The Queen of the Golden Court – Part 1: The Offer

The Golden Court was white marble and amber light, a kingdom of terraces climbing a hill above a blue sea, its fountains clear, its gardens heavy with lemon and jasmine. At noon, the whole place seemed to glow. At dusk, it blazed.

Emric crossed the last terrace with a tray of cold wine and tried not to be noticed. He was thirty-four, the youngest steward in the household, slim and quick and conscientious, and he had served the Queen's table for six months without once meeting her eyes.

"Steward," said a voice, from the shade of an arbour.

He stopped. He turned.

Queen Solenne sat on a low couch of white linen under a canopy of vines, a goblet in her hand. She was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered and sun-browned, with a mass of dark curls piled up under a circlet of hammered gold. Her gown was the colour of honey. She had come to the throne at twenty-six, after her mother, and ruled with a warm, formidable ease that made councillors confess things they had not meant to.

"Your Majesty." He bowed and nearly spilled the wine.

"You have been avoiding my eye."

"Never, Majesty."

"Every day, for six months." She smiled, slowly. "I find it endearing. Bring the tray. Sit."

"Sit, Majesty?"

"Sit." She patted a low stool beside her. He sat. She took a cup from the tray and sipped. "I would like to talk to you about something. You may say no."

"Majesty?"

"I have watched you, Emric. You are the most careful steward I have ever had. You carry everything. You anticipate everything. You apologise before anyone has complained." She set down the cup. "You look to me like a man who has not been allowed to put anything down since he was a child."

He opened his mouth, and found that he could not speak.

"In my court," said Solenne, gently, "a bond of service is never commanded. It is offered, with the terms spoken aloud, and accepted or refused. If you accepted, you would kneel when I tell you. You would be silent when I tell you. You would be corrected, by my voice and hand, as a servant is who has not yet learned to rest. I would not harm you. I would not shame you beyond the game. I would not keep you from the gate. And there is a word."

"A word."

"Sunset. Speak it, at any moment, and it is finished. You walk out into the garden, unharmed, and I will never mention it again."

The fountain splashed. A bee droned among the jasmine.

"Majesty," said Emric, very quietly, "I think that is the kindest offer anyone has ever made me."

"Then you may say the oath, if you wish."

He knelt on the warm marble, his hands trembling. "I, Emric, freely and with my own will, place myself in the service of Queen Solenne. I accept her terms. I may end it by one word."

"And I, Solenne, accept your service, and swear to keep you safe. The word is Sunset."

"The word is Sunset."

She laid two fingers beneath his chin and lifted his face to hers.

"Are you content, Emric?"

"Content, Majesty."

"Good," said the Queen of the Golden Court. "Then tonight, my careful steward, you will learn how to be still."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Sunset.