The Pearl of the South [MT | Semi-Open | TG for Entry]

by **Cheltsland** » Tue Apr 26, 2016 10:24 pm

The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.

— Ferdinand Foch

THEROYALGALAOFTHEEMPRESS-QUEEN'SSILVERJUBILEE

On Tuesday, March 12th, 1991 CE, a most horrific tragedy befell the Holy Apostolic Empire. His Royal Benevolence, Emperor-King Francis V and his loving bride, Her Majesty Queen Consort Adelaide were to attend the Silver Jubilee of the Royal Sovereign of Vaustrya, Crown Prince Adelbert II. En route, the Imperial transport ferrying them to Carmona crashed some two hundred nautical miles north-northwest of the Aquilinian Abyssal in the Great Victorian Ocean. For the next month, a multinational task force spearheaded by His Royal Benevolence's Navy would crisscross the sea lanes leading to and fro Vaustrya, hoping against all hope that the royal family may be found alive. On Thursday, April 11th, 1991 however, the full scope of the calamity was borne out when the debris field from the wreckage was finally located. No evidence of survivors could be found amidst the oil slick and the remains of the aircraft; her safety gear was located in the debris field. The next day, on Friday, April 12th, 1991, Lord Admiral Curtis C. Krajick, Esq. officially announced to the world that the Emperor was presumed dead. His wife and three oldest children joined him in death.

Never before in the history of the Empire had a sitting Regent, his consort, and three of his children and potential heirs all perished simultaneously in the same accident. Only one of the Emperor's children, his young daughter Princess Charlotte, avoided their grisly fate. Having been present at the Imperial Finishing Academy at Coldhaven at the time of the accident, young Princess Charlotte had, at the age of eleven, inherited the Threshing Throne of Friedrich, becoming the youngest Empress-Queen in the history of the Cheltish Empire. As expected, the news of the loss of her family hit the young Empress extremely hard, rendering all celebratory functions typically bequeathed to a rising monarch somber and solemn. As per the custom of the Chelts and their Holy Apostolic Empire, Charlotte was put through the Trials of Matriculation, concluding two weeks from the date of the former Emperor's declaration of passing. The young Princess was officially crowned Empress-Queen of the Realm on Friday, April 26th, 1991. Forty-nine tolls of the Mourning Bell rang out through the streets of Friedrich to honor the dead king. Eleven guns honored Queen Charlotte III.

Many skeptics, both within the Cheltish Empire and outside its purview predicted abject disaster. The young ruler was never considered a legitimate contender to the throne, having been born fourth in the line-of-succession. As such, her formal education, what little she had attained at such a young age, was ill-suited for the Threshing Throne. Many believed that the Vicegerent of the Holy Austrylic Church would utilize the naïveté and relative inexperience of the young Empress-Queen to the benefit of the Church, usurping more authority than had been customarily prescribed to the Office of the Vicegerency. This expected usurpation never came to pass: Lord Admiral Krajick, the very one to have informed Charlotte of her family's demise, resigned his commission effective April 27th, 1991, becoming the new Empress's Chief Consul, or Admonitor. Through the careful cunning and skilled guidance of Lord Krajick, the young Empress astounded critics and skeptics alike by utilizing the resources of state to embark on an ambitious mandate, sacking corrupt Imperial magistrates and military officers at the behest of Lord Krajick while also instituting major economic reforms.

The Empress accomplished more in her first year than any thought impossible for a 'novice regent'. Though she mourned daily in private, grieving bitter tears, her steadfast poise and countenance in public won her the enduring love of the people. She committed herself to the affairs of state, forsaking her personal dreams and ambitions to learn the statutes of the court, and the polity of her father, and her father's father. And as the years passed, her renown for demonstrating exceptional leadership and a firm but fair hand over her subjects waxed greater and greater. Through the trusted counsel of Lord Krajick and a young Court looking to cut its teeth in the affairs of a burgeoning Empire, the Empress-Queen successfully administered authority from the Threshing Throne. As she grew, so too grew the Empire she helmed, expanding its influence through diplomacy where practicable, and through military intervention where necessary. At just thirty-six years old, Charlotte has already reigned long enough to see her Silver Jubilee. But as the anniversary of her coronation approaches, many wonder aloud whether the Empress will hold with tradition and celebrate the date.

OP's Note: This roleplay will make use of fluid time to cover potential discrepancies in arrival times or other anachronisms. This thread shall be reserved for in-character posts only from this point forward. Please keep OOC posts out of this thread. Thank you!

An OOC Thread has been provided for the convenience of particiapnts and interested parties who want to join up with us.

by **Cheltsland** » Tue Apr 26, 2016 10:25 pm

—CHAPTERONE—
THEINVITATIONoftheEMPRESS

The South Study at Sacra Laurus, the Imperial Estate of the Empress
The Capital Hold of Friedrich, Purview of Camden — April 26th, 2016 CE — 1930 Hours ChST

She stood by the open window, pondering the occasion with grim despondency.

The solemn wind cared not for her plight, nor did the canvass of the valley spread out before her match the gloom that weighed upon her heart. The sun had just begun to crest behind the Ethelyn Mountains, their bluish-gray hue a stark contrast to the rich oranges and pinks emblazoned in the evening sky. From afar, she could see the stone outcroppings which beset the aging Citadel of Kenelm, the silhouette of the ancient tower darkened by the setting sun. Beneath the ridges on the horizon, the Cyneweard Forest was clearly demarcated by the faint flickers of light from the wrought-iron gas lamps lining the rough-hewn cobblestone streets of her Capital. Her subjects were busy in the waning light, soaking in the majestic grandeur of the Spring evening, casting long shadows over the Wolfe Bridge, strolling beside the clear, rushing waters of the River Swithin. To the south, the twinkling orange lights of the distant city of Dracmoor seemed to illuminate the far horizon, bringing the line-of-sight alive with motion.

At least the air matches my spirit: cold and bitter.

The Empress shivered involuntarily, the cold chill nearly prompting her away from the opening. Fighting her urge to return to the relative warmth of the hearth by the open fireplace in her study, she instead walked through the archway to the south veranda, the chill of the smooth limestone noticeable beneath her bare feet. Charlotte carefully traipsed towards the balustrade, the coarse granite railing somehow colder than the patio grounds or the air itself. Still, the Empress held her position overlooking the arboretum of the estate grounds, allowing the sound of the tiered garden fountains below the porch to blend harmoniously with the melodies of her Imperial troupe back in the study. She had sent for the musicians of the estate an hour nearer, their crimson jackets adorned with golden cords and brass buttons, their shakos crowned with peacock-inspired plumes. The euphony of their segues between Provencal Lute and woodwinds was a rich—albeit quite melancholy—tonic for her staid countenance.

Her travels had taken her throughout the Capital hold that afternoon, leaving her physically drained. Charlotte had intended to keep vigil over her estate to mark the passage of the damned anniversary of her coronation, as she always sought to accomplish. And as always, her official duties kept her squirreled away from the relative calm of her sanctum, where the pinpricks of her grief could be endured in silent acquiescence. Even now, in the waning hours of the interminable occasion, she found her thoughts dipped with the memories of her father's funeral, and the silent vigil held for the remainder of her family, lost a quarter-century ago, when she was but a youngling of no consequence in the world. Twenty-five years a captive of unremitting grief, interrupted only by brief tête-à-têtes with the zealous members of her Court, or her appearances before the leering eyes of wayward subjects, whom she was to lord over. The bounty of suffering her anguished heartache in lonesome solitude was rich indeed.

My heart breaks anew, Father. Even so, Lord...

"—As thou wilt..." she prayed beneath her breath, the throaty words hoarse in the raw evening air and bitter breeze. There was no sense in fighting the urge to feel despondent; every anniversary, every holiday was the same routine, replayed on an endless loop meant to humble her unto contriteness. The days of her yearning for her lost loved ones would punctuate with an seemingly-unending season of misery, coupled only with the foreknowledge that her softened heart would soon harden over once the date had passed. She would then give herself over to diverse temptations while her sadness subsided for a short while, in lieu of the next crushing memory that would trigger her depression anew. Only the spirits of her private wine racks and the responsibilities of the Threshing Throne kept her from stepping off into abject darkness. And so, when the moment struck, she did what any true devout Chelt would do: she implored God in vain to ease her suffering, then conceded to His Providence and endured.

Even as she wrestled with her scattershot musings, the sound of hallow footsteps disturbed her solitary afflictions. She cocked her head to the side, paying only the slightest of attention to the Estate servant who approached, head bowed deeply to the ground, his pure white raiment a stark contrast to the muted grays of the balcony. He came to attention before her, his clutched fist raised to his chest, the words soaked with compunction. "Your Benevolence, Lord Krajick begs an audience with the Empress."

Ah, my dearest Admiral, as I live and breath!

"Yes, yes, of course," Charlotte reacted hastily. "Inform the Admonitor his Empress awaits his arrival."

"M'lady," the loyal steward cooed, bowing himself deeply once more before pivoting on his heels, turning back to the study. If there was one person who could help lift her up out of her troubles, it was the Admiral. For years, he had been her bedrock, supporting her more steadily than any priest or parson had ever managed to match. Her subjects confessed their sins and shortcomings to the priesthood of the Church; Charlotte confessed her sins and shortcomings to Curtis Krajick, the Admonitor, the Great Counsel of her Court. He had been by her side through every trial and tribulation borne of the Threshing Throne, leading her by the hand, carrying her even from her study to her bedroom as a child when the adversity became too great. Every day, without fail, Lord Krajick was there in the fight with her, leading by example, that she might discover the wiles of an Empress with due diligence. Once, in a drunken stupor, she had very nearly decreed that the Admonitor was not allowed to die while she yet reigned.

The mantle of leadership would weigh too heavily on her shoulders without the Admiral to ease her pain.

Though she had planned to partake of the twilight on the veranda, the approach of the Admonitor and the ever-present chill in the air forced her back inside. She followed after the footsteps of her servant back inside the study, rubbing at her bare arms to warm them up before coming to rest by the crackling flames in the pit. Charlotte motioned with her hand for the musicians of her troupe to conclude their final psalm—quite nice timing, that—before imparting her silent gratitude towards them for their accompaniment. In unison, they curtsied, holding their instruments aloft before turning in precision to file out, their vestments seeming to run together in the deepening shadows of the study. The Empress reached for a match stick from a small wicker holster by the fireplace, careful not to tip over the silver-cased candelabrum on the lectern by her silk-cushioned daybed. The blossoming gleam brightened her study noticeably; the leather-bound tomes clearly visible in their mahogany insets on the wall.

Across the way along the northern wall, the servant who had broached her solitude opened the heavy marble doors to the study, moving quickly out of the pathway now unblocked. Lord Krajick quickly filled the doorway, cutting an imposing figure next to the rather-diminutive servant. Curtis Krajick was built like a tank; even approaching his mid-seventies, his sheer size was somewhat-imposing, even to her. With a jaw-line molded out of unbreakable steel, and eyes that were deep with the wisdom of a full life's worth of experiences, Charlotte could very-nearly recite every detail of his features from memory, considering how often the two worked together. Even a quarter-century on from his retirement, he still insisted on wearing his damned dress uniform from his days in the Navy, replete with his commendations and badges. Perhaps it was his way of retaining the memories of his past life; perhaps it was done in jest, hoping to provoke an incredulous reaction from her. With Krajick, there was no telling.

Maybe the old man doesn't have any other outfits...

Charlotte rose from the couch quickly, smiling broadly as her friend and confidant strode effortlessly across the smooth jasper wood flooring, the bronze-fluted sconces on the western wall illuminating the right side of his face. Despite nearly stumbling over the Oriental rug beside her desk—as he was often wont to do—the Admonitor returned her smile presently. "Salve, Dræda!"

"Salvete, amicus," the Empress replied amicably, moving to embrace her friend. He bowed as was custom before his Queen, but she wrapped him in an endearing hug anyhow, laughing. "You're just in time for my annual pouting session."

"M'lady!" Krajick scorned mockingly. "Do you think I'd miss an opportunity to point and laugh at you?"

"You asshole," Charlotte said lightly, pushing him away playfully before lowering herself back down onto the daybed. It occurred to her as the Admiral moved to sit across from her that the Admonitor was the only person she permitted physical contact to. Even then, their relationship was more a sibling bond, despite the vast gulf in age between them.

"In seriousness," he shifted tone, "I figured you could use the company tonight. I know making the rounds on your anniversary can wear you out something fierce. One of these days, we'll learn to adjust our schedules accordingly."

The Empress nodded, a look of mock-incredulousness playing out across her features. "I know, right? I mean, here I am, the Sovereign of the Empire, with almost unrivaled authority, and yet every single year, I just keep piling on tasks on the 26th."

"Yes, but that's not inherently a bad thing," the Admiral nodded. "After all, sitting here in your study all day, stuck in your grief is rather uncouth. All the same, you accomplished your itinerary to the letter today. A fine afternoon of engagements!"

"Yeah, well," she started in quickly. "All the same, I would have preferred my study today."

"You would have preferred to get drunk and wind up naked in the foyer again," Krajick corrected her.

"... I see nothing wrong with that."

"I bet you don't," the Admiral retaliated. "All the same, though, I'm glad we didn't have to fetch you in your birthday suit this year. I've known you since you were a child; seeing you naked adds a few more miles to the odometer, if you catch my meaning."

"That's poppycock, old man," Charlotte chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I look great naked!"

"Anyway," the Admonitor sputtered, involuntarily flinching as he tried to reject that thought out-of-hand. "I did want to speak to you about a matter of some importance. I delayed bringing it up to you as long as I could, but we need to address it."

The Queen frowned; it wasn't like the Admiral to withhold things from her. "What is it?"

Something was going on, and Charlotte didn't much care for it. The mood, jovial up to that point, and swung so vividly in the other direction, it was nigh-whiplash inducing. The mirth in Krajick's eyes dissipated rapidly, replaced with the stern gaze of thoughtful introspection. With some strain, he eased himself forward, clasping his hands together. From the earliest days of their proverbial partnership, the Admiral had always shot straight with her. Yet when something distressing, either for himself to mention or for herself to absorb came up in the conversation, the Admonitor would always go ashen-faced almost, as if the joy in his spirit was being put to some unforeseen heel or sword. Just as he was now, his hands would be clasped tightly together, and he would begin gently shaking them up and down, as if to distract his conscience from the potentially-upsetting news. Charlotte knew that look; she knew it like the back of her hand. Deep down though, she somehow-already knew the subject.

Don't say it, Old Man. Don't you say it, damn you...

"We have to mark the anniversary this year with a celebration, M'lady."

"Damn you, Old Man," she lamented fiercely, throwing her hands up in the air. "Out of all the anniversaries you want to commemorate, you choose this one!? Need I remind you of the significance of this particular anniversary, Admiral?"

"You don't have to remind me, I know—"

"—This is my Silver Jubilee," Charlotte started in anyhow. "My parents died on their way to celebrate a Silver Jubilee. My siblings, my closest family and friends, the servants I grew up around. They died for a Silver Jubilee!"

"Damn it, you can't call this one off!" Krajick replied, obviously bitter over the sore subject. "I would like nothing more than to be able to let you wallow in the recesses of your grief, but right now, you have to step up and do what's uncomfortable. It's been highly-suspect for you to not celebrate your anniversaries with galas thus far, but this is your Silver, Empress. Every Sovereign in this country since the days of Elric the Cursed have celebrated their Silver Jubilee publicly. That's a Hell of a streak to break."

"The people have gone twenty-four years with a celebration on this anniversary," Charlotte retorted plainly. "You tell me why that streak has to be broken, huh? Why should we stop the trend now when we're building something—"

"Because the people deserve to celebrate!" Krajick spoke with a raised voice. He blushed apologetically, frowning deeply. "Please, forgive me my outburst, ma'am. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's been..."

"—A long day," the Empress nodded. "It's okay, Admiral."

Krajick exhaled sharply, shaking his head, continuing: "Listen, there is a rich tradition in the Empire of celebrating the anniversaries of coronations. Hell, some of the Ultra-Orthodox are superstitious about it, and believe the land will be cursed fallow without them. Considering how little rain we've had recently, I'm beginning to wonder myself."

"Superstitions don't become you," Charlotte tried to joke, deflecting criticism. Krajick wouldn't have any of it.

"M'lady, the people need reasons to celebrate. For some of them, the celebrations used to be some of the most exciting times of the year; a chance for them to shake off their station and cavort with their equals and their superiors alike. As is, an entire generation of Chelts have come of age, not knowing the excitement of an anniversary gala."

For a moment, she simply stared after him, glaring, trying to think of a snappy comeback that would diffuse the painful truth in his words. Her only recourse was to stand up in a huff, folding her arms nonchalantly across her chest as she turned towards her desk, scowling. Her Admonitor wouldn't let her off that easy; he rose from his own seat, speaking firmly towards the Empress, even with her back turned towards him: "The people deserve their festival, ma'am."

Charlotte scoffed audibly, but it was the raspy cry of a defeated soul. "The people will be the death of me."

"Perhaps," Krajick replied. "But it doesn't change the fact of the matter. God appointed you their Soveriegn; that means taking the good with the bad, and the bad with the good. In this case, you have to sacrifice your feelings for what's right."

"Yeah, well it sure as Hell doesn't feel right," she chided him.

"The Crown rarely does in your silver years," the Admiral answered boldly. "Part of being Empress means making the tough choices, even those which outwardly seem plain to the unbiased observer. Order the festival, ma'am. It's the right thing to do."

Charlotte came to a stop behind her desk, placing her hands down on the smooth surface top. "I'll think on it."

"—But ma'am, it's already—"

"I said I'll think on it!" Charlotte shot at him, unapologetically but at the very end. "Now, is there anything else?"

For a second, Krajick didn't respond, instead choosing to let the Empress stew on her outburst. After a pause, he slowly shook his head, bowing from across the room. "No, ma'am. With your permission, I'll take my leave now."

"Permission granted. Admonitor."

Even as her Counselor went to leave, Charlotte knew that she wouldn't be able to hold the ground this time. For years, she had pushed back at every suggestion of a commemorative gala. Her fifth anniversary, her tenth, her twentieth, all passing without fanfare. Each time a new milestone fell, the Admiral was there to remind her that at some point, she would have to move past the melancholy pall of the occasion. Now, with her friend about to leave after having been dressed down, she realized that to continue holding the line here at the last would represent a fundamental rejection of Krajick's counsel. In all her years of Sovereignty, she had never once managed to reject his wise counsel and not come to deeply regret it later. No matter the cost, Krajick was right, and in some strange way, shew knew it to be true. It didn't lessen the discomfort of what she now had to do, but at least she had some sort of resolution about it. She had to shed the yoke sometime; maybe this was it?

If this is it, then do something, idiot! Stop him—

"Curtis..."

The Admiral turned back towards her, his expression confused. "Ma'am?"

"Would you have my servant fetch me the good parchment?" She replied, shrugging. "If I'm going to send out official invitations to a gala, I reckon they ought to be produced on the best possible stationary, wouldn't you agree?"

Slowly, a narrow smile pierced his stony expression. "I think that would be a smart choice, given the circumstances, M'lady. I'll have your servant bring up the gold-foil parchment and your Auto Pen presently."

"Securus, meus amicus," Charlotte bid him farewell poignantly, apologetic. The Admiral smiled.

"Vivet in Aeternum, mei Regina."

For a time, Charlotte simply stared after him, watching as he walked through the doorway into the corridor beyond, his footsteps becoming more and more distant, until she was alone in the silence. The Empress dwelt heavily on the idea of celebrating such a painful occasion as the anniversary of her coronation, and the knowledge that she obtained the Threshing Throne through death. The seas had satiated their bloodlust with the lives of her family, her loved ones. Orphaned at eleven, and expected to rule over an Empire too vast for a child to comprehend, she had harbored her bitter resentment towards God and the people who now depended on her for quite some time. Yet she could never bring herself to disavow her God, or her people. She may have wanted to, but in the end, discretion was the better part of valor. And if that meant inviting dignitaries to a state function in her honor, then so be it. She just needed to figure out how to invite them. After all, this was her first one...

Well, Hell. I should have asked him what this needed to say...

Frustrated and more than a little tired, she sat down at her desk in a huff. She had a lot of writing to do.

by **Cheltsland** » Tue Apr 26, 2016 10:26 pm

A Communiqué to the Fellowship of International Communities:

The blessings of the Most High to you and yours. Honor from the Threshing Throne.

On the twenty-sixth day of April in the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Sixteen, I was privileged to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of my Matriculation unto the Throne Room of Friedrich, even the possession of the Threshing Throne. Though I inherited the throne of my father at a young age, it was but through the Grace of the Lord, the steadfast guidance of those He purposed to my path, and the unwavering devotion and loyalty of thy Imperial subjects that I bequeath unto you this, a most personal missive. Despite the bereavement which marked a young child's rise to a throne too great for her to comprehend, the Providence of God has been kind to my house, and my country and I have seen the prosperity and the richness of blessings flowing from on high. It was but through the strength imparted by the Almighty that I was made worthy to inherit our most glorious throne.

At the cause of a ruling Sovereign's twenty-fifth anniversary—her Silver Jubilee—a great celebration is declared in the capital hold of Friedrich. The royal subjects of the realm travel to the Imperial seat, to honor the accomplishments of the Sovereign and her Royal Host. Such gestures have been conducted with great pomp and splendor from seeming time immemorial. While the citizenry bequeaths a celebratory praise to the monarch, her Nobility and the honored dignitaries and statesmen and women of foreign courts and polities partake in a grand banquet, a gala of unrivaled richness and scope in all of the Cheltish Empire. It has been the privilege of my father, and his father before him, and of the great and noble lineage of the Threshing Throne to host the great leaders of the world in Friedrich for this occasion. I shall honor the memory of my predecessors, and continue this great tradition.

Per the Authority of this office, and at the bequest of an official query from a petitioner of the Royal Court, I do hereby authorize and christen the Royal Gala of the Empress-Queen's Silver Jubilee. It is with great joy and satisfaction that I share this momentous anniversary and celebration with my fellow heads of state, those whom I consider my peers, and those whom shall service as petitioners to my Throne. This invitation is cordially extended to the many heads of state and lawful state representatives, as so directed by the Imperial Consul of the Foreign Ministry of this Great and Mighty Empire. It is my solemn hope that this communiqué shall find you and your house well, and that you would purpose to bless us with the honor of your company and presence in Friedrich, two weeks henceforth. Our Foreign Emissary's Office would be most pleased to coordinate your arrangements to the Gala.

It is so noted in the codified Book of Decrees upon this hour. Oyez, it is so ordered.

May Providence Once More Smile Over the Children of Christ.

Witness My Hand and Seal This Day, the 26th of April, 2016 C.E.

As the Sovereign of the Great People of the Holy Apostolic Empire

Reddat Eam Altissimus Domina Regina de Cheltae
Charlotte vi Imperiosa, Gratia Dei Omnipotentis
Gloriosae Imperium Summum Imperium Imperatrix

Ave! Ave! Gloria in Excelsis Deo! Matronae Terrestris Domus Eius et Honor!

Her Most High Benevolence the Empress-Queen of the Chelts
Charlotte III Imperiosa, Through the Grace of Almighty God
Empress of the Empire and Sovereign of the Glorious Realm

Oyez! Oyez! Glory to God in the Highest! And Honor to the Matron of His Earthly House!

^{General Router Number: AX151D29150Authentication Codices: J91523F8153Locational Proximal C-1: S723K9X152XLocational Proximal C-I: 59A91K2Z5Z3}

by **Romberg** » Thu May 05, 2016 5:47 pm

"Dr. von Hofendr, I thank you once again for helping to negotiate the conditions for the peace treaty. Your efforts to produce terms favourable to the Dual Monarchy is commendable."

"Thank you, herr Kaiser. I was just doing my job."

"Now about that assignment... I assume you have read the dossier?"

"Most certainly have. Although why couldn't you send someone else instead? Maybe Edle von Hertzen? Edler von Gunnarsson?"

"I wonder too, but the foreign ministry have assigned them to posts abroad. This will be a short trip and hopefully will be an easy one. It is anticipated that there would not be significant difficulties in carrying out this - not even for a junior diplomat. Your job there is simply to look good and represent us."

"It's been what... two weeks since I arrived here? The estates are in a state of mess."

"Please. Two weeks was more than the norm because of my gratitude in negotiations of the treaty. Not because you're a prince or anything. Remember that you have sworn yourself to the nation."

"Y...Yes, it is my duty." the Prince stammered.

"So, pop quiz. Who sent the invite?"

"Grand Duchess Karla VII?"

"Try Queen Charlotte III. And age?"

"Thirty... forty?"

"Thirty-six. Nice guess. If you were not on holiday I would have used my authority to reprimand you for lying in my face, von Hofendr."

Unintelligible grumbling followed.

"Study the dossier. It'll be useful. And do come back with news. Hopefully good."

"Twenty-fifth anniversary? Any gifts?"

"Only what I have approved. Do not do anything on behalf of your family. If you had read the dossier you'd have known that the Queen in question had succeeded to the throne after a particularly grisly accident. She was fourth in line. Go figure."

"Y...Yes Sir." the Prince frowned.

"I will arrange for the government to produce a reply by tonight, just before my flight to an important meeting abroad. Read the damn dossier. I don't need to babysit anyone from the diplomatic services, especially not someone who had just made an important accomplishment to the nation. I'll meet you back here when I'm back."

That was a rather major blunder for the prince. A veteran of the diplomatic services, it was uncharacteristic of him to have come to a meeting unprepared. Years of experience taught him the importance of background knowledge, and he knew the Kaiser was a demanding man. It was after all how the Kaiser had managed to elevate the nation's reputation and strengthen its power. At least it didn't end in disgrace. It couldn't be that bad after all. If it was just socialising and drinking and interacting with people, it was indeed an "easy" assignment which he would be put on. Maybe things were just fine.

The United Realms of the Imperial Crown of Romberg and the Royal-Ducal Lands of Hohenstein

Dear Karlotta III Kaiserin und Königin von Kheltsiya,

Blessings upon you and your nation. I wish you well, and that the events organised to commemorate your twenty-fifth anniversary on the throne would be carried out smoothly and successfully. It is with my apologies that this message could not be delivered earlier due to a broken undersea cable near the Astyrian border. Nonetheless, with respect to the planned and arranged ball, I do hereby announce that the United Realms of the Imperial Crown of Romberg and the Royal-Ducal Lands of Hohenstein, otherwise known as the United Realms of Greater Romberg, shall be interested in sending official diplomatic representatives to the event. My preferred representative is Dr. Ingvar Prinz von Hofendr, hereditary prince of Yellowsia and non-sovereign hereditary Prince in Rombergian peerage. He is also due to be recognized as an Edler in his own right for his contributions to the nation as a senior diplomat with plenty of experience. With his background and qualifications, I believe that he would be an acceptable person to represent the nation at the event. With regards to arrangements surrounding transport, accommodation and other related issues surrounding our representative, the details have been sent separately in an attached file. It is hoped that a reply could be received soon.

Yours sincerely,

Johann VI von Lenesov Kaiser of Romberg, Royal and Sovereign Duke of Hohenstein

The Pearl of the South [MT | Semi-Open | TG for Entry]

The Pearl of the South [MT | Semi-Open | TG for Entry]

Chapter I: The Invitation of the Empress

An Invitation to the Royal Gala of the Empress's Silver Jubi

Who is online