First Of Her Name

AS THE SILVER FROST of the coming winter whispered from the deep cold north into the winds of the city, the Governor of Rocasus presented his case of partiality, nepotism and prejudice against his state to the Royal Court of Eldoria. His key witness to the Queen's alleged war crimes, the entire city of Frostholm was already experiencing its snows. Her mountains were white and the Keep's recovering skyline was an endless pale of crusty ice.

Naturally, for such insurmountable accusations to her authority as Queen, Giselle Van Imperia demanded a hearing. A letter of rebuttal just would not do this time around. Rumors had circled of the brewing tensions in Rocasus. She had ordered her knights, the Gold Cloaks, drive west into the Rocasian lands to ease them into her sanctions—while keeping an ear out for truths to the ongoing revolution.

However, what Giselle hadn't expected was the appointed Governor, a stellar General in her army to confront so brazenly with this appeal.

It was always the ones you didn't expect, wasn't it?

The Eldorian realm was a monarchy but several established parties existed to provide checks and balances toward Royalty. Prime of these parties was her Council. Her Majesty's Council. So named in her titular honor but anything else. Immediately the letter suing her for wrong judgement and genocide—and every other fucking stupid idea of villainy the Rocasian revolution had nested in their little heads, arrived in a gilded tray to her chambers, Giselle sharply thought of Rafel.

He was her Crimson Knight.

If anyone could brave the wolves of a war crime allegation and come out unscathed, it would be the Apollyon of Hel, Lord Israfel BlüdThïrste. The man grinned into the destruction and waste at Frostholm's end. The very battle she was now being questioned for. He was the coldest man she'd ever met.

He beheaded a Sphinx, for her. He slaughtered an entire city, for her. He massacred thousands, for her. She knew Rafel would just as certainly incinerate the entire Council. . .for her.

She sent out a letter inviting him to the Hearing just as quickly as when she'd received hers.

'You've been served, Your Majesty.' Giselle remembered clearly the inscribed words highlighted below the inquest for her summoning to Court.

The Council deliberations had been set for the late evening, just before dusk, as the sun painted the Eldorian skies a splash of melted gold. The citizens of her realm were invited to listen in to the debate.

Hundreds of Nobles and Gentlefolk now sat in the long pews across from the dais of her Throne room. Their collective eyes shone with a mixture of fear and inquisition. The woman before them all was still the Queen after all, and a Fae at that. The Faeries were once worshipped and sacrificed to as Elder gods.

Giselle Van Imperia sat as regal as the sun in her throne of ivory and overlaid gold. Her long royal robes shimmered in the same glittery assault of silver and blond. Her golden eyes leveled on the softly whispering crowd. Her tiara glinted with a massive bright diamond and her golden hair reflected the shine of it.

People were talking in murmurs but Giselle payed them no mind. People would always talk. Any position of power demanded gossip.

At the docket closest to the alabaster steps leading up to her throne, sat the plaintiff.

The treasonous fuck, by Her Majesty's mind.

Giselle cut knives at the Governor of Rocasus with her eyes. He was in company of his aide, and against the bulkier military standard, the Governor was wimpy. The polished stained glass windows of the Throne room's great dome splashed all within in dazzling spectacles of color. The multitude were a rainbow of hushed voices. Every magical faction was being represented this eventide.

Yet, the Fey Queen's irises pinned on her accuser. What made the tiny fucker think he could confront her this way publicly? Demand an explanation for her actions? She was Queen! She didn't need to explain shit to anybody. It was in the fucking rights to rule. Just because she'd murdered a bunch of selfish assholes that had it coming, eh?

The north keep of Frostholm had been made of pussies. A smellier ignoble cunt had ruled them. She offed the bastard not just because he threatened her authority, but the Lord of Frostholm had it coming a long time. Giselle had been more than happy to drown him in his beloved moat, feed him to his gators.

The sorry fuck of a man!

In Giselle's mind, people didn't usually know what they wanted. As Queen, she was their gray matter. She did the thinking. It made her erratic when they made excuses to think for themselves and conduct little alley revolutions like this.

Frostholm had been the match. Rocasus was the flame.

Giselle looked through the gathered crowd for her redhaired lover. He would always standout in a room, so after a quick glance she knew he wasn't present yet. Giselle decided to cut him some slack. Their hunt for the Bone Huntress had been only two days ago. Speaking of...she should be making a special visit to Emberfall with the Countess to perhaps collectively cool their jets with the Earl.

Not being bungled into her seat to answer for some action she would repeat in a heartbeat.

The moment Rafel walked in, she felt him.

Shadows seemed to coalesce around his tall form as he made his way to the darkest furthest booth of the throne room. His ruffian looks were sharpened and made more mysterious by his high collar trenchcoat. He was in company of Corazón and his pretty slave, Aya Naamah.

As Rafel settled into the pew, he looked up through more than a hundred feet of distance to Giselle's golden seat. He nodded to her. A brief allusion to let her know; he was in her corner.

'I would burn this entire Castle down, only give the word.'

In his infernal eyes, Queen Giselle Van Imperia knew she had won the case even before it began.

Rafel had just ushered Mary Atwell, his new Gypsy sub into one of his darker rooms to sleep out her exertion when Cora came in with Giselle's letter. A warm bathing from Aya's divine hands later and he was rushing through his estate grounds in his gothic carriage, riding for the great castle of Eldoria.

Mary would be waiting when he got back. But the matter of Giselle's court hearing couldn't. Rafel would've teleported into the Throne room but the idea of startling the mortals changed his mind. He didn't need to complicate matters for his friend.

As he watched Giselle in her magnificent throne, he was impressed. She was surreal, literally ethereal. It was his first time in the outstandingly grand layers of the Eldorian seat of power but even the lavish luxury of real gold, silver, and intricate diamond could not compare to the glory of the Fey Queen as she perched relaxed in her opal seat.

This was an inquisition into the battle at Frostholm. Rafel could ascertain that much from the secret nod General Ian Noguri sent him from his complainant docket. He was the plaintiff.

The motions of the Rocasian Governor were bold. He had gotten his funding after all. A very generous donation on Rafel's part.

He knew he would be crazy to tell Giselle.

"Mortals are funny." Rafel heard Aya's soft whisper from his left.

He knew what she was thinking. In Hel, none of the Fallen would be caught dead on scrutiny by a lesser Hellbaby. A Hellion would be utterly fucking mad to accuse a Principality, much less accuse them publicly and motion for a 'Hearing'. Hel's Hierarchy was simple. You were either fucking powerful or not. If the General were playing by Hell's chessboard, this move would be suicide.

If Moloch the Destroyer liquefied an entire Bonereaver family for refusal to submit their jailbait daughter, and no one said a word, this would just be a wastage of good bloodsport time in Hel.

Mortals were funny. Indeed.

Rafel perused the throng of those seated on pews in front of him. He made out the Countess, Delia in the forefront of the long benches. She stared at the General like he had maggots shooting out his ears. The closest person to her had sharp ears.

An elf.

Rafel also saw Mages in their long hats. Merfolk with their tails transformed to legs. A few of his horned faction; those that had managed to pay their primage out of Hel. The Throne room spoke of the inclusion of all bloodlines into the Eldorian society. Rafel was delighted at this. In Hel, they were all one long line of depraved sick tormentors.

After a minute passed, the ruling moderator of the Hearing, a chubby man in glasses larger than his eyes hit on a gavel to gain the dome's attention. A hush fell over the crowd.

"The plaintiff this evening; the Legatus of Her Majesty's Western Regiment, the Governor of Rocasus, General Ian Noguri! He stands accusing Her Majesty of war crimes of genocide and endemic impropriety of bias among native magical and nonmagical factions—not excluding humans. He pleads a case of public apology and peace talks with the suffered parties, and possible impeachment of the Queen. . ."

"What?"

"Ooh! Low blow."

"That's harsh, innit?"

"Quite ballsy, I'd reckon."

At the people's flying reactions, the moderator banged his gavel to quieten the din. And then he continued.

"The Council demands silence in the Throne room! Her Majesty has presented herself in good faith before this clave, and thus is entitled to a defense. The evidence presented by the plaintiff, General Ian Noguri includes the known massacre of Frostholm, murder of the city's entire royal family, and the painting of Camerlengo; THE LAND PEACE FORGOT."

The chubby moderator pointed to the wide fifteen foot mural gracing a spot on the pristine right wall, just above the Queen's oil portrait. Everyone turned to it, gasps filling the air. Apparently, they had all thought nothing of the bloodshed and utter chaos depicted in the painting; they only now realized that the city—THE LAND THAT PEACE FORGOT, was Frostholm.

Rafel narrowed his eyes from his position. He avidly remembered Giselle ordering the painting be made that day on the battlefield. Several horrifying scenes of pillage and dismemberment were visible.

"What kind of Queen murders her people and makes a trophy of it, to hang on her own fucking Throne room?" It was General Ian. He stood shaking with anger on his feet. "—That is no Queen. She's a filthy wildling whore, and doesn't deserve to rule a pub full of drunks!"

Thunderous laughter broke out all across the Throne room. The people were nodding and conversing out loud.

"AYE. HEAR! HEAR!" Someone yelled. "Fuck the wilding whore!"

The person who yelled though hid his face. In this he was wise. Rafel could sense the wrath ripping off Giselle. Her fingertips sparkled with cosmic fire she was on the verge of releasing into the masses. Shit could go sideways pretty quickly. The moderator too must have seen this because he began banging his gavel repeatedly, pounding from the podium which he stood at.

"QUIET, PEOPLE! The Council demands silence! No final judgement has been made in this deliberations. All citizens are advised to keep their reservations to themselves. Or else be excused from the Hearing's proceeding. General: you will do well to keep seated until when spoken to, or be held in contempt by the Council."

The moderator adjusted his large spectacles on his pudgy face, allowing General Ian to nod his understanding before he moved on.

"We now bring to the realm's light the case of the defendant, in person of Her Majesty, Regent of the Nine Realms and Fey Keeper of the Seely Court, Light of Eldoria, Beacon of the Isles, and Daughter of the Elder Gods, First of Her Name; Giselle of House Imperia!

Her Majesty pleads not guilty to the charges. And demands instant withdrawal of the case, followed promptly by penitence on the part of the plaintiff. Royal immunity to death penalty applies."

The General scoffed at this. But the moderator ignored him.

"...and so let the debate begin!"

The Rocasian Governor, General Ian Noguri stamped to his feet immediately. He first bowed elegantly to the crowd in his smart military regalia before pleading his case. It was the same idea he had sold Rafel some weeks ago at Emberfall.

"For hundreds of years, THAT Crown has been on the head of one Van Imperia cun—heir after another. Hundreds of years! And while I suppose it's nothing if you're an Immortal mana-possessing Faerie, it is SOMETHING to the humans. The merfolk. The Wild Shapes. The mages. The witches. All of us! Those under your rule. Those who you say contribute nothing but offspring to your kingdom.

We are your slaves. Your consorts. Your ARMY! Your nation. Yet you belittle us. You subject us under your idealogies of liberalism and the greater good. You pull apathy at our complains. You fling us the pennies we need, just enough to thrive. And when we work too hard, you throw us little bones as laurels.

WE DESERVE MORE!

The other magical factions are infrequently included in Council appointments. And as for the humans, you indulge us only to fight your wars. The highest rank a Nonmagical can attain is a General, made manifest in my current position. The last Queen to marry outside her Fae dynasty was five hundred years ago.

I, General Ian Noguri approached Her Majesty politely some years back to include mortals into more than just ceremonial affairs of the Realm. She laughed in my face. Literally! I requested a right to grant Rocasus independence to rule ourselves and manage our territories. She threw me a LITTLE BONE: made me General of the state to shut my mouth.

Well, now, Her Majesty has a choice: FREE ROCASUS OR FEY BLOOD WOULD RUN TRULY WILD FOR THE FIRST TIME IN CENTURIES!

In truth, Feyfolk are no more than proud inbred megalomaniacs. Our revolution is true. Free Rocasus!"

One could hear a pin drop in the Throne room as the Legatus took his seat. Giselle was smiling when he looked up. Ian's face went grave at her mockery. Case in point. Her look of total indifference brought grim fear to the eyes of many. Even if she didn't personally murder the General for this, she would outlive him. She'd outlive them all.

It was a brief pulse of time before Giselle replied the accusations. She did not rise to her feet.

"I DO NOT, and WILL NEVER apologize for my actions in Frostholm, for whatever laissez-faire attitude you think I give off, and certainly not for my fucking painting!

Let me be blunt, General. Humans are weak. You can't propose to hold positions of real authority in a magical empire full of fantastic creatures like Eldoria. You wouldn't last a day. If a Griffin doesn't chop your head off, a Pegasus would pounce you to death. It isn't ego or belittlement. IT'S FUCKIN' EVOLUTION!

Tell me—all of you who are so eager for a revolution, yelling FREE ROCASUS! everywhere; when was the last time a pack of feral werebears attacked some village, or a band of pirates our beach?

When?

This is because they know a Fey sits on the throne. They fear our Empire. Because of the magic. Because of the mana. Because the SUPERNATURAL exists. The first mortals to settle into these lands knew this and crowned the first Van Imperia King. A Fey.

Hate it all you want but we provide stability. We provide protection. Peace. And prosperity. All of you ungrateful little shits would be dead long ago if not for us. . ."

"Ooh!!!" The crowd fell back with an emotional wave.

"Yikes! She's on one." Someone hushed out.

[🎶 Girl On Fire – Alicia Keys.]

It was then Giselle stood to her feet. Her golden eyes bled gold down the sides of her face and flames erupted all over her billowing regal robes. White flames. Gold flames. Cosmic ethereal fire. She stood on fire, a raging daredevil, as she ended her defense in a shocking twist.

"Nobody likes war, General. And I personally take suggesting it as an act of Treason. You have made false allegations against the Crown. You have twisted evidence to suit your claims. You have disposed publicly of your plans underway to depose your Queen. Therefore, in light of the unity and continued peace of the Nine Realms, I disband this Hearing and forbid the Council to rule. . .and accuse you, Legatus Ian Noguri of blasphemy and treason.

As Queen, I strip you of your position as Governor of Rocasus and General of my Western Regiment. You are to return your ranks and honors to the Fort immediately! Rocasus will remain an integrated state of Eldoria. You, Ian, for conspiring to topple a ruling dynasty in bloodshed are issued the sentence for any Usurper:

DEATH!"

Ian couldn't believe his ears. The tables were turned. "Can she do that?" He was saying to anyone who would listen.

But everyone was looking on the flaming Queen, ablaze in celestial light. Who would dispute such raw power?

Giselle was not done yet, and continued.

"However, contrary to what you think—stripped General! I am not a monster. I will give you a chance to fight for your life. I give you the choice of TRIAL BY COMBAT. Name your Champion!"

The moderator banged the gavel and the entire hall was so quiet Rafel heard Cora's soft breathing beside him. Ian kept quiet for a long while, before bursting up to his feet. His face was red and he looked twenty years older, turning him about sixty. He ripped off the gold eagle epaulette on his shoulders and made the most grotesque glare toward Giselle.

"Fuck you, Fey wench! I'll fight myself."

Giselle didn't flinch at his direct insult. She replied smoothly, her next words drowning the whole Throne room into pity for the fired General and his revolution—dead before he could even fight his war.

"Very well, Ian. You are your champion. I on the other hand name as my champion the Earl of Emberfall, Lord Israfel BlüdThïrste."

"Shit. He's fucked." Countess Cordelia chuckled to herself.

The moderator pounded his gavel one last time, saying, "The duel is set at dusk tomorrow and shall hold on the grounds of the Castle's sparring theater. Failure of any party to show up is instant execution. THIS COUNCIL IS DISMISSED!"

The ex-Governor and fallen leader of a revolution, Ian Noguri, fell in a heap to his seat. Giselle sashayed out the Throne room. He put his fingers together in thought, and when his eyes zeroed in on the man he was to fight tomorrow; the giant man seated in the furthest, darkest corner of the pews, Ian blanched in his docket.

Rafel sent him a look of pity.

'I'm sorry, General.' His amber eyes seemed to say.

For Ian Noguri was a dead man walking.