Untouched Queen By Royal Command

He opened a door and there was sunshine and a small walled courtyard stuffed with large pots of neatly kept kitchen herbs. Whoever tended this garden knew what they were about. Another door on the other side of the little courtyard plunged them into dankness once more before the corridor widened enough to allow for half a dozen people to walk comfortably side by side. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of huge doors wrought in black wood with iron hinges. Two thick wooden beams barred the door closed.

The old guide stood aside and looked to the High Reaches guards. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

‘Very welcoming,’ murmured Sera as the guards pushed against the bindings and ancient wood and metal groaned. ‘Perhaps some plinths and flowers either side might brighten this entrance hall? Discreet lighting. Scented roses.’

With another strangled cough from their guide, the bars slid to the side and the doors were pushed open. A soaring glass-domed space the size of a cathedral apse greeted them, encircled by grey marble columns and shadowy alcoves. What furniture remained lay shrouded beneath dust sheets and if rugs had once graced the vast expanse of grey stone floor they certainly weren’t in evidence now. Dust motes danced in the air at the disturbance from the opening of the doors, and was that a dovecote in one of the alcoves or a postbox for fifty? Another alcove contained the bathing pool, empty but for dirt, but the plumbing had worked once and would work again—it was her job to see to it. There were faded frescoes on the walls and a second floor with a cloistered walkway that looked down on the central area. Chandeliers still hung in place, struggling to shine beneath decades of dust. There was even a circus trapeze roped carelessly to a tiny balcony set one floor above the rest. Illustrations in the journals of the courtesans of old had not done the place justice.

‘Well, now.’ Sera sent a fleeting smile in Lianthe’s direction. ‘Nothing like a challenge.’

The older woman nodded and turned to their guide. ‘Can you offer us cleaners?’ The man looked unsure. ‘No? Then we shall invite our own, and tradespeople too. I suppose we should thank the monarchy for preserving the space in all its historical glory. At least there are no rats.’

‘And I think I know why.’ Sera stared up at the domed glass ceiling to where several lumpy shapes sat, nestled into the framework. ‘Are they owls?’

Lianthe looked up and smiled. ‘Why, yes. A good omen, don’t you think? Would you like to keep them?’

‘Depends on the rats.’ Call her difficult but if the rats were gone Sera was all for providing alternative living space—and hunting options—for the raptors. ‘We may need the assistance of a falconer. I don’t suppose King Augustus keeps one of those any more either?’

‘No, Lady Sera. But King Casimir of Byzenmaach does,’ said their guide.

‘Ah, yes.’ Lianthe nodded. ‘The falconers of Byzenmaach are men of legend and steeped in the old ways. Tomas-the-Tongue-Tied is head falconer there these days is he not? How is the boy?’

‘Grown, milady, although still somewhat tongue-tied,’ said the old guide and won a rare smile from Lianthe. ‘But ever devoted to his winged beasts. If you need him here, we can get him here.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Sera. Eyes on the prize, or, in this case, the speedy removal of hunting birds from her future living quarters. ‘Let’s aim for that. Unless by “Don’t get too comfortable” King Augustus meant for me to sleep with the wildlife? Perhaps I should go back and ask.’

‘You must definitely ask,’ said Lianthe.

It was decided. Sera shed her travelling cloak and watched the old courtier blink and then raise his hand as if to shade his eyes from the glare. Granted her dainty six-inch heels were a burnt orange colour and her slimline ankle-length trousers were only one shade darker, but her tunic was a meek ivory chiffon and the gold metal bustier beneath it covered far more than usual and ran all the way up and around her neck.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked the old guide.

‘Headache,’ he said, and touched two fingers to his temple.

‘I know massage techniques for that,’ she began. ‘Very effective. Would you like me to—’

‘No, milady. No! You just…’ He waved his arm in the air ineffectually. ‘Go and see Augustus. The King. King Augustus.’

‘I know who you mean,’ she said gently, sharing a concerned glance with Lianthe. ‘Are you quite well? I’d offer you a seat if I could find one. Or a drink. Would you like me to call for water?’

‘No, milady. I’m quite recovered.’

But he still looked painfully pinched and long-suffering. ‘Is it the jewels? Because the bustier isn’t quite my normal attire. It’s part of the courtesan’s chest.’

‘It certainly seems that way, milady. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting the bejewelled wrist and ankle cuffs either.’

Ah. ‘Well, they are very beautiful. And surprisingly light given all the bronze and amber inlays and gold filigree. There are chains to go with them,’ she said.

‘Of course there are.’ The man’s fingers went to massage his temple again.

‘Will I find the King in the same place we left him?’ asked Sera, because sometimes it paid to be practical.

‘He may be back in his office by now. Two doors to the left of the room you met him in. The outer area houses the secretary’s desk. The secretary’s not there because that would be me and I am here. The inner room is his, and the door to it may or may not be open. Either way, knock.’

Sera found the King exactly where the old courtier said he would be; the door through to his office was open and she paused to check her posture before knocking gently on the door frame. He lifted his gaze from the papers on the big black table in front of him and blinked. And blinked again.

She curtseyed again, all but kissing the floor, because this man was her King and protocol demanded it.

‘Up,’ he said, with a slight tinge of weariness. ‘What is it?’

Not Come in, so she stayed in the doorway. ‘I want to invite Tomas the Byzenmaach falconer to call on me.’

‘Tired of me already?’ He arched an eyebrow, even as he studied her intently, starting with her shoes and seeming to get stuck in the general vicinity of her chest. The golden bustier was quite arresting but not the most comfortable item of clothing she owned. ‘That was quick.’

‘I need him here so he can remove the raptors from my quarters.’

‘Raptors as in dinosaurs? Because it’s been that kind of day.’

‘Raptors as in owls.’

‘I’m almost disappointed,’ he said, and there was humour in him, sharp and slippery. ‘What is that you’re wearing, exactly? Apart from the clothes. Which I appreciate, by the way. Clothes are useful. You’ll get cold here if you don’t wear more of them.’

‘You mean the jewellery? Your secretary seemed very taken by it as well. It’s ceremonial, for the most part, although practical too.’

‘Practical?’

‘D-rings and everything.’ She held up one wrist and showed him the loop and then pointed to another where the bustier came together at the back of her neck. ‘So do I have your permission to call in the falconer?’

‘Is this a plea for different living quarters? Because I’m being as clear as I can be here. I don’t want to give you any quarters, but, given that I must, you are welcome to more suitable living arrangements than the ones you have requested. I would not deny you that.’

‘It’s not a plea for new quarters.’ He tested her patience, this King with the giant stick up his rear. ‘And, yes, you’re being very clear. Perhaps I should be equally clear.’ Save herself a few meetings with him in the process. ‘I want your permission to clean and ready my living quarters for use. I will call in experts, when necessary. I will see the courtesan’s lodgings restored and it will cost you and the palace nothing. I will take all care to preserve the history of the rooms—more care than you or your people would. I will submit names, on a daily basis, of each and every craftsperson or cleaning person that I bring in. By your leave, and provided I have free rein to do so, I can have those rooms fit to live in within a week. Do I have your permission?’

‘You argue like a politician. All fine words, sketchy rationale and promises you’ll never keep.’

‘I’ll keep this promise, Your Majesty. Consider this a test if you need a reason to say yes.’

‘And when you leave again? What happens to all these home improvements then?’

‘I expect the next courtesan will benefit from them.’

‘Sera.’ He spoke quietly but with an authority that ran bone-deep, and it got to her in a way the authority of her teachers never had. ‘There’s not going to be another courtesan delivered to a King of Arun. This I promise.’

‘Then turn the place into a museum,’ she snapped, defiant in the face of extinction. ‘You don’t value me. I get it. You don’t need my help, you don’t want my help, and you don’t understand the backing you’ve just been blessed with. So be it. Meanwhile, we’re both bound by tradition and moreover I have dues to pay. Do I have your permission to engage the help I need to make my living quarters habitable?’

‘And here I thought courtesans were meant to be compliant.’

‘I am compliant.’ She could be so meekly compliant his head would spin. ‘I can be whatever you want me to be. All I need is direction.’

His face did not betray his thoughts. Not by the flicker of an eye or the twitching of a muscle.