A heavy morning loomed over the palace.Beatrice stood by the long window in the small reception hall, her arms crossed over her chest, as if holding back the pressure of an invisible wind.Cold rain drizzled beyond the glass, thin and gray, as if the weather itself refused to be clear.Lady-in-waiting Lynette entered the hall quietly, clutching a bundle of letters to her chest. She hesitated before speaking:-Your Majesty… a report has arrived from Ravel. His Majesty King Theodor conveys that negotiations with the local lords have become complicated. He will be delayed for an indefinite time.Beatrice gave a short nod.Theodor had left three days ago to resolve unrest at the distant borders. It had been expected that he would return quickly. But now…Now, her shoulders remained the only ones carrying the weight of power in the capital.-Also, Your Majesty, an emissary of the High Temple has arrived. He demands an immediate audience.Demands. Not requests. Not awaits. The word hung in the air like a challenge. Beatrice slowly straightened.-Let him in.Even before the emissary's arrival, the rumors had been carefully arranged.Ladies whispered behind curtains. Palace clerics paused in hallways, exchanging meaningful glances. Allegedly, the Queen was stalling support for the Temple. They said she neglected the sacred places. Feared what would happen if the Lord turned His back on the palace. Nothing direct. Nothing that could be openly accused.Only drops of poison, falling onto the fabric of her authority, leaving rusty stains. And Beatrice felt each of those drops on her skin.
The emissary was tall, lean, wrapped in heavy blue fabrics adorned with silver lily embroidery. On his chest hung a medallion bearing the symbol of the Great Sanctum. His face displayed impeccable politeness, but the kind pulled taut, like a string before it breaks.He bowed, formally.-Your Majesty,- he said with a mask of reverence,- the Temple is concerned. The recent calamities, attacks on sacred lands, require urgent measures. The elders believe that donations to the Holy Houses should be increased… to strengthen the people's faith in such difficult times.Beatrice remained silent, allowing the words to fall into the quiet.- The decision, as we understand, brooks no delay,- the emissary added with light pressure. -For to delay matters of faith is nearly akin to betrayal of duty before the heavens.The phrases were polished. Each turn of speech a trap. Sign and you become a pawn. Refuse and you become an enemy of the Church.Beatrice shifted her gaze to Lair, gripping her finger tightly in sleep. Fear burned inside her, but it didn't show.She spoke slowly, clearly, giving weight to each word.- I share the Temple's concern for the people's well-being.However, such an important decision requires full transparency.The emissary squinted.-Your Majesty?-I command,- Beatrice continued calmly,- that a full list of expenses and requested funds be presented to the Small Council. After review, we will consider the possibility of increasing funding. Openly. With witnesses.The silence after her words was heavy.The emissary straightened. For a moment, a flash of malice sparked in his eyes.- Allow me to remind you,- he said carefully, "that delay in serving the Faith can be misinterpreted…Beatrice raised her hand, stopping him.-Permit me to remind you,- her voice was quiet but sharp,- that the crown cares not only for eternal salvation, but also for earthly order. And I will not allow anyone, be it temple or council, to destabilize that order through recklessness.
Her gaze was calm, steady, like still water. And within that calm was threat. The emissary bowed slowly. Low. Without another word. And left, vanishing behind the heavy doors.
Only silence remained in the reception hall. Beatrice stood in the middle of the room. Her palms were cold, damp from tension.Her knees trembled.
By noon, a list of signatures was delivered to her.
An open petition… a demand from the temple brothers: to double donations. This time the petition bore not a single emissary's name, but several dozen. The handwriting was clear, polished, like bayonets on parade. And behind each name stood hundreds of believers.Beatrice placed the list on the table, her gaze sliding across the rows of ink. Did he ignore my words? She wanted to pass the decision to someone else. Shift the weight onto the council. But now there was nowhere to retreat. No Theodor. No supporters.
Only her and Lair, peacefully sleeping behind the screen.Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment. Took a deeper breath.
She ordered the Small Council convened for the evening. Demanded that every elder, every advisor sit in the hall when she spoke. No hiding behind signatures. No hiding behind rumors. Let them look her in the eyes.
The hall for the Small Council was cold and empty. The fire in the hearth burned greedily, casting long, creeping shadows on the carved wall panels. The ladies-in-waiting arranged the chairs in a semicircle near the queen's throne.Beatrice sat in her place, back straight, hands calmly folded on her lap. From behind the high back of the throne, her face looked almost carved from marble.
A knock came at the door.
One by one, the temple elders entered, in long cloaks lined with silvery embroidery. Behind them came the treasurer, the chancellor, and several noble lords.The men bowed their heads, some deeply, others lazily.Beatrice did not rise, did not make a single unnecessary movement. She waited until all had taken their seats. When the last chair scraped across the stone floor, she spoke:- Your demands have been conveyed to me.- Her voice was quiet but did not require repetition.- And I have invited you today to hear your explanations personally.One of the senior priests, gray-bearded, cold-eyed, leaned forward:-Your Majesty, the Temple only asks for support in difficult times. Refusal will strengthen the voices of those who see in current events an omen…Beatrice interrupted him with a light wave of her hand.-You believe the royal throne should barter salvation?
Silence.
- I acknowledge the need to care for the people's spiritual state,- she continued, evenly, without a tremble,- but care for the people also requires preservation of order, defense of the borders, upkeep of the army.She turned her gaze to the treasurer:-The treasury is not bottomless. The reserves are barely enough to prepare new garrisons for spring.The lords exchanged glances. So did the elders. One of them stood:- Your Majesty, the Great Sanctum teaches that in danger to souls, earthly walls are nothing.Beatrice tilted her head slightly, as if acknowledging the argument.-Precisely why,- she answered calmly, -I propose this:financial reports on temple expenditures will be presented to the Council within seven days. All donations will be reconsidered according to actual needs. And every coin will be distributed transparently, under the seal of the crown.A whisper ran through the hall. Some elders tensed, some narrowed their eyes. But not one dared openly object. She had not refused. But neither had she submitted. And she had seized control.
When the session ended, the elders bowed slowly, accepting the terms. The noble lords followed, some with respect, some with unease. Beatrice was left alone.
Only the crackling of logs in the fireplace filled the hall.
She allowed herself to lean on the edge of the throne. Her knees trembled from long tension, and her back burned from unnatural stillness. But her face remained cold.Beatrice lifted her gaze to the high vault of the hall. The first blow and you're still standing.She lightly struck her leg with her fist. Just stop shaking!