Patriot and Queen – Part 08
“What you do from here is up to you,” Cecily said.
She had given Hilda the choice. Understandably, the woman remained cautious until the very last second, believing she was being tricked. The next morning, when she was actually released, she stood there, looking lost, unsure of what to do. The group, however, was already on their way.
They were in a rush. Despite still feeling the effects of a mild fever from her injuries, Cecily politely turned down a place to stay. She stubbornly climbed into the carriage, her limbs still sore and stiff, and lay down on the cramped seat. Every bump in the road made her wounds flare with pain, and the dizziness almost made her vomit several times. Lisa and Aria were careful to look after her. Lisa had finally adjusted to the low-level Aetheria environment, no longer suffering from motion sickness.
They crossed into the Militant Nation’s territory. Though the earlier attack kept them on alert throughout the journey, there were no notable incidents once they entered foreign soil, and the trip, though still hurried, was uneventful.
But the mood had changed. The group had grown quieter, not just from exhaustion but from the attempted assassination. Cecily rested as much as possible, while Aria, still tending to her, seemed lost in thought. Lisa, who typically didn’t keep quiet for long, was subdued as well. Even the men riding horses, save for Harvey, were unusually silent.
On the seventh day after entering the Militant Nation’s territory, the group finally arrived at their destination—the capital of the Militant Nation.
“Wow.” Lisa leaned out of the carriage, her breath turning white in the cold air as she stared up at the towering walls. “It’s so high!”
The capital was a vast fortress city, surrounded by three enormous walls. The outermost wall, the tallest of the three, loomed so high it seemed to blend into the darkening sky. Cecily, now feeling well enough that she no longer needed to change her bandages, sat up and stared at the wall in awe.
It was well past the time the gates should have been closed, yet the guards only gave Arvie a brief glance before opening a small back gate. They passed through the first wall, continued across flatland, and then reached the second wall. Once through it, they were in the city’s lower district. Though it was late enough to be considered nighttime, the streets were alive with activity. The carriage sped swiftly down the main road without stopping, so it was hard to get a good look, but there seemed to be many townsfolk dressed like craftsmen. Each of them was bundled up in thick fur coats.
The third and final wall. What lay beyond it was clear even without passing through. A massive silhouette stood on the other side of the wall. Numerous stone towers jutted skyward, their exterior adorned with intricate carved patterns at every corner. A colossal structure impossible to find in the Independent Trade City.
The main castle of the Militant Nation’s capital awaited them.
“It’s getting late, and you must be exhausted from the journey,” Arvie said as he showed Cecily and the others to the guest rooms. They didn’t even have much time to take in the interior. “Let’s postpone your audience with Lady Zenobia until tomorrow. Please, take the rest of the day to relax. I’ll have your meals brought to you shortly.”
Him and Doris seemed more relaxed now, probably because they had returned to familiar ground. That, and the fact that they made it back safely.
“So, what do you think? Should we call Margot and Penelope while we’re at it?” Doris suggested.
“Sorry, Doris, but would it be possible to see Lady Zenobia now?” Cecily asked.
Behind her, Harvey let out an incredulous “Huh?!”
Cecily turned to him. “Would that be all right?”
“I-I don’t mind,” he said hesitantly. It was clear that he was eyeing the comfort of a hearty meat dish and a soft bed, but Cecily couldn’t afford to let him get too comfortable just yet.
Doris and Arvie exchanged glances.
“We don’t mind at all, but…” Arvie began.
“Yeah, better to get the conversation over with,” Luke agreed. “Also, might as well take me to the sacred swordsmith’s workshop.”
Doris shot Arvie an awkward look.
“Understood,” the strategist said. “Doris, please escort the blacksmith to the workshop. I’ll handle Sir Blethyn and Cecily.”
“R-Roger,” Doris replied, then left with Luke, with Lisa rushing to catch up.
“Let’s get going,” Arvie began, but stopped, turning back to Cecily, Aria, and Harvey. “Actually, before that, we have some preparations to make. Yes, in the meantime, we should prepare you as well.”
“Prepare for what?” Cecily tilted her head, wondering what they needed to get ready.
“It’s been a long journey, and I haven’t mentioned it until now, but…” Arvie cleared his throat. “We’re all… very smelly.”
Cecily was promptly escorted toward the bathhouse. More than ten maidservants surrounded her, quickly stripping her of her clothes. She had barely a chance to react before they carried her into a large bath, where the maids eagerly scrubbed her down, lathering her with soap.
“You’re really filthy!” one maid exclaimed.
“Covered in dust!” another added.
“We’ll get you cleaned up in no time!” a third chimed in.
Her whole body was scrubbed thoroughly—fingers to her underarms, chest, hips, head, face, and even her groin, leaving no part untouched. The pain from her healing wounds stung with every touch, but she had no choice but to endure it. As much as the discomfort bothered her, getting cleaned up took priority. She thought she recognized one of the maids, but she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to speak.
Once her skin was glowing from the thorough cleaning, Cecily was ushered into the fitting room. They began measuring her while she was still naked.
“Your chest is so big!” one maid commented.
“It really is!”
“Why are you a knight?”
They pulled a formal outfit matching Cecily’s measurements from the wardrobe. A dazzling gown with not a single crease, the fabric a striking mix of white, black, and red, with a daring exposed back. Cecily felt lightheaded just looking at it.
“No, no way! I can’t wear this! I’ve never worn anything like that!” she protested.
“All the more reason you should wear it!”
“It’ll look perfect on you!”
“Women should shine!”
Despite her protests, they quickly dressed Cecily in the gown and applied some make-up. When they tightened the waist of the dress, she thought she would suffocate.
“Just as I thought, it looks amazing on you!”
“Perfect!”
“Your time has come!”
The women of this Militant Nation were… bold, to say the least. As Aria had warned her, their exuberance could be exhausting.
“Wow, Cecily, you look gorgeous!” Aria exclaimed when she returned.
Though Aria still wore her usual outfit, her skin had a radiant glow, just like Cecily’s. Apparently, while Cecily was being pampered, Aria’s blade was polished. Cecily had suspected this for a while, but it seemed there was indeed a connection between Aria’s skin and the blade.
Just then, Harvey arrived, looking thoroughly exhausted from his own encounter with the maidservants. Feeling a brief pang of guilt, Cecily bowed her head to him in apology. Harvey simply gave a tired smile in return.
Once everyone was ready, Arvie arrived, having readied himself as well.
“Everything’s ready. This way.”
They moved toward the audience chamber, and as Cecily stood before the grand door that stretched across an entire wall, she couldn’t help but swallow hard.
The person they were about to meet was Zenobia Q. Lanchester. Known as the Supreme Seat, she was the highest-ranking official in the Militant Nation. Cecily wasn’t familiar with the title Supreme Seat, but she understood it to be equivalent to that of a king.
We’re about to meet the head of a nation.
At seventeen, Cecily had never faced anything like this. From what she had heard, Zenobia had only recently taken the title of Supreme Seat. Could she even manage to speak properly in front of someone like that?
Basic negotiations would be handled by Harvey, but that didn’t mean Cecily could relax.
“Don’t be afraid,” Cecily whispered to herself, tightening her fist. She thought back to her defeat against Hilda Cavendish. She couldn’t forget the humiliation. It was that very defeat that had driven her to make this visit, sacrificing any chance of rest.
She was still powerless, and she couldn’t afford to be complacent.
“Are you ready?” Arvie asked.
Harvey nodded, and at Arvie’s signal, the door slowly creaked open. Brilliant light spilled out from the gap. Cecily squinted, waiting for the doors to fully open. Then, following Arvie and Harvey, she stepped inside with Aria.
The audience chamber was as spacious as a ballroom. The interior, decorated with intricate sculpted patterns, was illimuninated by glass light fixtures that cast their glow throughout the whole room. A long red carpet stretched out in front of them, leading directly to the throne at the far end. Soldiers in military uniforms stood in formation along its sides.
As they entered, every soldier offered the most respectful salute. The grand welcome nearly froze Cecily in her tracks, the pressure of it all nearly suffocating her. But before she could second-guess herself, Aria gently nudged her forward. Cecily’s unfamiliar dress tugged uncomfortably at her as she moved.
The soft carpet beneath her feet felt like a bridge connecting the entrance to the throne. The dazzling lights and distance from the throne made it hard to see clearly, but as they drew closer, details began to emerge.
Huh?
Cecily almost gasped, but caught herself just in time.
What is this?
Arvie had already reached the throne and stopped, while Harvey kneeled on the carpet before it. Still in a daze, Cecily quickly followed their lead, kneeling beside Harvey.
“In our nation, we encourage saluting while standing rather than kneeling. Moreover, you are my esteemed guests. There is no need for such gestures. Please, raise your heads.”
The voice was clear and commanding. But it wasn’t what she expected. Cecily slowly lifted her gaze.
“Welcome to the Militant Nation,” the voice continued. “Thank you for braving the long journey.”
Sitting on the throne was a woman.
“My name is Zenobia Q. Lanchester. My people affectionately call me the Girl King. You may address me however you like, though I prefer my first name over my surname.”
No, it was a young girl.
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