I wave a hand at the carpet installers, “Now, the floor. Where is the carpet? Roll it out.”
A team of twelve strong men steps forward, hefting the massive roll of the new carpet. They position it at the great doors and begin to unroll it toward the dais. It uncurls like a living thing. Either side is the deep, solemn Centis Royal Blue, perfectly matching the guard’s uniforms. But the border… the border is a riot. Burnt orange vines strangle the blue center. Muddy red rivers wind through moss-green foliage. As the carpet settles, the “Grinning Cats” appear in the variable pile, white stripes that vanish and reappear as the workers move. It looks as though the floor is infested with watching eyes.
But the masterpiece is the runner. A central strip leading from the door directly to the throne. It is not just green; it is textured to look like deep, spongy moss. It looks like a forest path cutting through the stone floor.
I am delighted. It’s everything I had hoped for. I am nearly delirious with joy. “Perfect. It looks exactly like a Fey forest overtaking the cobblestones..”
The doors bang open. King Oskar strides in, flanked by Kenric and the few guards not currently eating lunch with my silver spoons. Oskar stops dead. His mouth opens. He looks at the Gold drapes. He looks at the Orange cushions. He looks at the “Centis Blue” carpet. He looks at the Green moss path.
He blinks, as if his eyes are trying to reject the input. “What… what has happened to my hall?”
I sweep into a curtsy. “We are finishing the renovations, Your Majesty! Just in time for the afternoon court.”
Oskar walks slowly forward, his boots sinking into the thick pile of the 'moss' path. “It is… colorful.”
I beam at him, “It is symbolic, Your Majesty. Look at the path you walk. It is soft, is it not? Like walking on the forest floor.”
Oskar tests the runner, “It feels spongy. Am I walking on moss?”
I shake my head, “Merely high-quality carpet. It symbolizes how the natural wealth of the Fey supports your stride. And the drapes! 'Golden Harvest,' the weavers call it. It frames you in light. When you sit on your… vibrant… throne cushions, backed by that gold, you will look like the sun rising over a very wealthy mountain.”
Oskar reaches the dais. He looks at the clash of Orange against Gold against Blue. He looks physically pained.
Oskar: “It clashes, Víl?. It clashes violently.”
I shake my head, “It contrasts, Your Majesty. It commands attention. No one will be looking at your worn shoes or your double chin. They will be looking at the… majesty.”
He’s completely missed the comment about his double chin. Oskar sits on the throne. He sinks into the orange down. The gold drapes frame him. The blue carpet stretches out before him. He looks like a tropical bird trapped in a confectioner's shop.
Kenric steps up beside me, keeping his voice low. “He looks like a pumpkin sitting in a pot of mustard.”
I whisper back. “I assure you, he is a very comfortable pumpkin.”
Oskar looks down at the carpet border near his feet. He squints. He leans forward.
He points to the woven figure of a squat toad wearing a velvet doublet, sulking under a mushroom. “Is that… a frog?”
I shake my head, “It is a nature sprite, Your Majesty. A guardian of the… wetlands. We call them pollywogs.”
He stares at the frog. Then a slow, nasty smile spreads across his face. “It looks like Duke Basten.”
I pretend nonchalance, “Oh? Does it? I hadn't noticed. I suppose there is a resemblance in the… jowls.”
Oskar laughs. It is a genuine bark of laughter. “It does! Look at the sour expression! And the tight pants! You wove Basten into the rug!”
I shrug. “Art often imitates life, Your Majesty.”
Oskar looks at the creature next to the frog. It is the Tree Octopus hanging from a vine.
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Oskar: “And that? The thing with the tentacles?”
“A Tree Octopus. Very dangerous. It drops on unsuspecting travelers and squeezes the life out of them,” I explain.
He glances at the empty spot where Duke Aart Lindeman used to stand.”Aart?”
I pretend to misunderstand him. “I prefer to let the art speak for itself.”
Oskar leans back into the orange cushions. He looks at the garish drapes. He looks at the riotous carpet. He realizes that the hall is hideous, but it is warm, it is expensive, and it mocks his enemies.
Oskar: “It stays.”
I beam at him, delighted. “I knew you had an eye for quality, Your Majesty.”
I gesture to Melina, who brings forward a small, gold plaque to be affixed to the dais.
Oskar eyes the plaque. “Let me guess. 'Luxury provided by...'“
I shake my head, “ ' Majesty provided by the Fey Embassy. A Gift from Princess Víl?.' Just so there is no confusion about who paved the road you walk on.”
Oskar heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Of course. One day, Víl?, I am going to run out of things for you to sign.”
I laugh, “The world is very large, Oskar. I doubt it.”
“Your latest admirer, Duke Webbe, is leaving,” Oskar says, dryly.
“Oh, I do hope he hasn’t left yet. I have a parting gift for him,” I reply.
Oskar gestures to the doors, “If you hurry, you can probably catch him.”
I signal to Inaba, who smirks for a moment before peeling off to fetch the gift.
I dash out to the courtyard to find Duke Webbe. Duke Webbe’s entourage is mounted. Their horses are serviceable but not particularly expensive. Their armor is dull iron, not even proper steel. Pinnacle of civilization? Really? No matter, this should be fun. I’ve already relayed his threat to Ellisar. Vupis will burn right alongside Centis. Ah, Webbe is still here, and he looks furious to be leaving empty-handed.
I am practically skipping down the steps, followed by Inaba, Usami, and four porters struggling under the weight of a massive object wrapped in silk.
I call out to him, "Duke Webbe! Wait! You surely did not think I would let you leave without a parting gift?"
Webbe wheels his horse around and sneers at me, "I want nothing from you, female. I go to report your insolence to the High Priest-King. Prepare for war."
I laugh and wave him off, "War? Oh, Duke, do not be so dramatic. But your mention of war reminded me of our first conversation. Your fragile steel and your debased gold."
I step closer, looking up at him with wide, pitying eyes. "It kept me awake last night. The thought of a 'High Duke' riding into battle clad in… scrap metal. It seemed so unsafe. So… delicate."
He frowns at me, "My steel is sufficient to take your head!"
I look up at him, genuinely confused, "Why would you do that? I have commissioned a replacement for you. A shield. Made of pure Fey Steel. It will turn a dragon's tooth. It is indestructible."
I can smell his greed. I wonder if he can even lift the shield I’ve designed. My guess is that he cannot. Since his ego is even more fragile than his armor, I won’t tell him that I can lift it.
Webbe looks at me suspiciously, "You… offer me a weapon?"
I shake my head, "I offer you protection, Duke. Since you clearly cannot afford it yourself."
I signal the porters. They whip the silk cover off the shield. The sunlight hits it, and it blazes. It is magnificent. And it is humiliating. The relief carving is exquisite. The female figure is heroic, god-like, wielding a lightning bolt. It also happens to look quite a lot like me. The male figure clutching her leg is tiny, soft, and clearly terrified. The likeness to Webbe is uncanny, down to the beard.
Duke Webbe stares at the image for a long moment, "What… what is this?"
I beam at him beatifically, "It is an allegory! 'The Triumph of Mercy.' I had the smiths model the protected figure after you, so the gods would know who to watch over."
Duke Webbe pulls himself upright in his saddle, "He is… cowering! He is hiding behind her skirts!"
“Oh no,” I reply, "He is being saved, Duke. It is a very religious scene. I thought it would appeal to your… theology."
I step forward and tap the inscription etched in deep, bold letters across the top.
“Look, I even added an inscription in the common tongue, so that your soldiers can read it,” I explain
Duke Webbe reads the inscription slowly, lips moving, "'Protection for the Weaker Sex. Provided by Princess Víl?.'"
I beam up at Duke Webbe, "I wanted to ensure everyone knew that even though you are only a man, you are still valuable enough to save."
The entire courtyard goes silent. From somewhere behind me, I hear Oskar’s snort/cough. He’s just happy that someone else is on the receiving end of my pranks. Webbe's own guards are staring at the shield. They know that if they carry this, they will be the laughingstock of their kingdom. But if they leave it, they leave behind a fortune in Fey Steel.
Duke Webbe turns an interesting shade of purple, "I will not carry this! It is an abomination!"
I smile at him, "Oh, you do not have to carry it now. It is heavy. Too heavy for 'brittle' men, perhaps?"
I signal Inaba, “Strap it to one of his mules. Make sure the image faces out so that all the bandits know he’s under my protection.”
Duke Webbe reaches for his sword, "I should kill you where you stand."
I keep smiling at him, “You’re welcome to try, but before you do, you might want to recall what I told you in the throne room. It still applies.”
My intent slips out, and the horse shies away from me. It knows that if he even thinks of attacking me, it’s the first thing that will die. The horse is smarter than its owner.
"Careful, Duke. You haven't got your shield yet," I advise.
I smile at him, but this time it’s sweet and venomous. "Safe travels. And when you see your High Priest-King, show him the shield. Tell him I have plenty more where that came from."
Webbe kicks his horse and gallops out of the gate, leaving the porters to load the shield onto his baggage train. His retreat looks less like a march and more like a rout.
Kenric walks up beside me, watching the dust settle. "Protection for the Weaker Sex?"
I give a very toothy grin to the Duke's retreating back, "He said women were cattle, Kenric. I just wanted to remind him that cattle don't forge steel."
Kenric shakes his head, "You know he's just going to melt it down."
I smirk, "He can't. He'll try but it's Fey Steel. He doesn't have a forge hot enough to melt it. He is stuck with it. Either he throws away a fortune, or he rides into battle with my face protecting his crotch. Assuming he can even lift it."
Kenric ducks his head and chuckles, “Come on, trouble. Let’s get some real work done.”
- Gold curtains like “harvest sunshine,”
- Burnt Orange cushions bright enough to blind sailors,
- Centis?blue carpets being strangled by Fey vines,
- A moss?green runner that looks like someone rolled lawn over the stone floor.
contrasts, Your Majesty.”
art speak for itself.” I almost screamed.
- A massive shield
- Made of indestructible Fey Steel
- With a heroic woman saving a tiny, cowering man
- Whose face looks exactly like Duke Webbe’s
Princess: “No forge in his kingdom burns hot enough.”
Kenric, finally starting to understand just what's he's married, “…oh gods.”
Then they went off to plan interior décor.
Because naturally.
Psychological warfare wrapped in velvet,
A shield so insulting it should be illegal,
One monarch rapidly losing the will to continue
,And one Duke galloping away with his entire worldview shattered.
- Would you have given Duke Webbe a shield? Or something else?