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The Bell Tolls for Me 50: Royal Intervention
🕑 Added 2025-05-17 06:52:28 +0000 UTCIsabella was typically disinclined toward aggressive political attacks, especially towards someone that she didn’t view as a bad person. Nevertheless, despite her support, Claude had disappointed her at every turn. Perhaps it was excessive on her part to expect him to confer with Valerio and her alone, but the fact that he still retained the counsel of people like Pius and other troublesome nobles in the Kingdom presented tremendous problems.
There had been a few major beneficiaries of Claude’s policies, however.
“Why would I help you force Claude to abdicate?” Archduke Felix asked. “I believe I made my political stance rather clear. Was I incorrect in assuming you’d be able to pick up on such nuances?”
“And did I think too much of you in assuming that you would be able to quickly parse out the reasoning for my request?” Isabella asked, her hands on her lap politely.
“I did consider an interregnum. Nevertheless, I didn’t think I’d be able to lead the proceedings, so I decided against it.” Archduke Felix walked around the desk and sat on its edge to stare down at her.
“But you have someone who would be able to lead the proceedings,” Isabella said boldly, staring up at him.
“And why would I give you that power?” Felix crossed his arms. “I’m sure countless others will be asking just the same question.”
“You should give me that power because you’ve been a massive beneficiary of both Claude’s policies and my business,” Isabella spoke plainly. “And most importantly… I’m confident I can do it. With Claude out of the picture, people will believe me neutral enough to be tolerable, yet scheming enough that they might have a chance.”
Felix stared at her for seconds, saying nothing. “When your father invaded my kingdom, I lost over half of my people. An eighth from the war, and the rest from the consequences that followed from his brutal campaign.” He shook his head firmly. “Famine, disease, bandits—it took every ounce of power that I had to bring the north back from the brink of dissolution. I won’t deny I’ve exploited the situation, but I take only what is my due. Your father was a brutal man who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals. Why should I show this kingdom any courtesy I was not given?”
Isabella’s response was simple. “Because you’re better than him.”
Felix chuckled. “He smashed my host, destroyed my army. Our misery was his profit—he won, utterly. And you name me his better?”
“I do. My father may have walked through time effortlessly, carving his own path, but he had no insight into what came ahead. All of Claude’s errors—indeed, all of Edgar II’s errors—are on his head. He was a man who did not plan for his death, and now you plunder all that he’s built.”
“If you had ever seen Edgar the Great on the field of battle, you would know why he had no plans to die. He was incapable of making a mistake,” Felix declared. “Ordinary men cannot do what I’ve seen him do. There is something unnatural, even inhuman, about him—and I speak of far more than his deep mastery of magic.”
“And yet he died all the same,” Isabella said. “And left the whole world to burn without him.”
Felix sighed. “So he did.”
Silence settled in between them. Isabella didn’t push.
“Fine, very well. I will admit your offer is tempting in some ways. I have no strong desire for bloodshed. It’s… unproductive. It’s very clear that Claude is not suited for rule. He is compassionate, but cowardly. He is just, but too trusting. And worse yet, he’s slow. I suppose I can’t expect much of children born of women that bedded the king even though they knew his foul reputation…”
That callous comment angered Isabella. “Much like your daughter, most of them didn’t have a choice. They were sold to the king for scraps off the table, as you sell Abigail away now.”
Felix’s gaze grew cold. “Sylvain is a good man.”
“Was Edgar II?” Isabella asked pointedly. “I would advise against speaking of subjects on which you have no knowledge.”
Felix said nothing, merely standing from his desk and walking to look out the window. “When the time comes, I’ll apply pressure to Claude. I’ll let him know my position on his continued reign. Do what you intend to do.”
Why isn’t he arguing back? Isabella wondered.
Isabella stood up and left somewhat solemnly. She wasn’t quite sure whether she even respected Felix anymore. On the one hand, he was self-interested and stupidly ambitious. On the other, he gave her a great deal more latitude than she could expect with anyone else. Outside, she joined up with Randolph, who kept quiet as they left.
As Isabella was leaving the archduke’s estate, however, she spotted Abigail walking down the hall. She was eager to inform her friend that their political interests had aligned once more, allowing their continued friendship. Instead, she saw was Abigail holding a crumpled handkerchief, her eyes red from crying. She seemed shaken upon seeing Isabella.
“Abigail?” Isabella said in concern, running up quickly with little regard for decorum. “What’s wrong?”
Abigail only shook her head and said, “Nothing.”
“I hope you don’t think so little of me has to believe I’ll buy that,” Isabella pressed. “I’m your friend. Speak to me.”
Isabella saw Abigail grasp that seal necklace she had gifted during the engagement party, moving it between her fingers. She stared at Isabella as if holding back a dam of thought.
“Is it your father? Sylvain?” Isabella asked, hoping for any indication.
“No, that’s…” Abigail shook her head, and then sniffed. “It isn’t something that talking can cure. It’s simply… a rather painful allergy that I’ve been dealing with since I was young.”
“An allergy?” Isabella repeated disbelievingly.
“Yes,” Abigail said. “You must forgive me, but I think that I would like to rest for a while.”
Isabella certainly couldn’t hold on to Abigail and force her to explain, so she was forced to step aside and let the lady pass. Abigail walked away much as she had come, wiping away tears from her eyes. Given that she knew Sylvain and Abigail had been at least on good terms in her last life, she doubted that he was the source of her distress.
“She’s in no danger, by my instinct,” Randolph assured. “Perhaps she’s grieving? I’ve seen that hollow stare on many a friend in the Court of the Condottieri.”
Isabella trusted Randolph because of his orcish bloodline, which supposedly alerted him to danger. As that thought passed through her head, she paused. Bloodline? Abigail herself had mentioned an allergy that troubled her since she was young. Perhaps that was a subtle hint to things—a half-truth. How much did Isabella actually know about Felix’s house? It stood to reason there might be some sort of power to their blood, as was the case for many kings and noble.
Regardless, Isabella felt she had allowed this wound to fester too long. For Abigail’s sake, she wouldn’t simply let this matter drop. It might be difficult… but she needed to know the truth. Why was Felix forcing this upon his daughter? He seemed to love her truly, so why? And why was Abigail behaving so oddly? It might simply be the pressures of the engagement, but Isabella’s instinct said it was something deeper.
“Why can nothing be simple, Randolph?” Isabella turned and walked away.
"Because then I’d be out of work, Your Highness. And heaven forbid the guards find peace," Randolph said dryly.
***
Isabella sat with the queen the next day in her capacity as royal tutor, though little Ed was absent. He was again being tended to by wed nurses. She knew that the queen didn’t like allowing her son too much time away from her, so that spoke to the gravity of the situation.
“I spoke with Claude the other night,” Margeline began without any preamble. “I did as you suggested. I asked him if I might take little Ed on a small journey outside the capital. Perhaps returning to my hometown to visit with my sisters.” She shook her head. “At first… he lied to me. I could tell right away, of course—Claude is awful at lying, and so he never does it.”
“I know,” Isabella said, thinking back on select memories with exhaustion.
“He confessed immediately. He explained to me some troop movements on the capital province’s border. He said that several dukes were gathering an army, and that it might not be safe. He tried to downplay the severity, but it was rather obvious that he simply wouldn’t allow me to leave the capital.” She sighed shakily, clearly distraught. “Everything that you said was true, wasn’t it?”
“I was trying to be especially honest. Valerio and I have done our best to support Claude. Perhaps our best wasn’t good enough, but all I know is that I don’t want to harm befall him or your family.”
Margeline stared at her hands. “He lied to me.” She shook her head. “Even if he isn’t physically killed, Claude will die in other ways. He would’ve never lied to me before all of this,” she said in disbelief. “He apologized, of course, but it still makes me sick just thinking about it.”
Isabella had honestly never seen such pure love. Was this what a good relationship was supposed to be like? Absolute trust in one another? These days, those were questions she asked herself more and more.
“He can’t be king,” Margeline said. “I would sooner spirit myself and Ed away on a small ship if he won’t see reason. You have my support, Isabella. But where do we even begin?”
Isabella put her hands over Margeline’s. “Allow me to handle it.”
***
“You’re really asking quite a lot, you know,” Gaspar said, rubbing his forehead.
“But I’m asking,” Isabella responded simply. “Do you expect the queen and I to ignominiously murder King Claude in the brief time we’re alone with him?”
“If not that, then what?”
“I merely hope to demonstrate a few principles to the king in private.” Isabella looked up into his serene blue eyes—after throwing off the yoke of Pius, they seemed much brighter. “Frankly, I’m not sure that all of your holy paladins can be trusted entirely. I want to have the advantage of being the first mover.”
Gaspar looked around, not committing one way or the other.
“You do realize he’s been seeking counsel from Pius, yes?” Isabella drove the nail in.
“Do you intend to do something about that,” Gaspar said as if evidence had been provided.
“Do you think me dishonorable?” Isabella asked.
Gaspar sighed, then nodded. “Very well. When the time comes, they’ll do as you ask.”
***
“I’ll be on gate-duty three days from now, in the early morning,” the man whispered in the dead of night. “When your people show up, give me a signal. Maybe… I don’t know, send in a caravan with a red flag on the back. I’ll open the gates, and you’ll be able to slip in without issue. From there, you can do what you will with the city.”
The man sitting across from the gate guard gave a smile, then reached into his coat to produce a bag. He set it on the table and slid it over. “This is the upfront payment. You’ll receive the rest for work well done.”
The guard open the bag, checking the contents. Gemstones gleamed the back of him under the candlelight.
“I’m going to get these checked out by a jeweler. If they’re fake—”
“They’re not,” the man interrupted, then rose to his feet. “If you don’t hear from us, the plan is on.”
“You’re part of the Gods’ bastards, aren’t you?” the guard asked. The man paused, but said nothing. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Smart man,” the other praised. “You might live long enough to spend that.”
***
Claude walked into his private dining room somewhat tiredly. He had a headache despite the fact that he’d just woken up. He smiled when he saw his wife, but had to pause when he saw an unfamiliar figure sitting there.
“Isabella?” Claude said in surprise. “Why are you here? Did the queen invite you?”
Isabella rose to her feet, placing both her hands on the dining table as she looked between the guards. “Give us a moment,” she said.
As if Isabella was the queen herself, the holy paladins walked out of the room. Claude gaped as they left, a little bit taken aback.
“What are you…? Stay here,” he commanded. “Stay!”
The holy paladins ignored him and left the room silently. Claude turned back around to look at the two of them.
“Have a seat,” Margeline said nicely, gesturing at the table.
“What is… what…?” Claude babbled, until he eventually decided to take a seat.
“We’re here to talk about your monarchical problem,” Isabella said.
“We’re here because we love you, Claude, and we want to help,” Margeline insisted.
Claude looked between the two of them, at a loss for words.
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Comments
kellanved
Huh is the old king a regressor?
Basil Harpham
And it comes crashing down, his order being ignored should be enough to indicate that to him
