Lady Lucy Monclere
The Royal Lodge at Kasselta

The pandemic was never going to end.

In my darkest days, I could see the rest of my life, stretching out before me. Day after day at the Royal Lodge at Kasselta, looking at the beautiful, quiet Driedish countryside.

So quiet.

So very, very, very quiet.

Upon the pandemic entering the world’s awareness, the Queen’s doctors had prescribed strict quarantine for her. Princess Thea and Queen Aurelia both had, predictably and quickly, resolved that the Royal family must be good examples of behavior. Therefore, the Queen decided to retreat to the Royal Lodge, leaving her heir, Princess Thea, in charge in the capital.

There was a great flurry and hustle and bustle and as Thea’s personal secretary, I was in the midst of it all.

Then the night before Queen Aurelia was to leave, Thea looked at me and explained that I must leave as well.

It’s a bit hard to be faced with one’s own weakness. In those early days of uncertainty and planning I had successfully forgotten my weak lungs but of course, my childhood companion and dear cousin had not. She remembered my hospital stays for pneumonia just six months before and gave me two options for a quarantine destination; Perpetua or Kasselta.

Cold and windy islands on the North Sea, such as Perpetua, are not generally known for being a healthy destination for recent pneumonia patients.

So it was off to Kasselta I went.

And there I stayed.

And stayed.

And stayed.

In the first few weeks and months, it had seemed like a bit of a holiday. Sleeping late – after so many years of chasing around a certain Royal princess - was a treat. The lack of appointments and meetings or schedules of any sort was an awakening. I found myself asking questions; What had I been doing with my life?

Was it important?

Did I enjoy it?

Did I want to do it anymore?

Unfortunately –or fortunately – there was no point in answering that question. Because there was nothing else to do.

Thanks to a certain virus, choices had been taken away.

There was only life at a Royal Lodge. The country residence of Queen Aurelia of Drieden.

Of course it wasn’t terrible. I knew I had it better than most, there in the safe, quiet Driedish countryside.

The very quietest place on Earth, it seemed.

The holidays were quiet, as well.

So. Very. Quiet.

Royal holidays – well, you can imagine. Lavish parties, ostentatious gifts for the staff, world-renowned chefs and entertainment and the finest foodstuffs were the usual way to celebrate Christmas in the universe surrounding the Driedish Royal family.

But this year, in the middle of a pandemic, it was important to keep the tables small. The gifts meaningful and useful. The noise subdued.

Perhaps that’s why I was awake so late on a snowy Christmas Eve.

The Queen and her ladies in waiting had retired early, so that the staff could have the night to themselves.

I retired to the Egyptian library, my favorite room in the Lodge and Her Majesty’s least favorite. She detested the artifacts and the gilded lotus wallpaper, all of it chosen by her great-aunt Mirielle’s first husband, some Duke of Something who fancied himself an archaeologist and adventurer both.

Perhaps it was the library’s quirky decor that caused me to claim this space as my own little pandemic office or perhaps it was the fact that Her Majesty would never, of her own accord, visit me there.

Don’t get me wrong, I had always maintained a cordial, if not warm relationship with Her Majesty. She was especially fond of my father and grandfather’s company and I suppose that fondness had transferred to me according to the laws of physics of Royal affection.

But after nearly nine months of living with the same people, in the same house, large as that house may be…

Solitude was often bliss.

The fire was raging in the Egyptian library (Royal Lodges in Drieden are not known for their coziness.) I had just poured a glass of a very fine Burgundy (Royal Lodges are known for their extensive wine cellars) at the gilded bar cart when there was a soft tap at the door before it opened.

A young man stood there, in a rumpled suit and sloppy tie, no more than twenty-one years old, I remembered. “Yes, Erik?” I asked.

“There’s a man,” Erik said after clearing his throat. “Lady Lucy, he says he’s here to see you.”

This was most irregular.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” I told Erik.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I looked at the lapis-faced clock on the mantel. “It’s just turned midnight.”

“I told him that, he…” Erik looked nervous. “He said he knew what time it was.”

“And he’s here to see me?” I asked because no one had come to see me in nine months. No one would dare, even if they missed me dearly. I was within the protective quarantine of the monarch of Drieden, after all. Who would be so… reckless? To utterly disregard the safety and health of our Queen?

“Did he get past security?” I asked because you may have guessed, poor Erik was not, thankfully, on the security staff. He was simply an under butler, taking the Christmas Eve shift for some much more senior and experienced person.

Suddenly, both doors to the room slammed open and a huge bearded man stood in the doorway.

“Goddamn right I did.”

***

He spoke in English, from what province I could not readily tell. But as he had understood my question to Erik in the Driedish language, I addressed him in my native tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The Princess send me.”  This was in elementary Driedish. His accent was painful.

“Which one? We have several.”

“What?” He had switched to English again. Typical.

I chose to speak his language as well, to make this go a little faster. “Your name, please,” I said, moving quickly to the desk where I had set up all my essentials, should someone find need of a private Royal secretary during the pandemic.

I had a stash of stationary, a plethora of pens, a direct telephone line to all sorts of now-useless places and in the drawer, there it was.

My pistol.

I pointed it at the intruder. “I’ll have your name.” I smiled, pleasantly. “Now.”

The man frowned at the gun. “What is that?”

“This is a SIG Sauer P220.”

“I know,” he said crankily.

“Well why did you ask?”

Now he glared at me. “Princess Theodora told me to come speak to Lady Lucy Monclere,” he ground out, reluctantly. Clearly, this was an ill-bred man who was used to getting his own way.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Your name.”

His jaw tightened.

“Do you not have one? Or have you forgotten it?” I prompted.

“You can call me Roarke.”

I sighed. “Was that really so difficult?”

His eyes narrowed on the firearm in my hands again. “Do you really know how to use that?”

I ignored his rude question. “How am I to know that Thea really sent you?”

The man I should call Roarke lifted one hand slowly and then his other hand went to a pocket in his black wool coat.

I calmly pulled the hammer back on my pistol.

His eyebrow rose at the sound.

But I was willing to wait a moment or two before I shot him and he seemed to sense that because he went ahead and withdrew a crumpled packet from his pocket and threw it on the floor in front of me.

We both stared at it.

“That?” I asked. “What am I to do with that?

“Read it.”

“I’m supposed to believe that her Royal Highness dispatched you to bring me that?”

“I told you-“

“It’s filthy,” I observed without letting him repeat his same old story again. “And it’s torn. And it looks like you used it as a napkin at lunch.”

“It’s paper,” he growled. “Shit happens.”

“Well, I’m not touching it. You barge in to a Royal residence without a face covering and then you want me to pick up your trash on the ground? Have you not heard that we have a dangerous virus running rampant in the world? There could be anything festering in that. Or in you.”

“Put the gun down and read the bloody letter,” he said, sounding more than a little frustrated.

I shook my head. “I really should shoot you. You have no proof of anything, you’ve evaded the guards and threatened my safety and that of the Royal family. The more I think about it, yes, you deserve to be shot.”

“He can pick it up.” Roarke said with a toss of his head toward Erik, who was still, for some reason, standing frozen next to the door.

“Good God, Erik,” I said when I noticed him. “You’re still here? You could have gone for help.”

“I… I wasn’t sure what to do.”

I rolled my eyes. Men. They needed direction for everything.

“You have gloves,” I said. It was a statement, not a question as I knew the serving staff were supposed to carry them. As such, Erik nodded.

“Well, put them on and come over here, pick up Mr. Roarke’s trash and let’s see if he’s lying.”  I spelled out the steps very clearly for Erik once in English and then again in Driedish so that everyone was clear on what was about to happen.

And Erik did as he was told. He picked up the crumpled paper and took it to a table near the fire and opened the envelope and spread the contents across the table.

“It’s a Christmas card, ma’am,” he said over his shoulder, sounding relieved that it was something innocent.

But when Mr. Roarke’s face grew dark and angry, I knew that something wasn’t quite as simple as that.

This lethal man was no mere delivery boy.

“Read it please, Erik.”

He did so. “Dearest Lucy, all my best wishes for a jolly and peaceful holiday. I do wish we could be together this year. As this year has been so dreadful, I asked Sybil to pull together some predictions for the New Year and Max has graciously agreed to deliver them to you. Sybil said you will understand what they mean. Let’s Zoom soon. Yours, Thea.”

Erik looked at me expectantly. “Is that it?”

I lowered my pistol but kept my eyes on Roarke. “You may go Erik. Update the security logs to show that Max Roarke of the British secret service is on the grounds.”

Erik had never moved so quickly.

Roarke looked ferocious but he stayed so very still. Very much like some sort of vicious lion who was aware of an imminent threat in the night.

I suppose I should have been scared, but…

Well. Ten years as a Royal private secretary had toughened me up. Mere glares from scary men were nothing compared to Queen Aurelia with a head cold.

I went to the table, set down my gun and spread out the Christmas card, Thea’s note and the three tarot cards that had been included in the envelope. 

Roarke came and stood at my shoulder. I felt a heat spread throughout my body that had nothing to do with the fire.  “Believe me now?”

“Yes,” I answered. “This message is a code that no third party would be aware of.”

His dark eyes jerked toward the messages. It seemed he had not been apprised of the code of tarot cards that Sybil and Thea had developed.

“I have heard of a man named Max who has worked with Nick Fraser-Campbell in the past and as Mr. Fraser-Campbell has the trust of Princess Thea, I trust him as well. If she sent you here…” I shrugged instead of finishing the sentence. I could not truthfully say I trusted Max Roarke as I had only just met him ten minutes earlier and during those ten minutes, I had a pistol pointed squarely at his broad, muscled chest.  It would not be accurate to state such confidence at this point.

“I assume we will need to work together to address this situation,” I concluded.

Roarke pointed at the first tarot card. “Do you understand what this means?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Do you not?” I replied carefully.

There was a long pause and I turned my head to assess his reaction. His profile was strong, his brow furrowed as he stared at the tarot cards; The Hanged Man, The Tower and The Lovers.

“I was told that my contact at Kasselta would know,” Roarke finally said, with just a hint of reluctance in his voice.

It was clear that once again, I had to take the lead and give a man some direction.

I lifted the card bearing the image of a man hanging nonchalantly from a tree. “A global pandemic,” I said.

I set that down and lifted the card depicting a crumbling tower set aflame. “The destruction of a cherished institution.”

Then Roarke picked up the last card. The Lovers. An unclothed man and woman embracing under the stars. “And this one?”

I couldn’t stop my smile. “Why Mr. Roarke. We’ve only just met.” I picked up my pistol again. “Now. I do hope you brought your own weapon. It’s going to raise some eyebrows if we have to find one for you on Christmas Eve.”

The End

(for now)

For more information on the Royal Family of Drieden series, click here.