Sinking (Guinivere)

[Marcellus Yong]

Guinivere Marcel

Marcellus tugged at the ends of his sleeves, trying to calm his nerves. The new High Queen had summoned him. Guinevere Marcel. The cruel, the mad, the vile. The Belladonna Queen. He tried his best not to call her those things when he referred to her. It seemed too cruel. Then again, she had murdered the last High King, hadn’t she?

He had little experience being summoned by queens. But the few times his mother had, it hadn’t been pleasant.

To him, queens were cold, just like his mother. Aloof. Always there, always in his mind, but never there for him. His mother hadn’t been there. He was a son, after all. Not the daughter she must have wanted. No matter how many times he told himself that she was cruel, that she was a cold queen who held no love in her heart for him, it didn’t stop him from hoping. Even when she scoffed at his childish scribbles of gargoyles. Even when she invalidated apprenticeship. Every condescending, manipulative word only made that hope more desperate. All that cruelty didn’t keep him from begging the stars that hung above the vast seas, begging each night that his mother would find a little bit of love in her heart for him. The stars never answered.

He silently wondered if this queen was anything like his mother.

He hoped not.

He ceased his fidgeting, straightening his posture out of habit. He traversed the halls, until he reached the throne room. Intimidating, in of itself.

He barely noticed the man announcing him to the Queen, and the Queen to him in turn. He bowed. A stiff reflex tied to so many memories of his mother. But this woman wasn’t his mother. Even so, it didn’t stop her title of ‘queen’ from being tainted by his mother’s memory.

He simply waited for her to speak.

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

@ Marcellus Yong

444 Words

Music

Outfit

[break][break]

I'll show you every version [break]

Of yourself tonight

[break][break]



Guinivere expected to find herself exhausted by all the meetings, the incessant questions, all the courtiers spreading rumors about and for her, all the intrigue. In truth, she felt vitalized. She felt powerful. Knowledge was power and strength was power but at the end of the day, power was power. She had never had even one person sworn to her. Now she had hundreds.[break][break]

She was collecting a guard. She was surrounding herself with those she could trust, and especially those she couldn't. She kept her friends close and her enemies closer. Getting here was the easy part.
[break][break]
She felt distant from Julius. He was supposed to be advising her. Mostly it just felt like undermining. Mostly she stopped telling him anything. Mostly, she was doing this all on her own.
[break][break]
It wasn't anything like she thought it would be. It wasn't balls and whispers and glitter. It was sitting and waiting, only knowing what people told her, always hiding her cards, winding the strings of her trap tighter and tighter until they were ready to spring. And every time she caught someone she herself was tied up tighter, bound to this court and these people. There was no freedom in reigning, only power. 
[break][break]

Even if it wasn't luxurious, she would take the power. She had started scheming her own schemes. She wasn't at all sure she was good at it. She only knew none of them had come crashing down yet. 
[break][break]
"Marcellus Yong," she said. He had been well trained, it seemed. No one spoke before the Queen did. No one sat without permission. No one breathed the wrong way around her. It made her feel like she was made of glass. It made her feel like a ticking bomb. She wasn't sure which one she wanted to be more.
 [break][break]
"Your mother trained you well in courtly manners, it seems. Send her my regards." Guinivere knew full well his mother had anything but respect for her. She had read only one letter from the Undersea Queen, and she could almost feel the contempt. She could not back down. The way she proved herself not to be weak was to be shockingly strong. The way she proved herself not to be foolish was to be downright conniving. She t knew the rules of this game too well for anyone's comfort. She just also knew she got to change them. 
[break][break]
"I should invite you to retire to my sunroom, if it would make you more comfortable." A lie. Her sunroom would make no one more comfortable. She doubted her choice of flowers would be popular. What would they do? She was the Queen, not them. 





[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#7b5f8f[/newclass]

[Marcellus Yong]

Guinivere Marcel

Marcellus, try as he might, could not help but feel a sickening sense of familiarity in this situation. How many times had he been called before his mother, unsure of what she wanted from him? How many times had it gone badly? With manipulations, and condescending words fed to him like honey. As if he should be grateful she even spoke to him at all. In a way, he was. But it didn't stop the little boy in him from sobbing at every cruel action from his mother. His Queen. He could not help but see his mother in Queen Guinevere at that moment. And it sent terror through every bone in his body. He loved his mother. But he feared her more.

Power made monsters of people. He wondered if his mother would have been better had she not become queen. Deep down, he knew that she probably would have been that way no matter what. Ambition in people like her was not easily quelled. He wondered if Queen Guinevere shared that ambition. He hoped not.

This Queen was surrounded by beautiful flowers that would surely kill him. Poison made desirable. Beautiful things could be deadly. He was reminded of that, even more, as he bowed in her presence. 

He tensed, ever so slightly, at the mention of his mother. As if she had taught him anything. She had thrown him at tutors to make him a suitable, if disappointing, prince. His mother had taught him nothing, save for how to get what he wanted. He refused to use her methods. Bloodlust was not how he wanted to define himself. He wanted beauty to be the defining point in his life. "Of course, Your Majesty. The next time I speak with her, I will do so," He spoke smoothly, hiding the anxiety in his voice with a practiced ease. Who knew how long it would be until he spoke to his mother again? Even so, he'd make sure a messenger or one of his sisters did so.

He doubted being in closer quarters with the Queen would be any less anxiety-inducing. Even so, the sunroom should lack the string of memories that he associated with a throne. Maybe it would make him at ease. Most likely not. "I thank you, that would be wonderful."

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

@ Marcellus Yong

393 Words

Music

Outfit

[break][break]

I'll show you every version [break]

Of yourself tonight

[break][break]



Guinivere nodded, and stood, and turned towards her sunroom. 
[break][break]




In all truth, it was nowhere near as innocent of an offer as it may have first seemed. Of course it was not. Her sunroom was a room created by herself, for herself. It was a tool. It was a weapon.
[break][break]




In truth, she had forgotten how to not weaponize loveliness. But that was not a skill she needed. Simple beauty did nothing for her. This sunroom did. 
[break][break]




Flowers were creeping all over the walls, growing up the panes and wrapping around the benches. Sundew. Belladonna. Hemlock in water. Tiny pools with small minnows. The pollen in the air was sweet and deadly. Oleanders leaned towards her as she walked.
[break][break]




The poison in the air wasn't strong enough to kill anyone, only to fog their mind. The water was deadly if consumed. She did not know how the minnows were still alive. But they were. 

[break][break]




Then again, so was she.

[break][break]




"Sit anywhere," she said, and her smile was barbed wire. "Now to business. I imagine you'll find this more comfortable, yes?" She already had gotten so skilled at avoiding lies. It was a lie within itself. To lull them into thinking she was like them.

[break][break]







"I'd like to offer you a job. As you know, The Princess Enigma is no longer sufficient as the only ambassador between our nations." Maybe he didn't know. But if she treated it like common knowledge and not a scandal, perhaps she could persuade everyone that this was all planned, that she was not some child fumbling in the dark.

[break][break]
"So I look to you to fill the role. But, as with all things, there is a price." In the Undersea, that price would be blood. It would be a sacrifice. Guinivere was thinking of something less dire and yet more final. Clear away two headaches at once and undoubtedly create three more. As long as she could manage it all.
[break][break]
How long could she manage it all? 
[break][break]
Guinivere sat on a polished bench with morning glories winding up the legs and crossed her ankles. She showed none of these doubts on her face. She was a statue, the picture of regality. She was a monster, lurking in the dark. She was another poisonous flower in a garden full of them. This was the only place she'd ever belong.

[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#7b5f8f[/newclass]

[Marcellus Yong]

Guinivere Marcel

Marcellus followed behind the High Queen, wary and tense despite the practiced poise that had taken over his body. This was nothing new. Power hungry, manipulative queens were something he had a sickening amount of experience with. His mother was that way, yet he craved her love and approval. Would he desire this mortal queen's approval as well? Power did funny things to the mind. It twisted and warped, inspired fear.

The sunroom was beautiful. Truly, a wonder to admire. The window panes, the flowers...

He had to hold himself back from rubbing his temple. The air felt odd. He wasn't sure why. His mind felt sluggish. It wasn't too bad he could not function, but it was distracting. He sat down on a bench across from her, hands in his lap. He had to remind himself to breathe, even if the air itself felt like sludge in his lungs. "Of course, Your Majesty. It is a beautiful space, I applaud whoever decorated and cultivated it."

His fists flexed, clenching and unclenching in a feeble attempt to ground himself. His head was spinning, not just from whatever was wrong with the air in here. His hands froze. I look to you to fill the role. An ambassador? Him? He nearly laughed, but he knew it would be rude to do so. How in the world could she desire him to be an ambassador? He, the prince so unloved by his queen. He, whom wanted everything besides a life at court. 

A price. Always a price. Always a deal. He could not outright refuse it. First, he would need to hear her out. "A price of what sort?" A price of blood? Of freedom? So many choices, so much she ask him to give up. Did he even desire it enough?

He felt so out of place, in this stifling room of flowers, sitting across from a queen who most likely wished to use him as a pawn. Why must he be caught up in this game of chess? Forced between queens, the first to be sacrificed. He wished he could walk right off the board. Yet, he was bound by constraints somehow more binding than physical ones.

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

@ Marcellus Yong

404 Words

Music

Outfit

[break][break]

I woke up so worried [break]

That the angels let go

[break][break]

Guinevere watched the prince carefully. He was tense. Too tense. The fae ought to have expected a catch, for sure. He acted like he expected a blow. She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, letting him speak. She was not sure enough of this to propose it outright. [break][break]


Propose was an ironic choice of words. [break][break]


This had been her idea, the ambassadors, the weddings, all of it. Maybe it was a folly, a distant dream that she would be anything but a puppet. The crown weighed on her head like a bounty. Like a price. She knew many wanted her dead. She wished she could have said that she despaired for her reign should that happen. Mostly it made her feel relieved. She was entirely out of her depth. [break][break]


She was not made for this. She was mortal. Her very bones quaked in the presence of such great magic. She had told herself that she was used to it by now, that she would not go mad, that it was just like drinking poison and she would recover soon enough. She did not believe any of that. She wished she knew she couldn’t lie. Instead she merely knew what a liar she was. [break][break]


She smiled. [break][break]


She did not tell him this was her garden. She did not mention how it was the only place she felt safe anymore. She did not say that she had not chosen a guard because she knew it would mean being watched even more. She felt like an actress, a liar of the highest degree. They would all see through her farce eventually. [break][break]


She kept smiling. It was bitter and forced. Perhaps that seemed threatening. [break][break]


“A marriage. A union. I have a problem. So do you. We can help each other.” [break][break]


A nymph. A nymph that had to go somewhere. A member of the royal line with no royal blood. Prince Ambrose’s fiance who had no allegiance to him. Guinivere had to do something with her. And this Undersea Prince may have just proven to be the solution. [break][break]


In doing so, his bloodline would be polluted in a way that the Undersea could never put his children on the throne. His wife would be one of Guinivere’s subject. The girl swore her loyalty directly. It gave Guinivere leverage. It was her best chance at mitigating the risk that was the undersea. [break][break]


The sea did not like to be restrained.

[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#7b5f8f[/newclass]

[Marcellus Yong]

Guinivere Marcel

Marcellus did not know what to expect from this woman. He did not pride himself on reading the feelings and intentions of others in any form. But that did not mean he wished he could. In a way, he was scared. Tensed like a criminal, waiting for the sword to come down. Would he be ruined for the sin of his parentage? For having a mother such as his? Would he be destroyed for the sin of being born?

He was not made for this. He was made for a world of scholars, to sit among scrolls. To smell of old books, to have ink staining his fingers. He was not made for the bloody world of politics: for this clawing struggle for power the royalty chose to partake in. He would not lie to himself: he would not pretend to be more than he was. He was a prince in name and blood only: never in spirit, never deep in his soul.

She smiled, and it only served to further his building unease. It was the smile of a waiting viper. Venomous, waiting to strike. He'd always compared his mother to a dragon. Who would win, a serpent or a dragon?

A marriage.

What.

Marriage.

To whom?!

He composed himself in a breath, tightening his grip on his hands. His knuckles were white. He was sure his face was somewhat the same.  "A... marriage, Your Majesty?"