Tajiyagitte Palace
630 Meillur Era
Empress Amélie swept into the throne room of the Tajiyagitte Palace, her light blue and white wrapper dress flowing behind her as she made her way towards her husband. The tall consort bearded towards the magnificent obsidian throne that sat on the dais at the far end of the grand room.
“Andeja!” the Empress called out to her husband, “Andeja, my love, wake up.”
The elderly Andeja II, Emperor of Derita blinked opened his eyes, looking up in surprise as Amélie touched his shoulder. For a moment, in the daze of that moment between sleep and consciousness he thought he saw his beloved Adelaide standing over him. But Adelaide had passed into heaven many decades ago. As he blinked again, Amélie’s regal face coming into clarity. She wasn’t as tall as Adelaide had been, and her black hair wasn’t a cascade of curls like Andeja’s late beloved. She wore her dark hair was instead pinned up into a high bun, a small gold bejeweled crown perched carefully on her head.
“Huh,” the Emperor touched his wife’s hand. “Amélie.”
“Your—“
“Out of my way!” A thunderous deep voice rolled through the throne room as the doors swung open. The Emperor and Empress look up in unison. Their heads swiveled and their eyes fell on the tall elderly man storming inside. If Amélie was a pale comparison of Adelaide, Andeja was a pale comparison of the newcomer, the Duke of Alençon. The Duke was a towering mountain of a man, with broad shoulders and short cropped white curls, striking against his dark caramel skin. Andeja in contrast had a grand splash of freckles and moles across his face, and he wore his white hair in long neat dreadlocks that tumbled down his back. Andeja was a tall, but his body was thin and frail. He was hunched over, his form bent under the weight of the monarchy. The Emperor swam in his formal black clothes, like a child in his father’s uniform, which in way, Andeja still was. The Duke, on the other hand, even at seventy years old was solidly built, his back straight and his dark eyes alert like a hawk. A thin faded scar sliced down the right side of his face. The Duke wore a simple black combat uniform and combat boots as he marched towards the dais.
“Brother,” Andeja said, gripping the arms of his throne. “What brings you here?”
“I am more concerned as to why you are here.” The Duke said coldly. “I just heard that you’ve missed yet another council meeting with the Prime Minister.”
“Brother,” Andeja narrowed his old eyes. “I don’t remember you being my keeper.”
“Perhaps you should have one. If you continue to neglect your duties, it will become necessary for someone to take your place.”
“Do not speak to your Emperor like that,” Amélie cut in, placing her hand firmly on Andeja’s shoulder.
The Duke’s eyes glanced over to Amélie. He let out an annoyed huff. “I was not speaking to you, child.”
Empress Amélie scowled at her elderly brother-in-law. “I’m your empress-“
“And you you are a child here. A babe, forcing my older brother’s bed by our father, and yours. Do not think that makes you an empress. Our mother was an empress. Our grandmother was an empress. You, Amélie, are a child.”
“Brother,” the Emperor raised a hand, hoping to put an end to the bickering. Amélie by no measure was an actual child, well settled in her forties. None the less compared to the septuagenarian brothers she was closer in age, even younger than their sons. She’d been barely an adult by Deritain standards when their parents put them together. But that was decades past now.
“You can continue to sit in the dark, an imperial recluse deaf to the rest of the world. It is changing. And when you do finally leave your cave, you will find it has left you behind. And the monarchy with it.”
“Has that not always been your dream?” Andeja said coldly.
“Derita was built on the monarchy. It is in our bones and our identity. While I have always believed in democracy and the voice of the people, I am aware of the unifying force this,” the Duke gestured to the palace around them, “institution serves. It is vital. And I can not allow you to let it rot.”
“Do you believe to have the authority of the how the monarchy should be run?”
“Brother—“
Andeja raised his hand. “I know that you have been loss since the death of your beloved.” The Emperor’s words cut through the room like a blade. The old Duke’s eyes turned shiny for just a moment at the mention of his late husband. The brothers had, tragically, each in turn lost the loves of their lives. A pain that tied them together. And left them a little more empty inside. Where Andeja had become a shade of his old self and reclusive, the Duke had grown cold and cruel. “But,” Andeja continued, “I didn’t let you return from your exile so that you could dictate things to me. I wanted you to be allowed to return home. I hoped that you would find peace here.”
“The only peace I have found here is one built on delusion and ashes of a bygone era brother,” the Duke said, his hand curling into tight fists. This has nothing to do with Adrian. In my absence you’ve all grown stagnant and compliant. Father preserved us during crisis, but you and I both know he suffocated this nation, and now it is lays on the brink of death. I came here because I believed that you would be different. That you would see the failures of Father and grandfather, and do things differently. But it has been five years. And nothing has changed.”
“I am doing what I can—“
“And it is not enough.”
Andeja’s jaw tightened. His body ached and his head hurt. He didn’t wish to fight with his brother. He was too long for this. Too tired. “What would you have me do?”
The Duke straightened, if one so steel like could stand to do so. “Abdicate.”
Rage filled Andeja’s old aching body. His heavy eye lids finally rose high, his eyes wide and vision tinted with red fury. “How dare you!”
A small shadow of a smile played across the old Duke’s lips. “I have always been daring. I still am. And you know even know amongst your anger and fury, that I am right. We Deritains, we Volonté, have always hated abdication. But it is necessary for our country to live. The head can not be allowed to remain while it rots. As it did with our grandfather.”
“I would sooner die!” Andeja’s words boomed through the throne room, in a rare scene of power. That moment, to Amélie’s horror, was swiftly followed by a fit of coughing. They racked through his thin body. The Duke simply shook his head. His words, more an observation, were unspoken and yet deafeningly clear. He looked as if that might happen at any moment. The Emperor knew that to be true. He was dying. Slowly. He’d been dying for sometime. It seemed impossible, for Deritains had become world reknown for their longevity. He’d been a year younger than his father had been when he’d ascended the throne, just 67. His father had gone on to rule for another twenty-two years. The Emperor knew that he would be lucky to make it to the end of the year. He doubted he would have such luck.
“My son will reign after me.”
A dark laugh left the old Duke. “And he will save us? Forgive me, but your nephew will not last half a year on the throne. He will leave it either assassinated, by your own wife no doubt,” he gestured to Empress Amélie, “or by revolutionaries furious with his narcissistic gluttony.”
“Brother—“
“You know it to be true. He isn’t fit. Adelaide would have been so disappoin—“
The Emperor slammed his fist on the arm rest of the throne. “You will not speak her name.”
The Duke bowed his head. An impressive symbol of difference for him. “Forgive me. But my point stands. Perhaps in another time my nephew may have made an excusable emperor, one that could serve well enough. But these are not those times Brother. We need a strong leader. We need—“
“You?” Empress Amélie said, the accusation and dreaded implication clear in her voice.
The Duke’s jaw tightened. “If that was what the people decided.”
“There is my democratic brother,” Andeja said with a humorless laugh. He shook his head. “You are right of one thing Alexandre. I am old and I am tired. Tired of you and your endless idealism. Especially when even now you continue to lack wisdom.”
“Brother-“
“Amajoni”
The elderly Duke flinched, a flash of terror filling his eyes at the word. In an instant, as if appearing out of shadows, a team of armed women stepped into the throne room, their eyes on the Duke. The Amagorha, the personal guard and warrior group created by Andeja’s father in the reign of his grandfather had their origins in the Amperiale Police. They were part body guard, part secret service. Over the last fifty years they’d turned into a group utterly loyal to the emperor. Meant to be the last line of defense in times of crisis. The Duke glared at the Amajoni, the members of the Amagorha, but didn’t move. The female warriors wore simple black Kevlar armored uniforms with the silver starburst, symbol of the Crown, on their chests. Their faces were emotionless, unbending and Even when he’d been young and a great fighter, he couldn’t defeat a team of Amajoni.
“I believe it is time for you to go, brother. Go back to your chateau and spend time with your grandchildren.”
The Duke opened his mouth to protest the Emperor’s words, but the Amajoni took a step forward. He huffed and spun on his heels, marching out of throne room. The moment he was gone, the Emperor deflated once more, another fit of coughing racking him. The Empress lowered herself to rubbed his back as he suffered through the episode.
“My emperor,” Amélie said, searching for the words to comfort him.
“He is right,” the emperor said. “I grow weaker by the day. And my son...” He shook his head.
Amélie bit her lip. “Your brother is cold stubborn old man. He rebelled against your own father. It is only a matter of time before he does so against you.”
“No...” Andeja said with a heavy sigh. “He will do as he did with our grandfather. He will wait for me to die. And in the early days of my son’s reign, he will strike him down. I can not let him have the chance. I will not let my legacy be a civil war that destroyed our empire.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Amélie.”
“Yes?”
“I have always known you’ve harbored great ambitions for your daughters.”
“Our daughters my love,” Amélie corrected, before adding, “though I don’t know what you mean.”
“I am an old man. Not a an idiot. You would be just as much a threat to the future of this country if you though you could get away with it.”
“I—“
“You want a crown for your daughters,” the Emperor interrupted. “Perhaps there is a way they can still get one.”
Amélie’s eyes widened, but surprise was quickly replaced with interest. The Emperor, of course, was correct. “My Emperor?”
“Send a message to my cousin, Prince Jean. It is time we make preparations. And remind the world that Derita is not yet dead.”