Cameron To Candy

The projection above the square steadied. From their perspective, King Rodrik looked down over the crowd, grave and composed, his face floating in pale light above the relay crystals.

“People of Paddlewick,” he said, his voice carrying across the square and out through every mirror, crystal, ball, fountain, and scry station in the kingdom. “Hear me.”

There was a slight pause, presumably as he waited to make sure all were settled.

“I apologize for the theatrics, but I feared there’d be more unrest if rumors were allowed to spread through the kingdom, so I tell you this news as I know it, direct and plain. Gearford has fallen under the command of Prince Femminique of Bellefemme.”

A hushed murmur ran through the crowd. Phrases could be picked out here and there.

“Bellefemme?”

“How?”

“They don’t even have a standing army!”

“What does this mean for our trade agreements?”

The King waited a few seconds, then held up a hand. He couldn’t see the crowd reacting; he was just smart enough to know what to expect.

“It would seem, as of now, that it was a bloodless coup. Shortly after noon yesterday, the Prince entered Gearford with a small garrison. In recent months, Gearford suffered deep food shortages and civil unrest. They had apparently been struggling through several years of famine, and failed to secure new farming lands and trade negotiations to counter this.”

Marcus turned his head, quick in thought. That explained so much. All the weird land deals coming out of Bellefemme, all the times they had undercut him the last few years. They’d never made any sense, unless the goal hadn’t been making profit for Bellefemme, just loss for Gearford.

“Stranger still, last week, Gearford's ruler, Duke Clankenford, was inexplicably transformed into a woman, or rather, a partial transformation.”

Candy stiffened. Her head turned so sharply that Marcus felt it against his arm.

“Wait,” she said, low and fast. “Did he just say-”

Marcus cut her off without looking at her. “Not here. Not now. We'll talk later,” he stated, tightening his arm around her to make his point.

Candy looked at him hard. Normally she would have pushed. She would have snapped something back or demanded an answer on the spot. But there were hundreds of people around them, all close enough to hear a raised word, and Marcus was right. For once, and annoyingly, Marcus was indesputably right. So she swallowed it and turned back to the King.

“She now answers to Duchess, per Femminique's idea. That is not a title, it’s considered a name. Likely, one meant to demean her. Following that event, confidence in Gearford’s leadership eroded. Prince Femminique then entered the city with food, aid, and promises of stability. Their Council of Elders has since made a vote of no confidence in the former Duke and yielded authority to the Prince. Gearford is now in the process of being folded into the property and governance of Bellefemme.”

The King took a breath and pushed on.

“Duchess remains in public service to the prince at this time. She has not stated that this arrangement is against her will. And yes, to address the obvious concern, the Prince has discovered a means of turning from male to female, and anything and everything in-between that he wishes. That said there is no solid evidence at this time that he was responsible for this transformation.”

The crowds seemed no more convinced of this than the King appeared to be.

“Further, yes, it is true Prince Femmenique maintains a private secondary harem consisting entirely of transformed consorts. Most of you know of it, if not you may inquire at a later time as I will not go on in front of the children.” Candy’s eyes widened. “However, given past instances, it’s likely that once Gearford’s incorporation is complete, Duchess will be added there, as the thirteenth harem member. What this means for trade, treaties, and movement through the southwestern routes remains to be seen. What it means for military balance is obvious enough.”

Gearford possessed the strongest mechanical industry in the known Cone. They even had more advanced siege weapons than Paddlewick. If Bellefemme was taking over that whole industry, then the city-state Paddlewick usually saw as mere social rivals was now poised to become a physical threat.

“At this hour, there is no indication of imminent attack upon Paddlewick soil. Hear that clearly. There is no immediate danger to our towns or our families at this time. But until we are certain of their intentions, Paddlewick will remain under yellow alert, out of an abundance of caution.”

Once again, citizens murmured, made eye contact with one another, expressing quite concern.

“Worry not citizens, the Ministry will work with anyone who loses money or resources as a result of this. Further updates will be released as they are know, through the standard royal scry channels. Until then, remain calm, remain orderly, and tend to your households. Report irregularities should you see any, and do not spread panic or rumor in the absence of proof. Remember, rumor and hearsay are just forms of lies, and High God Viridicus does not abide lies.” He let that last sentence hang before continuing.

“People of Paddlewick, thank you for your attention. Stay healthy. Stay productive. Good evening.” Then the King was gone.

The image held for half a second after the last word, thinning at the edges, then faded from the sky. In homes and taverns and caves and safe points and squares across the kingdom, the same thing happened at once. The light drained out of mirrors and crystals and water-surfaces and polished balls, and for a brief moment after the broadcast ended, the whole country seemed to go still.

Then the noise broke. Not screaming. Not chaos. Just the hard, sudden rise of many people talking at once.

“What does this mean?”

“Do you think we’ll go to war?”

“Did he say the duke just turned into a duchess?!?”

“That does not just happen!”

“No immediate danger, he said.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Something? Bellefemme has Gearford now!”

Children picked up the tension first, the way they always did. Some started crying while others clung harder to their mothers. Wives pressed closer to husbands without seeming to mean to. Men answered questions they did not have answers for in as vague and reassuring a way as possible because they had to say something.

Candy stayed where she was for a second longer, looking up at the empty air where the king’s face had been. The square had changed. A few minutes earlier it had been a place of waiting. Now it was full of calculation. Men measuring routes. Wives worrying over what counted as no immediate danger. Families thinking about supplies, sons, fathers, and whether yellow could turn red in the night.

The thing about Bellefemme was that until now, it had been easy to dismiss. It was their cultural adversary, vain, provocative, full of silk and politics and offense taken on decorative grounds. But it had never had the raw power to threaten Paddlewick in material terms.

Gearford changed that. Gearford built things, real things, like engines, mechanisms, arms, components, and machines that no other place in the Cone could match. The King was right, the implications of this were obvious.

That’s when another saved message began playing. “Please return to your homes or businesses in an orderly fashion. Loitering will not be tolerated.”

Marcus felt the crowd start to shift and tightened his arm around Candy’s shoulders just enough to guide her.

“Come on,” he said. She didn’t argue.

Around them, people began to move out of the square in orderly streams. There was no running or shoving; Paddlewick had too much practice with drills for that. But the air had changed all the same. The conversations were more private.

A man ahead of them was already telling his wife that tomorrow he would check the cellar stores. Another was saying he might be called in early if the Guard expanded readiness. A woman behind Candy asked in a small voice whether Bellefemme could really reach this far. Her husband answered, “No. They’d be crazy to try,” though nothing in his tone suggested he found that fully comforting.

Candy and Marcus moved with the crowd. For a while they said nothing. There were too many people around them. Whole families spilled into the streets from other viewing points and merged with the square’s crowd, all of them slowly feeding back into the city’s neat nighttime grid. Boots on stone. Wheels over ruts. Harness leather creaking. Low voices everywhere.

Candy kept replaying the same line in her head. A private household of transformed women consorts. The prince collected people like her. The obvious issues aside, she couldn't help wondering, what did this mean for her backup plan of escaping to Cleavendale? She felt a little sick. Marcus must have sensed some of that, because he did not drop his arm right away. He kept it there as they walked, steady and practical, moving her along through the thickest part of the dispersing crowd.

The farther they got from the square, the thinner the noise became. Families peeled off street by street, and shopfront light replaced the yellow crystal light. The chime was gone now, leaving the space to be filled with ordinary sounds. Still, it took a while before they were alone enough for a real conversation. By the time the last of the crowd had thinned to scattered couples and late-moving carts, Candy had so many questions she felt like she could burst, and Marcus, judging by the look on his face, knew it. This was going to be a hard conversation.

*****

Night had settled over the conquered city. Gearford stretched below the balcony of the palace like a dark sea of rooftops and silent streets. Lanterns flickered along the main roads, their light dim against the vastness of the newly claimed territory.

The grain caravans had already begun rolling through the gates. Smoke rose from cookfires in distant quarters. Relief had arrived and order and rule had followed it.

Prince Femminique stood alone on the high balcony of the former Dukes' palace, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the city that now belonged to him. Footsteps approached. His loyal assistant stopped at the threshold and bowed.

“Sire… the letters.” The Prince did not turn. "The diplomatic acknowledgments of your sovereignty over Gearford have arrived.”

A small pause.

“I trust they are all in good order,” the Prince said.

“Yes, my lord. Most major nations have already spoken to the event.”

“Good. Good.” He gave a faint nod, almost satisfied. "Was there any resistance from Paddlewick?"

"Their official statement reads, 'Paddlewick acknowledges the transfer of power.' A bit terse, and we're told they're now on yellow alert, but nothing to be concerned about currently, Sire."

“As expected. Was there anything else I should know?”

The clerk hesitated, only for a second. “Just one matter, Sire. A minor curiosity, really.”

Now the Prince turned slightly, one eyebrow lifting. “What is it?”

The assistant swallowed once. “Well, Sire… it appears Cleavendale's acknowledgment letter arrived three days before you entered the city.”

Silence; a long one. The Prince turned fully now, expression still. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“Marvelous!” he chuckled happily, “I'd expect nothing less from Queen Carmela.”

"Sire, how is that possible?"

"I don't know, Bassoonknot. Isn't that wonderful?"

The assistant bowed again. "As you say, my lord... Is that all, Sire?”

“Yes. You may go.” The assistant bowed, then withdrew, leaving the Prince alone with the night.

The Prince stepped forward again, resting his hands against the cold stone railing. Below him, Gearford slept uneasily beneath new banners. Above him, the sky stretched clear and black. He shook his head once. Very slightly.

“Well, Carmela,” he murmured. “I'm glad you received my invitation after all.”

Another pause. His smile returned, sharper this time. A memory of marble pieces sliding across carved wood flashed through his mind. He turned to a map of the Cone over his war board and studied it for a moment, his smile never leaving his face.

“It took a decade, but the pieces are finally in place. The time’s come to play again, on a much larger board.”

See Short Recap Below:

Spoiler

The King reveals a nation state they have regular trade with has been taken over by the Prince of Paddlewicks' cultural rival. The acquisition may allow them to move from a social threat to a physical one. Worse yet one of the reasons this take over occured was the states ruler being turned from male into a state similar to Candy's, partially transformed into a woman. Further, the Prince collects people like them into a harem, almost certainly against their will, which has obvious implications for Candy.

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