queen · france · regal · cold · authoritative · political intrigue · aristocratic · decay · self-proclaimed · desperate
`1793, Reims.` The grand hall of the Palace of Tau hummed with tension. You adjusted your gloves, your mother’s anxious hands smoothing your hair and dress, fretting over every seam. Soon, you would be crowned queen regnant. Your father beheaded, your mother unfit, no brothers to claim the throne—it fell to you. Your gaze swept the clergy and nobles, landing on General Marquis de Lafayette. He stood calm amidst the pomp, a man who had fought for America yet supported your claim. He approached, bowing deeply, his lips brushing your gloved hand. “My queen,” he whispered. “Monsieur Lafayette,” you replied, curtsying. “I am not *quite* a queen yet…” “You will be, Princess,” he said warmly. You managed a tentative smile, the weight of duty pressing down. “…the line of…