His Majesty, The King [AMW Only]

[Chrinthanium]

His hand gripped the picture tightly refusing to let it go as tears fell from his cheeks crashing onto the floor in puddles. He tried choking back the tears, but they would not be stopped by any power under heaven or Earth. He reached into his top pocket and ripped the handkerchief from the finely-tailored suit and wiped the rivers from his cheeks. His intense stare was only interrupted by the sudden entrance of his sister into his room. She ran over to Alejandro and looked at him hoping somehow the news wasn't true, but the face could tell no lies.

"It can't be," She protested in her sorrow.

Alejandro just nodded in shock. "What now?"

There was a knock at the door. Alejandro said nothing as his sister, Ana, opened the door. The Lord Chancellor entered the room along with members of the Royal Council and military leaders. Alejandro stepped back a moment in wonderment at the sight before him. The Lord Chancellor knelt down on one knee, the ministers bowed down, and the military leaders saluted.

"All hail His Royal Majesty, Alejandro II, by the Grace of God, of Esplanadia, her subjects, and her Dominions, King!" the Lord Chancellor proclaimed. "Long live the King!"

"Long live the King!" the remaining mass of people shouted. His sister Ana bowed as well, holding back her sorrow long enough to honor her new King as well.

Alejandro sighed. A proclamation was not what he wanted, but it's what he got. He nodded out of respect. These were royal things that had to be done. The king must be proclaimed by the ministers and the military. Even at the most unfortunate of circumstances, the transition of power must happen. It must be smooth. It must be done legally. Even as rescue crews were trying to figure out how to get nearly 13,000 feet up the side of a volcano to the crash site, even as the news of his father's death was less than an hour old, even as he cried like a boy in front of some of the most powerful men in the kingdom, this was necessary.

The fact their bows and kneels and salutes were relaxed was one thing. The fact they remained there was completely another. Alejandro tried to process this in his mind, but the judgement had been clouded by sheer, gut-wrenching grief. Even Ana looked at him as if there was something required that he couldn't remember. He should probably say something, at least that's what he thought.

"You'll please forgive me if, uh, I don't really have much to say," Alejandro said trying not to cry, "I think maybe we can do this later, My Lord Chancellor."

"Your Majesty," The Lord Chancellor said, "if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know. We are all your most humble servants."

Alejandro nodded as best he could attempting to put on a brave face without success. The gathered masses left, each one bowing and offering a word of condolence to the young king as they passed.

[Nova Gaul]

Midway over the Atlantic Ocean

The Armée de l'air Airbus A310-300F cruised along comfortably in the atmosphere towards Cortez City carrying the French Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Germain Louis Chauvelin, marquis de Grosbois. It was early summer, and the flying was fine. Once every few years or so the French foreign affairs guru, a close associate of the First Minister and a man who was not unknown to His Most Christian Majesty’s inner circle, paid a visit to one of the kingdom’s key trade partners. These formal state visits served to emphasize the importance of Franco-Esplanadian relations to the French Crown. The balance of trade was favorable to the French government, and key elements of the trade—namely petrochemicals and raw opium—were integral to the maintenance of the French overseas empire.

This was to be a standard visit, a cordial photo opportunity between two countries (regimes, really) who saw eye-to-eye on many things but had never turned that amicability into a codified alliance. Halfway through the crossing, after some strong coffee and sweet brioche, the marquis received word of the dramatic and untimely death of Enrique V and the unforeseen—premature some would say—ascension of Alejandro II to the Latinate country’s throne.

No sooner had the marquis realized this might change the scope of his mission than an aide scurried along with a fresh dispatch from Versailles, from the First Minister. The unlooked for king might well need support to shore up the House of Duarte, less than a century on the throne. It was not impossible that the Bourbons, a prodigious tribe of royals, might look to match one of their princesses to the young king. Esplanadia was brimming over with precious resources, after all, and it provided a key market for French exports. And, importantly, it was ruled by another Catholic absolutist monarchy, something Versailles saw as all too rare in this modern world. Maybe the time had come for the Kingdom of France to enter into its first formal alliance since the Great War decades ago.

Your sojourn will be extended, read the dispatch, and your mission increased. Feel out the new king and see if he would be amenable to a match. Analyze the situation in Esplanadia. Respond—Is the monarchy stable? Is there any scent of popular descent? What is the situation of House Ibañez? Is a dynastic match and formal alliance at this point advisable?

And so the Airbus hurtled onward to Esplanadia with his passengers unchanged but the mission expanded in a remarkable way.

[Chrinthanium]

The balls whizzed by Cristiano Garrido into the back of the net. Alejandro raised his hands in celebration as he ran towards the corner flag to slap it. Cristiano sighed heavily as he retrieved the ball from the net. This playing went on for several minutes with Cristiano playing keeper and Alejandro playing striker until the King called off the match to have a break.

"Nice day today, your majesty," Cristiano replied as he offered the king a water bottle.

"Nice day? I guess," Alejandro said," it's a day. Nothing more, nothing less. Still, there's other things to worry about than the weather, Cristiano. I want you to receive the envoy's from France. Even now they're on their way from Paris bringing god knows what to thank us for helping to keep their colonials doped up enough not to rebel."

"I am, of course, your majesty's humble servant," Cristiano began, "but, I'm not really important enough to receive envoy's from foreign nations." He took a sip of water.

"I say you are," Alejandro said as he took a sip of water, "and if anyone doubts me, they'll have to choke down the words on your Letter's Patent."

"Majesty?"

"I'm making you a duke. The Duke of Oaxaca, your grace," Alejandro replied.

Cristiano's face cracked a large smile and then he chuckled slightly, "Your majesty is very generous to this unworthy servant."

Alejandro shook his head, "What happened? I mean, you used to talk normally till the other day. You're my best friend, Cris. I'm still yours. You can just talk to me, you know?"

"I would feel kind of funny calling the king by an informal nickname like Sandro,"

"Don't do it in public, you retard. But in private, you have my permission to be as informal as always,"

"Thank you, Sandro."

"You're welcome, pendejo," Alejandro laughed as he grabbed Cristiano by the shoulder and gave it a good pat. "Now, how about you block some shots this time? Or, do you think you cannot stop a little guy like me?"

--------

He sat by the window. From his seat he could see the waters of the Pacific Ocean. A few kilometers up the road, the resort city of Acapulco, with its lights and good times. He sipped on a cup of coffee, neat. His receding silver hair gave way to a well-tanned face showing more years of age than his birth certificate would attest. His top two shirt buttons were undone and wispy grey hairs poked up. His suit was tailored, but his portly belly have it the impression of actually being almost a size too small, indicating how long he'd had the black suit. He kept a cigar in his mouth which just sat there unlit, as if it had no purpose in life.

"So, the boy is king," he growled to his partial reflection in the glass. "To think we can take him out and, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "he'd be gone, I'd be king, and the House of Ibañez would be restored." He sipped his coffee as he cracked a cheeky smile.

"But you can't kill him. Not now, anyway, Alberto" she said as he entered the room.

"You're right, Maria, I can't kill him now. Give the mourning period time to calm down and public opinion to turn on the boy. My distant royal cousin won't be missed then." The man continued to sip his coffee as he watched the people below.

---------

He stepped with a specific and particular cadence. It was dignified, cautious, light, but firm all in one. Each step had a slight echo through the corridor. It never sped up, it never slowed it, it simply kept marching almost as if in time to an unheard beat. With such specific purpose, they would eventually come to rest outside of a large, wooden door flanked by two military men in dress uniform. They would not salute. Their guest was not a member of the armed services, nor was he in anyway in their chair of command. They nodded at him as he knocked with politeness at the door. A moment later, a young man opened the door and used his head to invite the old man in.

"Your majesty," Hector said in his proper Spanish accent, "the envoys from France will probably arrive within the hour. We've got our people waiting for them with all the pomp and circumstance that the French expect from us. They will be taken to His Grace, the Duke of Oaxaca's, house nearby where they will remain for the evening."

"I know the plans, Hector," Alejandro said, "let Cris take care of them. Knowing him, he wind up bedding one of the female members of the French delegation. French girls are easy." The king stopped. "What about the Iberians?"

"Their office called today to express their condolences and they have formally requested a meeting with your majesty after a sufficient time of mourning has passed. They wanted to remind you of the blood ties between us and Madrid, of the many years of peace between our nations, and their willingness to work with us to improve lives in the kingdom," Hector said.

"Of course, they would say that. Still, blood is thicker than water, I suppose. Have their ambassador come to dinner next week. Perhaps we can keep Paris and Madrid close to our hearts, Hector. Let's not put one above the other. At least not right now."

"Also, your majesty, it is likely the question of succession will rear its head soon, you should probably work on marrying a nice noblewoman and having childre......"

"Yes, yes," Alejandro said. He sighed at the thought of marriage. He didn't care about waking up to the same face day in and day out for the rest of his life. He almost cringed at that thought. Perhaps it was his age speaking, but he wasn't the marrying kind. It was a thought that was far removed from his mind. At 19, no one expected him to be king, let along to start a family, so why should he care until later on in life?

"Make a chance to the plans for the French delegation. Don't have them spend the night at Cris'. He may be a Duke, but he's not invested, nor is he in a formal estate. Let him greet them, but make sre to set them up here in the spare apartment in the palace. Not the one by mine, though. Put them on the distant side by my sister. Also, let Cris know the plan change."

The palace wasn't as magnificent as the ones in Europe, but it was the sight of Montezuma II's royal residence and has been the royal residence of every Esplanadian monarch since Cortés himself rules the colony. The apartments on the "far side" of the building were purposefully built for visiting envoys. They were large enough that one would feel comfortable, but not too large. Knowing the French passion for food and wine, placing them nearer the kitchen was, at least in Alejandro's mind, a good thing. He hated being awakened in the middle of the night by anything, let alone drunken Frenchmen wandering about the place trying to find the privy. Since the palace was also pretty much in downtown, the envoy's would have the extra ability to visit the rest of the city at their leisure. Specific chaperone's could be sent out to help them find whatever it might be they were looking for....boys, girls, drugs, wine, whatever their fancy.

While these plans were made, the funeral plans for Enrique V were also being made. The body itself may not be recovered, at least that's what the latest reports from the search and rescue personnel stated, but the funeral would happen. Even as the French flew across the Atlantic, crews were reaching the crash site and trying to located the king's body. Habeas Corpus might be a legal term for murder, but it also made sense with funerals. With only a few days remaining before a proper Catholic burial would happen, the crews had to ensure that they found the king's body and returned it to the palace for preparation... if that was still possible.

Before Alejandro let Hector leave the room, he ordered him to get in contact with his cousins at the Ibañez Estate. It was about time that both royal houses had a sit down talk. It was something his father felt unnecessary. "Let them stay on the West Coast until we die," was his mantra in dealing with them. "My father," Alejandro stated, "left the House of Ibañez question dangling in the wind. I need to solve it. Invite Alberto and Maxi here next week. Don't forget to invite them to the funeral, I'm certain they'll not want to miss it.."

[Chrinthanium]

Ibañez Estate, near Acapulco, Esplanadia

The knock came at the door at an hour a bit too early for such things to occur. Maria was awake, fixing some breakfast. Her brows furrowed at the thought of someone coming before a decent hour. The knocking continued. She sighed heavily as she tightened the belt around her robe and approached the door. She peered through the peephole to see a Royal Messenger dressed in a purple and gold uniform reminiscent of the 1700s. She quickly unlocked the door and opened it.

"Lady Maria," the royal agent stated with an avuncular tone, "His Royal Majesty Alejandro II invites you and your good gentleman husband to the Palacio Nacional to be his guests for the weekend coming. Furthermore, His Majesty extends the invitation to His Grace, the Duke of Ixtapa, your noble father." He handed the lady a note upon which the modern Royal Seal was present. The note was written in Alejandro's own hand.

"Thank you, sir," she said as she took the note with curiosity. As she closed the door she pondered the note. "Alberto," she called, "a Royal Messenger has sent us an invitation to the palace."

Alberto, freshly aroused by the commotion at the front door, stumbled into the living room in his bedclothes. He took the note from Maria and opened it up.

It is my privilege and honor to invite His Grace, the Duke of Ixtapa, and his noble son and wife to be my personal guests at the palace this weekend. Please take this invitation in the spirit of peace in which it was offered and be my guests. We have much to discuss and I look forward to speaking with you. The note was signed A, II.

"This is most curious," Alberto said with a huff. "Why would he invite us?"

"Perhaps he's not his father after all," Maria said with hope. "Maybe, since he and his sister are the last remaining Duarte's, there will be some sort of concession on their part?"

Alberto shook his head, "For years we've been at odds, if not outright war. His grandfather took the crown which rightfully belonged to my father. They completely ignored the Act of Succession of 1904, which established the line through our noble house! How can we be expected to even look at him with kindness when my father's birthright--and mine--are usurped?"

Maria walked behind Alberto, put her hands on his shoulders, and began to massage them. "Calm down and think. There's been so much bad blood between us. Maybe, somehow, there's a way we can fix this without bloodshed this time? Whether or not we like it, he is the king. Parliament has proclaimed it, along with his father, and his grandfather."

"All bought with bribery, my love," Alberto said as he began to come under the effects of the massage. "Still, you have a valid point. We shall meet him and see what he says. I don't think father will travel, though. There's too much bad blood there."

"He's also 80 years old and plays with his zipper," Maria said. "We will go to the city and meet the boy. We will like it, we will be cordial, we will be dignified. If we get no concessions, then we make our next move."

----------------------

Aeropuerto Internacional de la Ciudad de Cortés

Cristiano Garrido, the soon-to-be-invested Duke of Oaxaca, awaited the arrival of the French delegation. At the gate flanked on either side by 2 "incognito" royal guards. His muscular frame not well hidden by the suit he wore. The Royal Guards who were attempting not to look the part of security, failed miserable at this task. Outside the airport, a luxury car awaited to take them to their destination, the Palacio Nacional in the heat of the capital. The small motorcade was not necessary, but a little pomp and circumstance didn't hurt--particularly when dealing with the French, or so it was thought.

When the foreign minister appeared, he moved into action, "Your excellency, on behalf of His Royal Majesty, Alejandro II, and the people of Esplanadia, I welcome you to the kingdom. These gentlemen will help you with any luggage you may have. The king is excited to meet you and has given you lodgings at the palace for your stay. Should need anything, he has asked me to ensure that you're taken care of in every way possible. My rooms will be adjacent to yours, so all you have to do is ask."

Once in the car, he would keep the conversation light. It was understood that the recent passing of a king left a pall across the nation. Newspapers and magazines had the late king's photograph splayed across them mourning the loss of a beloved figure. The television and radio news still spoke of the crash investigation and the sheer daunting position that the erstwhile heir apparent now found himself tasked with. Even though Cristiano would attempt to prevent the conversation from straying in that direction, and in spite of his feigned happiness less than 24 hours after the news, he knew the French would have questions. So he was prepared to answer them.

[Nova Gaul]

Aeropuerto Internacional de la Ciudad de Cortés

The French delegation to Esplanadia was in fact little more the French Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Germain Louis Chauvelin, marquis de Grosbois, his wife, Madame la marquise, three secretaries and four plain-clothes security men of the Gendarmerie royale. M. le marquis gave a little wave with a pudgy hand for the cameras, contained in a white glove, as he came down the moveable stairway from the airplane.

The marquis was a short beetle-like fellow, heavyset and in his fifties. But his Gallic black eyes sparkled with intelligence—with ambition. His wife in form and gate was much like her husbands, save that her Gallic black eyes were as clear and empty as a summer’s day.

The French Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs wore a variation of the habit à la française: a coat, waistcoat, and breeches. The chartreuse waistcoat was lavishly embroidered with silver thread designs, but played second fiddle to monsieur’s lace jabot worn tied around the neck. His white silk breeches stopped at the knee, with white silk stockings worn underneath the heeled court shoes, set with large square, gold buckles. His flax silk coat was worn open to showcase the elaborate waistcoat. A matching tricorne hat the color of the marquis’s waistcoat completed the aristocratic French couture, edged with braid and decorated with ostrich feathers. Needless to say he wore a wig, powered, white. As the ossified court etiquette of the Court demanded he even wore thin sword at his side. Madame la marquise matched her husband sans sword; save her wig was taller, fuller, and her tricorne worn at a rakish angle. Her dress was equipped with panniers, not especially wide but noticeable.

Both wore black armbands, no doubt impromptu accoutrements.

On the opposite side of the airplane, from the cargo deck, various gifts for the—new—ruler of Esplanadia were being offloaded. Including, conspicuously, a rare white hippopotamus captured in darkest Congo earlier that very year.

“On behalf of His Most Christian Majesty Louis Auguste, and of all the people of France, I graciously accept your welcome,” answered the foreign minister to Cristiano in fluent Spanish, shaking hands on the palpably boiling tarmac. Being foreign minister, Germain spoke English, Spanish, Italian, Valendian, Gandvian, with ease; he even knew a few Celtic phrases. Devilishly hard language, that one. “And of behalf of His Most Christian Majesty and of all the people France, allow me to offer my deepest condolences for your great loss.” He made the sign of the cross.

Conversation would remain light as the limousine sped towards the Palacio Nacional. Madame la marquise, the foreign minister observed, ‘didn’t speak much Spanish’ (he stated matter of factly in Spanish) ‘nor indeed does she think much at all: a valuable trait in the fairer sex.’ Fanning herself furiously, the minister’s wife simply gave a gracious smile and said ‘Si’. Then she resumed her fanning.

“Señor, even in this trying time, I cannot impress upon you enough the extent of the goodwill of the Court of the Most Christian King towards your own. It is my earnest hope that this visit shall improve upon these already excellent relations, to the benefit of both our peoples.”

As the limousine turned into the spacious boulevards of the palace and M. de Grosbois prepared himself for ambulation once more, he made a seeming spontaneous observation, but one whose deep impact could not be lost upon the confidant of the new ‘boy king’.

“God and all his angels were watching over your sovereign’s throne—we will mourn the father, but thank the Good Lord he was possessed of an heir.” Here he looked directly at Cristiano: “We in the business on monarchy, Señor, must ever be conscious of the need to provide children, of proper birth, for our posterity.”

That night…

As the Foreign Secretary and his wife were settling into their quarters at the Palacio Nacional, no doubt in preparation for a formal presentation, two of the three secretaries of M. de Grosbois spent the evening differently. In reality they were agents of the maréchaussée, the Kingdom of France’s domestic intelligence service. Doffing their ornate court clothes they donned simple shirts and shorts and, citing ‘tourism’, left the palace grounds.

Theirs was not a nefarious agenda, simply a reconnoitering. Using fluent Spanish they would navigate several quarters of the gargantuan conurbation of Ciudad Cortez. They would visit high end bars, cheap taquerías, and middle-brow discotecas. The purpose of their wanderings was to feel out the Esplanadian on the street and through mild questioning determine the opinions of the hoi polloi towards the domestic situation, towards the House of Ibañez, and towards the new boy king Alejandro II.

Their covert reason for this strange promenade was simple: the foreign secretary had ordered them to do so. His reason was only slightly more sophisticated—given very recent events, Versailles felt the opportunity for a dynastic match between the Houses of Bourbon and Duarte, and for a formal alliance between the Kingdoms of France and Esplanadia, was at hand.

As with all good potential in-laws, due diligence was required.

[Chrinthanium]

If the lay people of Esplanadia were anything, they were deeply saddened. The usually bustling nightclubs and cafes of the central business district were barely halfway full of the normal hoi palloi that accompanied them. Millions were glued to television sets trying to process the news of the recently-departed king. Those left wandering around trying to continue a sense of normalcy in a difficult time were doing so halfheartedly. Very simple questioning by the maréchaussée would find most were proud of the progress made in their homeland since the late King Enrique V took power. Institutionalized and legal racism were vanquished, though changing culture would be another more daunting and time-consuming matter. The economy had been expanded. The middle class saw its largest growth in Esplanadian history and even the rich found their pockets more greatly laden with cash. The poor were always the poor. Improving conditions didn't always trickle down to the huddled masses.

Fears of political instability were not far from the surface. Civil war was always a concern in Esplanadia when power transferred from one to another. The House of Duarte had a claim to the throne, and in spite of what propaganda the House of Ibañez may put out into the general public, the current ruling house's claim was, in fact, stronger than those of its challengers. The now-defunct House of Vizcaya had never fully settled the issue, even though they thought they had. While the House of Duarte didn't have a very strong claim, they had blood going for them. Alejandro's great grandfather was the nephew of the last of the Vizcaya whereas the only direct connection the Ibañez clan could make was a cousin. Yet, in his will, King Hector III decreed that the crown should pass to the now-current Duke of Ixtapa. The debate raged in the parliament. Accusations of bribery were involved in the vote that confirmed this will. The entire shambles of a vote was discredited in the public eye.

If the maréchaussée wanted to know the full story, they only had to meet a local homeless man who went by the name of Estrellito, or Little Star. His fuzzy, unkempt hair, overgrown beard, and alcoholic stench were stereotypical of the homeless, and he embraced those stereotypes. An octogenarian beggar he was. It was a fantastic way to rake in lots of "donations" to his cause. He often kept himself near the cafes, but just outside their reach. The news of some people who did not seem Esplanadian asking all sort of questions would garner his attention. People talked. Still, he knew the story. He knew better than most.

Estrellito, formerly known as the Rt. Hon. Tomas Torres, MP from Tampico-Sul district was at that vote. He refused the bribes. He voted against the succession act. Within six months, he was out of office, homeless, his wife and children dead, and his brother disappeared under "mysterious" circumstances. His plight in life was the direct result of disagreeing with the House of Ibañez, themselves propped up by the very drug gangs they decried in public. His story, heart-wrenching as it may be, was a familiar one to those who knew the challenging house well.

"If I may be so candid," he said in a formal Spanish accent, "my great fear is that the boy will not live to see his twentieth birthday, Señor. He's a strapping lad, yes? Takes after his father in his youth. He is beloved. He is elegance and grace, though his edges may be rough. Tragic life he has had, too. His mother died when he were a boy shortly after the beautiful Princess Ana was born. Now, they are the only two left of a great dynasty. They are the rightful heirs to this kingdom, sir. Do not let the lies of Ibañez and their henchmen infer anything otherwise." He stopped and sighed. "I have said too much. They have agents everywhere. But I have little left to lose outside of my own life which I fear has already far fewer years than I should like. Alejandro II is our king and we love him. All he needs is good council."

The French agents would find the sentiment about the newly-ascended Alejandro was shared by the vast majority with which they came in contact.

Palacio Nacional

Alejandro lie sleeping in his bed. Beside his bed on the table was a half-full glass of water and a bottle of sleeping pills. In the room a royal guard also slept on the floor beside the bed. The guard was in full military camouflage uniform, fully vetted and trained to wake at the slightest noise. This was not a common sight, but, under the circumstances, it was what the King's personal secretary, Hector, said was best. If the King be under the influence of a sleeping pill, then by his bed a guard shall lie and guard his sleeping sovereign.

While Alejandro slept protected in his bed, the Lord Chancellor was awake. The government was at a standstill and things needed to get back on track. Certainly everyone needed a few days to process the situation, but the people would only tolerate absentee governance for so long. As the first day after the terrible tragedy bled into the second, the Lord Chancellor worked. He seemed a man possessed. Bills left unsigned with precious few moments left on their expiry date needed attention. Important bills. Bills to increase funding to the health service, a newly-ordained system orchestrated by the late King. Bills to further expansion of high speed rail across the country. Bills to increase defense budgets, decrease expenses to less important departments, and to proclaim the new King to all his realm.

It was this bill which gave the Lord Chancellor pause. Passed unanimously by the Parliament, their last official act before the mourning adjournment, the bill was a dagger into the Lord Chancellor's heart. By this act, an act the he alone must sign, would officially end one reign and begin another. He was disheartened. Not only by the lost of his king, but he knew that Alejandro did not share the same love for the Lord Chancellor that his father did. By signing the bill, he could very well be signing his own pink slip.

Yet, the Lord Chancellor was nothing if not diligent in his duties. With one seamless stroke of his pen, his name was signed on the dotted line. From here the bill would be passed to the capitals of the provinces where, in quite an old-fashioned way, a town crier would announce the new reign from the steps of the provincial legislature buildings kingdom wide. Furthermore, the bills awaiting royal ascent were, for all intents and purposes, approved by the Lord Chancellor without the King's signature.

Throne Room, the next morning

The throne itself was older, made of a solid oak, well worn but none the worse for wear. Upon the throne sat King Alejandro II, crowned wearing a purple cloak of velvet lined in white ermine. To his left stood his sister, wearing her coronation robe in similar fashion to the king's, and several male nobleman of various ranks who worked in the palace. To his right stood the Lord Chancellor, in a similar cloak, but of crimson velvet trimmed in white ermine to signify his non-royal blood. Beside the Lord Chancellor stood the prince's personal secretary wearing a simple dress suit as he was not of the peerage, but was accorded access to all such events as a witness therein.

Before the gathered Lords stood Cristiano Garrido, himself wearing a dress suit of navy blue. Behind him were two Lords wearing the crimson velvet cloak similar to the Lord Chancellors. The one to his left held a crimson cloak with four seal skin spots. To his right, another lord in crimson velvet with a duke's coronet in hand. The Royal family were standing as were the Lords gathered behind and to the side. Cristiano himself stood at near military attention as the Lord Chancellor unrolled a scroll and read allowed the patent contained within.

As the words confirming his patent upon him echoed through the hall, Cristiano stood tall and proud never looking the king in the eye (as was the custom) but still staring at a spot to the left of his sovereign's face. The Lord to his back left approached and wrapped around him the crimson velvet cloak and fastened it properly. The Lord to his back right firmly affixed appropriately the coronet on his head. Alejandro himself then approached Cristiano ensuring all fastening was correct and adjusted the coronet firmly on the head of his best friend.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Cristiano said with a proper bow for a man invested as nobility. He then handed the letters patent to the newly-minted duke and all stood for a photograph.

The years of friendship did not, in and of themselves, warrant a peerage, but the King in his infinite wisdom saw fit to bestow upon the young man a title. An industrious type with a strong mind and a knack for business, it was assumed that the Duke of Oaxaca would continue on as not only the king's personal friend, but within his employ within the royal household. Forevermore to be the Comptroller of the Royal Estate and to whom all financial officers of the royal household were accountable. The position was one of prominence as well as importance. Furthermore, as the king's personal friend, he could rely on his newly-invested Duke certain duties that would otherwise be staffed out to more dubious hands.

With the pomp and circumstance of his first official act as King now past, the coronation robes were removed as well as the crown to be placed in safekeeping. When the Lords exited, Princess Ana was requested to remain along with the Duke of Oaxaca for further ceremony.

The Lord Chancellor, now at the entrance to the throne room, reattained his bellow to announce a new visitor. "Your Majesty, I present the Secretary of State of Foreign Affairs of the Kingdom of France, Germain Louis Chauvelin, Marquis de Grosbois, accompanied by his good lady wife, the Madame la Marquise."

Alejandro stood as they were escorted to a point just in front of the dais upon which the throne sat. As they were presented, any bows would be reciprocated by the king in his own fashion (it was the custom that king did not bow but slightly as the king did not bow low to anyone in his own kingdom). "Your Excellency, Madame la Marquise, it is my privilege and my honor to welcome you to my kingdom and my court. It is Our esteemed hope and joy that the relations between our nations shall continue to be fruitful and profitable for all."

[Nova Gaul]

The ‘French Apartment’, Palacio Nacional

The information garnered by the marquis’s two maréchaussée escorts can be summed up with a gesture made by the senior of the pair when they reported back to the foreign minister.

He tilted his hand back and forth.

M. de Grosbois simply nodded. Then came the full report; the marquis sipped coffee as he listened.

France had not expected Esplanadia to be a beacon of stability—not that France was. The Latinate kingdom, after all, didn’t even have the foresight to arrest many members of it parliament, as the Kingdom of France had done almost a century ago to the day. Versailles had long kept a dossier on Alejandro Duarte, he was heir apparent after all, and the data collected while he was a prince seemed confirmed by his early actions as king: kindly and naïve, with the potential to be undermined by the seemingly more capable—ruthless—cadres within House Ibañez. Certainly a Bourbon would have sent the Ibañez clan, or their hypothetical French equivalent, to rot in an oubliette of the Bastille long ago. Or, more likely, had them quietly hung in that same iconic prison. But there was still time for Alejandro to harden, Grosbois mused.

But for the meantime, so the foreign minister concluded, King Alejandro seemed at least to be in control of the state, its finances, and the affection of its people. Yet M. de Grosbois could practically smell liberalism, and he could quite easily imagine the young king trying to curry favor with the social justice warriors north of the border or—who knew—step down and allow general elections. Yes, the marquis sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

In the present analysis what mattered now was that the marquis could answer the questions put to him by the First Minister: Is the monarchy stable? Is there any scent of popular dissent? What is the situation of House Ibañez? Is a dynastic match and formal alliance at this point advisable?. M. de Grosbois sent his pithy replies, encoded, back to Versailles.

Yes, for all intents and purposes, the monarchy was stable. For the short term, say a year, at least.

No, among the rank and file, and by extension those who presumably staffed the military, there was no scent of popular dissent.

House Ibañez remained a formidable force that had got to be reckoned with, sooner rather than later, if this king was to maintain his tenuous grip on the throne.

The last question was the most difficult, and here the marquis become more political and less pithy. Esplanadia provides cheap raw imports for otherwise synthetically manufactured drugs needed for the colonies. Additionally, they provide an export market for French goods. This economic relationship should be reaffirmed by treaty—for the short term at least; again, say a year. However.Currently, given the nature of politics in Esplanadia, its proximity to neighbors geographically and culturally who could exert significant influence, it is advisable to neither initiate a formal alliance nor to arrange any marriages with the House of Bourbon: any political-economic gains in the long term could be negated easily and swiftly by a reverse which could damage the sovereign house of France.

Throne Room

The marquis and marquise were surprised—indeed, the latter was shocked—when the new king offered them even the slightest bow. Such an etiquette would be unthinkable at the French Court, where in every aspect the king was supreme. Nonetheless they hid their discomfit perfectly, a credit to centuries of good breeding, as they themselves performed an elaborate bow and curtsy.

Doffing his tricorne the marquis began, after another elaborate bow: “Your Most Gracious Majesty, it is my honor to bear to you the most felicitous wishes of His Most Christian Majesty Louis Auguste.

“It is with great joy that I greet your majesty, and with great sadness that I mourn your father’s passing. He was a worthy man and just king.

“Yet even at such a time allow my to assure you of the fondest regard of His Most Christian Majesty towards yourself.” He produced a thick vellum scroll as, simultaneously, men started carting in wonderful gifts: antique ‘Louis XV’ clocks, bronze statuary by Rodin, and, of course, out in the yard, an albino hippopotamus.

M. de Marquis opened the scroll and read:

“The Kingdom of France formally requests to renew, for a three year period, the treaty of Amity and Commerce which has so benefitted both our great realms these last several decades. May it please your majesty to consider our request, made with every good intention and hope for a profitable future for us both.” With that the marquis and marquise bowed, and, moving backwards, left the king’s presence and returned to their apartments to await his decision.

[Chrinthanium]

The king was impressed with the request of the French Foreign Secretary. An additional three years of good relations with a powerful European nation that wasn't Iberia was exactly what Alejandro needed to show his subjects that he was not his father's son. The young king's father always leaned happily towards Madrid. The most lucrative of trade deals, the most powerful of defense alliances, the easiest visa laws all were directed at Madrid. These were deals that Enrique V thought would help bring about the kind of changes he wanted for the people of Esplanadia. Alejandro, on the other hand, was more attracted to other alliances. Alliances that would allow Esplanadia to step out of Iberia's shadow. Alliances that would bring a new identity to the kingdom.

As the French Foreign Secretary and his good lady wife exited the throne room without even being dismissed, something which Alejandro could forgive since the French were the French, he leaned in towards The newly-invested Duke of Oaxaca. "Your Grace, I'm quite surprised they didn't try to marry me off to some French socialite. Perhaps their only use for us is as play things."

"And you're complaining, Your Majesty?" Cristiano said with a smile.

"Merely commenting," Alejandro said. "If they just want us for trysts, more power to them."

Alejandro turned towards the Lord Chancellor and called him over with a hand gesture. The Lord Chancellor stepped to the foot of the dais. "My Lord Chancellor, please take this to the parliament with my Royal Ascent affixed when they return from their adjournment. Furthermore, inform the French I have accepted their agreements. Also, my Lord Chancellor, I have decided that you should remain at your position until such time as you see fit or such time as We decided otherwise. I hope you will accept this."

The Lord Chancellor cleared his throat, then knelt on one knee and bowed his head, "Your Most Gracious Majesty could not have made me happier with your words. I most humbly accept your charge and hope that I bring all due glory and honor to my high office and, most importantly, to you."

"We are most certain you will, My Lord Chancellor," he dismissed the chancellor with a nod.

Princess Ana's Apartment

The young princess stepped into her small dining room within which was set a table for her. The figure of womanly beauty and elegance slid into her seat effortlessly and awaited her breakfast. The Lady Juanita, her personal assistant, called forth for her breakfast to arrive. A steward of the catering staff arrived with a solid silver platter capped with a great dome lid of excellent shine. He removed the lid to reveal a large spread. The primary breakfast being eggs, salsa, and a rice tamale. The catering steward stood back behind and to the side of Lady Juanita as the princess took her first bite. With smiled as the flavor was divine. Bit by bit she powered into her breakfast.

As she had eaten roughly half of her eggs, she began to cough. At first no one took notice. The salsa was, as the princess often requested, extra spicy. The coughing increased in intensity. She grabbed her throat. The Lady Juanita turned quickly towards the door and shouted for a royal guard. The steward himself turned white as a sheet as he and the Lady ran to the princess. Ana fell backwards in her chair. The coughing had turn to choking. The royal guard posted at her door arrived in quick fashion. The steward was ordered to retrieve the royal doctor.

The called to Ana, but she eventually stopped all movement. The steward attempted to wake the princess to no avail. A few moments later the doctor arrived with a young resident. He attempted the Heimlich maneuver, but the princess did not respond. He took her pulse. Nothing there. He panicked and told the royal guard to keep everyone in the room. He continued to revive the princess, but all attempts failed. She fell lifeless in his arms.

The guard reached to his side and began speaking through a walkie talkie relaying the events that had just transpired. Within a few moments, the room filled with royal guards, one of whom grabbed the young catering steward and held him quite against the young man's will. He was slapped in handcuffs and tethered to the heavy oak table next to which the princess lie dead.

The scene turned dim in the kitchen as royal guards barred the exit of any staff within its confines. The chef, his sous chef, and all the ancillary chefs were shackled and led from the kitchen into the bowels of the palace where ancient holding cells were contained. They were not told why they were in such dire straights. They protested most strongly, but the guards acted as if their pleas were not even spoken. As the kitchen staff cried for their attention, the guards left the holding cells.

Meanwhile, the King himself was informed of the tragedy. Alejandro raced through the corridors of the palace. Arriving in the princess' room, he collapsed at the sight into a pile of mournful tears. He yelled at all around to get out. Those who didn't move fast enough were threatened with physical harm to motivate their steps. A few moments later, Cristiano arrived at the scene. He walked over to the weeping Alejandro and knelt down beside him placing his hand on the king's shoulder.

Alejandro stood up and turned towards Cristiano. The tears continued down his face, but the eyes told a much different story. They spoke to anger. A deep, wrenching anger the likes of which bubbles up from within some dark place within the soul and rarely shows its evil face. An anger that few people ever fully achieve not because their biology prevents such emotion, but they fear this place from which the anger originated like they fear death and eternal damnation. The look struck a chord with the Duke.

"Your Majesty," he said cautiously, "perhaps you should get out of here. I'll walk with you back to your room."

"I want them dead," Alejandro said in his anguish.

"No, Your Majesty, now is not the time..."

"Dead, I said. Every single member of the catering staff. I want them dead, you hear? Dead! Get the Lord Chancellor to issue a death warrant for them and execute them or so help me god I shall take my wrath out on you, Your Grace," Alejandro growled.

Cristiano paused as he began to help move the king forward towards the outer door of the princess' apartment. "Your Majesty, you can't just execute them. We have laws..."

"I am the mother fucking law, Your Grace. Do as I command."

The Royal Guard by the door stepped aside to allow the king access to the corridor. Cristiano took the guard aside as Alejandro meandered back towards his apartment. "Corporal, release the kitchen staff with the exception of the chefs. They'll need to be questioned. I'll handle the king. Also, don't let the French know about this. Not yet. No press, not anyone who isn't here at this moment. Once the King has had time to cool down and return to a more rational mind, we can sort it all out. I'll inform My Lord Chancellor in a few moments. Let your commander know these orders."

Ibañez Estate, near Acapulco

Alberto put the phone down on his desk. He smiled a smile that would make a Cheshire Cat blush and chuckled to himself. "Now, we can talk", he said under his breath.

[Chrinthanium]

The announcement of the death of Princess Ana hit the outside world. What has seemed like a peaceful transition of power soon appeared to be moving forward towards disaster. Fears that the Ibañez family were attempting to assert their claim to the throne not by force, but by treachery, were well founded. So much conspiracy filled the air that it hung like tropical humidity making a most uncomfortable life for those suffering from it. The biggest question of the masses was whether or not their young king would survive the whole ordeal. It would not take a French intelligence officer any effort to learn of such concerns.

Alejandro was the king, though. He was not naive by any stretch of the imagination. Though his years of life be less than 20, his awareness of the world around him surpassed many others in the world. As a child he often overheard his father speak of traitors and how best to deal with them. The names were not always readily spoken around the boy, but the inferences pointed towards one particular noble house. While the newly-ascended king's mother once spoke of the dire consequences that should befall anyone who plotted against the Crown, Alejandro's father was not a vengeful person. In fact, such notions were contrary to his very moral code. Esplanadia was not a European nation, thus Esplanadia should not pay homage to the trappings of European kingdoms and empires. Simply executing those who posed a threat by the evidence that such a threat was perceived was far from what Enrique V thought the kingdom should stand for.

Yet the death of Princess Ana was quickly revealed to be from poison. A young man, not much younger than the king, who had recently arrived at the palace as a kitchen helper, testified to royal guards that the head chef had entertained three strangers the night before the princess was killed. According to the boy, the strangers acted as agents for someone else. It was these words which condemned the chef in question. The boy could not hear the conversations in whole, but what he could assume from the conversations overheard was they represented a powerful family from the west coast. It was this testimony that condemned the Ibañez family in the mind of the royal guards.

The king was informed of all the evidence gathered from the boy. In his grief, the king rescinded the invitation sent only the day before to the rival claimants. Being clear in his own mind that they meant to kill off the king, the only remaining member of the House of Duarte, the king gave his orders as to how to best deal with the threat.

"They shall be attained for high treason. Every last member of that family no matter how thin the blood connection. I shall purge this land of the entire House of Ibañez. I shall make them a bloody fearful reminder of the consequence of treason. The Duke of Ixtapa, his son Alberto, his wife and children, and the Duke's grandchildren all over the age of majority, shall be executed by beheading. The rest of the family over the age of majority shall spend the remainder of their days rotting in the royal prison in the Revillagigedo Islands until they die. The great grandchildren of the Duke are all under 10 years of age. I shall spare them from this. However, all noble titles and grants of land associated with this dishonored house shall be withdrawn and returned to the Crown for its safe keeping until such time as the Crown sees fit to bestow it again upon a more worthy person. Their riches shall be turned over to the Crown as well. The young children are spared from death, but they shall never have the power to mount a challenge to the crown in future. And that chef, have him hanged. See that my orders are carried out, General."

General Felipe Calderon saluted his king and smiled slightly. "Your Majesty, you give me great honor to give the orders to execute those who oppose you." The General left the King's apartment and had the orders carried out.

The king then sent his messenger to the 'French apartment' to inform them that he was ready to receive them to give them their answer.