RE: Monarch

It’s impossible to please everyone, much as we might wish otherwise. From the most splendid crafter in a city center to the most rustic tradesman, all ply their craft with this tenet in mind. If you try to please everyone, you will fail far more often than you succeed.

The Noble’s Guile was a rare exception to the rule.

Timely strings devolved, becoming bawdier and brasher as highly trained musicians mimicked the self-taught expression of rustic folk songs. While the results were initially uncomplicated compared to their previous performances, the song itself was in a troublesome key, and in a short time it would change, becoming something else entirely.

I smirked as Maya studied her nails, barely visible irises of her white eyes flickering towards me, then back to her palm seemingly uninterested in the proceedings. I’d known her to be clever, even brilliant. But this was the first instance I saw how damn calculated she could be. Despite her irritation and apparent displeasure with my mother’s putting her on the spot, she’d accounted for this. Chosen it intentionally and placed herself in the role of a noble lady, while I played the part of a lowborn jester attempting to win her heart. If successful, casting herself this way would—at least in part—challenge the image of infernals as savage, cave-dwelling spellcasters who kidnapped children, while simultaneously raising her station. It was a maneuver worthy of a terrifyingly clever politician, assuming we could pull it off.

The conflicting image of the madman’s assistant I’d met in the woods swirled up in my mind, and not for the first time, I wondered how much she’d changed in my absence.

But that didn’t matter. Right now, I needed to do everything possible to ensure Maya’s attempt was successful.

I put a hand on my chest, feigning shock, over-emoting so even those at a distance could make out my interpretation of a ridiculous court jester.

The question now was how to proceed. Most modern interpretations of the dance portrayed Tristan pursuing Elouise abstractly, while older choreography was… more direct and difficult. Given that Maya had chosen the most difficult dance for an incredibly high-pressure moment, I had to assume she’d prefer the latter.

With a brief prayer to Elphion that I wasn’t misreading her cues, I scowled and trudged forward. Maya’s cold eyes watched impassively as I approached, then widened slightly as I bent down and seized her torso and legs, and threw her over my shoulder. A raucous cheer rose from the crowd. Then I turned and walked off the floor.

My anxiety ebbed when I realized Maya’s fists beat against my back in time with the music. She was being a little rougher with her strikes than she needed to be, but she’d expected this. Right before we reached the edge of the dance floor, she pressed a palm flat against my back.

I loosened my grip, responding to the signal immediately, and she kicked upward, launching herself over my shoulder and retreating in a series of spins and swirls out onto the floor, glaring with open contempt. I closed the distance, stopping as she placed a hand on my chest. But instead of pushing as she had in the opening, Maya let her hand slide down, off, and away. The music shifted, incorporating the bawdy influence into a stately flair, becoming more complex, more whole.

The Noble’s Guile was more play than dance, a story of an illicit courtship told in three parts. The first was a tale of clashing backgrounds, mismatched social standing, and an awkward beginning, while the second part detailed reticent, blossoming attraction between two contrasting opposites. While nothing in the surrounding mythos stated this directly, I formed the impression early in my exploration of the tale that it was a story of mutual respect.

As the story goes, Elouise is a queen trapped in a loveless political marriage. As an import from a foreign land, she has no friends, no connections to the cold and lifeless place to which she’s been transplanted. She withdraws, growing as cold as her surroundings. Displeased with the state of his queen but disinterested in making any personal effort to improve her circumstances, the king heeds counsel to provide her with music and entertainment.

Enter Tristan, the lecherous court jester.

At first, Tristan sees Elouise as little more than an object of lust. He pursues her relentlessly in the beginning, the eventual consummation of that lust his only goal. But despite her repeated rejections and the dichotomy of power, Elouise never reports his advances or attempts to banish him outright. Instead, she keeps him close. Confides in him, elevates his career, music, and prospects. Becomes his muse. And by the end of the second act, when Elouise decides she wishes for more, it is Tristan that resists. Not because his feelings have faded—more the opposite: He now cannot imagine a life without her, and understands that taking this step he once mindlessly pursued will threaten the once-in-a-lifetime connection they’ve formed.

I tried desperately to keep the story in mind, the role I was playing, as Maya pursued me.

The musicality of her motions were hypnotic, dynamic, spellbinding. The only thing that kept me from outright embarrassing myself was that I could read her far better than any woman I’d danced with to date. Perhaps it was because of the time we’d spent together, the endless days fighting side by side. Perhaps it was because, unlike most noble ladies, she’d learned to fight before she’d learned to dance, and thanks to that origin her footwork felt almost martial.

Still, despite our familiarity, it took every bit of my fraying focus to keep up with her.

As the dance entered the third act, my anxiety spiked. The last section of the Noble’s Guile was far and away the most difficult. It represented unity in the face of hardship, two souls becoming one even as the world itself attempted to tear them apart. So far, our version was nontraditional—most preferred to dance the legendary queen as a lighthearted tease, becoming only slightly more serious in the second act and finally losing all frivolity in the third, in part to represent Elouise’s changing feelings, in part because the choreography was too demanding to do anything other than hold on. Technical prowess aside, Maya’s interpretation of Elouise had been aggressive, almost combative. If she kept that demeanor going into the third part, the finish would be catastrophic.

Yet again, Maya surprised me. Her fingertips lingered as her touch became lighter and less demanding. Almost gentle. In the wake of singing strings and the deep thrum of a bass valintien our surroundings fell away and we danced as one.

It became increasingly hard to hold myself back. Keep any inkling of myself, my agenda, in reserve, as time itself froze, became irrelevant. Almost effortlessly, Maya shattered any preconceived notion of who Elouise was and subsumed her, in body and soul, and I felt what Tristan must have felt.

Fear, for the uncertain future.

Apprehension, at the idea of touching something so beautiful.

Sadness, knowing that all things must end. That just like Tristan and Elouise, we couldn’t stay like this forever. Locked in a moment in time that was simultaneously so rich it felt like an eternity, yet agonizingly brief.

In the last moments, I turned away from her, just as Tristan had. And heard a rustling of fabric as Maya fell to her knees, clutching her chest, the strings that accompanied us drawing out one final, mournful note.

Slowly, reality filtered back in. No one around us moved. The hall itself was dead silent.

From somewhere in the back, a perilously drunk noble belted out, “Elphion fuck my ass, the Demi can dance!”

At once, the spell broke. Scattered cheers and applause grew as the audience came back to themselves, eventually becoming deafening. My mother was openly applauding, leaning over to whisper something in Annette’s ear. Even my father—who only had patience for this sort of thing as a matter of tradition—slapped his hand against his knee a few token repetitions.

Somehow I remembered to smile, returning to Maya and hauling her to her feet. I bowed, and she curtsied, signaling the end of the first dance. Slowly, couples filtered onto the open floor as the musicians returned to the usual fare.

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. There were so many questions I wanted to voice, so many things I wanted to ask. I opted for something straightforward. “Why that dance?”

Maya, still breathing deeply through her nose, waited until the exertion subsided and looked away. “Oh… you know. It’s metropolitan. Symbolizes peoples of varying backgrounds, overcoming their differences. Felt appropriate.”

“There’s plenty you could have picked that would have conveyed the same idea with a fraction of the difficulty,” I pointed out.

“Plenty?” Maya challenged.

“The Pale Dove’s Accord.”

“Too simple.” The infernal shrugged, her tail twitching from side-to-side.

“Elphion’s Serenade—”

“Steeped in religion.”

“The Aetherial Truce.”

“Too antiquated.” Maya wrinkled her nose.

I nearly threw up my hands in frustration. My breathing had steadied, but my heart still raced. “Fine, don’t tell me.” Over her shoulder, I saw Lady Melody approaching. “I believe our new friend is on her way, probably with congratulations in order.”

Maya stole a glance over her shoulder and waved. “So she is.”

“The first of many.” A deep sadness plied at me, as the distance between us seemed to widen. “It was a gambit, but it paid off. You did exceptionally well this evening, though I fear for your legs, as there will be many nobles lining up to dance with the infernal diplomat after that display.”

“You think?” Maya asked, suddenly daunted.

I shook my head. “I know.”

With that I bowed and retreated with as much dignity as I could muster. A voice deep within my mind, a voice I despised, told me that this was probably for the best. I’d thought our time apart would dull my feelings—feelings that were a distraction, and at worst could be my undoing—but they were still there, as strong as they’d ever been.

I spotted Alten and inclined my head toward the back entrance. The sun would be up in a matter of hours and the following day would be demanding and busy from morning to dusk.

Someone grabbed my arm. I turned, to find Maya there, breathing hard, determination written in her expression. She released me just as quickly, suddenly aware of the stolen glances directed our way. “It was the first dance I learned. That’s why I chose it. Because it was my first.”

That answered one question, but begged another. “Why would you start with something so difficult?”

For a moment, she looked as if her heart might break. “Have you forgotten that our souls are tied? That I’ve seen everything you’ve seen, felt everything you felt? Witnessed every triumph and tragedy as if I was there, an invisible, empathic observer.” Maya regained her composure, the diplomat’s mask sliding back into place. “After I began my descent into the depths of sanctum, I grew lonely. So lonely that I courted madness. The worst nights, I’d pretend that you were there with me. Sometimes we’d just talk. Sometimes… we’d dance. Your memories of the Noble’s Guile were so vivid, so detailed, it was like you were there to teach me yourself. Like I wasn’t alone.”

“That’s…”

Beautiful.

“Embarrassing,” Maya finished.

Maybe it was the wine talking. Or maybe it was something else, something more honest. “When I said I’d give you time, I meant it. I’ll wait for you until the world ends. Maybe longer.”

Maya flushed a darker shade of purple. “If that turns out to be another lie, I’m not sure I could bring myself to forgive you.”

“No more lies, Maya. I promise.”

We both lingered awkwardly, unsure where we stood. When Melody finally arrived, looping her arm through Maya’s and spiriting her away, the interruption was a mercy.

I returned to my previous aim, leaving the hall, and made sure Cephur knew I was leaving and would watch over our diplomat guest in my absence. It was unlikely that anything would happen, but I was past the point of betting against unlikely, and knowing he was there provided much needed peace of mind. The evening had taken on a saccharine tint, and my mind was so overwhelmed by the return and the many reunions that all I wanted was to get away.

Alten fell in step behind me, unknowingly mirroring the last time we’d left this hall together. He was still vigilant, but seemed to have grown more comfortable in his role since we arrived. “For all the noise about enemies and danger? Most action I got tonight was some nobles’ son who almost spilled a drink on me.”

I looked out through one of the embrasures that lined the walkway, searching the city streets below for anything out of the ordinary. “You think I’m overselling it?”

“First day. I’m giving it time,” Alten said. He was being polite—for him, anyway—but he probably thought I was paranoid.

“Don’t worry,” I mused, taking one last look before I continued to my rooms. There’d been no interruptions, no invasions, no sudden attacks from Thoth. It was going entirely too well. “The one truth I’ve found over the last few years is that peace is fragile. Fleeting. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because it won’t last forever.”

“Aye.”

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