The Queens of Remnant - Chapter 5 (Patreon)
Content
This morning, Weiss woke up like she normally would. She dressed like she normally would. She studied her reflection in the mirror like she normally would. But nothing else about this day was normal. That inescapable truth reflected in the dark circles under her eyes - the result of another fitful night’s sleep - and the tremor in her hands, which hardly remained still these days.
She once believed that her father would live forever. His all-encompassing, cruel tyranny made wishing for an end seem like a fool’s folly. No matter how many years passed, she believed that he would always be storming through the palace searching for any opportunity to remind her that her life was not her own.
As it turned out, his oppression ended as swiftly as the bouts of temper that sent her scurrying to her room. Now, he was entombed alongside the rest of Atlas’ past rulers in a mountain of ice, frozen for good.
The entire kingdom showed up for the procession, though Weiss imagined their presence was due in large part to fear of repercussions rather than overt respect for their former king. Or maybe they wanted the same thing she did: confirmation that the reign of terror had actually ended.
It was true, yet part of her worried that he would return. One day, when she least expected it, when she finally lowered her guard, he would show up and remind her of how powerless she truly was.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell upon those pervasive anxieties. Now wasn’t the time to celebrate either. In one fell swoop, she lost her father, the source of her daily fear, and Winter...her one and only supporter. Without Winter’s guiding hand, she had no idea what to do. She wasn’t prepared for the role suddenly thrust upon her - the role of a queen - but that mattered little when a kingdom needed to be run.
The grieving period had ended; today, she assumed her royal duties. So, even though she wanted to hide in her room until the end of time, she gave her reflection one last glance, straightened the uncomfortable tiara on her head, and left her room behind. The empty hall outside her living quarters provided some relief, and she took a deep breath before making her way to the dining room. She still clung to the routine she had held for years, though it only took several steps through the palace foyer for that grasp of normalcy to disappear.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of the councilors greeted her, pausing his conversation mid-sentence to do so.
“Good morning,” she replied with a fleeting smile before lowering her gaze and hurrying on.
“Your Highness,” someone called out almost immediately after. This time, one of the stewards rushed over to her. “Will you have breakfast now?”
“Yes, that was my plan -”
“I’ll let the staff know at once.”
“Thank you,” she replied, though he was already hurrying away.
The chefs usually prepared her meals once she sat down at the dining table, but that had also changed upon her father’s death. She didn’t mind waiting - not that the wait was ever very long - but apparently her new status made the few minutes unacceptable.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of the Knights murmured as she walked past, dipping his chin in a motion that made his armor creak slightly.
“Good morning,” she softly replied.
The foyer bustled with activity at this time in the morning, but conversations and actions paused upon her arrival. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something, yet she had no idea what they were waiting for; she ducked her head and quickened her pace instead.
Having spent the greater part of her life searching for invisibility, Weiss found the constant attention unnerving. So she avoided eye contact, dipped her head to those who offered greetings, and made it to the dining hall without stopping for conversation. What conversation could they possibly want with her anyway?
The dining hall, with its lack of commotion, offered some relief. One of the servers waited beside the table and bowed while pulling out her chair. No sooner had she sat down did a plate of steaming hot food appear in front of her.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the server apologized while setting a cup of tea beside the plate. “We still don’t have chamomile tea, but I’ll search the entire palace for some.”
“I don’t mind lavender.” Weiss lifted the cup to her lips and took a tiny sip. It was too hot to taste any flavor, but she smiled regardless. “It’s actually quite refreshing,” she added when the woman didn’t seem to believe her.
“Are you sure, Your Highness? Because if you want -”
“I’m positive.”
“If you’re certain...” the woman repeated, waiting for another nod before gingerly backing away. “Then...please enjoy your breakfast, and let us know if you need anything.”
Before Weiss could respond, the woman hurried from the room. “Thank you,” Weiss called out anyway, though the gratitude probably went unheard.
Something told her that the palace would be scoured for chamomile tea even though lavender was perfectly fine. The staff must not believe her, but how could she reassure them if they exchanged very few words before rushing off as if she might attack? Perhaps she could gain their trust in time, though she had no idea how to go about doing so...
The thought drifted through her mind as she picked up her silverware and began eating. She wasn’t hungry - she was hardly ever hungry these days - but she forced herself to eat. At least sitting in the dining hall alone, faced with the painting of Atlas’ former king, offered a shred of normalcy.
Unfortunately, that normalcy disappeared when one of the councilors, flanked by two Knights in full armor, strode into the room. The Knights kept a respectful distance as the towering, stately man squared his shoulders and approached the table.
Weiss had seen him many times before, often speaking to her father or striding around the palace on whatever important duties he held. With piercing, dark blue eyes and shockingly black hair - it must be dyed for effect, and what a striking effect it had - he cut a handsome, powerful image in his pristine white robes. Somehow, he appeared intimidating yet approachable at the same time, though maybe Weiss was the only one intimidated.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” he greeted her with a polite bow and friendly smile.
“Good morning, Councilor…?”
“Councilor Ironwood,” he reminded her.
“Right. I’m sorry.”
“No need for apology, Your Highness. I’m sure your head is swimming with names these days. May I join you?”
Even though she wanted to finish her breakfast alone, like usual, she didn’t know if she could decline the request. Rather than risk breaking some unspoken rule of the Council, she motioned to the empty seat across from her.
“First of all,” he began upon sitting down. “Please let me express my condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Weiss murmured, her thoughts immediately flitting to Winter.
“Your father was a formidable man who left a large mark upon Atlas. His drive and determination will be missed.”
That was a nice way of saying that her father refused to be satisfied with the immense power he wielded and brought down on anyone perceived to be an enemy. Having no idea how to respond without lying, however, Weiss managed a thin smile before returning her gaze to her plate.
“The Council elected me to help make this process as seamless as possible,” Councilor Ironwood continued. “This is an unexpected change for everyone, but I’m sure that pales in comparison to the stress you’ve experienced. To that end, I’ll be available to answer any questions you have.”
“That’s...very kind. Thank you.”
Kind, unexpected, but also a relief. Weiss currently lacked any legitimate knowledge of Atlas’ government, especially where the Council was involved. Her father spoke to the councilors daily, but what did they actually do? And how was she supposed to work with them to carry out tasks? What tasks was she even supposed to accomplish?
“Are you prepared for the meeting this morning?”
Reminded of the dreaded appointment, Weiss stifled the urge to sigh. The Council had granted a reprieve so that she could deal with the funeral and coronation. Now that she was officially ‘Queen,’ however, they wanted a formal account of what happened to her father. They wanted her to revisit and recount the memory she wanted nothing more than to forget.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she admitted.
“We realize it’s still quite a shock to you, what with how it happened and your sister’s role in it, but we need your statement so that decisions can be made.”
“You mean so you can decide what to do about Winter?”
“Among other things, yes,” he replied with a grim nod. “In the meantime, rest assured that we’re doing everything in our power to bring her back to Atlas.”
Weiss attempted a smile at the ‘reassuring’ comment, but turmoil swirled through her veins. She didn’t want them to bring Winter back. She didn’t want them to find Winter at all.
A battalion of Knights had been dispatched before her father’s pulse was even checked. She knew their icy swords and silver armor would be covered in awards won through battle and service. She understood that they were Atlas’ most elite soldiers, tasked with protecting the King whenever he ventured outside the palace gates. They were ruthless, dangerous, and if they found Winter alive...they might not bring her back alive. Meanwhile, Weiss remained in the palace, living in the lap of luxury while being anointed as Atlas’ next ruler.
Why did Winter run? Weiss was responsible for their father’s death, not her. Weiss should be the one suffering the consequences.
“Once your testimony is given, there are several other items to attend to,” Councilor Ironwood continued, unaware of Weiss’ inner turmoil. “We’ve postponed many motions while the dust settled.”
“Such as?”
“The war, Your Highness.”
“Ah, right. What needs to be done with that?”
As soon as Weiss saw his part-incredulous, part-disbelieving expression, she realized her mistake. As helpful as Councilor Ironwood seemed, he wasn’t her mentor. He might answer her questions and offer some guidance, but he wouldn’t do so with the bluntness and honesty that Winter would.
“Reports are constantly returning from the front,” he explained anyway. “Recommendations from generals, requests for supplies or more forces...we need to decide which actions to take, where to strike, and when. And, in the meantime, we need funds to repair the West Wall. The gate stuck open, and I’m afraid it’ll be quite expensive to fix. Atlas’ finances are not what they once were, but several taxes could close the gap.”
“New taxes? On what?”
“Cloth goods, for instance,” he replied with a small, dismissive wave. “And a use-tax on the East Gate would generate extra funds. With those two alone, we should bring in just enough to shore up the wall.”
Weiss took another bite to eat and chewed slowly while digesting that information. Even though she knew very little about running a kingdom, she knew that new taxes would be unpopular. And why cloth goods? Why only the East Gate? Why not the west too, especially if it was the one needing repairs?
“Are those our only options?” she eventually asked. “It seems like there should be alternatives.”
“There are always alternatives, but these are the least painful. There are more drawbacks than benefits, of course, but we need to pay for workers somehow.”
Logically, Weiss agreed with his response. The war must be an incredible drain on the palace’s coffers, forcing once-unpopular decisions to become their only viable options. If Atlas was in as dire financial straits as Councilor Ironwood suggested, she needed to look over the accounting eventually. And learn how to look over the accounting...
“What other things are there to attend to?” she asked rather than respond positively or negatively to his suggestion. Though he briefly looked off-put that she hadn’t granted immediate approval, that expression quickly disappeared.
“There was a small disturbance last week in the Mercantile District, but local enforcement took care of it. The residents might still be stewing over it, but they’ll be easily held in check.”
“What was the disturbance about?” she asked while breaking off a piece of toast.
“Trivial matters. You’ll learn that small flare-ups happen every so often. It’s natural for differences in opinion to emerge, but responding quickly and consistently is key to keeping any tension from growing out of control.”
“That makes sense.” Leaning back in her seat, she gave Councilor Ironwood a curious look. “Is it customary to go over everything before the Council meeting?”
“No, Your Highness, but I thought this would be easier. Plus -” After glancing around to confirm they were alone, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I wanted to give you as much notice as possible. The Councilors can be cruel to the ill-informed, so it’s important to come prepared.”
“Oh. Then...thank you, Councilor.”
She managed a small smile while lifting her cup of tea to her lips, but she jolted the instant the scalding liquid touched her tongue. Despite her best efforts to play off the reaction, Councilor Ironwood frowned.
“Is it too hot?” he asked before clicking his tongue and turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll tell them to be more careful -”
“It’s alright,” Weiss quickly said, shaking her head as he was already partially out of his seat. “I usually wait a little longer, that’s all.”
In actuality, she normally cooled the beverage down herself, but he couldn't know that. Fortunately, he lowered back into his seat, though his brow had yet to unfurrow.
“I’ll remind them to be more considerate of your…condition.” A thin wisp of frost left his lips with the word as he motioned to her tea. “May I?”
Weiss hesitated for a second before nodding, and he reached across the table to wrap one large hand around her cup.
“When I joined the Council, I swore an oath to Atlas,” he said while a delicate layer of ice crept around the cup’s smooth exterior. “My allegiance and loyalty lie with this great kingdom, and your family as its rightful rulers. It’s my duty to help however I can.”
“I appreciate your support,” Weiss replied, watching steam dance across the tea’s surface as it rapidly cooled. Before long, he slid the ice-enveloped mug back to her and nodded for her to take it.
“Better?” he asked as she obediently took a sip.
“Much. Thank you.”
He nodded, leaving her to take another sip and subtly study his demeanor. He represented the Council, and he was a stranger, but his insights offered reassurance for the meeting she had dreaded ever since being told of its existence. She couldn’t trust him - Winter told her not to trust anyone - but she could at least gather his opinion on a topic that had plagued her mind for some time now.
“If you don’t mind me asking...what are your thoughts on the war? Why do we keep fighting?”
“Good question, Your Highness,” he replied before carefully forming his answer. “The war has gone on for longer than expected and resulted in a tremendous loss of life, but our triumph would bring the Kingdom of Vale under our rule. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of their firespitters and windwalkers - imagine what Atlas could become with such powers added to our own.”
“Then...in your opinion...the potential reward is worth the cost?”
“Absolutely. It will be Atlas’ greatest victory, and you will be the Queen to see it come to pass.”
His confidence wasn’t lost on her, but she only briefly smiled before glancing away. Firespitters and windwalkers were the talk of legend in Atlas, but the allure of ruling another kingdom eluded her. She didn’t even know how to rule this kingdom. The Council must help with that, but she couldn’t even remember the councilors’ names right now.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have several things to take care of before the meeting.” After standing up, Councilor Ironwood pushed in his chair and bowed. “If you have time, I recommend stopping by your father’s - I mean your - office. The Council doesn’t know if he left any particular initiatives behind, as you alone can check.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Your Highness.”
As Councilor Ironwood nodded and left the dining room, Weiss mulled over their conversation and finished her breakfast. She appreciated his honest answers and the potentially useful information, but she wasn’t sure that she agreed with his thoughts on the war.
Defeat Vale and earn greatness untouched by any ruler Atlas had ever seen. But if they lost, all would be for not. The Kingdom of Atlas would go down as a footnote in history, taking her family’s name right along with it. Now, she understood why her father threw every bit of his might behind this endeavor. The war wasn’t meant to improve the lives of those residing within Atlas’ tall walls; the war was meant to build upon his legacy.
They were already in the thick of it. They had already sacrificed so much. Giving up now meant throwing away years of effort and too many lost lives. But she’d seen the impact on her own life, even as she was sheltered in the palace. She could only imagine the sacrifices made by the rest of Atlas.
Sighing away the thought, she rested her silverware across her plate and left the dining hall behind. The Council meeting had been her most pressing appointment today, but now she had to stop by her father’s office first. The unanticipated task made her feel rushed for time, probably because she had become accustomed to entire days with no plans to speak of.
She spent those boring, listless days searching for something to do. Reading took up a great portion of her time. Then there were her meals. And, if she needed a break from her room, wandering the palace offered a brief reprieve. But whenever she wandered, people-watching or searching for palace secrets as yet undiscovered, she always avoided one area: her father’s office. Yet it was that wing of the palace that she purposefully headed to this morning.
First, she passed the throne room - the giant, regal chamber where her father met and intimidated the people daring enough to visit. His office lay just beyond. Though she had passed it many times throughout her life, she had never actually set foot inside. It wasn’t ‘her place,’ as her father put it, and he meant that in the most demeaning way possible.
A Knight stood outside the door, as always. His attention fell upon her as she approached, and her steps unwittingly slowed. But he didn’t shoo her away like she worried he would. Instead, he bowed and said, “Good morning, Your Highness.”
“Good morning,” she responded before glancing at the doorway. It felt like there should be something more to the interaction, like a formal introduction to a responsibility she had never shouldered before or an explanation of what she was supposed to do next. Instead, the solitary Knight simply stepped out of her way.
Why had she expected anything else? There was no handbook. No rules, no guidelines, no written instructions explaining her new role. With one slip of her spark, everything had become ‘hers’ and everyone expected her to know what to do with it.
The office seemed self-explanatory. At least, she assumed as much until she opened the door and saw the room beyond. Everything smelled so overwhelmingly like her father that her heart immediately sped up and panic blossomed in the pit of her stomach. Were it not for the Knight watching her, she might have run in the other direction. She might have closed the door and decided never to return. Instead, she drew a small breath through her lips, clenched her fists, and compelled herself inside.
Even without her father’s presence, the room reminded her of a fear she had never outgrown. From the war paintings decorating the walls to the oversized, dark-brown furniture to the gaudy silver accents - the office represented everything he was and everything she was not.
Her first, second, and third thoughts were that she wanted to leave. Painfully aware of what it might look like for her to race out of the room, however, she stood there, frozen, and waited for the overwhelming apprehension to fade.
He wasn’t here. Even though it felt like he could appear at any second - his cold, blue eyes flashing while vitriol spewed from his lips - he wasn’t here. He was entombed in a mountain of ice. He was never coming back.
That reality took a while to sink in, but eventually her heart slowed and her thoughts returned to the task at hand. She could redecorate someday - that seemed like a request within her power - but that day felt far away as she walked further into her father’s domain.
Based on Winter’s offhand remarks, the office represented a significant piece of Atlas’ history. An entire lineage of kings and queens had once called it their own, and the ancient archives stored along the back wall spoke to their influence. This was where some of Atlas’ most important decisions had been deliberated. Wars started, ended. Sweeping policies enacted, disbanded.
This room was never meant for Weiss. Winter was supposed to become queen. Winter was supposed to take over Atlas’ government and claim this space as her own. But, in one moment of uncontrolled fear, all of that changed.
Weiss picked up an empty bottle on the desk and turned it over in her hands while looking around the room. If her father left any ongoing projects, it was impossible to tell from the neat, clean desktop. The last task he’d worked on - the bottle in her hands - had already been completed.
Pulled back to that fateful night, she shut her eyes and wished the memories away. His unyielding, relentless anger. Winter’s calm, unflinching acceptance. Watching him threaten to take away the one good thing in her life, only to react poorly and lose Winter anyway.
What would have happened if Weiss did nothing? What if she hadn’t lost control of her spark? Would he have stopped? Would he have let Winter go with only a few bruises and a good scare like previous times?
The worst part was not knowing, but Weiss would never forget the look in his eyes...the look of a crazed, rage-filled man who’d been crossed too many times. Killing Winter would mean nothing to him except the inconvenience of no longer having her to do his bidding. Then his full attention would have turned to Weiss.
Frowning at the thought, she decided that she’d had enough of him and those memories for now.
“Can you get rid of this for me, please?” she asked the Knight outside, who accepted the bottle with a nod and nothing more. “Thank you,” she added before leaving the office behind. Her new responsibilities would force her to return eventually, but that was a problem for the future. Her present included something she dreaded even more - a Council meeting.
The Councilroom, located near the front of the palace, served as the meeting chambers for Atlas’ esteemed Council. Thirty men and women served at any time, chosen by their district’s residents for a lifetime of duty. From Weiss’ meager understanding, they were the backbone of Atlas’ government, crafting laws and policies that impacted everyone’s lives.
The hallway leading to the Councilroom - wide, tall, with marble pillars along each side - emphasized the ruling body’s importance. The grandeur nearly rivaled that of the throne room and made Weiss feel exceptionally small. This hallway was also steeped in history, as many of Atlas’ brightest political minds had once traveled this very path.
The open doors suggested the meeting would begin soon. Several councilors entered just before Weiss, their white robes sweeping behind them with certainty and purpose she couldn’t hope to match.
She didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to be here either, but she steeled herself and walked into the room. The large auditorium easily accommodated thirty councilors, whose three rows of staggered seats formed a crescent moon around a polished marble floor. Ornate paintings representing the different districts in Atlas hung on the walls. And, in an excessive display of power, precious jewels adorned the nameplates in front of each councilor’s bench.
Were it not for the ‘luck’ of the family Weiss had been born into, would she even be worthy of setting foot in such a place? Based on how the councilors’ voices quieted when she walked into the room and how their gazes followed her from the door, she didn’t even feel worthy of being here now.
She appeared to be the last one to arrive, but a glance at the clock confirmed that she was still early. Had the meeting been moved forward without her notice? Or did everyone usually arrive well before the scheduled time? Regardless of the reason, councilors already filled the seats, and every eye landed upon her.
“Your Highness,” the first man said, half-standing to bow as she passed. The woman beside him did the same, as did the two councilors behind them, and the others on their left.
Considering these same men and women had barely acknowledged her existence before today, the formality struck her as ironic. They respected her title, but she had done nothing to deserve their deference. Hopefully, they didn’t notice her hands shaking as she clasped them together and walked further into the room to the soft chorus of “Your Highness.”
Unsure of where she was supposed to go, she stopped near the middle of the room and waited for further instruction. Fortunately, Councilor Ironwood sat nearby - his black hair a stark contrast to the rest of the room - and he caught her gaze before nodding to the empty floor before them. Heeding the silent instruction, she left the safety of the tiered benches and stood where she least wanted to be - in the center of the room with every Councilor staring at her.
In a perfect world, she would have more time to adjust to this sudden change in her circumstances and figure out what was expected of her. But the world was far from perfect - she had learned that all too well the first time she witnessed her father’s drunken rage. So, after a moment’s hesitation, she clasped her hands in front of her and nodded.
She would have said something - ‘good morning’ perhaps - but she couldn’t convince her mouth to move. Thankfully, words were unnecessary. As soon as she nodded, the woman sitting beside Councilor Ironwood rose from her seat.
“Your Highness,” she began in a soft yet crisp tone. “I’m Councilor Hill, Speaker of the Council. We’ve asked you here today for a testimony of the incident which resulted in your father, the King’s, untimely passing.”
Weiss recognized Councilor Hill, having seen her and Winter conversing on several occasions. Weiss knew nothing more than what Councilor Hill just said though - she was the Speaker of the Council, an esteemed position for someone so young. Her tanned complexion set her apart from the other councilors, her ultra-light blonde hair had been pulled back in a messy ponytail, but her violet eyes trained on Weiss with such intensity that Weiss instinctively shied away.
“Are you not recusing yourself, Councilor Hill?” one of the councilors asked, drawing that gaze away from Weiss.
“Of course not. I have no biases here, and the evidence already speaks for itself.”
Weiss’ heart chilled at the memory, and she ducked her gaze as murmurs swept across the room.
“Councilor Hill is our Speaker,” Councilor Ironwood spoke up, his booming voice silencing all other voices. “This is her duty. Let her see it through.”
Soft murmurs of assent spread throughout the room before silence followed. Satisfied with the response, Councilor Hill squared her shoulders, nodded, and recaptured Weiss’ gaze.
“Your Highness, do you understand what’s being asked of you?”
“I understand,” Weiss replied, her voice close to a whisper.
“Then, if you will, please recount that night for us. Specifically, the events leading to your father’s death.”
When Councilor Hill motioned for Weiss to speak and sat down, the room fell deathly quiet. Weiss clutched her hands tighter and her heart beat faster, sending tendrils of cold throughout her veins, but she took a deep breath and willed herself to tell the story she never wanted to tell anyone.
“After dinner, I met Winter in the ballroom…” she began, leaving out the details as to why they met so far away from the main palace. “She’d just returned from a trip, and we wanted to catch up. My father showed up shortly after, but he was...not himself.”
When Councilor Hill raised her hand, Weiss paused.
“What do you mean by ‘not himself?’”
For a split second, Weiss considered lying. Even after everything he put her through, she thought about protecting his image in front of Atlas’ leaders. But if she wanted Winter back, the Council needed to understand that this wasn’t Winter’s fault. She had to convince them that it was self-defense. Only then could Winter come home.
“He was drunk,” Weiss answered bluntly. “And he was angry about something she hadn’t done, so he started...berating her. Screaming at her. Hitting her…”
The way he slapped Winter hardly left Weiss’ thoughts. The way he held that knife to Winter’s throat. The way his eyes flashed with malice, saying that he wanted to do it. And the way Winter never flinched...standing so calm and composed...almost as if she wanted it to happen.
Looking down at her hands, Weiss took several small breaths and prayed for the heat behind her eyes to disappear.
“He threatened to kill her.”
Noticing some of the councilors shift in their seats, Weiss looked up and wondered if they already knew. Surely they noticed how he had treated her and her sister, not as daughters but as possessions sworn to do his bidding. They must have heard his yelling and witnessed his anger. Did they already know Weiss’ story was true? Or did they refuse to believe that their noble king had been capable of such despicable actions?
“How did he threaten her?” Councilor Hill prodded. Her succinct tone suggested that she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible - a feeling she and Weiss shared.
“He told her that she was worthless. He said that he would kill her, and then...held a knife to her neck.”
When the councilors said nothing, not even a gasp or murmur of surprise, Weiss took a deep breath and pushed through the rest of the story. The ending was more fabrication than truth, but no less important.
“He was going to do it, and she just...reacted. She pushed him away, but…”
Weiss remembered the terror she felt watching her father’s arm prepare to strike. She remembered the force that burst from her. She saw it shove her father away from Winter. She saw him stumble and fall to the floor, never to get up again. She would never forget the sudden silence that followed. The way he laid there...lifeless.
Tears stinging her eyes, she raised one trembling hand and wiped them away.
“I’m sorry…”
“Take your time,” Councilor Ironwood offered. “We understand how difficult the past few days have been.”
The councilors didn’t understand even half of what Weiss was going through, but she appreciated the momentary reprieve. After taking a breath to collect herself, she pressed onward.
“Winter protected herself,” she concluded. “She had to. If she hadn’t, he would’ve killed her. Everything she did was in self-defense.”
The rest of the room murmured while Councilor Hill held Weiss’ gaze. Weiss resisted the urge to shift or shuffle her feet under the intense observation. Instead, she stood there and silently hoped that the councilor couldn't read her thoughts as those violet eyes suggested.
“Then why did she run?” the woman finally asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Weiss said, her gaze shifting around the room as the councilors muttered to each other. “She was probably just scared.”
“Or guilty,” an older gentleman in the second row huffed, drawing Councilor Hill’s gaze. She studied him just as thoroughly as she had studied Weiss before looking around the room and setting her mouth in a grim line.
“Your Highness, have you considered that your sister possibly harbored more sinister intentions?”
If Weiss hadn’t watched her father land upon his blade with her own eyes, she would believe it. And she would accept it. Winter deserved to harbor ill will towards the man just as much as he deserved to die.
“Even if your sister acted in self-defense,” Councilor Hill continued in a softer tone. “Her actions led to the King’s death.”
“But she didn’t mean to…” Weiss whispered, but the councilors didn’t hear her. They had already begun to deliberate amongst themselves. She looked at Councilor Ironwood, but her heart fell when he sadly shook his head.
It wasn’t until now that she realized the Council didn’t care what reasons Winter had - they only wanted to confirm that she was at fault. Self-defense, mistakes, accidents...none of that mattered.
“We’re all accountable for our actions.” Leaving her seat, Councilor Hill walked to Weiss, briefly set a hand on her shoulder, then turned to address the room. “I think we’ve heard everything we need,” she said, to which many of the councilors nodded. “The Queen’s story is clear. Now, we must determine a punishment.”
“You’ll sentence her without her being here?” Weiss asked in disbelief.
“We don’t need her side of the story,” the woman replied before turning back to the room. “Show of hands if you agree that Princess Winter should be held solely responsible for the death of King Jacques.”
Hands went up around the room. Some were faster than others, but a consensus was reached before long. Councilor Ironwood offered the last damning vote, though he did so while shaking his head.
“All in agreement,” Councilor Hill concluded. “Under Atlas law, any actions leading to the death of a monarch are punishable by death. When Winter Schnee is returned to Atlas, she will face her judgment.”
The words cut like knives through Weiss’ heart, but she stood there, helpless, until Councilor Hill acknowledged her.
“Thank you for your testimony, Your Highness. We’ll begin the rest of the meeting now.”
When the young woman motioned to an empty chair in the front center of the room, Weiss hesitated for a second before hurrying over to it. Her hands still trembled, and her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she embraced the opportunity to shrink back into the crowd. That hadn’t gone how she had hoped, but she didn’t know what else to do. Winter’s fate had been decided, and now...she just wanted to get through the rest of this meeting so she could run back to her room and cry.
“We’ll discuss the West Wall next.” Rising from his seat, Councilor Ironwood took Councilor Hill’s spot on the floor and extended his arms to the councilors surrounding him. “We’ve known for some time that repairs would be needed, and we’ve reached that moment. We can’t risk the gates getting permanently stuck open or closed -”
“It was only stuck for two days,” someone spoke up. “Who says it wasn’t operator error?”
“Our engineers inspected the entire wall. You’ve seen the reports, Councilor Thorn.”
“You just want to increase taxes,” another councilor accused, slapping an icy hand down on the desk in front of him.
“We need to increase taxes,” someone else argued. “It will be painful, but the walls are our last line of defense. They must be kept in good shape.”
When most of the councilors murmured their begrudging or willing assent, Councilor Ironwood looked around the room before meeting Weiss’ gaze.
“Your Highness, do you have any suggestions?”
The room’s attention abruptly returned to her, and her pulse crept higher. From the expressions aimed her way, the councilors expected her to admit that she didn’t know. How could she possibly know? Councilor Ironwood had presented an opportunity to assert herself, but all she wanted to do was hide. Unfortunately, there was no hiding now, so she cleared her throat and urged herself to speak.
“Could we...levy a tax on cloth goods...or a use fee on the East Gate?”
While the rest of the Council murmured, Councilor Ironwood’s mouth twitched with a small smile. No one sounded outraged, so those must have been decent ideas. Weiss still didn’t know the consequences of such actions, but...they were better than nothing.
“Note those as the Queen’s proposal,” someone replied. Most of the councilors seemed in agreement, but a few grumbled amongst themselves yet voiced no complaints.
“Of what values?” someone else asked.
“A full percent?” someone offered only to be greeted by several laughs.
“Let’s iron out the specifics at our next meeting,” Councilor Ironwood interrupted. “I’m sure our Queen prefers not to be bothered with such trivial details.”
Weiss wouldn’t call it a bother. These were items she should learn eventually, but right now everything felt...overwhelming. So when Councilor Ironwood turned to her for approval, she nodded, and he moved on.
“Our most pressing matter is determining our next actions in the war. Our generals report that Vale’s forces are weaker as of late, and ill-equipped. Now’s the time to boost our efforts. If we coordinate one final push, we can knock Vale to their knees.”
Excitement spread across the room while foreboding crept into Weiss’ heart.
“We should increase our forces,” someone suggested. “Send every able-bodied citizen to finish this fight.”
That sounded like an awful idea, so Weiss was all the more surprised when several councilors nodded. Surely, they wouldn’t force unwilling citizens to fight. Doing so would be unjust, unfair, and...cruel.
“If we march through the Badlands, we can put even more pressure on Vale’s army. Back them up against their gates.”
“Send them running home.”
Chuckles filtered across the room, and Weiss flashed a quick smile in an attempt to fit in. Her heart, however, disagreed with their comments. If what Winter said was true, Vale was just as weary of the war as Atlas. Years of fighting had led nowhere yet caused unparalleled destruction and economic devastation. Why would they throw more effort into such a disastrous cause?
“The people will never agree to involuntary conscription,” Councilor Hill added from her seat beside Weiss.
“They might if they know how close we are. If Atlas bands together, we can finish this.”
“What do you think, Your Highness?” Councilor Ironwood interrupted and, again, the room quieted as everyone’s attention returned to Weiss.
Mouth suddenly parched, she struggled through a confluence of thoughts and ideas. She remembered Councilor Ironwood’s words - that winning the war would grant Atlas power and prosperity they’d never experienced before. Vale’s citizens would become theirs. Vale’s resources would become theirs.
That was the easy answer, and she nearly took it. Wanting so badly to be removed from the center of attention, she wanted the easy answer. But...it didn’t feel right.
She had never been to Vale. She had never met the queens. She had never even set foot outside of Atlas, yet she would order every Atlesian to fight? She would agree that Atlas should try to conquer a rival nation she had never communicated with?
It sounded like something her father would do, but she wasn’t her father - he had reminded her of that constantly. Maybe there was another option? Maybe she could settle tensions. At the very least, she could introduce herself. If the war waged on, she could rest assured that she knew the leaders who meant to attack and ‘enslave’ her.
“I...don’t think we should fight anymore.”
Councilor Ironwood’s brow rose, but several other councilors outright laughed.
“Your Highness, after so much fighting, the people won’t agree to surrender.”
“We aren’t surrendering.” Heart pounding in her ears, Weiss tightly clasped her hands and shook her head. “We’ll just...ask if Vale’s as tired of this as we are.”
“You mean a peace treaty?” Councilor Hill clarified, staring at Weiss as if unsure how to interpret her.
The words sounded so taboo that Weiss wondered if she just made a huge mistake. But they had asked for her opinion and...that was her opinion.
“Yes,” she replied. “This isn’t my war. I have no desire to keep fighting, especially if doing so means sending civilians to battle against their will.”
She didn’t know if she even had the power to make such a decision. The expanding silence only worried her further.
“We should at least try,” she added when no one spoke up. “If Vale will agree to a peace treaty, then we can focus on recovery - rebuilding. Maybe they’ll attack again later, but...we’ll make sure we’re prepared for that...”
As she trailed off, the councilors exchanged glances. Most looked miffed by her desire to stop the endless war. Some looked receptive but unsure.
“We could send an emissary,” Councilor Hill finally offered. “Request a meeting - maybe on neutral ground?”
“After the past few months, I doubt Vale will be receptive to peace talks, especially outside of their kingdom,” Councilor Ironwood replied, his brow deeply furrowed. “But if we went to them…and sent someone at Atlas’ highest echelons…perhaps they would agree.”
Understanding his pointed look, Weiss swallowed and nodded.
“Then I’ll go. I’ll go to Vale and request a treaty in person.”
Councilor Ironwood’s lips set in a grim smile while the other councilors stared at her or scoffed in disbelief.
“Are you sure, Your Highness?” Councilor Hill asked Weiss directly, her violet eyes flitting to Councilor Ironwood before returning to Weiss. “No Atlesian has set foot in Vale since the war began. They might not agree to your presence. Even if they do, you could be in grave danger within their walls.”
Put that way, the situation became clearer. Weiss would travel to Vale, she would negotiate a peace treaty with Atlas’ greatest enemies, and she had none of the skills necessary to do so. As much as she now wished she had said nothing of her own opinions, she tilted her chin in acceptance of the idea and all of the risks that came along with it.
“So be it,” Councilor Ironwood replied before addressing the room. “In all likelihood, Vale won’t agree. But if those are the Queen’s wishes, arrangements will be made as soon as possible. We’ll at least…‘try.’”
Accord trickled across the room, but Weiss refused to make eye contact with anyone. Eventually, Councilor Ironwood returned to his seat and another councilor took his place on the floor. This time, however, she hardly listened while dwelling on what she just agreed to.
If only Winter were here to tell her what to do…but, even without Winter’s guidance, she couldn’t in good conscience fight someone she had never met. Her father’s battles were not her own. Her father’s enemies were not her own.
At least, she hoped they weren’t...but she would soon find out for herself.