reason!'
What could she say? The stuffy old man might well be right. It did seem crazy for Lional to dismiss the Council. He might be the king but he could hardly run the country on his own. However, agreeing with Billingsley meant disagreeing with Lional and that was treason. Technically, anyway. If Lional overheard he might ship her off to finishing school out of pique, no matter how old she was or how many times she declined the offer.
She graced Lord Billingsley with her most imperious smile. 'Like you, my lord, I am His Majesty's loyal and obedient subject. If, during our audience, he asks me to talk some sense into him I will certainly attempt to do so. Was there anything else?'
Lord Billingsley cast a glance towards his colleagues, huddling like elderly sheep at the reception entrance, and made a great show of harrumphing and pretending hed got the answer he wanted. Then he bowed, creakily.
'Not at this moment, Your Highness. Doubtless this is but a temporary state of affairs. I'm sure His Majesty will soon come to regret this decision. We will return to our estates now and await our recall. Good day'
Watching the offended Council members retreat, she almost felt sorry for them. All those years running the show behind the scenes while her father the cabbage king played figurehead… and now here was Lional. At nearly thirty he was less than half Lord Billingsley's age, and to the Council's mind scarcely old enough to shave unassisted. Throwing his weight around. Inconveniently insisting that kings had more important things to do than poison aphids and peruse seed catalogues.
'Melissande!' a deceptively sweet voice called from within the audience chamber.'I'm waitingV
She sighed and looked to the rigidly non-commital chamber attendants. The one on the right banged his ceremonial pikestaff on the floor and said, unnecessarily, 'His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness.'
'Apparently. Don't bother announcing me, Willis.' She poked a couple of escaping hairpins back into her slapdash bun, squared her shoulders and marched into the enormous, echoing audience chamber.
Lional was down off his throne, standing instead by the large leadlight windows in the grandiose room's far wall. Shafting sunlight turned his wavy hair to burnished gold and sparkled the rubies and emeralds in his crown. Long and lean, he wore his dark green silks like a second skin. His thickly lashed blue eyes were luminous, his wide cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His skin was lightly golden, and blooming fresh like a child's. Every inch of him shrieked athletic elegance and grace. He looked like a living legend. It was hard to believe they were related.
A fat orange cat wove complicated patterns around his booted ankles. Tavistock. She didn't like Lional's pet, but the fact that he loved it without reservation gave her heart when his casual inconsiderations drove her to swearing and sometimes to tears.
It was a long walk up the thin strip of crimson carpet to reach him, and he didn't acknowledge her presence until she came to a stop a few feet from him. Tavistock eyed her with a slitted green gaze, smirking. Dratted animal.
Ignoring it, she sniffed. 'Good morning. What was all that business with the Council? Surely you haven't — '
He raised a finger and both eyebrows. 'Ah ah ah! What are we forgetting, Melissande?' She frowned. 'I don't know.'
The finger wagged, admonishing. 'I think you do.' 'No, I really don't.'
He sighed. 'You're supposed to curtsey. I am the king, though sometimes I think the fact escapes you.' She looked around the otherwise deserted chamber. 'Lional, we're the only ones in here.' 'Nevertheless…' 'Oh, please! I'm wearing trousers!'
His glance was disapproving. 'Put on a dress, then. You should wear a dress anyway. One with lace. And flounces. It's more princessly.'
'You know perfectly well I don't wear dresses,' she said, rolling her eyes. 'They make me look like a badly sewn-up sack of wheat. Lional, have you really dismissed the Council?'
He turned away from the window and returned to his throne on its crimson-carpeted dais.Tavistock leapt into his lap with a grunt, turned around twice and settled on his knees. Claws like tiny scimitars paddled green silk, pulling threads. Lional tickled under the cat's chin. 'You don't approve?'
No, she didn't, but wasn't stupid enough to say so.'I don't understand. I know Lord Billingsley and his cronies are tedious, but they — '
'Refuse to accept reality. The old regime is dead and buried, just like Father. / am king now. I make the decisions. Not them.'
'Lional…' She stepped closer. 'Be fair. They're old men, set in their ways, and you've been king for less than a year. I'm sure you'll get used to them once — '
'It's not for me to get used to them!' snapped Lional. 'Like all my subjects they exist to serve, Melissande. And if they won't I have no use for them.'
'But Lional, you need a Council,' she said. 'This kingdom's like a duck on a mill pond, you know. There's you sitting serenely on the surface and underneath there are all these other people working like demented grasshoppers to keep things moving. Believe me, I do understand if you don't want those councillors, but traditionally it's an hereditary position. Billingsley and the rest of them all have sons, they'll assume — '
'Assumptions,' said Lional, dangerously, 'are unwise. I have suspended Council activity for now. Billingsley, his cronies and their encroaching sons are forbidden the palace until further notice. I need time to think without them bleating in my ear, wanting this, demanding that, all under the mistaken impression that I'm here to give them things. Besides, they were costing an absolute fortune to feed and house here at court. It's about time they fed themselves and all their hangers-on, too. Last time I looked this was my palace, not a hotel.'
She shook her head.'Gosh, Lional. They're not going to like that.'
He smiled, his ring-laden fingers now buried in Tavistock's extravagant fur. 'Behold me not heartbroken at the prospect.'
It was true, the cost of keeping councillors, courtiers and their servants around the place was ruinous. But even so… 'All right, you've stood down the Council for a while. So what will you do in the meantime? Somebody has to keep the wheels of government turning.'
Another smile. 'In the meantime, Melly, I have you.'
She nearly swallowed her tongue. 'Me? Lional, are you ma-' No, no, no. Don't say it. Dungeons were rumoured to be uncomfortable places. '- making a mistake?'
'Are kings capable of making mistakes?' her beautiful brother mused. 'No, I don't believe they are. Melissande, my darling little sister, you cannot refuse me.The kingdom needs you.'
'It needs a council more. Look, Lional, I appreciate your thinking of me but you need to think again. I'm not cut out for — '
'Oh, but you are. Intellectually you are as a giant to my former councillors' antish, ancient little minds,' said Lional blithely. 'And you're terribly organised. It used to irritate me, you know, the way you sat your dolls alphabetically by name along your toy shelf, but I see now I misjudged you. You're a born pettifogging administrator, Melly. And as New Ottosland's inaugural prime minister you'll — '
'Prime minister? You want to make me prime minister?' She knew her voice was squeaking but she couldn't help it. 'Lional, you can't! It's against tradition! And I'm a girl!'
Lional's lips pursed. 'Are you sure? I thought girls wore dresses.'
'Oh, ha ha,' she said, feeling desperate. 'Lional, seriously, you can't make me prime minister.'
'I'm the king, Melly,' snapped Lional. 'I can do whatever I want. And what I want is to drag us into the modern era and onto the international stage, kicking and screaming if necessary.'
She folded her arms. 'Not to mention foaming at the mouth. Lional — '
Ignoring her, he traced the edge of Tavistock's ear with a fingertip. His perfectly sculptured lips were curved in a dreaming smile. 'I have such plans for this kingdom. A splendid vision.'
'Then you need to get your eyes checked, because if you're really seeing me as prime minister then — ' The smile vanished. 'SilenceV
She flinched and shut her mouth. Scowling, Lional shoved Tavistock off his lap, heedless of the cat's indignant yowling, and leapt lightly down from the dais.
'Save your breath, sister dear, for I'll entertain no further debate,' he said, pacing. 'You are henceforth Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande, Prime Minister of New Ottosland. Feel free to choose an office of your own,
