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As each noble departed, Eloise couldn't help but detect the subtle undercurrents of curiosity and speculation. They were all wondering, no doubt, about the sudden shift in power, about her, the queen who had emerged from the shadows of political intrigue.
"Bernard," Eloise whispered later, as they retreated to the privacy of their chambers, "do you ever feel like we're actors on a stage, playing parts scripted by fate?"
"Every day," he confessed, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "But if it's a play, then let's make it a comedy rather than a tragedy. We shall navigate this royal farce with wit and charm."
"Indeed," she agreed, the corners of her lips lifting despite the heaviness in her heart. Yet, even as laughter escaped her, Eloise felt the secret within her growing heavier by the hour.
The sun had long since surrendered to the velvet cloak of night, yet the light within the King's study refused to yield. Bernard sat, papers strewn before him like a legion in disarray. His eyes were etched with the fatigue of rulership, scanning line after line of the latest reports—a litany of names implicated in the conspiracy that had threatened to unravel the very fabric of Allenia. And the people caught were naming others, both in Allenia and in Theron. The sheer size of the conspiracy was larger than he’d dreamed it could be.
"Another baron? And three counts?" Eloise asked from her position across the room.
"Yes, and I’m sad with each new ‘friend’ that I hear was part of the unrest," Bernard replied without looking up. "And they say the roots may spread deeper still."
She moved toward him, her silk gown whispering secrets with each step. "It's as if we're pruning a tree with infinite branches. Will we ever see it bear fruit again, I wonder?"
"Ah, but my dear, even the mightiest oaks were once mere acorns," he quipped. "We shall cultivate trust anew, though it requires the patience of a gardener and the diligence of a bee."
Eloise couldn't help but smile. His sense of humor was one of her favorite things about him.
AS DAYS TURNED TO WEEKS, their shared laughter became a rare gem, sought after but seldom found amidst the duties that demanded their attention.
The king was often sequestered with advisors, while the queen-to-be orchestrated charitable endeavors, each endeavoring to mend the kingdom. Their conversations, once free-flowing rivers, became meandering streams choked by the sediment of statecraft.
One evening Eloise wandered the pathways of the palace’s garden alone, her thoughts a carousel that knew no end. The statues there—marble kings and queens locked in eternal regality—seemed to watch her with eyes that understood the solitude of sovereignty.
"Even stone companions offer more discourse than my living ones these days," she murmured, tracing the cold features of a queen who had reigned centuries before. A wry chuckle escaped her lips, though no one was there to hear it.
In their bed chamber later that night, Eloise watched Bernard's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of slumber, his face softened by dreams. She reached out to brush a lock of hair from his brow.
"Goodnight, my king," she whispered, a title that felt both familiar and foreign on her tongue. Tomorrow would bring with it another cascade of names. She dearly hoped they would find them all soon. The names always made them unhappy, but they all needed to be caught.
But for tonight, she allowed herself the solace of his proximity, the quiet comfort that came with knowing they were still, at heart, simply Bernard and Eloise.
Chapter Sixteen
Bernard’s chauffeur-driven car arrived at Chateau de la Paix, a majestic venue chosen for its neutrality and grandeur. Eloise, Princess of Theron and Queen of Allenia, stepped out, looking up at the enormous spires.
"Steady on," murmured Sir Geoffrey, King Bernard’s chief advisor. "Remember, we're here to build bridges, not admire the architecture."
"Of course," Eloise replied.
Beside her, King Bernard of Allenia stepped out of the car, his attire impeccable, his hair rebelliously tousled—a deliberate contrast to his stern-faced entourage. Bernard caught Eloise’s eye, and a conspiratorial glint passed between them, a silent pledge to navigate the forthcoming storm with wit and poise. They’d talked about their strategy for this meeting ad nauseum.
As they entered the grand hall, the air was thick with anticipation. Both Allenia and Theron had delegates at the meeting that hoped to shift the future of their countries.
Eloise's senses were assaulted by the clinking of medals, the rustle of silk gowns, and the discreet murmur of hushed conversations. She scanned the room, noting the arrangement of chairs and tables designed to promote discourse but also to serve as a buffer against any aggression. She gripped Bernard’s hand and said a silent prayer there would be no hostility, though she knew she was fooling herself.
"Seems we're at an impasse before we've even begun," Bernard quipped softly, his voice a soothing balm amidst the undercurrent of unease.
"Only if we choose to stand still," Eloise responded. "Shall we dance, then?"
"Lead the way, Your Highness," he said with a mock bow, drawing an amused chuckle from her.
Together, they took measured steps toward the center of the hall, their advisors trailing behind.
"Let the games begin," Eloise whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Eloise stepped into the shaft of light that bisected the grand hall, her silhouette commanding attention as she ascended the dais. The hushed whispers of the assembly gave way to silence. All eyes were riveted upon her. With Bernard at her side, they stood as twin bastions of hope against a backdrop of uncertainty.
