the_plan?

Anisa

The date was December 6th. Samantha had arrived in Northpoint. Anisa had arrived in Blisbane. She, Bourrienne, Concord (her driver) and John exited their wagon and immediately began making their way up the stairs.

“Acknowledge?”

“Acknowledged. Time is 8:46.”

“Acknowledged. 8:46.”

“Acknowledged. 8:47.”

“Excellent. As discussed, tertiary foyer at 9:20.”

Anisa and Bourrienne met Concord and John at 10:13. She was shaking, her (blue) eyeshadow was streaked, her teeth were clenched. Her arms were both slouched and stiff, her legs were dragged along the floor as Bourrienne pulled her forward.

“Alack!” stated Concord, and rushed over with a towel. They set her down in a chair. Concord began rubbing her face.

“Speak,” said John.

“We, we’re not in danger,” said Anisa.

They waited for more, and got none.

“Should I produce the stenograph?” said Bourrienne.

“No,” said Anisa. “No. No, we’re not discussing anything here. Epsilon location, now.”

“Could’ve saved time if we’d been told to go there if you were late,” said John.

“It wasn’t her fault,” said Bourrienne.

“Now,” said Anisa, and she struggled to get up, so Bourrienne and Concord grabbed her, and Concord was quickly replaced by John.

After having split up, taken separate rides, and arrived at an ostensibly unsurveilled inn, they quickly acquired a single room for 1 day. John did a quick sweep for locations anyone could listen in, or odd glyphs, or any sign of magic. Finding none, he asked, “How about the stenograph?”

“I’d rather tell you myself,” said Anisa.

“You’re the princess,” he said, and leaned back on the couch.

“With the passing of Quincy, Agarma is now crown prince. If Agarma were to abdicate, he would be stripped of everything, as Quincy would’ve.”

“How does that work? If he’d be the king…” said John.

“Our parents would make sure of it,” said Anisa. “Perhaps his first order should be to lock them up.”

“The path forward is obvious, then,” said John. “Offer Agarma whatever he would lose, and have him abdicate.”

“That’s not a solution,” said Anisa. “Then Reimond chooses a new heir.”

“We can repeat the process indefinitely. Promise the heir recompense for abdication, or kill those who won’t submit.”

“No,” said Anisa. “We are not doing that. We are not killing anyone. We have our system, and it’s a good system.”

“The last crown prince killed himself because he couldn’t abdicate,” said John. “What did he even have? A nice house, some books, and a maid?”

“He didn’t kill himself, actually,” said Anisa. “I’d hope that was obvious.”

“What?” said Bourrienne.

“I don’t know where he is now, or how he did it, but it should be obvious to anyone at all familiar with his ego. He probably started the assassin rumours.”

John checked the door, the walls, the furniture again. “Why don’t you just marry Quincy, then? If precision murder is so immoral.”

“It isn’t that it’s immoral. It compromises the integrity of the system. What does it say about a monarch if they’re willing to break the rules to get the results they want?” said Anisa.

“That they’re effective,” said John.

“No. That they’re not beholden to any rules. That they can do whatever they want, at their own whims,” said Anisa.

“You kept me alive, despite breaking the rules,” said John, “and that was good.” Anisa failed to look him in the face for a few seconds. “And besides, doing what you want isn’t a bad thing,” said John. “We trust your judgement. The best thing that can happen for this country is for you to sit on the throne. That end excuses any means, because of how truly good the end is. Again, if you’d rather not murder, find Quincy, marry him — or marry Agarma, for that matter — and do everything.”

Silence.

“I wish I’d killed him. Reimond. I wanted to scream.”

“He tends to do that to people, doesn’t he,” said John.

“He loves it,” said Anisa.