For how prestigious King Dietrich and the Kingdom of Alcalia had become, Ambassador Daniel Williamson expected more when he arrived to Talkro. He expected a royal estate, more akin to the French Royalty, with gilded columns and portraits painted with eloquence, at least of saints and apostles, lining the walls among golden sconces and hanging chandeliers of diamonds. Not wooden houses that one could ride through in a blink with a single castle—if you would call it that—in the middle of a lake and a spit for a market. For the most part, the mark of Alcalia seemed to be the monasteries. And canals. They certainly made use of those.
The Clerics—guards, he supposed—led him into a small room with a desk and motioned for him to sit in one of the wooden chairs in front of it. No cushions in the chairs. Apparently, he wasn’t expected to wait long.
He set his top hat on his lap after unbuttoning the bottom buttons of his double breasted coat and straightened his parted hair with a huff.
The center of Christendom, this was. Barely a thing in this room. A tall shelf from wall to wall behind the desk, filled with books neatly placed, and a few lamps hanging from hooks on the walls. On the desk was a candle that had nearly been burnt to the dried wax puddle beneath it, a quill in a glass stand, a bible, a jar of ink, and nothing more.
Pierre entered with a rush of the door that made the Ambassador nearly jump from his seat, waving his hand that he need not stand. He was wearing the black suit with only the white collar of a priest and red robe, his curly red hair topped by a round red cap.
“I’m so terribly sorry for the wait,” Pierre said as he moved to the seat at the desk and smiled. “You must be the Ambassador from England.”
“A pleasure,” Ambassador Daniel said politely. “I was expecting to meet with his majesty, King Dietrich, personally. I hope all is well.”
“Oh, of course, apologies for that,” Pierre nodded with a long breath. “Bad timing, I regret. His regent will be able to have audience, if that is your preference, but I have been given authority to handle most matters, if you are willing.”
“Might as well carry on, as we say.”
“Wonderful.”
“I was hoping to learn if your majesty has chosen a suitable wife.”
Pierre leaned back in his chair with a grin and folded his hands together over his thin stomach. “As a matter of fact, his majesty, King Dietrich, has not.”
“Then, on behalf of His Royal Highness, King Edward the ninth of England, I would like to present,” the Ambassador lifted a small card from his inside breast pocket and leaned to hand it to Pierre, “The Princess Mary for his consideration. She is the eldest of His Majesty’s heirs and would, if your liege were to choose her, be his named Princess of Wales and heir to the throne of England—pending approval from Parliament, of course.”
“…of course,” Pierre regarded the card with pursed brows.
He studied Pierre’s reaction. King Edward had paid their most reputed painter to make certain that it was the most flattering of likeness of her. Though, he thought the nose might look a touch bigger at the bridge than it actually was.
Pierre handed it back to him with a polite, “She is very beautiful, how old is she?”
“She’ll be nineteen, come Tuesday.”
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“At least, she is of age,” Pierre seemed unimpressed. He pulled a drawer and lifted papers from it, almost as if he were moving on to another matter. Dismissively, he began dipping the quill in ink.
“Have there been many such proposals that weren’t?”
Pierre looked up to him over his wiry glasses, “You’d be surprised.” Then, shrugging, he began to write, “Or perhaps you wouldn’t be. Tell me, Ambassador, what does your King expect to gain from such a marriage that he would name his daughter heir to his throne over one of his sons? And I know he has three.” He didn’t look up from whatever he was writing.
“Well, your King must have an heir and a spare,” The Ambassador said without a second thought. “And he has need of a regent if anything should happen, God be good that it does not. Which, of course, would be his wife. And his son would inherit and so on. And if his son is the heir to another throne, then it would naturally be integrat—”
“Ah,” Pierre looked up with a lift of his quill. “There lies the problem that every king of Christendom seems to be mistaken about.”
“This is a Kingdom. Therefore, it has a King and is inherited by a King.”
“Yes,” Pierre nodded, setting the quill down. “But it is a Paladinate Charter. It cannot be integrated. It can integrate, but not the opposite, you see. So, if your King so wishes England and Wales to become ruled by the Paladinate, then, yes, we will go forward with showing his majesty this tiny portrait and I will do all I can to encourage him to willingly marry someone younger than his adopted daughter.”
The Ambassador felt his mouth run dry. “That doesn’t sound so appealing either.”
“It is a consideration that everyone seems to forget as well,” Pierre chuckled a little. “It seems that each King that presents their daughters for marriage believes that King Dietrich wields unimaginable power and essentially rules all of Christendom like an emperor. Tell me, have any wars stopped since he’s become King?”
“None that I have heard.”
“Have any started since?”
“I know of a few.”
“We have petitioned for each of them to come to Alcalia for talks to end their violence, do you know how many have actually arrived?”
The Ambassador shook his head.
Pierre grinned. “None. And do you know what the retaliation for such ‘disobedience’ was? Nothing. Because we are a Paladinate Kingdom. The Regent of Alcalia can be none other than a Paladin. So unless your Princess is a Paladin, she will never be Regent, even if she is his wife at the time of his death. His heir will be king, but he will conquer no lands and he will be required to support, train, and supply every campaign against the Enemy, no matter where it is. If King Dietrich tried to be the power that every King at his coronation thought he was…” Pierre narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “How many Cathedrals would have blood shed upon them, allowing demons within their walls? So, if it is power that your king wants, marry her to a different king. Let his lands integrate with, say, Sweden, Scotland, or Parisia.”
“We would never!” The Ambassador leapt to his feet.
“Suit yourself,” Pierre went back to writing. He looked up just as the Ambassador was opening the door, “Please do not take this as an insult. If you wish to wait until the King returns, you might be able to persuade him, if it is, by some miracle, God’s Will for you to do so. I’ve seen some less likely things happen in this place, so who knows. But I would advise against your king changing any rules of succession as leverage for it. That will mean nothing.”
The Ambassador softened to that. Power meant nothing to the man. A true man of principle. A king who lived up to his reputation, it seems. “Where is the king, if I might ask?”
Pierre’s brow raised crookedly and he let out a long breath with a frown.
