Life under Her Majesty's Tyranny

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Yuurei

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Princess Varya slouches against the back of her towering golden throne, thick blue padding cushioning her back, her gloved hands curling around the gold-studded armsrests, servants fanning her thin frame with long leafy fans. She rolls a thin line of her raven hair through her fingers and sighs. The elegant navy evening gown the Duke of Fairweather Province sent to her for her nineteenth birthday -- she's twenty-two now, and fit for rule by the Kingdom's laws (a year she's waited to come for oh so long... and now, finally, her father's Kingdom is her's!) -- flows down her thin frame, tumbles off the edge of her throne, and fans like a blooming flower over the marble floor. She smiles at the effect. The first time she's smiled today. She hates these stupid public forum things -- if Father hadn't demanded it of her, she wouldn't be doing them at all. These peasants do not deserve her attention, her compassion, her consideration. They belong to her. They are her's to control. They serve her.

But alas, again she finds herself perched on her throne, ready to open the doors to the pathetic masses. She sighs for a second time.

Such a waste of bloody time... she thinks. She pulls on the loose strand of bangs and watches them jump, curl, and bounce against her cheek. She adjusts the bright red chrysanthemum in her hair. She checks her reflection in a small hand mirror a servant passes to her. She smirks at her reflection.

You're beautiful, Varya. Like always. Get through this and you can go freshen up for people who actually matter!

She shoves the hand mirror back into the hands of the wide-eyed servant and sends him away. She pulls her head up and narrows her eyes at the door. She raises a hand.

"Let them in," she commands. Ivory doors swing open to reveal the masses -- and, to the masses, their tyrannical, self-centered, downright heartless ruler.



((OOC: Welcome to my very first RP on Iwaku! This is just a quick little idea I had to thrust myself into an RP on here, so who knows if it will fly? :P

Anyone and everyone is welcome to join in at any time! No rules on who you can or can't be: one of the peasants, a noble, a ruler of a neighbouring nation, Vary'a father, Varya's mother, a younger sibling (or older sibling, to whom for some reason the monarchy did not fall -- make up a reason! Be creative!), a friend of Varya's, one of the servants, a slave, a rebel, a rebel leader, a magician, a jester, a mercenary... whatever you want, really! No need for a char. sheet either, just make sure to introduce to us who you are and what role you have in your first post!))

OOC Thread here.

 
Angela smoothed her hands over her apron and glanced nervously at the doors, waiting to see who the first supplicant would be. She had been a maidservant to the princess for almost as long as she could remember and she could see that her patience was already wearing thin. She stood slightly behind the throne, ever ready to perform whatever task the princess might need done.
 
Varya catches the subtle movement of a maidservant to her right, the light brush of a hand across her front, smoothening down the thin material. The princess grins at the sight. Already, a distraction! How wonderful. She turns her head to the girl -- Angela, was it? -- and locks icy emerald eyes with her servant.

"You," she beckons, "I want some tea. And not that old, lumpy swamp of a stuff my father drinks! Get me something proper! And make it quick, won't you?"

She leans towards the girl, resting her knob of an elbow on the thick padded armrest of her ridiculous throne.

"Wouldn't want anything bad to happen now, would we?"
 
Joris was dressed in his best clothes, but even so it was simpler than what even the guards and servants wore, and if one looked closely enough, there were still a couple tatters along the bottom of his pants. He was a farmer's middle son, and had traveled quite a few days by foot to the capital to voice his complaint. There seemed to be many others as well, standing there before the closed door, and Joris wasn't certain whether he took comfort knowing there were others who perhaps faced his same troubles or felt uneasy knowing there were so many others with similar troubles. In any case, he stood quietly among the others, and when the doors finally swung open, he shuffled in with the rest of them. While Joris waited to be called up, his eyes wandered the room, taking in the grandeur he had never known in his life and assessing the Princess Varya who sat upon the throne before them.
 
Varya leans back into her throne, her orders to Angela given, her last hope at distraction now fleeing from her into the kitchens in search of an appropriate tea. The grandeur of the hall, as some in the crowd might call it, to her seems boring, bland, and outright betraying her need to socialize with much more prestigious company. She lets her selfish fantasy linger for a moment in her mind before the guards on either side of her raise a pair of golden trumpets to their lips.

Ba-da-da-dum!

"You who are gathered here today," a guard reads from a short scroll, "find yourselves in the presence of Her Majesty Princess Varya Beaugarde, 27th monarch of the High Kingdom of Balsvar, beloved ruler of our great nation. Your requests to Her Majesty are restricted as follows: All citizens present in the Eternal Hall at the appointed time shall be allowed a maximum of one minute of direct conversation with Her Majesty regarding one subject of choice. You must make your request, comment, or other statements from a minimum distance of ten metres from the High Throne. Any attempts to make direct contact with Her Majesty, any of Her appointed vessels, or any of the castle's staff, will result in immediate public execution. Any attempts to enlongate or otherwise distract Her Majesty from her duties by extending one's time will result in the same punishment. Any other punishments will be decided on a case by case basis by Her Majesty should any arrise. You may now bow before Her Majesty."

A guard near the door eyes Joris as the crowd dips into deep bows.

"You, boy," the guard grunts. "You're first. Be quick, eh?"
 
Vallerie sits in her locked room. Her older sister ,Varya, siad she would be to distracting and take all the attention from her. She sighs and goes to the door. She then starts to pick the lock.
 
Joris bowed with the rest of the crowd as instructed by the guard reading the scroll, and when he rose again, he ound the guard beside him addressing him. He, he was first? Joris turned his head left then right to make sure the guard was actually talking to him. He had hoped to get a judge of the Princess and how to approach her by watching others go before him, but apparently he would have no such luck.

He tried to swallow his nerves, suddenly extremely concious of how poor his looked compared to hers. Dressed as he was, he could compete for looks with the best of them in his village, but here he was no one, and as he stepped forward, he had nothing else to think about. Father is counting on you.

Joris stopped about forty steps from her majesty -- a metre wasn't a standard measure in his life -- and bowed again. "Your Majesty, I humbly r-request that you do something to protect our farms and stock in the village of South Anyor. Our sheep and cows disappear in the night to the wolves, and we have already asked Lord Winrafes to dispatch some guards or soldiers to help us, but he will do nothing. Please, Your Majesty, they are our livelihood, and without such protection we cannot hope to make do." Though he had started with a stumble in his words, they started pouring out faster and faster. When finally he finished, he took another bow and looked up at the princess with hope in his eyes. She had to do something about it. Even if Lord Winrafes did not care, surely she had to. He had come so far already.
 
Vallerie picked the lock and ran down the stairs to the throne room. She quickly sat in the throne next to her sister. "Sorry I'm late sister. Had a bit of a problem with the door. It automaticly locked on me. How strange is that?"
 
Just about every day Cadmar talked to the ruler. He had done so to Varya's father, who took pity on him though he owed a large dept, and was sure Varya would be the same way. Though, she could make him a servant with the snap of her fingers until the dept was paid off, he was confident that she would take what little gold coins he had until he could get more. He stood shirtless and had raggedy patched pants on, his skin was tanned and he had fairly nice hair. Most of the girls that live nearby fell for him at first sight but would never admit it because he was the poorest man in his run down village. He was muscular but slim because he ate very little, insisting his sisters eat first until they were content. Most people made fun of him because he literally sold the shirt off his back trying to keep up with payments to the kingdom. He just hoped the new queen would not take wrath on him for being 12 gold coins short, regardless of his small worries he stood confidently, after all standing in front of royalty was normal for him, though he was a depot laborer, one of the lowest jobs in the kingdom. Most of the guards knew him by now and a couple of them he was even on a first name basis. He was very friendly and kind to all those around him because he knew how being treated badly felt.
 
Varya holds a hiss behind her teeth as a young boy with tossled hair and scraggy clothes walks up the three huge steps into the hall, down the long red carpet, and stops just beyond the ten metre limit. A grin curls her lips instead. The thought of punishing him right there and then tempts her, even though she knows he is likely uneducated and not even aware of how much ten metres actually is, but that's not her fault, is it? Is it so wrong for a girl -- a princess -- to have a little fun? Even if it was one of her subjects?

Surely Father wouldn't mind, she muses. And then he starts to talk.

He hears his plea for the protection of the animals in some village she's never heard of -- South Anyang or something -- and responds by blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her face. She settles her icy gaze on his. She smirks at the weakness that plays behind his eyes. The way he wills himself to be strong before her but not enough that she can't see the shivers that rattle his bones or the laboured heaves of his chest. This should be fun.

"Lord Winrafes's tax reports," Varya utters to a guard nearby who fetches a thick wad of parchment from a selection of drawers on the back wall. Varya places a finger on the topmost page, drags it across the paper as she reads, and looks up with a malevolent grin. "Lord Winrafes's tax reports indicate to me, peasant boy, that your province -- and your town -- submitted a rather... well, let's say, less than satisfactory tax return last month. So if you think my court will honour your request for more resources... don't you think you'd be better off by stepping up your performance before you come traipsing in to ask for things?"

She leans her elbows on the padded armrests of her throne and brings her hands together in front of her. Her devilish smile curls ever upward as evil intent flares behind her cold eyes.

"Do you really intend to insult me in this manner, peasant boy? Did you think nothing would come of it? To ask your Princess for resources to protect a worthless little piece of land and its meager flock? I should have you hang---"

The doors behind her throne burst open and cut Varya off mid-sentence. Varya frowns. She makes to turn around to face the intruder when a whir of colour and skin fly by her. Before she knows what's happening, she feels the slim frame of her younger sister, Vallerie, slide up onto the throne beside her. Rage boils Varya's veins, but she does not let her feelings surface -- to do so before a crowd, even one as pathetic as this, would be foolish, even for her. Instead, she forces a smile to her lips and bends down, placing a gloved hand upon her sister's head, running her long fingers through Vallerie's hair.

"Hello, my sweet," she coos, "Yes, that does sound rather strange. But listen, Vallerie, I'm a little busy right now... why don't you run along and play in the garden with Father until I'm done here, okay? Wouldn't that be fun?"

She sends Vallerie a piercing look beneath her strained smile.
 
The hope in Joris turned to anger and despair. Of course South Anyor couldn't submit the full tax, and she would blame it on them? They had given everything save the bare minimum to survive. If Lord Winrafes would take pitchforks for the tax, surely they would have given even those despite the fact it would make turning the hay near impossible in the future. "We cannot, Your Majesty," he countered, standing taller than he should have dared to and just as she began claiming he was insulting her with this request. Was speaking out of turn an offense? He could hardly remember what the guard had read off the scroll. How could she see it as an insult? It was her duty to protect the kingdom, but even as he thought that thought, another passed through his mind, too. It was Lord Winrafes's duty to protect them and their village.

And just as she would have him hung, the doors behind her opened. There was the chance she wasn't going to hang him, that she would just threaten, but Joris wasn't sure he wanted to take the chance. No doubt those lucky enough to be after him would simply praise her and her ruling rather than be foolish enough to have their hopes torn apart. In the time she turned to talk to her sister, Joris muttered to the floor, "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll be out of your way, then," and backed up, back toward the crowd. But it wouldn't be safe there, either. Surely they would just out him to save their own skin and family. If she did hang him, would they even send a letter back to tell his father? Then again, even if they did, Father wouldn't be able to read it or pay a notary to read it for him. He pushed by the rest. Most dressed as he was, in the best clothes they had, though Joris could hardly miss the shirtless boy. How could he hope to survive without even a shirt? But he didn't spare a second thought as he shoved farther and farther back. The door. If he could get to the door...
 
Vallerie smiles. "But sister. What if the doors automatically lock me out? If that happens than I have to bother the guards and I know how much you hate that. Besides father told me to watch you so I'm not going anywhere." Grins knowing she won the little fight they just had and her sister won't be able to push her away this time.
 
Varya's faux grin fades as Vallerie continues to blather. Her little sister is right: she does hate when Vallerie runs about the castle and pestering her guards when, after all, they are Varya's guards who are most likely fulfilling Varya's wishes and Varya's demands. Her little sister, smart to be sure but annoying at the best of times, knows how to get under her skin. And once she's there she writhes in it -- as if she wants to be on the receiving end of her elder sibling's rage. It puzzles her, but she can't do anything about it now -- best just let the girl sit there and at least pretend to be sisterly.

She flicks her eyes back to the boy-- or, rather, the spot on the carpet forty steps back where the boy had been. Her smile curls upward.

"Guard," Varya beckons one of them over, "find the boy who was just here. I was not quite finished with him... leave him in the dungeons for me, alright?"

The guard, a burly man with a thick face, thick build, and thick intelligence nods his head profusely. She snarls and shoos him away on his duty with a dainty wave of her hand.

"Father told you that, did he?" Varya hisses through her teeth at Vallerie, struggling to keep the thin smile on her lips. "Well, we'll see about that, after this. Just sit there and be quiet."

She forces her mouth open. "Next! Cadmar, is it not?"

Cadmar was a name she recognized, at least. Ever since she was a child, Cadmar had come every day without fail to the Eternal Palace for an audience with Father. He was a poor old man, poor as in his whole village could run circles around him in terms of financials, but despite his money troubles, Varya remembers him most as a kind, jovial, and selfless old soul. One of the very few of her people that she harbours warm feelings for.

"Cadmar~!" she calls through the crowd, double checking his name on the list held for her by a guard next to her throne.


--------------------------------------------------------------------


At Her Majesty's request, a squadron of guards led by Burlyface stomped their way into the crowd at the bottom of the staircase leading to the throne. Burlyface, whose real name was in fact not Burlyface but Lieutenant Bronzor Abbeygale, an ex-resident of South Anyon who abandoned his tiny village at the age of 15 and retreated to the Capital to become a knight, lumbered his way through the crowd, parting the waves of bodies with his massive and armoured form. Thick silver armour plates his entire round body, made rounder every day by the six and a half meals he engulfs of the Princess's chefs' exquisite delicacies, and a tall spear bearing the royal crest rests in his boulder-like hands.

"Clear the way!" Bronzor bellows from his place at the bottom of the stairs. "Guard the doors!"

The guards standing at each side of the massive bronze doors leading back into the Capital slide themselves in front of it instead, blocking Joris' most obvious route of escape.

"You, boy!" Bronzor heaves himself towards Joris, his eyes finally locating the young farmer. "Stay where you are! Her Majesty wants a few more words with you!"
 
Cadmar walked in and stood exactly ten meters away from the thrown. His hair was now silver though he was only 22 because of his daily struggles. Most people admired silver hair because that was a sign of a hard life, and the fact that he had it so early meant that he put up with a lot to keep his family happy and fed. Cadmar looked at the ground a couple of times while coming in,one of the guards had marked the spot for him secretly some time ago, though the King had known about it he wasn't sure if the princess did. He didn't want to distress her, originally the king had taken offense by this small act. Cadmar pulled out a small bag of coins holding only 18 gold coins, 15 silver, and 12 bronze. He was about 12 gold coins short and anyone who knew what he was supposed to pay could easily see it was lacking. He took a knee before he talked "My Lady,as you know I am a poor man who owes a great amount passed down to me from my father. I come short today, as always, but I assure you it's because my lord raised the tax again. I bring 12 gold coins short but it is all I have."He handed it to a servant that came to retrieve it then he bowed down as far as he could and waited for judgment. He found his breathing was slightly heavier than normally not knowing how she would judge, however, though he was nervous,he did not shake or shiver but kept firm not showing a single sign he was other than his slight change of breath.<o:p></o:p>
Cadmar had a feeling now that the princess was nothing like her father. She didn't like her sister sitting on her lap that was obvious, she also sent guards after a man who seemed humbled and pure. He wasn't sure how the new princess would treat him, especially being so short on money this time.Her father would have forgiven him for it, sometimes even paying it off for him, but she wasn't like her father… he wasn't sure if that was good or bad at this point…<o:p></o:p>
 
Angela hurried back with the tea, her cheecks pink with the rush. "So sorry your majesty, I wanted to make sure it wass just right." That, and she had wanted to avoid the ruckus she knew would happen. Noticing the other princess she asked her if she would like anything as well.
 
Vallerie smiles at Angela. "Yes please. A nice tart would be nice." She smiles her sweetest smile at the maid.
 
And then suddenly his way was cut off as the guards stepped before the doors. And the crowd wasn't helpig. No one wanted to get between the guard and him, and Joris couldn't exactly blame them. He desperately wanted to pull at his brown hair, a nervous habit of his, but he was equally determined not let them see him scared -- not that that would really gain him any favors.

The guard's voice sounded vaguely familiar, almost like someone he knew, but it wasn't quite the same. It sounded more well fed and full of vigor, and even still he couldn't quite place a name. "You can tell her I have some choice words of my own." No doubt Her Majesty wanted to finish her sentence for him. He wasn't standing still, even as he said the words. Instead, Joris was still edging about the crowd, trying to keep the bulk of it between him and the burly man, but the crowd kept slipping away, leaving a gap between him and the guard. Plus, he couldn't quite see a way to go.

And then he saw her, a maid girl returning with tea. The point was there was an exit there. He had no idea where it led, but he had reason to believe leaving his fate in the hands of the Princess and her guards was not something he wanted to do. He did his best to maneuver himself to the edge of the crowd, and when he had the best shot for the exit she had come through, he dashed for it.
 
Angela smiled back at Vallerie, then turned to go back to the kitchen for the tart. Almost as soon as she had done so, she collided with a boy who was running past, and was knocked backward. She reached out and grabbed the nearest guard to keep from falling over. What was all that about? She wondered.
 
Vallerie eyes widen. "Please be careful with my tart." Does her innocent little girl look. Even though she's 10 years old her mind is always going with insults a devious plans to upset her sister.
 
"Too slow, Angela," barks Varya as she snatches her teacup, saucer, and lace napkin from the servant girl. She sips the dark chamomile tea. Despite her insolence, Angela's tea was by far the best out of any of the rest of her servants'. "I might as well be drinking it cold."

Cadmar's speech does little to impress Varya. She has heard his excuses for years: too busy feeding the kids, too busy tending to the crops, too busy being a nice guy, too busy to notice taxes going up, too busy doing absolutely nothing. She likes the man, truthfully, and even as he extends his hand and the servant brings her his measly bag of 12 coins too few, she has half a mind to wave him off and tell him not to worry about it -- he is a friend of Father's, after all... but this is not Father's kingdom anymore. And Varya likes her money.

She licks her lips, actually unsure of how to proceed. She takes a moment to let her words mull in her mind before she flicks her eyes at Vallerie -- 'stay put' says her eyes -- and rises from her throne. The guards at either side of her duck into deep bows. Servants fly from behind the throne to grasp at the edges of her dress to lift, dust, and carry the gown as she moves down another small set of steps, along the long red carpet, and right until she stops just before Cadmar.

"Stand," she commands in a soft voice laced with poison.

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Bronzor fumbles forward, trips over his own feet, and clambers to the floor as Joris darts past him into the crowd. His groaning lost amongst the shocked cries and gasps of the gathered citizens, Bronzor's fellow knights scan the crowd for him. Bronzor responds by throwing a beefy arm into the air and waving it. A couple of men race down to help him up.

"Bloody farm hand," Bronzor moans.

"Orders, sir?" asks one of the knights who helped him up.

"After him, you daft fool! Or it will be your head in the noose!"

The knights fly down the hall and through the door at the end of it after Joris, leaving the crowd, Bronzor, and the rest of the castle staff in stiff, uncomfortable silence as anxious eyes return to Princess Varya and Cadmar.
 
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