Antagonist

After one month of relative peace spent in the Seraphine library, Diane was once again summoned to the royal palace.

By the Emperor, this time, so there was no getting out of it. This was how she found herself breathlessly trying to fit into a corset unfit to be worn by a living human being, leaning against the wall as Lydia pulled on the straps.

Lydia was ruthless. "I think that's enough," Diane gasped, only to feel her ribs receive another crushing sartorial blow. "Please, Lydia, I've only just recovered--"

"You keep saying that, My Lady," Lydia replied, a serene smile on her face as she bruised Lilith's ribs again, "But the royal palace has eyes everywhere."

"And you think all those eyes are gonna be at my waist?"

Another tug, harder this time. Was she going to be able to make it through this? "Lady Seraphine, you're to be the next Crown Princess." Oh, god, this speech again. How many times had she heard this? "If nobles are to be examples of excellence to commoners, then you must be the most noble of them all."

"And that includes having the most crushed internal org-- ugh!" That pull of the corset laces felt punitive. Diane turned her head back and glared.

"It includes having the noblest presentation, My Lady, yes."

It was another two hours until Diane stepped foot in the palace, feeling like she'd already lost one fight. She hadn't even stepped into the real battlefield.

The palace itself was unsurprisingly lavish: touches of French rococo architectural details, paintings everywhere, sculptures depicting either the goddess or the Emperor, or more often, both.

It was the people who were the problem: they stared at Lilith like a zoo animal as she strode through the palace's courtyard, back ramrod straight and steps silent. A well-dressed gentleman with mutton chop sideburns beelined straight toward her, bowing deeply. "Lady Seraphine. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you healthy again," the man-- Marquis Evans, if Diane's detailed briefings on current nobles was correct-- intoned. Something about him reminded her of the litany of law students who used to flock to her, all of them ready to beg for an internship.

This man saw power in her, and wanted to take advantage of it. "Marquis Evans," she curtsied, smiling, "I apologize for worrying you-- it has been a strange time."

"Yes," and here Evans's smile grew into something twisted, "I heard that you had lost your memory? What a tragedy."

Ah, he was confirming a rumor. Diane smiled back, prepared. "That's very true-- I've spent the last few weeks working to relearn much of what I've lost. I hope my behavior hasn't been offensive?"

If Diane was right, Marquis Evans would never dare criticize her. "Of course not! Honestly, going by your behavior, I'm shocked that you've lost any memory at all. You're arguably more elegant than ever."

Marquis Evans was a man firmly in the royal faction, where Lilith's father resided; naturally he wouldn't dare criticize her to her face. "I see," Diane smiled, "Still, there is much that I don't remember. Would it be too much to ask you to tea sometime, so that you can assist me with my grasp of current nobility? There is still so very much I have to relearn." There-- she could play to his desires. This man saw her as both a future Empress, and an empty glass to fill with his twisted version of the truth.

She could use him, and she could use what he wanted to tell her, if she was able to sift through the bullshit.

Lo and behold, he jumped on the opportunity like a man starved. "Of course! I would be more than glad to discuss politics with you-- may I inquire as to your availability?" This was a misstep: being too obvious with his desperation. It was time to remind Evans of their difference in status.

"Please write to the estate-- we can schedule a definite time then," she replied, an implied power move for every other noble within earshot to hear: 'My time is precious, more so than yours.'

In his defense, Marquis Evans's smile didn't falter, even if his eyes grew cold. "Why, gladly," he agreed, bowing once more. "In fact, I should be going, I've an audience with the Merchants' Guild." Diane wanted to laugh-- he was throwing names around, trying to put her in what he thought was her place.

"Ah, of course-- I'm set to meet with His Majesty, myself." She gave him a little curtsy, "I wish you a lovely rest of your day."

Thoroughly defeated, Evans wished her the same and got the hell out of dodge, and Diane turned to smile at one of her many onlookers, a tall gentleman with dark hair. He looked away.

The audience chambers were quiet. All Diane could hear was the clacking of her heels as she strode toward the throne.

Even from afar Emperor Gladius D'Etienne commanded a room. There was a pressure that accompanied his presence-- the implicit understanding that Diane was nearing someone with the power to ruin her life.

Without even speaking, he reminded her of Oberfell. They shared the same smile, all kindness in the face and predatory anticipation behind the eyes.

This was a man who enjoyed the image of harmlessness while committing atrocities away from the public eye, if Oberfell was anything to go by.

As the head of a major white collar criminal defense law firm, Jonathan Oberfell had paid to silence people seeking justice, and ensured that silence with calmly stated threats to their families. Oberfell had had people killed to win cases, because ambition was nothing without follow-through, and Oberfell was a small fry compared to the man before her. The head of a law firm couldn't begin to compare to an Emperor, because cruelty was and is always proportional to power.

Diane bowed deeply. "The second daughter of the Seraphine Duchy greets the Grand Sun of the Etienne Empire."

Emperor Gladius D'Etienne scratched at this thick black beard, thinking. Analyzing her. "You behave well for someone who lost their memory."

"I've been blessed with resources to try and catch back up," Diane replied, still bowed. Especially with the corset, it was difficult to breathe.

She heard a laugh from atop the throne. "I heard you've been spending a great deal of time in your father's library. You're a fan of Baron Clarke's take on the Vierre wars, no?"

Lilith's father had never set foot in the library, at least while Diane was there. The only people who should have known the contents of Diane's readings were her maids.

The Emperor was telling her to her face that he had spies on her. With great effort, Diane kept herself from clenching her fists in her dress. "That is correct, Your Majesty."

"You may stand."

Oh, thank god. Her back was starting to hurt. Diane stood up straight, only to see the Emperor openly watching her; checking for any signs of distress.

Just like Oberfell. Silently, Diane was grateful for her years of experience in court. "Tell me, Lady Seraphine-- actually--" the Emperor held a hand up, looking elsewhere, "Theo, excellent timing. Take your seat." Gladius gestured to one of the smaller cushioned stools at his sides, and like a puppy Lilith's dipshit fiancé took his spot beside his father. "I was just asking our little amethyst about her thoughts on the Vierre wars."

Theo went rigid, clenching his fists against his trousers-- an obvious display of discomfort.

So this was a test of some sort, then. "Lilith, if you'd indulge me," Gladius D'Etienne began, showing his teeth in a grin full of expectation, "In the final war 312, what was the most important battle? The one that decided the war."

Interesting-- she'd read Baron Clarke's take on the issue. "Clarke's claim is that the destruction of the Tower Wall, Vierre's largest defensive structure, decided the final war, Your Majesty, as it was a major cultural landmark and ultimately destroyed the soldiers' morale." She glanced at the prince-- saw him visibly relax, shoulders slumping. "However--" Theo clenched his jaw, and Diane was sure she was onto something, at least. "Isn't that a little naive?"

Gladius smirked-- the expression looked right at home on his face. "Oh? How so?"

"Prior to the Tower battle, Etienne decimated Vierre's supply chain-- the Battle of Odal," Diane replied, noting the quiet interest in the Emperor's face. "Tell me, Your Majesty, in your opinion-- do you think that starving soldiers can put up much of a fight? Even in a wall built for war?"

The Emperor was a man who delighted in cruelty, based on the way he grinned. "Not at all. Continue."

An image flashed in Diane's mind-- a gruesome moment of an alternate history, when Vlad The Impaler had impaled tens of thousands of his own citizens upon stakes. Historians described it as a 'forest.' "At that point, I would argue that the Battle of the Tower Wall was less a deciding factor for the war, and more..." she glanced at the Crown Prince. He glared at her. "More like a forest ready to be cut down for wood."

Peals of laughter echoed through the audience hall, deep and delighted. The Emperor even clapped. "'Like a forest ready to be cut down for wood.' Oh, I love that." That had been Diane's intention-- to present an image of herself as cruel him, a simple mirroring tactic. "Okay-- thank you for today. You may leave."

Now, to try and get what she wanted. "If I may, Your Majesty," she bowed again, "I would like to discuss the question of my engagement."

The air in the room changed-- instead of laughter, the Emperor looked down at her; even the Crown Prince smirked. "Oh? Are you looking to speed along the marriage, then?"

How sweet of Gladius, giving her an out. "On the contrary; I cannot help but question the efficacy of marrying a woman without her own memory to the Crown Prince." To summarize it, "Seeing myself as I am now, I do not believe that I'm fit to be Empress."

For the first time, Emperor Gladius looked surprised: every illusion of joy bled out of him. "Is that so." His voice was flat-- displeased. Theo only stared at her, shocked.

"I'm of the belief that there are others who would be better fit to become Empress."

Gladius crossed his legs and laced his fingers together in his lap; using silence as a weapon. Oberfell would have been proud. "Tell me, Miss Seraphine," he began, already belittling her with the term 'Miss,' "Who exactly decides who's fit to take the throne? You?"

Ah. She'd made a mistake. "No, that would be you, Your Majesty."

"Correct." The Emperor let the silence linger, staring Diane down. She remained quiet, calm. To panic was to lose. "Your father mentioned your concern about this-- you brought it up with him, received an answer you didn't like, and then went to the other party, correct?"

Shit. She wanted to sigh. "As you said, there's only one person who decides the next Empress," she managed, before tacking on, "Your Majesty."

Gladius snorted, and beside him, like a dog, Crown Prince Theodosius did the same. "I'll forgive this mistake, just the once," Gladius announced, eyes soft. "And be assured that everything we've discussed today has only confirmed for me that you're more fit to rule than ever. Expect a gift from our treasury at your estate the next few days."

Diane bowed, deeply. "I'm honored." Not quite the response she was looking for, but it never hurt to have something she could sell down the line, especially since she'd probably lose her title and status, knowing the plot of the game.

The game.

Shit. She'd completely forgotten about it, focused as she was on getting up to speed with politics, history, science, mathematics, economics, culture, etiquette, and fashion-- she had to prepare for the actual plot.

...If only she could remember it.