Private Lady Clara Vere de Vere

[George Vitalis]

Natasi Fortan

Somehow even after all these years his mother had a way of making him feel like a small petulant child with nothing more than eye contact and a quick facial expression.

He already felt bad about rubbing her face into the fact that because of her past choices George and Reima had basically been alone. Reima had never made a secret of her feelings about it. George on the other hand had always tried to keep it inside of himself, instead of acting out towards Natasi.

Maybe that was why it came as a surprise.

But he couldn't help himself. He had always been the dutiful son, while Reima acted the rebel. And the one time that George intervened, accidentally but intervened regardless, it was as if his entire past did not matter anymore.

He had not handled according to expectations. That was all that mattered.

"I do not air our dirty laundry, mother." George said stiffly at her reminder that he should not talk about his sister or Draav. "I will not speak of them unless the Prime Minister or your Grace requires me to make a public statement drafted by their or your office, I assure you."

The cat brought some gentleness in his stiff posture however and he reached out, scratching the creature behind the ear.

"She doesn't mean it, sunshine. Come on, I will bring you somewhere with treats." Somehow George managed to pick up the cat without being scratched and the creature even purred at him as it curled into his arms. "Whatever steps are required me, I will do, your Grace. As always. We will speak about it soon, I am sure."

Then bowing.

"By your leave?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The Sovereign allowed her eyes to linger on her heir for a few moments, wrangling the cat that had been oddly fascinated with her for a little more than a week. It seemed content to be carried off -- or, at the very least, picked up.

The last few days had exposed things about her son that she would have preferred not to know. And about her daughter, and her one-time would-be son-in-law. But George's feelings about those not of their breeding were troubling to her. Natasi had been accused of being cold and remote, of being imperious and domineering, but she could never have been credibly accused of classism. She treated everyone with equal detachment and equal outward charm.

That was just good sense.

She wondered about a Sovereign that had such contempt for a majority of his would-be subjects. How could such a constitutional monarchy survive? And critically, had she been mistaken in her attempts to so jealously guard the prerogatives of the Crown, if that Crown came to rest on the head of a man so clearly hostile to the people who made up the country?

She realized she had been staring at him thoughtfully for longer than she intended, and blinked, then smiled faintly. She stood and went to him, leaning over to kiss his cheek lightly. "Forgive me for stating the obvious -- this business with your sister has me on edge. Of course you don't." Natasi dragged her index finger on the cat's forehead, scratching gently. "Sorry, one more thing. I... we are eager, of course, to avoid scandal around Captain Draav, and it seems from her request that she wishes to soften the blow. You have been closer to Reima than I -- well, for obvious reasons -- so I'm afraid I need to ask."

Natasi allowed her eyes to meet George's, and he would read her anxiety and discomfort plainly in them. "Is your sister at risk for scandal? Does he know things about her -- " She fell silent, frowned, cleared her throat and tried again: "Is there anything -- in her past, or -- just, is she opening herself up to be humiliated, if Draav is feeling vengeful?"

George Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

Natasi Fortan

He did notice that look that went on too long, but George didn't know what was going on in her mind.

In some ways the young man knew that they were different. Natasi didn't share his opinions, opinions formed from a youth spend under Thaddeus' tutelage. But his opinions weren't that strange... in some ways, it was Natasi who was the odd duck out and Reima. If they had gone back to Galidraan and asked the ancient houses what their thoughts were about peasants and the low-born, suddenly George would be seen as a reformer himself.

After all, he didn't have disdain for the lower populaces... unless they tried to reach and grasp for things that were above their station. As long as everyone knew their place, it was just fine.

He considered their House and other noble houses as shepards of a flock. You didn't hurt your flock, but neither did you invite it into your house to share your table, unless you wanted a mess inside that you'd be forced to clean up afterwards. This was just general sense, but George knew better than to voice it.

"It's okay, mother." His expression softened as she apologized for the assumption. "I think this situation has all of us out of sorts." He leaned in and kissed her forehead softly.

"I will do what I can to smoothen out any tremors that might appear from this."

His brow furrowed however when the question returned to Reima's reputation.

There George hesitated and perhaps that hesitation would be enough of an answer in itself to Natasi.

"I am not aware of anything that would cause too many waves. Maybe some awkwardness and some gossip, but if it comes to that, I will personally intervene in the matter."

It would not be hard to discredit someone like Draav if he stepped out of line and tried to take revenge on Reima.

There were always skeletons in the closet.

If only George knew just exactly what Reima's former partner was up to now, it would have made things much easier for him.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi gave her son a look that suggested that he perhaps had not write any checks that his body and breeding could not cash, but she said nothing. "Very well. You may go. But once you've spoken to Petyr please send him to me. Tell him to bring Reima's engagements diary." She went back to her chair and sat, beginning to work through the dispatch box. When Petyr Kenat knocked and entered, she summoned him, invited him to sit. "Where are we with the Prime Minister?" she asked.

"She'll be here at ten, ma'am." Natasi glanced at her watch and nodded distractedly. "You asked for the Princess Royal's diary." He produced it. "I've taken the liberty of starting to review what can be postponed and what can be handled by others, if Your Majesty does not object."

"I do not," Natasi said. "Mr. Keswick's note suggests that she intends to maintain her schedule of engagements, but I would prefer to have contingencies in place if that should change. The problem is that there are only four of us, so the absence of one will be noticed." She took the diary from him and studied it. The first thing she noticed was that it was full. Not just that she was busy; Reima sometimes had four or five events across a single day. Tomorrow was a light day: a visit to a children's hospital in the morning, a charity luncheon, and a meeting at an RAF function. She glanced at Kenat and shook her head. "Does her office know that she is allowed to refuse an invitation?"

Kenat smirked. "They do, and I have suggested it to them. Mr. Keswick suggested that I was concerned that she might be outshining... well. That she might be the most visible of the family." Natasi raised an eyebrow at that. "Mr. Keswick requested more work for the Princess Royal about half a year ago. Your Majesty may recall that that was around the time that Captain Draav -- "

"Yes," Natasi said sharply. "I recall. I wish I'd noticed then. Perhaps this mess might have been mitigated."

Kenat remained diplomatically silent, but to Natasi that silence spoke volumes.

George Vitalis​

 

[Noema Kintar]

Noema's eyes lingered on the mosaic that stood on a little transparisteel easel on her desk.

Little blue and green tesserae were arranged in a visually appealing manner, row on row, piece by piece, each placed with care and a teeny tiny pair of tweezers and glue, then were surfaced over in something to make them appear perpetually glossy. She had made it herself. Something to calm her down, as suggested by one of the Renascent physicians in the aftermath of her injures at Coruscant.

This one was pretty. There was something about it that drew her in, even though it was neither traditional nor meant to convey any kind of information. Still, she found herself gazing at it sometimes. Usually when the rumble of her office's aircon vent sounded suspiciously like the thrum of a soon-to-collapse ventilation shaft on under-level 9381 on Coruscant.

"Ms. Kintar?" She gasped and looked up. Her assistant, a handsome young man in a dark suit so like hers they might have been standard issue (though his sported a tie), stood in the doorway, eyebrows lifted expectantly. "Prince of Aegis has cleared security. He's in the secure parking lot and will be on the floor shortly."

"Good," Noema said. She stood, tugged her blazer into place, and took a sip of water from the glass on her desk. "Show him into the Signet conference room when he arrives and see we aren't disturbed."

She picked up her datashard with her presentation on it and went into the conference room.

* * * * *

"So to sum it up -- the High Republic will likely be spying on us in ways that we are unable to counter, based on a legal interpretation of the accession and membership agreements signed by member states in recent years," Noema said. Her pale features were illuminated by the corner of the projector screen as she stood opposite where George Vitalis sat on the other side of the table. "Her Majesty's Government has instructed all agencies to comply with the black letter of any agreement that the Queen signs regarding interoperability and intelligence sharing, and the Minister of Security has indicated that the intelligence community is not exempted."

She paused and clicked a button on her remote, the slide changing to another slide.

"That being said, there is also a significant chance that the Republic will be looking to push the bounds of the black letter, and the Minister has let it be known that we are not required to play Marquess of Beryton rules in terms of counterintelligence. The primary areas we expect them to push in on are former First Order entanglements with a particular emphasis on the Queen and Prime Minister and elements of the Ministry of Defense, and unconfirmed reports that members of the Royal Family may have had exposure to the Netherworld and are, possibly, subject to stability concerns on those grounds."

She clicked to her final slide, the cipher of Directorate Six on a plane background. "Questions, sir?"

George Vitalis
​

 

[George Vitalis]

Noema Kintar would notice that the report wasn't leaving George happy.

This had nothing to do with the quality of it, of course. It was impeccable, detailed and Noema delivered it with the assurance that he had grown used from her. But the message was not to his taste and it was exactly what he had feared when these large cogs began to roll. The Heirate was in some ways now at the mercy of the High Republic and its politics.

Nothing too sordid now, the Republic aligned mostly with their view on the Galaxy and their enemies aligned with theirs.

But what if in five years this changed? Or ten years?

Once again George wished that there had been another way. A different way, where they could have protected their people and kept their independence entirely.

Nothing so simple, not with the Covenant rising in the Core and piracy infested the hyperlanes coming out of former Black Sun territory.

"Sit down, miss Kintar, no need to be so formal." George gestured to the seat opposite of him. "We shared a cooking plate together and the communal shower, I suspect we will survive some breaches in decorum."

George sighed there and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"We are rightly fucked, aren't we? Maybe not now, but in the future, if the Republic takes a turn. What are your views on the current political situation? Is there a likelihood things will change... taking a turn for the worse?"

 

[Noema Kintar]

Noema didn't sit down at first. She leaned over a chair, bracing herself up on her elbows.

"I wouldn't say fucked," said the analyst. "At last, no more fucked than you were in the aftermath of the Galactic Alliance."

She pulled another datashard out of her pocket and stuck it into the computer. Another set of slides came up on the screen. She had clearly come prepared. "As you can see, the Heirate's naval numbers are much better than they were back then, and with nobody out there building some dumbass superweapon -- Death Star 4, God help us -- the Heirate's supply lines are in the green."

She clicked a slide.

"The Heirate's arrangement with the Republic maintains its own separate political entity, so if something should happen to the Republic, there's no reason the Heirate will necessarily need to follow the same path. But -- you know -- anything powerful enough to push the Republic around will eat the Heirate for breakfast if it wants to."

Noema leaned forward over the chair again.

"How likely is it that your mother will play nice with the Sith and the Covenant? There are rumors that she is -- or at least was -- thick as thieves with Darth Carnifex? Any chance she could get in with Mercy and the Sith Empress?"

George Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

Noema Kintar

He didn't fully agree with her assessment, but that was an emotional thing, not a factual thing.

Obviously George understood that objectively they were a small fish in a large ocean filled with predators. This was the right thing to do, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Having to be swallowed up by a larger entity just to stay safe and then to accept terms.

Disgraceful.

"How likely is it that your mother will play nice with the Sith and the Covenant? There are rumors that she is -- or at least was -- thick as thieves with Darth Carnifex? Any chance she could get in with Mercy and the Sith Empress?"

George sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I wish those rumors would finally die out. My mother was not as 'thick as thieves' with a monstrous barbarian like Darth Carnifex. She was in the unenviable position of having to secure the safety of her people. The Empire was knocking on the front door of Galidraan and just as we have had little choice of being absorbed into the Republic, so too did Galidraan have little choice."

He knew that Noema didn't mean anything by it. This was her job. It didn't make it any easier for him.

"She played the cards that she had and maintained a cordial relationship, because anything less would have turned Galidraan then, what happened to Tion now."

Carnifex had shown just how brutal he could be, when he had glassed that world, even though said region had always been supportive of Imperial-Sith ideals.

"All that to say is, she will not play nice with the likes of that psycho Warlord and her Covenant."

...unless they didn't have any choice, right?

That was the thing. Principles were great, until the barbarians were ramming through your door and threatening to kill everyone you loved.

George did not voice that part out loud.

 

[Noema Kintar]

"Okay," Noema said, holding up her palm. "Take it down a notch, Lord Dynastic Burden."

The beauty of Noema's position was that she was not born or raised a subject of these pompous aristocrats and therefore didn't have to perform submission to them like some of the other toadies around the place.

"I didn't imply anything untoward. Just saying what's out there. Anyway if the Republic defecates the bed like the Alliance did she may not have the option. Might be there will come a moment when she has to make peace with the idea of selling Reima to that warlord's harem to keep the Heirate alive."

It was meant as a joke, of course, but there was a kernel of uncomfortable truth in it. Noema allowed a beat and then ventured uncertainly: "Speaking of the Princess Royal, have you found her yet? And don't ask how I know. It's my job to know."

George Vitalis​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima surveyed the Imperial Suite of the Avalonia Grand Hotel.

It was luxurious enough, to be certain. The materials were impeccable, the decor tasteful and understated. There were five bedrooms, which Reima did not require, but some of them would be repurposed: one for her lady's maid, one for her plainclothes detective, and the spares for her wardrobe. There was an office, in which has been placed a second desk for Oliver Keswick. The communications security was reinforced. The security hardware was reinforced.

Her detective had signed the hotel registry as Lady Lizvet Tormand and deposited several hundred thousand credits' in lieu of a credit card as surety, and informed them that Lady Lizvet Tormand liked her privacy. Arrangements had been made.

"It's no Cerulean Gate Palace, thank God," Reima murmured to Kezz. "But it will do until I find a house that suits."

"You won't be returning to the Palace?" Keswick asked. "In the long term, that is, ma'am?"

Reima was silent for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders delicately. "Who can say? But wherever I land, it will be good to have somewhere to go when necessary." She set her handbag down on the coffee table and crossed to the doors to the terrace and pulled them open. The sweet Aegis air spilled in and she went out onto the terrace. "Oliver, would you arrange a dinner date for me? I need to see the Duke of Westleira."

Kezz's antennae (metaphorical, of course) went up as he followed her out. "The Duke -- Hugo Finn-Camden? The publisher of Camden Media Group publications? Ma'am..."

Reima glanced over her shoulder. Her fingers were nimbly arranging a cigarette in a glamorous lacquered cigarette holder. "The very same," she said placidly. She lit the cigarette and placed the holder between her lips, then took a drag. She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well -- first, I don't think you're allowed to smoke here -- "

Reima snorted, then blew smoke from her nostrils. "They can bill me."

" -- and second: speaking to the media at this juncture -- at any juncture, really -- is a bad idea. The Palace will take it badly. Petyr Kenat will go ballistic. Her Majesty will be... unhappy," he concluded delicately. "It would be seen as incendiary. An act of violence."

The Princess turned away from him, looking out across the cityscape toward Cerulean Gate Palace. "I do not concede that they would object to anything I would speak about to Huck," Reima said coolly. "But if it is a war, it is a war they started. It is not fair that I am the only one made uncomfortable. Ask the Duke to join me here for dinner." She raised her hand to ward off further arguments. "That will be all, Oliver. Thank you."

Keswick hesitated a moment more, then bowed. "Your Royal Highness." He left, already working his comlink.

​

 

[George Vitalis]

Noema Kintar

"Okay," Noema said, holding up her palm. "Take it down a notch, Lord Dynastic Burden."

George rolled his eyes.

"You know I sign your checks, right? If that doesn't mean you are forced to listen to my whining, then I don't know what we are even doing." From anyone else it might have sounded like a threat from a pompous noble prick. But that smirked line of his mouth, the way his eyes shone when they met Kintar's gaze belied the truth.

He was deeply grateful he had someone he could talk to who would give it to him straight.

Who didn't kiss his ass or bowed and scraped at every opportunity. The only other people who he could rely on that were his family. And they were... well, rather complicated of an affair.

"Might be there will come a moment when she has to make peace with the idea of selling Reima to that warlord's harem to keep the Heirate alive."

The swallow that came at that message was genuine however. And it send a cold shiver down his spine, because for all the teasing, Noema was right, there was truth to it.

If it came to it, would Natasi pick the nation or her family?

Was there even a choice? If the Covenant came down on them like a hammer, was there really a choice that wasn't akin to a gun to your head?

He sighed when Noema continued on the subject of his sister.

"I know where she is, just as well as I know that she currently does not wish to see me. She believes to her bones that I set up that situation to make her former fiance look bad." That still pissed him off. As if a man of noble breeding would ever be so cowardly. If George had truly wished to force the issue, he would have simply said it to the man's face.

But he had been... if not content, at least defeated enough in the face of Reima's fixation to let it lie. George had come to terms with the fact that he had no say in the matter. Especially since his mother had been insane enough to let it be. Even conspiring to give the man a noble title, as if putting lipstick on a pig, turned the pig into an eligible bachelor for the Princess of the Realm.

"When the time comes she will approach me, but I am not going to force the issue for now. That could only harm our relationship even more. If that is even possible."

 

[Noema Kintar]

Noema raised an eyebrow but said nothing for the time being.

That was remarkably mature from the Prince of Aegis, a man that she had come to know as impulsive and perhaps a little spoilt.

It made sense for him to give the Princess Royal a little space if that's what she decided she needed.

"That's a tough beat," Noema murmured. "I compiled that report on Draav for the Prime Minister. I didn't like it. I don't think it necessarily reflects who he is -- or could be -- but he's gone down a dark road. You know his family was on Anaxes? And he was here, not there, when the Empire came. They were slaughtered, like much of the rest. I hate to think of what that must be like."

Noema was quiet for a moment. She had been part of the Galactic Alliance at the same time that Draav had been. Both had been disillusioned with it in the end, but for different reasons.

"Anyway, neither here nor there," Noema said, straightening. "Do you want me to put a set of eyes on the Princess Royal? Strictly no-contact, but just -- in case of trouble?"

George Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

Noema Kintar

He listened carefully and quietly what Noema was saying without saying what was on his mind, because George knew better.

Kintar was lovely and sharp as a whip. But she would not appreciate his thoughts on the matter. She wasn't a noble either, she did not and could not understand that it didn't matter what Draav was, could have been or did become. It was a matter of breeding. It was a matter of long family trees and allegiances that were forged before any of them were even born.

If Reima Vitalis had been born the fourth daughter of an insignificant family out in the woods, that was one thing. Then an accomplished and decorated officer might be the best one could make do with.

But Reima was different.

The first daughter of a Queen.

Sometimes George felt insane, as if he was the only one who saw the situation as clearly as it truly was, instead of as they all wished it to be. Oh, he is a good man. Ah, he earned his spurs in the war. There is spine in him and character. None of it mattered. He might have been a saint for all that George cared, but he was not one of them.

And he never would be.

They were slaughtered, like much of the rest. I hate to think of what that must be like."

"It is a situation I wish on nobody, the loss of your parents and family." George said, instead of his thoughts, and he sounded genuine because it was genuine. The fact that he did not find him fit for his sister did not mean he did not feel for a man who had lost his family. Once upon a time George had experienced something similar. By the Balance, he understood that pain. "The stress of it can change a man."

"Anyway, neither here nor there," Noema said, straightening. "Do you want me to put a set of eyes on the Princess Royal? Strictly no-contact, but just -- in case of trouble?"

Their eyes met and George nodded once.

"Caution is advised, Noema. My sister is very good at spotting when she is being managed, even when nobody is trying to manage her. If she finds out she is being followed, she is liable to break a nose and it wouldn't be her own."