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The Red Roses of Arcadia

Clarenthia

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– 1 –
Prologue

“When you’re ready,” Lewis called “though don’t wait too long, lest you hurt yourself.”
Diana looked over to him, he held a proud smile on his face. Lewis was just passed the prime of life, adding some salt to his hair. He had always tried to be more youthful around the children, but even that was starting to become a struggle for the man. It didn’t take long for Diana to understand his warning, already her arm began to hurt holding the string of the bow back. She turned her attention to the target ahead of her. She closed her eye, adjusted slightly, and let loose.
The arrow ripped through the air and hit the target, not dead in the center, but closer than Diana had ever hit before. She lowered the bow and a smile came across her face as she looked to Lewis for approval.
“You did well, my Lady,” he congratulated “soon you’ll be able to join your father on the hunting grounds. Though, those targets don’t stay still.”
“I know how hunting works, Lewis,” Diana called back as he approached the target “I am not a child.”
“Of course, my Lady,” Lewis responded “I didn’t mean it in such a way.”
Diana put her foot on the target and grabbed the arrow, with one strong tug the arrow came loose. She twirled it before putting it into her quiver that was tied to her waist. She looked back to Lewis, but she noticed a nurse was running down the stairs into the yard. Lewis noticed that Diana was looking past him, so he turned around to see the nurse as well.
“Sandra,” he called to her with a smile that quickly disappeared after he got a better look of her face.
“My lady,” she spurted out in between catching her breath “You must come quickly. The Queen has gone into labor, you must come!”
Diana’s eyes widened. She immediately undid the bucket on her quiver, letting it fall to the ground just after she threw the bow – much to Lewis’ annoyance. She raced to the nurse – who was not looking forward to making another run back to the Castle’s medical wing. Diana wasted no time, running through the castle’s halls – sending a strong, annoying echo throughout the building. When she arrived at the medical wing, she was met with a wall of staff who had amassed themselves around the entrance. There was so much going on that it took time for people to even notice that she had arrived.
“Away! Away!” Sandra called out with all her voice “Diana has arrived! Back, back!”
It was as though Moses parted the sea once again as people dashed to get out of the way of Diana. When the people around her quieted, the screams of her mother became the only thing she could hear. A doctor immediately moved to block Diana’s entrance to the medical wing.
“I must see my mother!” Diana called out.
“My lady,” the doctor replied calmly, but with a strong authority “You must wait out here with the others. There is no need to be worried, but there are complications. The Queen is of an age that makes pregnancy harder. We must be careful now and you must let us do our work. I promise that we will let you see her as soon as she is safe and ready.”
Diana stared at the doctor. She was not used to being treated in such a way by anyone but their father. For that reason, beside the assurances of the doctor, she became instantly worried. The doctor did not need to say another word to her and she quietly stepped back out of the room. The doctor smiled at her and padded her hair before turning around and closing the door to the room.
“Young Diana,” Lewis said, placing his hand on her shoulder “We have gotten word that your Father will be making the trip from Providence with haste.”
Diana did not reply.
“I’ve seen many births in my life, little princess,” Lewis replied, knowing the nickname always irked the shorter-than-average princess “The best thing we can do in situations like these is step back and let the doctors work. Have faith, and be sure to pray – for your Queen mother, your father, and the baby.”
Minutes turned to hours as the group waited. Many of the staff had moved away to continue their duties, but Lewis and Diana remained steadfast and refused to leave the waiting room to the medical wing. Lewis protested several times for them to take a stroll through the gardens, since the waiting would do them no good. Still, Diana persisted and, at times, just flat out ignored the advice of her Guardian. Finally, after three hours, the door to the medical wing opened. Diana immediately rose to her feet.
“Out with it!” she commanded the doctor.
“My lady,” he said, somber “As you may know, a woman of your mother’s age faces many complications during childbirth.”
The doctor’s expression already told Diana what was happening. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she began shaking her head at the doctor. The doctor continued explaining the situation, but only once sentence actually made its way to Diana’s head.
“I am sorry, Princess Diana, but there was nothing we could do but make her comfortable.”
Diana slumped – almost fell – back into the chair she was sitting in. Lewis immediately came to her side, placing his arm around her, but she showed no emotion – no response. The doctor stood, silent, grasping his hands and allowing the Princess the time she needed. Diana had no idea how long the silence had lasted, but it was Lewis to break it.
“What of the child?” he asked.
“A healthy baby boy,” the doctor answered.
“May I see him?” Diana muttered.
“But of course,” the doctor answered, opening his arms and showing her the way to the medical wing.
The wing was quiet as the nurses began cleaning the area, refusing to make eye contact with the Princess as she walked through. She had back the tears and carried herself high as she walked. Some believed her act, but Lewis could see her pain.
“In here,” the doctor said, opening a door to a nursery.
There, in the crib, was a baby boy. He was quiet, asleep, wrapped in purple blankets revealing only his head. He had a few dark hairs already, a contrast to Diana’s blonde hair. She stared at the child, the son of King Joseph IV.
“He’s quiet,” the doctor said “but perfectly healthy. He reminds me of the day you were born.”
“I was in my mother’s arms when I was born,” she answered.
“Yes,” Lewis answered “But I’ve known you your whole life. I stood at this very crib looking down at you. The boy has you, and that’s a blessing in its own right.”
“The birth of a Rosenthal is always a blessing,” the doctor added.
 
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Clarenthia

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-- 2 --

Princess Diana​


Diana shifted in her seat. She tugged at her annoying white gloves, that went well to compliment her entire white outfit. The only splash of color came from the ruby pin in the shape of a red rose that she wore – to signify the House of Rosenthal.

The seemingly endless sea of yellow grass had been giving way to signs of civilization. It began sparingly with intersecting roads here and there, to towns in the distance. Soon, entire towns were springing up followed by crowds of people crowding police guard rails erected along the tracks of the train.

“I do believe that the situation in Beira demands the attention of the Crown,” William Kent suggested to a daydreaming Princess.

“Yes, but the King is not yet ready to take a position on such a matter. You cannot have the Princess up here speaking for the King on a topic he has not yet decided,” Andrew Guth shot back.

“Her Highness does not need to spell out some intricate policy with a step-by-step plan to rectify the unrest up there, she simply needs to reassure the Lords that their concerns do not fall on deaf ears in Providence,” William answered “It is the duty of the Royal Family to protect the realm, the Duke needs to know the Realm is protected!”

“You know damn well what the Duke is concerned with out here. An ever-growing power in Pelasgia and upheaval in Beira. These things make the Lords of The Natal anxious and uneasy. You know how the common folk are up in these lands,” Andrew continued.

“Yes, I do,” Diana interrupted – silencing them all “The summer was harsh on the Natali while crops did not yield what we would have wished. The concerns of the people here are food, especially as we head into the colder months and the South demands more. I am here to ensure the Natali that Providence hears their concerns.”

“But Beira,” Andrew interjected.

“There’s a time and place,” Diana replied.

The train grinded to a halt and it was time for the Princess to depart. She would, of course, be the last to step off the train. Naturally, the whole Royal entourage had to accompany her, lest anyone think that the Rosenthals travel in anything less than pure luxury. After an obnoxious thirty minutes had passed, it was time for Diana to step off the train.

In front of her, William Kent and Andrew Guth would escort her out. The two of them could not be any more separate a pair. William Kent was tall, portly, and had more years behind him than ahead. His perfectly trimmed white hair was matched only by his perfectly trimmed beard. He wore suits that cost more than a good number of Natali citizens would make in a year. However, his pride and joy was the ruby rose pin that he was permitted to wear. It was extremely rare for anyone outside of the Rosenthal Family to be permitted to wear their symbol. It was a trinket he had earned over years of service and he was damn proud of it.

Guth was young enough to be William’s grandson or Diana’s brother. He was a tall man, shorter than William, but far slenderer. He paid about as close attention to his physical appearance as Kent did, but he did not have the ever-so-coveted ruby rose pin to flaunt.

However, no one truly cared about either of them – a fact that became abundantly clear once Diana emerged from the train. A huge crowd had gathered to greet the Princess, many of them waving the flag of Arcadia and The Natal. The group had gathered as close to the barricades as they could, hoping for Diana to even make eye contact with them.

To match the warm welcome, the air of the Northern Natal was far hotter and dryer than Providence, which was comforted by the air from the southern seas. Diana was never someone to enjoy the warm weather so immediately she could feel the sweat building. She decided to move on at a faster pace than she otherwise would have, that was until she noticed that the Duke had not been present in the welcoming party.

“Your Royal Highness, Princess Diana of House Rosenthal,” Governor-General James C. Caster bowed “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Sunspear, the Jewel of the The Natal. We have so anxiously been awaiting your arrival.”

“All except for the Duke, I suppose?” Diana ignored the curiosity of the Governor-General.

“Oh, your Grace,” Caster answered “The Duke had to return to his estate for the moment. He wanted me to express his sincerest apologies, he eagerly awaits the Royal dinner tonight that we will be throwing in your honor.”

“What could possibly come up that would grab the Duke’s time so forcefully that he could not meet the Princess of Arcadia, Diana Rosenthal, daughter and first-born child of His Royal Majesty, King Joseph IV?” Andrew commanded an answer.

“Again, I mean you no disrespect, My Lord,” Caster replied “The Duke sends his deepest regrets.”

“It’s quite alright, Governor,” Diana stated “I am sure the Duke is a busy man, I understand as well as any how demanding a schedule can be.”

The Governor smiled, and motioned for the Princess to follow him to the car that was waiting for them at the end of the barricade. Diana followed the Governor, smiling and waving to the assembled crowd as she walked by. It was, in her opinion, far too hot to actually stop and shake hands with the people. However, she could not help but take notice to a little girl, too short to be blocked by the barricade, sticking her arm out as far as she could while holding a red rose. Diana motioned Andrew to the girl, who promptly began directly her entourage so she could stop and see the girl. A path was made and an officer motioned for the girl to come forward.

Diana knelt down as the girl approached and reached her arm out for the rose. The smile on the girl’s face made Diana forget how annoying the entire trip had been and it seemed in that moment that it all could have been worth it.

“Thank you,” Diana said to the girl “this is an absolutely beautiful gift. I am so thrilled you had thought to give it to me.”

“All roses melt,” the little girl said with a giggle.

“I am sorry?” Diana replied, puzzled and believing she misheard the girl.

However, it had seemed nerves took over the girl as she rushed back underneath the barricade. But she did not rush to a parent or any one in particular, she just darted into the crowd and just as fast as she appeared – she was gone. Diana looked down at the flower and twirled it.

“All roses melt?” she whispered to herself.
 

Clarenthia

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– 3 –
Lord Protector Charles Harrison​
October 22, 1960
“Fuck me,” Charles barked.
There was no stopping it now, his plane was finished. The light grey, hardly noticed plume of smoke coming from the back of his plane was now a deep, dark black. The engine’s roar was intermittent and Charles believed he could begin to see the individual blades of the propeller. There was no saving this plane, there was no landing at base.
However, Charles’s one silver lining was his calculations onto the location of Lake Rosetta were correct. He had been coxing the plane to get closer to the lake and had lowered it just right for he hoped would be as smooth a landing as possible. However, the snow-capped mountains in the distance had been getting taller and taller and the water closer and closer. Even the most expertly crafted landing could kill him. He tried to keep his breathing paced and his attention to the task at hand, but that’s when he noticed that the propeller had stopped rotating entirely.
He was gliding now, there was no engine, no power. It was quiet now, almost peaceful. He was gently moving the rudder and the plane gently turned in the direction he ordered. It was now on a direct collision course with the lake. He couldn’t have been more than 300 feet from the ground.
When the plane’s course was lined up, he relaxed for but a brief second. He grabbed the clips on his helmet, undoing them and throwing the heavy thing to the floor of the cockpit. He reached up to the canopy of the plane and grabbed the latch that held it closed. The thing wouldn’t move.
“Pressure?” he muttered, not being sure and forgetting his training.
He looked back directly ahead of him again, by now he was 150 feet above the waterline, so he decided it was time. He gently moved the rudder toward him, to point the aircraft up. He was losing feet rapidly and the G-force pulling on him made him want to vomit, but he had a task to accomplish. He estimated at this point he was no more than 25 feet above the water, so he pushed the rudder down and the plane immediately dived.
It couldn’t have been longer than 10 seconds, even that felt like a liberal estimation. Charles had done everything in his power to slow the plane, but it felt like he had hit a brick wall. When the plane hit, he had been thrown forward, hitting his head against the controls in front of him. He couldn’t feel the pain, but he could feel the stream of blood coming off his face.
Charles took a brief moment to see around him. The plane was bobbing up and down in the water, which was even more disorienting than smacking his head off of metal equipment. He took but one sigh before noticing his feet were exceptionally cold. Looking down, he noticed water was pouring into the plane.
“Shit!” he yelled as he wrestled with the buckle holding him into his seat. He was stunned by the speed, it was already well above his ankle. Thankfully, it did not take much for the buckle to unleash and he quickly threw the straps off of him and freed himself.
He looked back up at the canopy and grabbed the latch holding it in place. It unlatched this time and he slid it back with all his force – but it jammed.
The water was up to his knees at this point, and now that the canopy was open it began trickling in from the hole. His problem had gotten far worse.
“Fuck!” he yelled, using both hands to pull as hard as he could on the canopy – it wouldn’t budge.
He clenched his right fist, and punched the canopy. Nothing. He punched it again, nothing. A third, with no change. At the fourth punch, his fist landed back down in a pool of water – that had now risen to just beneath his chest. He noticed something shimmering in the pool of water that would soon be his casket and he reached down for it. In one try, he picked up his revolver and held it by the barrel, using the grip to whack at the canopy with all his might.
The water was quickly rising, now at his neck and the canopy was not budging. He was taking short, rapid breaths as fear and freezing water took control. He made one final attempt, and this time the canopy cracked and jerked free.
Charles was in complete shock, so much so that he did not even notice the water came up to his mouth and was rising even more rapidly. He sprang into action and moved the canopy all the way back and lunged from his seat into the open water. From the outside, he watched as his plane sank beneath the surface of the lake. The water was black from the fuel of his plane and he realized there was a searing, unbearable pain on his right hand. His suit was drenched and weighing him down as he tried desperately to backstroke out of the impact zone.
The farther he got, the more he realized the water had gone from black to red. He, for a moment, raised his right hand from the water and noticed the several gashes that had blood steadily coming out.
He pushed through the pain and continued his swim until his foot hit something that seemed magical – solid land. He swung himself around and noticed he had made to the Lake’s shore. He began walking now until the water was only a few inches deep.
He flung off his green flight jacket and ripped off his white t-shirt to tie around his mangled hand. It was at this point he noticed he still carried the revolver with him, all this way. He dropped the revolver, put back on the green flight jacket, and then fell to the ground. He was holding himself up on his knees and elbows – in a hysteric laughing fit.
“You’re alive” he kept whimpering to himself “you’re alive.”
His whimpering became silence as he laid his forehead against the cold sand. However, it was in this silence that he heard the rumblings from the forest line and yelling. Immediately, he rose to his feet and looked in the direction of the commotion. He stared for what seemed like an eternity before twenty rebel soldiers emerged, rifles in hand, running toward the young pilot.
“Fuckers!” he yelled, reaching down to grab his revolver and pointing it at the coming horde.
But then he paused, hesitated. He couldn’t beat them and they’d either shoot him or take him prisoner. There was no way out of this – there was no survival. For the first time in this entire ideal, he truly felt cold and hopeless. Slowly, as the yelling and sound of boots kicking sound became louder, his arm bent backwards and put the revolver to the side of his head. The cold metal against his blood-soaked head was the most solemn feeling he’s ever had.
“I’m sorry Joyce, mom, dad,” he sobbed “Forgive me God.”
His hand was shaking, his body felt limp, but his resolve was clear.
He pulled the trigger.
 

Clarenthia

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– 4 –
Lord Protector Charles Harrison

1960
Darkness. He did not know what to make of it. He heard no bang, felt no pain – but he could feel. His breathing was light, but still quick as he slowly opened his eyes. He still stood right where he was, gun to his head, frozen in place, with twenty soldiers encircling him pointing their rifles.
“Put down the gun!” one of the rebels screamed at him.
Charles pulled the trigger again, could feel the gun hitting against his skull from the vibration of the hammer striking the gun. But, nothing – no bullet. He continued to stand in front of the rebels.
“Drop the fucking gun!” they screamed again.
Charles looked around him, seeing the situation he found himself in. His gaze met the eyes of all of the rebels staring him down. He could see how each of them wanted to do nothing more than pull the trigger. To kill another of Rosenthal’s filth. Their anger, their hatred, it was so primitive and visceral.
His gaze turned to the rebel barking orders at him. Charles lowered his gun from his head and put his arm at his side, dropping the revolver into the sand.
“Hands up and get down!” the rebel screamed like an animal.
Charles slowly raised both of his hands, blood still dripping from his right, and placed them both on the back of his head. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed one of the rebels lowered their gun and moved forward. Specifically, he noticed the knife held by a rope around the rebel’s waist. He waited for his moment.
The rebel came from his left and grabbed Charles’s left hand and in and instant, Charles used whatever dexterity was left to punch the rebel in the throat with his mangled right hand. In a fluid, almost trained motion he reached for the knife, spun the rebel, and had a knife at the man’s neck – pressing hard enough that a thin stream of blood became visible.
“Let me pass or this man dies,” Charles said calmly as the rebel begged for his life.
Just then, Charles heard a loud bang and felt an intense, burning pain in his thigh. He saw the smoke come out of one of the rebel’s gun, he had been shot. The pain forced him to drop the knife, drop to the ground, and clench his leg.
“That tends to not be as effective when you’re completely surrounded,” the original soldier said, walking up to Charles “I promise you, you will die. It won’t be long anymore. However, a good death is its own reward. I do not intend to provide you with a good death.”
The rebel that Charles held the knife to turned around with a new look of vengeance in his eyes. That was a look that Charles would never forget. A memory made easier, as the rebel seemed to use all of his might in one single kick that landed directly onto Charles’s face.
Instantly, Charles went to the ground. His arms flailed out, landing wherever gravity took them. He had lost the energy to fight back and the will to even try. He laid down on the beach as the rebels circled around him, with ropes.
“Let us hope you don’t die on the way there,” the rebel said to him, before hitting him directly in the head with the butt of his rifle. With that, Charles was out.

2017
“Having all business been finalized,” Charles commanded from the lectern of the Senate Chamber “as Lord Protector of the Realm, I proclaim that this session of the Royal Senate is concluded.”
His statement was followed by three hits of his gavel.
“I hereby ask that the Sergeant at Arms escort the Gallery out of the Chamber.”
The Lord Protector stood tall with his arms crossed as the guards on the gallery escorted the public out of the chamber. The Senators began packing papers into their binders and closing their laptops. The chamber began rumbling with the small talk of the Senators. As soon as the three grand doors to the gallery had closed, the Lord Protector did another three hits of the gavel.
“Will the Sergeant at Arms acknowledge that the public has left the viewing gallery to the Chamber of the Royal Senate?” he stated.
“Aye, your Excellency,” the Sergeant answered.
“Having received confirmation from the Sergeant at Arms, I know call to order this closed-door session of the Royal Senate,” Charles ordered, banging the gavel again.
Like clockwork, the aides in the Royal Senate rushed to prepare the room. The clerks closed the wood paneling on the stained-glass windows, locked several doors leading in and out of the Chamber, even closing off the gate to the Chamber floor. Once all the preparations were made – an awkward eleven-minute process – every single aid and guide exited the room. The last to leave was the Sergeant at Arms, who upon his departure, locked the door behind him.
“Fair warning of these closed-door sessions is always welcome,” Senator Hamilton spoke, breaking the silence of the room.
Lord Protector Harrison turned his gaze from the great oak door that serves as the main entrance to the Chamber and instead peered down on the Senator who was seated beneath him. Him and Hamilton entered into a staring contest as the Lord Protector continued an unbroken gaze.
“I meant no dis-,”
“Should prior notice ever be required,” the Lord Protector boomed “it shall be provided.”
“Of course, your Excellency,” the Senator answered, sitting down.
“I had requested this session, Senator Hamilton,” Senator Burke rose from his desk “I am ever so gracious to His Excellency for approving my request.”
“You have business to speak before the Chamber, that is your right,” the Lord Protector answered.
“Lord Protector, my fellow Lords of the Senate, the rumors are becoming louder. If they are false, then it is all for the better and I will be pleased to dismiss this concern. However, should they be true, it is paramount that the Royal Senate begin taking action,” Senator Burke called.
The Lord Protector continued to stare at him, no word to follow up.
“Well,” Burke cleared his throat “Is it, or is it not true that the King is ill?”
The room broke out into a small roar of voices.
“Did you call a session of this body to openly disparage the King?” Senator Heller erupted from his desk “Where do you find the audacity!?”
“I am a Senator of this Kingdom!” Burke roared back “it is the responsibility of this body and the fifty people within it to ensure the safety and continuity of the Realm above all else. If it is to be regarded as true that our King, God bless him as he stands, is ill then as the Royal Senate we must be sure to take the proper steps!”
The room descended into a rabble of arguments between the Senators. Most were casting doubt at Senator Burke’s judgement and demanding the session be adjourned.
“Enough!” Charles yelled, slamming his first to his desk, which the microphone helped to carry throughout the room.
The Senators stood in silence at the Lord Protector, who remained quiet himself for several minutes.
“The King’s health,” he began “is not a matter of your concern, Senator Burke.”
“Your Excellency—”
“You are standing here today as a Senator from the Province of New Bourgogne, sworn to represent those good people here before the nation’s leaders. You serve at the pleasure of the King and are under his protection and this is what you choose to do?” The Lord Protector did not expect a reply.
“You will leave this chamber at once. You will drop this nonsense and you will rise above the petty gossip of the nobles. You are a Senator, act like one.”
The Lord Protector gaveled once again and turned to walk out his personal entrance to the Chamber. He did not formally close the closed-door session, but the Senators gathered knew that it was their time to leave.
 
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