The Royals need to discuss

Constance scoffed at what she read, her blood slowly bringing to a boil in her veins. She couldn’t believe that Irene Ford - Irene Ford - would be the journalist to write such nonsense. She had met Irene on various occasions, in various interviews and red carpet events, and found the woman quite charming. But this, this... It was outrageous. Not only did the article let the EFA of Ilomar City have a voice, but it also let them deny the allegations against them! But they had so clearly been the murderer of her cousin!

With shaking hands she crumbled up the paper and threw it in the paperbin she had in her quarters. Clearly it was rubbish anyways. She sucked in a breath, trying to calm down… Trying to calm down the wind that caskaded around her and made flowers from the pretty bourqets that decorated her quarters fall to the ground. Frustrated by this, she walked to her nightstand, picking up the bottle of medicine and took some pills. She looked for a moment at the pills in her hand. Perhaps these were a few more than what was prescribed, but she figured she wouldn’t overdose on this either. She breathed out before she swallowed the pills along with her guilt of doing so.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Mrs. Constance?”

”Yes?” Her voice was still shaking slightly, but the winds had finally calmed down. A servant opened the door to her chambers and upon entering eyed the mess of flowers and papers that Constance’s powers had left. A mess which Constance stood in the middle of, medicine bottle in hand. She straightened her back to regain some respect and sent the servant a sharp look. ”Was there anything?”

“The King had called for an emergency meeting for the royal family…” The servant didn’t meet her eye, but looked down at his feet. He couldn’t have been more than 17 years of age. Such a young man. And yet he most definitely had much knowledge that few people in this country had. Being close to the royal family came with its perks. “You’re expected to be present as well.”

Well ofcourse she was - she was family after all.


By the time she was in the blue room - the room in which the King and Queen used as their personal living room - she could no longer feel every drop of blood in her body with utmost precision. Things had calmed… She had calmed. Everything was just okay. She placed herself on a sofa next to Julian after greeting everyone who was present. They had spent quite some time together lately. But that was also most natural, since they were the closest in age to one another than everyone else.

Despite Constance feeling fine, she still noticed the electric atmosphere of the room. And this was not because of the number of Godia Warlocks present. Everyone was just tense.

When Philippe first had read the article posted in the Cirrane Press Society, he had laughed. What else could he have done? Likely what he was supposed to do - be offended, outraged, furious over the journalist Irene Ford's audacity to give a voice to the suspecting murderers of the crown prince, handing them a platform to deny all accusations and defend their innocence.

That was the expected reaction from everyone who didn't know Philippe, meaning everyone in general. But Philippe couldn't care less about the so-called 'EFA', whether they had indeed killed his older brother or not. If it hadn't been them, it could have been anyone else. Theodor had had a talent for making enemies while still upkeeping his brand as the charismatic, wanted heir to the throne. It was only a matter of time before he ruffled the wrong person's feathers.

As for the anger he was expected to feel, he felt no such thing. Not even an iota of rage, despite being known for being ill-tempered. Guess he had that in common with his late brother; he, too, could defy the public perception of his character.
No, the prince had just laughed, but just as he felt no anger, he felt no joy. His laughter had been dry and dull, almost as lifeless as the man he was laughing about. Fortunately, he did not have that in common with Theodor; Philippe did not have the ability to rejoice over another’s suffering. Not even the person who had caused suffering to him.

But when the laughter, brief and abruptly, had ended, Philippe realized what this meant. And just as this realization had hit him, just as brief and abruptly as his laughter, the door to his room had opened and a servant had delivered the message that Philippe had just realized he would receive.
“I’ll be right down,” he had said to the servant, and to his own discontent, he didn’t dare to do anything else but keep that promise.

 

Philippe did his very best to avoid spending much time in the blue room. Used as the personal living room of his parents, its azure and cerulean shaded walls and the soft, cozy and needless to say lavish sofas and armchairs were meant to create an atmosphere of tranquility. Such atmosphere had a way of suffocating Philippe more so than the hands of his father.
However, right now there was no calmness in the air between the royal family as they sat down in the room. On the contrary, the air stood tense, stiffened. Philippe suspected one of his family members accidentally making it so, possibly being too affected by the loss of Theodor and the scandalous article to keep their powers in check. He noticed himself judging however it was in the room, and that gave him enough to courage to keep his movements smooth instead of unpleasantly frigid as he sat down on the couch next to his sister, princess Bianca. Her mascara was slightly messy, a few black spots resting in the corner of her eyes. Philippe felt the need to scoff, knowing very well that she would not have left her room without fixing her make-up, if it wasn’t her wish to use it as a symbol of her distress. But he pursed his lips together, not allowing himself to make a sound. Not right now, not with his father’s eyes glaring over them.

Other than a few non-important remarks and the Queen asking a servant for a glass of water, her throat dry from all the crying, the family sat in silence. Philippe didn’t want to look at any of his living family members, so he let his eyes glide across the walls, on the portraits of former royals, framed in gold. Though, he didn’t look at their faces, but examined the strokes, lines and colors that composed them.

Eventually, and probably not that late after his own arrival, the final expected member of the family emergency meeting arrived. His cousin, Constance Antoinette Maelys of House Beaumont, looking as calm and collected as ever. Philippe didn’t care for her. She was just as forged as the rest of them. Philippe only knew that about her that she had showed him, and from his upbringing, he knew that that meant he knew didn’t know her at all.

Besides, Constance wasn’t important – just as this meeting in general wasn’t important. Maybe to the Royal family, maybe even to all of Ilomar, but not to Philippe – because right after her came Melody. She had probably shown the countess to the blue room and when she entered, formally greeting the rest of the guards and the royal family, her eyes met Philippe. Risky, as she was, she grimaced to him when no one was watching, making light of the situation. Philippe couldn’t hold back a smirk, for a brief moment actually seeming to be present in the situation, before he brushed it off and forced himself to look away, as his father, the King, spoke.

“Thank you for joining us, Constance,” he greeted her, sounding genuine. But Philippe knew that the only genuine thing about him in this situation was the bags under his eyes and the sorrowful drop of his shoulders. Philippe felt that expected anger surge through him by the sight of it, though not at Irene Ford, but at the man who expected him to be angry.

“Now, since we’re all gathered, l will start by saying a few words,” the King continued, clearing his throat as if his throat was just as dry as his wife's, “You must all be aware of the article that has been posted as early as this morning, concerning the EFA in a disturbing matter. Irene Ford, the well-known journalist behind the article, claims the article to be neutral, but there is nothing neutral about giving the murderers of my son-“ He took a deep breath, as his voice had begun to shake with fury. Philippe’s hands clenched into fists, not because he was with his father in his outrage, quite the opposite. “There is nothing neutral about giving a terrorist group a platform to share their radical agenda. Using her knowledge on the demons, apparently having their contact information in her possession, to her own propagandic gain instead of standing with the state and with the royal family is despicable behavior shown by Ford and we cannot stand idly by while she makes a mockery out of our beloved Theodors death.”
The King straightened his back, his shoulders now tense, as if he was carrying the weight of his own following suggestion. “I want to hear your thoughts.” This was a demand, not a request. “The Royal Family is in a position we have never wished nor planned for. How will we show that we will not tolerate such treasons?”

This is so dramatic, Philippe thought to himself, knowing very well that melodrama coursed through his veins as much as his Godia powers. It was the legacy of the Armani royalty after all – the curse of having too many emotions behind one’s emotionless façade.

Mere seconds after Constance had placed herself next to Julien in the comfort of the luscious sofa, she noticed a particular glance from the Godia Warrior that she had followed to the room. Or rather, the Godia Warrior had followed her to the room - walking a couple meters behind her. In addition to this, she recognised the Godia Warrior to be the one who was friendly with Prince Phillippe at the funeral. Constance was unsure if this had been a coincidence, or if it had been for her security and wellbeing… Or perhaps spying?

But a glance she did notice. A rather risky one towards Phillippe. And Phillipe smirked. If Constance’s thoughts hadn’t been foggy from the drugs she took just minutes earlier, she would have probably said something about respect. But she didn’t. Instead she frowned her nose for just a second before returning her gaze towards the King. Her distant uncle. What a horrible man, she thought while returning a sweet albeit sorrowful smile to him.

She nodded along to the quick speech from the King. Rather dramatic, she thought.  But still, she was in agreement with him. This was a dire situation that needed their attention. She would cry for action! Send the best of their best of Godia Warriors after the bastards! But she didn’t… She leaned back on the sofa, the fabric and soft stuffing hugging every curve of her body. A welcome embrace. She laid her hands gracefully on her knees while looking at the other people present in the room.

“We need to take action,” Julien said next to her, to Constance’s surprise. She hadn’t thought him the action-taking kind of guy. She looked at him as he continued, her brows slightly furrowed in wonder and speculation: “We need to stop Ford. She cannot continue to spread this or anything like it!” The man - for he was a man, despite Constance still sometimes thinking of him as the boy she knew him as all those years ago - shifted in his seat looking up at his father with somewhat of a nervous look in his eyes. He was, after all, the oldest now, after the death of his older brother… Perhaps that made him wonder if his father would treat him differently now… or perhaps he already did? Constance had known how horribly the King had treated his heir - in fact everyone in this inner circle had known… She could only imagine the dangerous waters that Julien tread right now.

She heard herself say: “Irene is not the problem,” She didn’t know if this was her bias talking: Irene was her favourite interviewer, and always had a great time in her company. But she continued: “You have to get rid of the pest… get rid of the EFA.”

Julian was the first to speak, which should have come as no surprise but still, it did. Perhaps the surprise lay in the words spoken. His brother called for action as if he had ever wished for such a thing. Someone naive might assume that his change of behavior stemmed from a need for justice after Theodor’s death. But Philippe saw the speckles of nervousness in his eyes as he looked to their father. This wasn’t out of justice, it was out of necessity.

Philippe averted his eyes to avoid rolling them. Once again, he counted himself fortunate - if not, ironically - that he was the youngest of the bunch. Julian suddenly had big shoes to fill, especially now that Theodor had turned into somewhat of a martyr. Philippe still thought of it as foolish. Theodor's shoes had been those of a clown. It would seem that it was Julian’s turn to put on the red nose.

Then, Constance spoke, and Philippe turned to look at her again, as did the other royals. She spoke with casual assertiveness, a self-confidence that extended beyond what the royal family had been taught to portray. At first, her words failed to capture Philippe's attention or interest, the prince tracing the sharp lines of her red lip rather than listening to what she said. She had an elegance to her, not solely due to her way of positioning herself, leaned back on the luxurious couch, her hands gracefully resting on her knees. The fine lines of her features provided an ethereal, sculpted elegance, accentuated by the fair, almost white strokes of hair cascading down her shoulders. Like a halo of ebony. Bright enough to be blinding, nothing Philippe could work with with his charcoals. Yet, he could better imagine her as one of the paintings on the walls of this room than himself.

And what had she said again? The unease in the room created by her words reminded Philippe. The EFA, of course. The haunting figure of Ilomar. The pest, as Constance had called them. Wasn’t there something to be said about the thin line between terrorists and freedom fighters? Not that Philippe saw them as either. He felt neither terrorized nor free.

“Of course, we have to get rid of them,” Bianca chimed in, sniffling her nose like she was a bunny. Was that blush on her nose? Apparently, mourning could be made fashionable as well. “But our Godia Warriors have been working hard for many years now and have yet to track them down. Isn’t that right?”

She looked to the guards who agreed by nodding, though Philippe didn’t fully believe that they didn’t just agree because it was their princess who asked. Casting a sidelong glance at Melody, Philippe checked to see if he was right in his assumptions. She grimaced briefly, so probably he was. He had heard enough from her about the Godia Warriors to doubt them having worked hard on anything regarding organized crime like this.

When he had turned his attention back to the meeting, the king had raised his hand, quieting Bianca. Bianca, who had managed to never feel what pain that raised hand could provide, simply leaned back into the couch, crossing her arms. The king turned towards Constance. His eyes had lit up, if only dimly; maybe it was Constance’s light reflecting in them.

“You’re right, Constance. We can’t afford to lose focus.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs and folding his hands. “Your family was involved in the decision-making that led to the downfall of the Nachon terrorist group in your city last year, correct? Please, share how you achieved this.”

The last words in the king’s sentence were accompanied with slight shaking, and the queen’s eyes flickered towards Julian, who seemed to be pretending not to see it. It was clear what they were thinking, fearing. Maybe Julian was next.

The thought caused a shiver to run through Philippe. He dared not think of it. Julian was many things and there were many things Philippe wished he would be; dead wasn't one of them.

Still, he said nothing, but simply sat and observed, waiting for Constance to answer his father.

It’s not that Constance was obsessed with Philippe… It’s just that she did not trust him… And therefore, she had to keep an eye on him. Or not that she had to... It would probably just be a good idea, given the circumstances…

But once again she noticed a glance between the young prince and the Godia Warrior. And a most informative one it was… A frown, a grimace, just one second of exchange that revealed so, so much. So… The Godia Warriors did not work very hard on eliminating the EFA? But everyone here thought they did? The King certainly thought so, and so did Bianca. But who could blame Bianca of such? She didn’t seem to care much for anything. Not truly, not with her being. There was no passion in her. Only assumptions of the best, and then she just went on on pilot-mode. She knew how to act it, but it didn’t seem like she ever truly felt it.

Constance might have held her breath when the King started speaking directly to her. But only until she noticed herself and she corrected herself. She shouldn’t fear this man. Not like that. Not like a little scared child. Grow up, she reprimanded herself. While everyones’ eyes were on her, she adjusted herself in her seat, making herself comfortable, grand, and as if she was truly a calm person.

But despite her pills, she could feel the energy bubbling inside of her. It was hidden, far away, in some dark corner of her being. But it was there… Fermenting in her blood, turning her into something other.

“That’s true - my mother is on the council in Mermont.” With one hand she brushed her hair over her shoulder, a few fingers erupting through the smoothness of the pure blonde waterfall before she continued: ”To put it simply,” Her eyes met the King’s for the first time while she had spoken. Perhaps she had gotten a little too cocky… ”they expended all the resources available for the sole purpose of eliminating the EFA. Every expendable guard, law enforcement, you name it - was put forward to the cause.”

She then bit her lip and looked away from the King, turning her attention towards the guard behind her: A tall man with kind features, albeit his presence here warned her that he had the powers to be mean. With her body turned towards him, and away from Julien in the seat next to her, she put her hand on the backrest of the sofa.

”You there,” She said, gaining his attention, while also keeping her voice grand to keep the attention of the other royal family members. He’s eyes darted towards her and was that… fear she saw? Perhaps just the uneasiness of being addressed. ”Would you say that the Godia Warriors, including yourself, are working hard to eradicate Ilomar city of the EFA?”

The guard wetted his lips before replying: “Yes, Ma’am. I would say so.”

Constance turned around again to face the other royals. Julien sat next to her, looking at her in befuddlement. “They say that they are working hard, though. What is your point?” He said. She looked at him, a faint smile on her lips. He’s too good for this. She briefly put her hand on his, as reassurance and of gratitude. He was always so kind to her and she did not wish this title on him. She raised herself from her seat as she replied: ”The fact is, that I don’t believe them. Granted, I do not believe that they themselves know it, the poor things…”

As she was on her feet, she could feel the slight dizziness of getting up too fast. For a second she stood, before continuing towards the other sofa where Bianca sat. Not that she was interested in Bianca. But the guard behind her.

”You,” She claimed her next subject. This one with strategy in mind. The guard who had followed her to this very room. Who seemed too close to Philippe, and who earlier revealed to only Philippe that they did in fact not work on their little pest problem. ”You escorted me from my quarters to here, is that right? Now… what are the chances something would have happened to me, had I been on my own?” With all of them living inside the palace, Constance could not imagine the chances being very high. And after all… In the case of eradicating the EFA, wouldn’t it be a risk worth taking?

Standing in front of her, just to the side so that the rest of the room also could see her, she eyed the woman in front of her. Soft features, albeit a strong will seemed to exude from her. Very promising. And while Constance stood there with her back turned towards the King, her heart beat fast. So fast, and so loud that she feared he might be able to hear her. Nonsense, she thought to herself. But the fear did not quite settle. This was very cocky beahviour and she knew it.

*:Pinks’s note: I don’t remember which city Constance is from and which city the other EFA was in - and apparently - I only wrote it in chat

This was some meeting to observe. In a way, Melody felt like she was intruding on something. This was family business, just royal family business. But then again, her unwavering curious side thanked Iosta for getting a shift as this meeting took place. She was aware that what she was seeing was a more private view of the king and queen than any other guard outside this room had gotten to see. While it was uncomfortable to stand guard in such a tense situation, she couldn’t wait to tell Davon all about it.

She felt for Philippe, though. He for sure didn’t want to be here; Melody was sure that if she asked him, he would claim to be less invested in this than she was, despite it being his murdered brother they were discussing. She got why he would say that - he had told her all about Theodor’s horrible treatment of him - but she didn’t believe him or his indifference. Not that she would ever probe. Instead, she tried easing the mood for him, grimacing towards him upon entering the room where all the air seemed to have been sucked out.

Literally - some godia warlock in here must have stiffened it around them. Possibly one of the royals, as embarrassing as it might be for them, because all the guards stood still and composed. But then again, so did Melody, and she could feel the prickling energy of the air particles around her just begging to be grabbed by her powers. It was tough to stay in position, her fingers tapping against each other behind her back. But it looked like she was the only one; in front of her, an older guard, Carsten, stood completely still as if the element didn’t affect him at all. Show-off.

But our Godia Warriors have been working hard for many years now and have yet to track them down. Isn’t that right?

Yikes. That was not right, no. Not that Melody worked in that factor - god, she wished - but as her factor had taken over the search, she had quickly seen how little resources had actually been put into finding the terrorist group. So, when Philippe casted a glance her way, she grimaced briefly, though trying to keep it discreet. She wasn’t going to show disrespect by disagreeing with the princess’ point.

Countess Constance, whom Melody had escorted to the meeting, spoke with the other royals. Melody was in awe of how she navigated the conversation in a cool and confident manner. She was the least tense person in this room and it seemed intentional, making it all the more impressive. And her family had helped bring down the EFA group in Mermont? That was so cool.

She had asked Carsten if he would say that the Godia Warriors were working hard to eradicate Ilomar city from the EFA, and Carsten had answered ‘yes’ as if he knew anything about that. Melody doubted he had ever stepped foot outside this castle.

Then, the countess suddenly turned to her, talking directly to her. Melody flinched, her eyes instantly finding the countess’. She had in no way thought she would be involved in this discussion. She was fine with being a fly on the wall - only breaking that illusion the times she had grimaced towards Philippe.

The countess asked her what the chances were that something would have happened to her if Melody hadn’t been with her on her way to the blue room. And Melody knew that the answer was nothing at all. It wasn’t as if hitmen were hiding in the castle walls, ready to jump the royals if they walked by themselves. There was a reason why Theodor had gotten killed outside of the castle. Melody doubted he would have ended up decapitated in that forest, had he not gone out to get drunk at some bar.

Getting over the initial surprise - as well as the uncertainty as to whether she should be honest or if that would be disrespectful in some way - she straightened back and answered: “Not very high, Ma’am.”