously close to the mediocre buildings the townspeople lived in. The craft were loud and shined down a number of spotlights into the town, most falling on the town square.

In short order a number of House Achille's security enforces began to move through the town. They had come from the main road in such numbers it could only spell ill for the townspeople. They marched through Gwenaël, armed with their blaster rifles and seemingly prepared to use them with deadly intent. Behind them was an odd platform-like repulsor craft, standing upon it was the Baron himself, his grey-blue eyes falling over the town with a look of utter disappointment.

"Rip the filth from their slumber. Bring them to me." He decreed with a passive wave of his hand. That was when it began. Blaster fire echoed out as the townspeople were ripped from their homes, herded and forced towards the center of the town. Those who resisted...well they soon were limp and cold. The Baron stood in the center of the town, gazing down at the crowd of people and tsking audibly. "Tsk tsk tsk....Is this how you repay my generosity?"

"My friends...I have devoted every waking moment to preserving a way of life that you may all find suitable to your needs." His tone was empathetic and charismatic, however it seemed as if he was this way for himself...no single person in the town believed this man cared for them, not even the children were so foolish. "Still...you act as heathens set upon savage lands. Order must be preserved, dear people of Gwenaël. Taxes must be paid, wages must be waived, and yes...blood must be shed. Such is the decree of our King, Adron Malvern. Such is the decree you all agreed to serve loyally to."

"I am so very disappointed in you all. It feels the people of this town do not respect the generosity of House Achille. So it is with a heavy heart that I inform you all that the next year will be a difficult one. Not because of me...but because of you." He said, pointing an accusing finger to the gathered crowd. He exhaled, clearing his throat and raising a hand. "But perhaps...Perhaps all can be forgiven? Perhaps we can move past this and truly set ourselves together on a path of prosperity."

"I need but a gesture of loyalty." He said, pulling a small, ponderous book from his satchel. It was bound in rough leathers and sewed together roughly. "Who has written this?" He demanded.

The Baron threw the book down onto the ground before the townspeople, exhaling when none of them spoke. "Who has dared to slander my House so brazenly? Who?" He demanded once again, yet when no one spoke the man shook his head disappointingly. "Then...we can not be friends." He looked to his Captain of the guard, gesturing to the crowd albeit briefly. "Execute a few of them. See if that loosen's their tongues."

With that, the security officers surrounding the crowd moved forward, ripping no less than four people from the crowd. They pulled an old seamstress into the middle of the clearing, along with a father of three young boys, the mining commissioner, and a local drunk. The four of them were set in a row, their hands bound as they had black bags slipped over their heads. Two members of the House guard stood before them, checking over their weapons while the Baron watched the spectacle with little interest. No pleas were answered, no cries were acknowledged. The Baron watched it all play out and it was quite obvious he had no intentions of stopping the execution.

This was no bluff, no nightmare, this was reality.

Mahaut

 

[Mahaut]

Drink not water after work, but eat of gelatin flooding Lakes Gelée. Choose, the fruits of your labours or the deaths of your countrymen. Die yourself by vomit of mountains barren made or a baronman’s gun.

Eulogy was a strong, satirical title word.

Praise of Gwenaël’s dead was not uttered by its citizenry but its Lord. Such value of human life he could hold in his hands, but glinting credits took their place. Mountains and mountains they were in count and mass, like the Avibauge Range’s many squalor mines. Poisonous mine water, made thick with mud and seasonal snow slush, ran from every shaft, active on in-. Illyria’s blood flowed from there on downhill, joining rivers that deposited them in miniature lakes near the village’s outskirts.

They were called gelatin behind Achille’s back for a reason.

And now those whispers were in his ear. Mahaut’s whispers, unvoiced but ever pronounced. Merde. That traitorous tree! The earth was truly his even in death. Was there to be no help for the people? Had no one answered her call, but to bring that damned book back and doom them all? Had the trader they had sold it for nothing though he took pity and tried to give them all he could spare not reprinted and dispersed the manuscript as he promised to?

Fine then. If none was to come of her vain effort, at least she could deliver her people from the horror she had wrought. She didn’t believe a word of her Lord, but what other was there to?

The redhead began to step forward in the crowd, but was restrained from behind.

A flash of hope. Achille didn’t know he was hunting for two authors: an orator and a ghost.

Mahaut turned in Gabin’s arms to see the same realization flash across his eyes. “Go,” he began in hushed tone, drawing her closer to him so she may hear over the pained cacophony surrounding. “I will—”

“Non, Gabin,” she whined, pushing him to express displeasure, not gain distance.

“We do not have time to argue.”

“The more reason to listen to me,” she continued, hissing now. Mahaut cast a forlorn glance over her shoulder. She could not see the executions for all the folk, but she could spy Achille in all his tyrannical glory, and that was much worse. Gazing upon his, she could almost see the future that the scribe’s apprentice had set his heart on. His head. Resigned to. Both eager to look away from the Lord and hesitant to turn back to Gabin, she did both, and pouted. “I cannot write, but I was the mastermind. Let me.”

He nodded. He knew well. What he had been doing for her for the last months had not been simply an exercise to further his own craft. “You are a storyteller whether you can write or not, Mahaut,” he reminded her as he untangled them. The moment he did, he pushed her behind him, switched their places, and nudged her further still towards the back of the crowd. “Tell a story!”

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

The Baron looked down on these people. He looked down on them the way other Nobles looked down on House Achille. Regardless of what they thought, regardless of what anyone thought. the Baron was a ,am dedicated to the advancement of Illyria...behind a strong and determined House Achille. When no one stepped forward the Baron turned his eyes to the Captain of the guard. Almost as if ordering his laundry to the cleaners, he nodded his head at the Security Captain.

The Captain looked to his men, pointing a harsh finger at the townspeople they had gathered for execution. "Blast them!" He ordered. The blaster fire echoed out to the point where the few trees surrounding the mountain range shimmered from the echo. Four bodies collapsed onto the dust-covered ground, lifelessly laying in the dirt with cold eyes. When the deed was done, a number of the Security Officers dragged the bodies away, back towards the mines. A sad fate, to know those mines for years only to call them your crypt.

After the bodies were drug away Baron Achille stood on his platform once again. "A sad day." He said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and coughing into it for a brief moment. "Justice will be done...This I promise you." He breathed out before the Captain of the Guard walked up to him, whispering into his ears some poison or another. The Baron grumbled before nodding at the man. "Very well. If you believe it will bring results." The Captain nodded before turning from the Baron and making his way to the gathering of townspeople. As the Captain walked, the Baron spoke once again. "Remember, this is the price you all decided to pay."

The Captain walked along the rows of people with two of his men behind him.

He moved fast.

The young Zabrack girl he snatched from the clutches of her mother could not have been but four years old. When the mother screamed, the father stepped forward to take his daughter back only to be beat into the ground by one of the security officers. As the mother's screams filled the air, the Baron watched the small girl pass his podium. He shook his head, but otherwise said nothing against it.

That was when the Captain pressed his blaster pistol into the girl's temple.

"Five seconds..." The Captain called out. "You have five seconds to show yourself, or I will kill this alien girl!" He yelled out angrily.

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two..."

Mahaut

 

[Mahaut]

Slay me if I call him Lord. Deliver me not to heaven if there he will meet me ever again.

“Stop!” Gabin bat his way, shoulder to shoulder, through the crowd and emerged near the side of the beaten father. “Have your author!” The scribe’s apprentice would have demanded Achille leave her, all the rest of them all, out of this mess, but anyone who knew the baron knew better that deal his ultimatums.

Gwenaël was bound in solidarity over years of enduring hottest flame of shared abuses. None would fault Gabin for leaving his order unuttered. But they would blame him his sin. Not because they thought it one as their Lord did, but because it had brought fire and brimstone down upon them all nevertheless.

Mahaut shook horrored shock from her shoulders. Her friend’s plan became plain to her. Save her. Allow her to slip out of town, once and for all. Public executions were rare, and even rarer was such a gathering of all to it as Achille so hated his people to shirk work. The night provided the best excuse to do a feat that none had managed into all the years of Achille’s iron reign.

If her book had not propagated but rebounded, it was up to Mahaut to tell her story, with her own words. Their story with theirs.

The eulogy of Gwenaël.

Je suis tellement désolé, she thought, a prayer for forgiveness, as she slipped out of the town square and took to a muddy alleyway between two houses. She found as she passed that one of them had their kitchen shutters still open, and she reached in to snatch a paring knife off a cutting board surrounded by fruits in various stages of rot. She wiped mold off the stubby blade on the shawl tied about her waist.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

A loud snap could be heard across the clearing as the man gave his confession. It was a snap so pristine, so crisp that it seemed as if it had been rehearsed time and time again. It was such a horridly pure sound that all fell silent to see the Baron who stood over them all. His lips were contorted into something grim, a sneer that made the very emotion of happiness into a mockery. The man who had been renowned in the lower courts of Illyria for his charisma now showed some hellish grin.

His hands came together in a slow, oppressive applause. How sickening it must have felt for those in the town who stuck close to beliefs of equality and fairness. For the man before them had no hint of the Illyrian justice they had heard stories of. No, he was not a man who reflected the world of Illyria as it is..yet as it was in the hundred year war. Filth, as happy as a hog smothering itself in the filth it had created to nourish itself.

"Now. We will have justice." He finally said, raising his hands as if they were the very will of the heavens above. The man's arms finally dropped and he looked to the Captain of the Guard. "Captain, please." He said, gesturing towards Gabin. The Captain threw the girl from his clutches, allowing her to retreat back to the open and thankful arms of her grieving mother. The Captain of the guard walked over to Gabin, holstering his blaster pistol while walking over to the man.

"Keep them back!" The Baron called out. That was when the Security Officer forced the people back, pushing and beating them until some finally began to grow agitated and brazen.

They struck back.

A Security Officer was thrown from his feet, slamming into the ground as the young Zabrack girl's father beat his rock-like fists into the man's jaw with no mercy. The people cheered and roared, some approaching the security officers bravely.

Zap! As fast as it had begun, it was over. A blaster round rained down from above, slamming into the Zabrack's chest, forcing him to fly from the security officer's body. From the skies a number of repulsorcraft lingered, with trained marksmen aiming their weapons down at the people below. That was when House Achille's men set their minds to quelling any thoughts of an uprising.

Blaster rounds flew, slamming into the crowd. All who had stepped against the guard force fell to the ground in a fraction of a second. When the fighting, if it could be called that, came to an end the Baron looked over them with a gaze deeply rooted in hatred. "Filth! You are not worthy the dirt your bodies litter, yet you dare strike at my own guard! I will have order!"

He growled out, before looking to the Guard Captain. "I've seen enough. This is the result of lies and treachery, this is the future of discord we have warned you filth of! Captain, bring me the man's head." The Captain nodded before walking over to the author, slamming a fist into the man's gut before throwing him to the ground, smashing his head against a large rock as he wrapped a hand around the vibrosword that sat on his waist.

Mahaut

 

[Mahaut]

We want not his wealth of riches: Lands, jewels, finery none. Rather, give us the freedom of bones he has cast in phrik.

Mahaut stopped feet before the outskirts of town. She took time she knew she did not have to breathe in deep the morning air. Crisp, but never new. Stagnant and stung with rare earth salts that belonged deep in Illyria’s womb.

What hurt her more: Her pain, or that of her children, blooded and adopted both?

Even if she could read, she would not have the past years, as no book but her irony could be found outside of House Achille. She assumed he read. Heinous cruelty aside, that was a reason she could – would – never be like him. Still, she assumed again that their heroes did not slink away from their manifest duty as she was prepared to.

No, it did not seen right. She would not want to tell a story like that. Even more, she would rather die here than live to dictate the epilogue of her cowardice.

As Mahaut lollygagged on the precipice of greatness, Gabin clenched his fists tightly at his side. Mud squeezed its way into the gaps between his fingers. It was a feeling a free-willed miner got used to, but an enslaved one never quite learned to stop hating. Quiet emotions were the bits of freedom not even a tyrant could bend the knees of. But now, he cherished the feeling fully and entirely.

Achille could have his head but not his fear.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

The Baron was drunk with rage. Not simply at the townspeople who had stood so defiant, flippantly disregarding their place in the world he had created around him. No, his anger had now fallen on Gabin. There were no screams or a plea for his life. It soured the moment of Baron Achille's revenge. So when the Captain looked to Achille, he was met with a stern expression. Be done with it. That was what the man's expression said as he looked to the executor of his will.

Time seemed to slow. The crying of the crowd died down until all that could be heard was the low hum of the repulsorcraft looming above their heads. The Captain drew his blade, a quick flip of a switch causing it to spin and wine as the vibro function came to life. The Captain leveled the blade against Gabin, hovering it over his neck for a moment before his arms came back, touching the skies above.

The Baron exhaled in relief, happy to see this mess would be coming to a close. He could return to his manor in the mountains and find comfort in the warmth of liquor and whatever woman he had for the night. His mind was already forgetting the man Gabin, who had stood defiant to the last.

As the Captain's blade fell, the night left with it. Morning sun poured over the center of the town as he aimed to take Gabin's head.

He sliced through air and wind, yet it felt like brick and mortar.

His fingers ached and the muscles in his arms tightened.

The man groaned, grunting as the blade perched itself a mere inch from Gabin's exposed neck. When it seemed it would not budge the Captain attempted to pull himself from the swing, but he could not move. His entire body felt as heavy as beskar...and that was when the explosion occurred.

The repulsor craft that had loomed in the skies above suddenly exploded into giant pillars of fire, some spilling down onto a small grouping of mining sheds while two of the repulsor craft slammed into each other, attempting to evade whatever hell had been unleashed upon the others.

The townspeople and Security Officers turned their eyes to the skies in unison, each and every face as amazed as the last. The explosions that rang out had only served as a distraction. Blaster fire came from the side of the mountain, precise shots slamming into the chest's of the Security Officers. The men and women scrambled to level their blaster fire up into the mountains, but they could not even see the enemy due to the morning sun flashing into their eyes. They were sitting ducks.

Hell had truly unleashed itself upon the unjust. The Baron stood in disbelief, his eyes wandering from one of his men to another until he looked to his Captain. "What has happened?! What is going on?" The Captain, still frozen where he stood, could only look with disbelief. That was, until a blade passed through his chest. No one had saw them move. No, they could not see them. The members of Le Garde Des Rois were trained proficiently in the Force, so masking their presence was a simple matter. The armored Knights of the Illyrian Guard moved quickly, dispatching man after man, cutting down the traitors with vicious efficiency, yet they made sure that none of the townspeople came to harm.

"Move the civilians back!" The very man that had run through the Security Captain threw his body to the ground, he and three of his men standing between the Baron and his victims, their own vibroblades held up in a defensive position as they were sure to safeguard their charges.

The Baron was no warrior. No, he was a true coward. He turned from the men who threatened him, leaping off of his podium and running for the woods frantically. He watched as his men fell in droves, dying by the hand of the Royal Guard or the marksmen in the mountains. No matter how hard he tried to shake it, he could not figure it out. What had gone wrong???

On the path out of town, Mahaut would see three men approaching her. They wore the shinning armor of the Royal Guard yet they seemed to all but materialize out of thin air. The leader of these men pressed a hand to the girl's shoulder, speaking through the mechanical helmet that fit over his head. "Mettre de côté, mon cher." The man wore the Illyrian royal crest on his shoulder, with the Captain's rank below it to show he was indeed a Lord-Captain of the Guard.

He pulled a lightsaber from his waist, looking up as the Baron ran towards him. "Baron Desmond of House Achille." The Baron had been so occupied looking back that when he nearly slammed into the Guardsmen his feet doubled over themselves, sending him tumbling into the ground. "W-what, no!" He pled, yet there was only a second's time to pass before an amethyst lightsaber came to life, promptly severing the Baron's head from his neck. The Guardsmen stood over the Baron's body for a moment, before finally deactivating the lightsaber. He turned back to Mahaut , pulling the helmet from his head. The Guardsmen had raven black hair and jewel like amethyst eyes.

"Tell me, girl." He held up a small leather bound book in his left hand. "Is this your doing?" He asked, before tossing it over to the girl.

 

[Mahaut]

The epilogue she would dictate came to her in a second, glinting off the men’s pauldrons bright as first light, rays resonant.

Mercy, peace, and justice came on rosy-fingered dawn to cherish and protect us. Battle-born they saved us, covered in his noble blood.

The moment she was hailed to, Mahaut the knife away into some sad grass patchwork. She would have felt bad about the loss of property, but no one would want to keep anything from this raised hell.

When her Lord’s time came, she did not flinch, but nor did a smile tug at her chapped lips. In more ways than one, Achille himself had desensitized her to his death. She did not know exactly what made the newcomer into his judge, jury, and executioner, but she didn’t rightly care either. She knew the verdict to be right, and it was over.

Else, nearly – nearer than it had ever drawn before.

All at once, years of ossified adrenaline dissolved in her veins, leaving her weary. Her entire body was twice lighter than she had just remembered it. She had to crouch down so to not fumble over herself with feathers in her head.

It was strange to admit that she, could she stand, was not brave enough the kiss her savior, the Lord-Captain, conscious of all she had done. Still, she shied to settle for relishing in his voice. Not a hundred had she gotten used to enough to know friend from foe at distance, and a new timbre of another was like a cold glass of water offered to the thirsty.

It was new. It meant freedom.

As he turned back to address her once more, she had to tear her livening gaze from Achille’s glossing one. “Seulement en partie, monsieur,” she answered, standing slowly as she began to feel steady. By that miracle, she caught the autobiography. “You are a quick read, to be sure.” So she thought, having no idea how long it took to do so, but Gabin had said—

“Oi, Gabin!”

Forgetting present conversation, she tried to rush past present company back towards the square.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

The morning shadows hid a good deal of the Lord-Captain's features as he pulled his helmet back over his head. The HUD illuminated, causing the eyeslots to glow in a faint azure tone. "A bit dry for my taste, but it got your message through to the King, so you should not discount the worth of that. Any book that makes it to the desk of the High King has some merit." He assured her, before the woman bolted off towards the town center. The man did not regard her sharply, instead he waited until she was out of their earshot.

"What shall we do with the townspeople, Your Grace?" One of the Guardsmen said, stepping closer to their King in disguise. Adron paused for a moment before looking back to his Guardsmen. "There is a larger city a few hundred miles off the Eastern coast. The Count over those lands is just and fair, most of his people receive very good schooling...send them there." He said, before pausing. "Except the girl. She will come back to the Capitol with me." The two men clasped their fists over their chest, nodding in unison. "Yes, my lord!" The Guardsmen moved past their King as he made his way into the town center.

As he passed the body of Baron Achille he could not think of a more just grave for a more sickening man. The Baron had forgotten his oaths to the crown and turned the world of Illyria into a hell for these people. No, not Illyria. No matter how harshly the galaxy grips the innocent in it's hellish grip it will never be allowed purchase on Illyria, for Illyria was the home of House Malvern, it was the home of his wife and child, it would never be like the rest of the galaxy.

In the clearing, those Security Officers that had survived were gathered in a small group, surrounded by a number of Illyrian Royal Riflemen, It had been these expert marksmen that had made quick work of the Baron's personal guard. Gabin, would have a member of the Guard pressing a cool wet towel into the man's neck. When the Captain had died, his vibroblade had nicked the man's neck. Surely nothing fatal but enough to leave a good scar. As Adron approached Mahaut and Gabin, a number of transport gunships began to loom overhead. The raven haired man gazed up at them before looking to Gabin and Mahaut. "Now that the Baron is dead, this town is being shut down. It's not fitting a mining colony, besides the mines in this side of the mountain seem to have begun to run dry." He turned to look at the people who were gathered in the center of the town. "The King has ordered you all be relocated, under a new man, Count Orin. He will see to it you are all treated well. What transpired here will never happen again on this world." He told them, before the transport ships began to land.

"You two." The man sharply turned to Gabin and Mahaut. "Will return with me to the Capital of Azurine City. You have an audience schedule with the King. After that audience, your new future will await you." One of the transports touched down in the center of the town, Adron gestured towards it while looking to the two. "It is time to leave." He told them.

 

[Mahaut]

Mahaut immediately got to fretting. Profuse apologies and thanks equal flooded from her mouth for Gabin as she offered to take over the Guard's doting station, which they would not give up. Surely the disguised King would not wish to see the poor people lift one more of their fingers here.

All was well, though, for she was soon distracted by the man who had saved her reapproaching. “Oh, monsieur,” she interjected before Adron spoke, still ignorant to his exact pretend title. “Excusez-moi. I am Mahaut and this is Gabin. He wrote for me.” She held up the text she spoke with reference to.

Gabin gave a smile, polite despite his weariness, as moving his neck to swallow, not to mention nod, sent sharp pain cascading into his stomach.

They both listened unto the Lord-Captain, surely, even as he turned his address from them the the people, but watched the gunships instead of him in each case. They were to leave and live fair lives under a noble for whom the King himself vouched? This news was undoubtedly the best critical reception of her publication she could have hoped for, but it still failed to feel real. How could it be that some of the same machines that had oppressed them for so long now carried on their wings freedom?

Mahaut moved to help Gabin to his feet when his attending was finished. Smoothing his arm over her shoulders, she readied to support him to the nearest craft. That was a journey they never set out on; she instead looked from Gabin to the lead Guardsman and back to Gabin. The capital? Why them? They had not ever ever dreamed of azurine. Did it look like phrik crystals?

And what future? Had the King not just ordained it through this man but a moment before?

Had they...done something wrong?

Gabin squeezed his warm comfort into Mahaut's shoulder. Armed with that, she followed after the Adron not Adron.

She had never flown before. Her eyes simultaneously wanted to look below their bird and quite vehemently did not.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

After Gabin and Mahaut were loaded into the transport a number of the Illyrian Royal guard filed in after their disguised King. Four of the men sat down in the seats beside and across from Gabin and Mahaut while Adron stood at the end of the shuttle. The trip from the mountain range to Azurine City was relatively short, less than an hour with the advance thrust-drives that the transports used. For the majority of the trip no one said a word, in fact it was not until the Capital came into view that Adron finally spoke.

"When House Malvern claimed this world it was to ensure there was a beacon of order in the galaxy. The family's lineage comes from Serenno, a world that often displayed a certain pride to the galaxy around them. After the Sith Empire took control the family was ousted from their seat, due to opposing a Sith occupation." The Lord-Captain eyed a datapad in his hands as he spoke, before finally looking up to Gabin and Mahaut. "The other Counts of Serenno were duty-bound to side with the House, but instead they turned on House Malvern and joined the Sith. Their greed, their gluttony, was what led Serenno to fall in terms of pride and duty."

"You can imagine how angered you would be if you took to crafting a world from the ground up, only to see the same roots of corruption that killed your family and drove you away from your homeworld."

"The King abhors Nobles who have turned their backs on their oaths like your Baron, Achille."

Azurine city was a shining metropolis. Clean, organized, and peaceful. Speeders filled the skies in organized flight paths, leading from one part of the city to another. The skyscrapers that lined the city seemed to reach up to the heavens and ever higher. Yet the most marvelous thing was a massive building which was centered in the middle of the city. With flowing crystal waters and pristine fountains surrounding it, the Royal Palace of Azurine was a beautiful centerpiece to an already impressive city.

"The Royal Palace. Not only does it house the inner workings of the planetary government, it is also home to the Royal Family and the High Court of Illyria." He said evenly as they flew around, towards the back of the palace. They found themselves coming down on a rear landing platform, lined with members of the Illyrian Guard. These men bowed their heads as the shuttle touched down on the surface. Adron pulled the helmet from his head, leading the two commoners onto the platform. "Normally audiences are held in the throne room, but for this occasion something a bit more personal was arranged."

Adron passed the helmet to one of the members of the Guard as they made their way into the inner workings of the palace. The interior was

beautifully decorated in pristine halls of azure and gold. Adron led the way until they came to a single door at the end of the hall. He waved his hand at the door, allowing it to slide open into its host before leading the way inside. The room before them was a massive study. Books filled the walls from ceiling to floor and a large desk made of a sturdy dark wood sat in the center of the room. Adron climbed the stairs to the desk, pulling off the armored gauntlets he'd been wearing while speaking softly. "Men like Achille are a dime a dozen, you know?" He said, setting the gauntlets on the desk. The front of the desk was crafted with the seal of House Malvern, the ruling house that Adron had spoke of as they arrived.

"It is people like you who are interesting. When faced with the threat of death you still stood defiant against your fate." He said with a chuckle, as if the very thought gave him some amusement. "Those without power are doomed to suffer at the hands of those with power. A cruel joke of life. No, it is more proper to say that those with power are bound. For they must do something with this power or else it serves no purpose. Baron Achille decided to use his power to feed his greed."

"So i'm curious. Let's say you were to have power like Baron Achille. Wealth, status, and all that came with it. What would you do with it?" He asked, interestedly. His eyes fell upon Mahaut closely as sat down in the seat behind the desk.

Mahaut

 

[Mahaut]

After the flight, Mahaut was not sure how she was able to get up, let alone not stumble like a newborn fawn up the landing platform.

Or gawk like a codfish when she set foot inside the palace – but she did do that bit. She couldn’t help it; she had been mocked by Achille’s manor from her very humble (too humble) house every morning as she awoke with the sun to feed his coffers, but still could not deny the building’s beauty. It was certainly no Royal Palace, but she had gotten used to seeing gilded exteriors. She had just never been allowed to see a golden interior.

Books upon books were in that parlour. Mahaut had not wished she could write or even read once as she worked with Gabin on the Eulogy, since she already knew its contents by heart. But she wished at once in that moment that she could at least do the latter.

Her fantasy dimmed when Adron sat behind the desk. Surely even the King’s most favoured Guardsman would not be allowed such an honour. She felt herself go pale and must have stumbled back, as Gabin took hold of her elbow. “Euh, v-votre majesté,” she stuttered, trying to regain dignity she had lost by twice calling the King a Sir. Her eyes were locked with his. A glance up to Gabin was out of the realm of physical possibility at present.

“I would not open a mine for all the gold in the world.”

Not even the King could change her mind about that, not yet. Not after Gwenaël. Some lessons that were easy to learn were hardest to forget.

{ Adron Malvern }

 

[Adron Malvern]

Oh certainly there was some amusement upon the King's face when Mahaut realized the truth of what had just occurred. His lips had curled into a content expression, something bordering between a smile and a smirk, though it had no ill will to it. Not in this moment. As he sat, the Dark Side of the Force enveloped him, a dark shadow that wrapped itself around him like a blanket of darkness. When the shadows finally misted away from his body he wore a stunning ebony suit with a golden flourish running down the left sleeve. He pressed two fingers to his chin as he spoke, his tone yet like silk to the untrained ears. "Majesté, en effet." He returned in High Illyrian. He was just about to open his mouth to speak when the doors to his office flew open. A number of men wearing ceremonial robes trailed in. Yet, these men were no commoners like Mahaut and Gabin. No, they carried with them a certain weight. Each man seemed e behemoth in their own right, even those who were barely six feet in height.

They passed by Gabin and Mahaut, following the lead of an older man with a distressed look upon his face. The man pressed a fist to his chest, falling to a knee before the desk of the King. "Votre Majesté. Why did you not tell us you planned to dispatch Lord Achille yourself? An Adjudicator was to be sent in your stead. This was not necessary." The older man had a pained expression on his face, yet it was also hidden behind a humbled anger.

Adron glanced over the man as those following him fell to a knee in line. He looked over the crowded office, before eyeing the Officials who followed behind the older man. "Leave us." He commanded, while also turning to Mahaut and Gabin. He stared at the two of them for a spare moment before turning his eyes back to the older man before him. "Chancellor Armand, rise. Before you is Gabin and Mahaut. They were the ones who wrote that little book you found." He said, gesturing to the two commoners. The Chancellor stood, turning to the two and running a hand over his beard in a moment of thought. "Are they really? How considerable..." He looked over the two before averting his eyes back to the King. "If it pleases your majesty, I can take them both under my wing at once. A few years schooling and they could prove bright additions to Illyria's literary standing."

"No." The King stated, walking over to the edge of the room where a small bar was hosted. The man pulled a few crystal glasses from the bar, pouring a fine brandy into them. "Gabin, the boy. He will be immediately enrolled in the Illyrian institute of Literature Arts under the Royal Scholarship program. See to it the Dean provides him with suitable lodging and a Grant."

"The girl, however." Adron walked over to the Chancellor, handing him a glass of the brandy. "Take a sample of her blood. Have it committed to Le livre du sang supérieur." The Chancellor couldn't help but cough as he attempted to take a sip of the drink. "The Book of Higher Blood?! She is of noble birth?" He asked pointedly.

"She is now. We will grant her the title Sieur and give her the lands of...." The man paused in consideration. "Bon Havre." He said finally. The Chancellor paused in consideration before looking to the King uncertainty. "Your grace are you su-"

"I'm certainly not going to begin repeating myself this day, Chancellor. See it done." He said, downing a bit of the brandy before turning back to his desk. After a moment behind the desk, the King looked to the woman for a moment before finally glancing back at the Chancellor. "Also. All members of the nobility must be given a name for their House and surname. Have her registered name changed to Mahaut..."

"...Archam. That sounds suitable." The Chancellor glanced over to the common woman before nodding slowly. "Yes, your majesty." He confirmed before turning to leave out of the office. "I will see to it at once." He paused before turning back to look at Gabin. "Oh, Gabin. Come with me my boy, there are many things that must be done to see that you are enrolled in the next semester, we will get them done much faster with you at my side."

As Gabin followed the man out of the room, Adron exhaled a bit. "The man does his job well, yet he can be a pain." He muttered, before looking to the woman before him. "Now. There is still a great deal you will learn about the Nobility and how you will be assimilated into it."

"However, the scent in my office has drastically shifted since you and Gabin have entered. We will see you bathed, fed, and tended to. Also while we are at it there is a woman who you should meet. As she is the High Lady of the court, you may find you have a great deal to learn from her. She exudes the very fibre of the Illyrian Noblewoman." He stood up, tapping a comm device on his wrist that linked him directly to his wife, Alessandra Creed .

"My dear. Can you join us in my office?" He beckoned her, smiling softly for a moment before turning his eyes to Mahaut. "The Queen holds Illyrian Noblemen to just as high a standard as I do." He promised the girl.

Mahaut

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Mahaut | Adron Malvern​

Soft light pulled through the open window of the large gathering hall that she utilized for meetings with the high-ranking female nobility of Illyria. The raven-haired beauty had slowly fallen into a role designed to both guide and express expectations toward those that represented their name both planet-side and abroad. It was necessary. Diplomats and their spouses traversed the Southern Systems bearing their ideals and name. Should they misstep before some foreign power? Offend them?

It would fall back on their home in a negative light. There were some affronts that even the leaders of the Confederacy could not fix. Her husband often found himself bogged down by state affairs and the needs of the aristocracy but Alessandra, despite carrying the title of Queen, had far more freedoms when it came to demands on her time. She still managed the financial details for the governing nation but Illyria seemed to require a different approach. The inner workings of the kingdom required someone to lead them and or correct them when needed.

Alessandra ensured that the nobility remained satiated and well-mannered so as to ensure that the King was left without headaches due to internal strife. She had little birds in the form of domestic staff that kept her up to date on what she needed to know. Who was loyal and who wasn’t. Gossip and general cattiness were put to rest rather quickly. Alessandra, above all, didn’t tolerate scheming. The women of the court had come to understand this rather quickly. For their poise, elegance, and good nature—They were rewarded with favor and praise.

If they began to resemble snakes this was no longer the case.

This discussion revolved around the need for universal education. It had offended her every sensibility that not all children were taught to read and write dependent upon their class. Intelligence and ambition should be nurtured. Things had changed since the Malvern line had been crowned. Some of the nobility agreed and some did not. Regardless, they would adjust.

“We want to make intelligent decisions that will help Illyria prosper. We deliberately surround ourselves with competent and talented advisors. Take advantage of their wisdom if you find yourself at a loss. The days in which only the history of a family was considered in ascension have ended. We seek those of might, ability, and conviction. Never forget that you are a direct reflection of your house and therefore responsible for your own actions. If you do not possess these traits you do not belong in this room.”

Her words seemed hard. Dark, deep, tawny eyes swept over the faces of those who would likely run to their spouses in tears that the Queen of Illyria despised them. She did not flinch. She meant what she said. She had no use for noblewomen who had nothing better to do than waste time and excessive funds on clothing, jewelry, and banquets. They also held the ears of their husbands. Appeasing them whilst also weeding out the wheat from the chaff was a difficult task. “We will begin by reviewing the education path for minors in all districts. If students are not meeting criteria, we will award additional funds for one on one tutelage.”

“We will also award an allotment for arts, sciences, and physical welfare.”

Credits were not infinite. But, if they did not take care of their own, of the next generation, how could they call themselves the Mother and Father of a planet? How could they be rulers if they did not do what royalty required them to do? Rule. This new reality would take some adjustment but Alessandra was confident that her message had been passed along. Soft murmurs of “Yes, Majesty” caused her to nod her head sharply. She had worked ways into the budget of improving the lives of the lower class by lowering taxes, building new public works, and encouraging new farming techniques that she had taken from Geonosis. The more perishable goods they produced the less they had to import. The more they could export. This equaled revenue and full, healthy bellies. “When we meet in a fortnight, I will require a full account of your progress in these matters. Speak to each of your districts and households and find out where we are needed most, aside, from the obvious. We will begin full electronic documentation of all funds immediately to ensure proper disbursement. If you have any questions you may forward them to my staff through your new Holo-Terminals. It will allow us all to stay connected in real-time.”

The additional of the Holo-Net was considered both a gift and a curse. Some of the nobility enjoyed it. Those who were used to gaining favor through corruption, or, the more conservative officials had much to say on the matter. This was a time of reformation and peaceful change. Illyria was coming into its own and binding itself as a frontrunner world in the galaxy. They could not allow it to slip back into the old ways. “All right. Enjoy your day and be well. Tu es renvoyé.” [You may leave]

Heads bowed in unison while they all softly sang her title.

Queen.

It was still strange to her ears, though, she was starting to get used to it. As the Ladies of the Illyrian Court bowed and made their way out of the hall she found herself remaining stiff as a board until she heard the door closed. “My lady…”, one of her attendants spoke gently, offering her an arm to aid her in standing, but Alessandra politely declined. She could stand on her own.

Just when her lips parted to as if Adron was still in a meeting a familiar voice poured through the comm on her wrist. It was hidden and fashioned into something pleasing to the eye, but, it was no less powerful. It kept them in close contact and for that she was grateful. The request to join the King in his office was not unfamiliar, though, unexpected for this day. “I will arrive momentarily.”

Some of the staff gave her a strange look when she addressed her husband by his given name. It seemed that they had all forgotten it. Always, my King. My Liege. Your Grace. Rarely did she hear the words Adron Malvern any longer unless they were off-world or it came from her own lips. A soft sight caused the radiant woman to come to her full height. Hair darker than onyx fell down her back in velvet curls while she smoothed down the front of a very crimson gown.

It was also something she wasn’t used to. From business suits to lace and crowns…It was a big change. Regardless, it was expected of her. For now—She would adhere.

One of her husbands’ staff announced her presence long before she actually reached the office and the door was opened for her. The King and Queen of Illyria were one. One holy, perfect being, that received equal respect and reverence. “Mon mari [My husband]…”, she spoke lightly, eyes pulling from the well-dressed, handsome King to the rather bedraggled guest he entertained. She did not yet know the context and did not assume. Instead, she made her way toward him and moved delicately around any furniture that might have obstructed her path. It was as if wings were attached to incredibly high heels.

“You called?”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Nothing extravagant. Simple. Commitment, loyalty, affection. All in one small gesture. “Will you introduce me to our visitor?”

 

[Mahaut]

Mahaut cast a giddy glance up at Gabin as the chancellor addressed him, waiting behind to leave. For a moment, she forgot her new environment and, throwing what little poise she mustered for the occasion, wrapped her friend in a tight hug. "Thank you," she muttered, "and best luck." Her happiness for him was unhindered, and unrestricted by thoughts of never seeing him again. That fearful realization would come some time later.

With him out of the room and onto his own future, Mahaut's anticipation could be refocused exclusively to hers. She turned back to Adron and suddenly became conscious of the wrinkles in her bodice dress' petticote. Clasping his hands and hanging them at lap-height she decided was an acceptable cover for fixing – in this case, smoothing down – one's wardrobe. Not affront but embarrassment struck her as the King mentioned the smell. In part, her smell. She wanted to apologize but found no rational reason to. By not sending an adjudicator in his stead, he had seen the true squalor of Gwenaël.

Otherwise, offence might have rightly been meant.

She forgot how long she had been waiting, fiddling with her scrappy assemblage, the very moment she saw the Queen. Mahaut did not remember seeing so much fabric on one person in her life. In truth, she would have been hard pressed to find a small family in Gwenaël that could be outfitted in entirety by that one dress deconstructed. At some point and with a shake of her head, Mahaut managed the sense to curtsy. Perhaps surprisingly, she failed to stumble; Achille had beat the respectful gesture into her as her did her kin – and she, as they,had the lashed back to prove it.

{ Adron Malvern + Alessandra Creed }

 

[Adron Malvern]

Amethyst eyes swept over a few fresh sheets of paper that had been placed before the King's desk. He glanced over them briefly, but ultimately dedicated no time to them. It was not until Alessandra stepped into the room that Adron's lips curled into a knowing smile. Those amethyst eyes which looked to his papers in such distaste now looked to the Queen with a pleasurable gleam. "Ma chérie." He smiled at the pleasant kiss she placed upon the crown of his head, yet in the next moment he stood to cure the Queen's curiosity.

"The Lady Mahaut Archam, Sieur of Bon Havre." With a flourish of his hand he gestured to the common woman, yet alessandra could easily read the amusement in his voice. "The Court needs new blood, blood that is not so mired in pride and the routine of Illyria's woebegotten past. A past that I'm actively closing a chapter on." He said, his eyes falling on the Queen as he spoke in a rather disgusted tone. "Now that the late Baron has been removed from his place there will be a minor upset at Court. He held a single seat in the High Court but it only takes one seat to upset the balance." Adron said before waving his hand at the talk of politics.

"The Lady of Bon Havre will need to be well adjusted, my dear. Only you can do this." He said, clasping his hands together before looking to Mahaut. "Ladies of the Court cannot be dressed and behave as tramps. Alessandra can teach you the etiquette, fashion, and customs that will allow you to survive your new world."

"My expectations of you are not shallow, Mahaut Archam." The man took hold of his glass before looking to Alessandra warmly. "I would not expend my beloved's time otherwise."

"As it is. There are a number of details that will require your attention in the coming days. Your lands will be inspected before a legal transfer can occur. All accounts tied to these lands will be transferred directly to you. Since Bon Havre is a refugee town it has a considerable tax exemption, just like your mines did. It will be your responsibility to better the lives of the people there, as I have done with you."

Mahaut Alessandra Creed

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Adron Malvern | Mahaut​

The foul odor that lingered in the air was not lost on her.

If she questioned as to why there was such a bedraggled young woman seated within the confines of a King's private office; there would be nothing about her demeanor that would give it away. A partial smile lingered on crimson lips when the voice of her husband met her ears. It was smooth. The Illyrian accent on his words was always something she looked forward to. It was a culture being written anew. It was pride. Adron rose and her body angled toward his. Her free hand came to rest on his side while her temple pressed briefly against his shoulder.

The half-embrace was not protocol.

The wide variety of peacock advisors they had would have scolded her for it. Alessandra refused to care. While he was indeed the Illyrian King - He had been her husband first. She had claimed him long before this Kingdom had. No matter who it annoyed, no matter who complained, she would be twice damned if she let anything come between them. Especially, a cadre of grumpy old men. "A pleasure to meet you Lady Archam...", she responded lightly, though, the rest of her words were stilled while Adron explained. It was abundantly clear that this woman was not a traditional lady of the court.

The story behind it?

Sadly, it was a far more familiar tale. Corruption. She didn't need to know the exact details to see the after-effects of neglect and a status quo that saw those most in need decaying on their knees in squalor and poverty. The disgust that ran through her partner, her husband, also ran through her. The very meeting she had just ended had centered around the continued efforts to rectify the sheer hubris and laziness that had entrapped every level of the nobility. It was a slow process. Weeding through the weak and depraved in order to find strength. Integrity.

The term 'tramp' caused Alessandra to raise an eyebrow.

True or false - It was no longer an acceptable word to use before someone that had ascended. To be a noblewoman within their sight was to be afforded a certain level of dignity. Respect. No one would make this woman feel small, make her feel less than human, ever again. If they tried?

The Queen was many things. Merciful, was not one of them.

Adron levied a lot of information very quickly. Her hand moved along his chest and slid up to touch his cheek, turning his face from the wine, so that she could see his eyes. There was more to this than she knew. "Don't you think that's a lot to take in?"

Alessandra had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth but Illyrian Court was something she was still getting used to. The rules, regulations, and expectations were so high that it could be mind-boggling. The clumsy curtsey was telling. If she had any true formal training at all it was definitely muddled. "I can ready our new Lady for the tasks ahead, however, it will be up to her to execute them. One thing at a time."

Handling an entire area? Was she even prepared for such duties?

This whole moment must have felt so surreal to her. As surreal as if felt to Alessandra when people bowed in the hallways. When reaching out to shake someone's hand was the last thing she should do. It was a different beast - A new world.

"Why don't we have a bath drawn. I'll select appropriate clothing - And we can begin the education of expectations."