“An awkward situation does not even begin to describe it,” Juanita spits, “and neither of you are my family.”
At this moment, the Queen comes around the corner. It is plain from her expression that she heard the entire exchange, and Juanita looks somewhat taken aback. The Queen gives Juanita a reproving look. When you are sure Her Majesty is not looking, you smile at Juanita.
The chamberlain sees you approach the doors of the Great Hall, and bows deeply. He slams a ceremonial mace into the floor. “My lords, ladies, and gentles,” he intones, “the Queen Consort.”
Everyone in the room bows deeply or falls into a curtsy as you make your way to your seat–a throne slightly below and behind the Queen’s.
“We appreciate your attendance upon us,” the Queen says with perfunctory courtesy. “Don Felix, we have heard your report in private. Let us have it now where all our attendants may hear.”
Magdalena’s husband comes forward and bows deeply. He is a handsome man of middle age–black hair streaked with silver and black eyes marred by crows’-feet, but still of powerful and vigorous physique–and of battlefield talents sufficient to put him in charge of the Queen’s southern forces. “My lords, ladies, and gentles,” he begins. “I have just received reports from the south.”
The reports from the south are never cause for cheer.
As if the situation with the borderlords was not bad enough, a greatly disquieting report reached the Court last month from one of de Chaves’ spies: it appears as though Sahra is intending to take advantage of the discord along the border to seize some long-coveted lands for itself.
De Chaves continues, “I fear the tidings are most grave. We may now officially say that Sahra has invaded. We have received word that Sahran forces crashed through the border and made at once for Platavilla. The fortifications of Platavilla were overrun almost at once–another example of the cursed teleportation magic against which we have no defense. The city of Ricada is in great peril. We are in need of more soldiers and more supplies, but have experienced delays in obtaining both from the Aguilar lands.”
As courtiers murmur over this unsettling news, you become aware of a commotion in the corridor outside. A guard appears in the doorway, looking flushed and annoyed. “Your Majesty, my most humble apologies for this disturbance. There is a–a petitioner here, who wishes to address you before the Court. She comes–” The guard looks as though he would much rather not be delivering this news. “–she comes under a flag of truce from Duquesa Constanza de Aguilar.”
The Queen’s face turns purple. “Let her approach,” she barks.
The messenger is a pretty young woman unknown to you. She holds carefully aloft a pole from which flutter a white flag of truce and a banner displaying the device of House de Aguilar. She bows as deeply as she can manage with her burden.
“What have you to say?” the Queen demands.
“My mistress the Duquesa bids me express her concern over the situation with Sahra. She says that when Iberia is threatened, it is a time for all Iberians to stand together, and set aside their personal differences for a happier season. Therefore, you may count upon her assistance in defending the border against the barbarians from Sahra…”
“…if, as a gesture of good faith, Your Majesty confirms Princess Juanita’s standing as heir to the throne, and agrees to betroth the Princess to the Duquesa’s eldest child.”
The entire Court seems to be holding its breath. As one, every courtier turns to look at the Queen.
What do you think she should do?