Vires. Sapientia. Virtus.

[Cœurléon]

Hôtel de Loncret (Official Residence of the Prime Minister of Cœurléon)
Sainte-Elisabeth, Cœurléon

6 December 2011, 5:11 a.m.

Philippe Coidavid was the nation’s youngest prime minister. At 39, the tall, dark-haired leader won the support of nearly 80 percent of the electorate for the moderate Liberal Party. For two years his government maintained a popularity almost equalled to the near-universal popularity of the aging yet jovial King Louis X. But a series of personal scandals among senior politicians of his poverty nevertheless rocked the government. The end of his third year was not looking as favorable.

“Traîtres!” Philippe cursed. The money bills to be voted on today were more than cutting back on expenses. Introduced by factions within and outside the party, the bills were an attempt at undermining the government’s authority as none of them were introduced on its behalf. His secretary quickly placed his morning meal of porridge, bacon and coffee on his desk with a copy of the Sainte-Elisabeth Daily and an agenda of this morning’s final discussion and votes on the bills.

 

[Cœurléon]

The Deputies’ Chamber
Palais National
Sainte-Elisabeth, Cœurléon

6 December 2011, 11:14 a.m.

A clerk passed a note to Jean-Philippe Boyer, Speaker of the Chamber. He read the note and, trying to hide his feelings, rose from his grand chair. The voting was complete, but the deputies continued to chat and shout to one another. He gave a nod to the Sergeant-at-Arms to bang the mace to call order.

“First Clerk of the Chamber, please announce the tally of the votes.”

“As to the question of whether to decrease the annual expenditure of Gouvernement de Sa Majesté, by at least 30 percent, the final vote is as such. Oui, 91. Non, 51. S’abstenir, 33. The Ayes have it.” The hall roared with adulation from the bill’s supporters, while the shouting of Traîtres! came from those who opposed it. The abstainers...abstained from saying anything.

 

[Cœurléon]

Hôtel de Loncret, Sainte-Elisabeth

6 December 2011, 1:30 p.m.

A butler opened the door of the Speaker’s government car. The bald, bushy-browed Boyer grabbed his cane while his assistant exited the other door, talking on the phone and holding his briefcase. It became tradition for the Speaker to bring the results of votes in the Deputies, particularly when the government gained a victory in the Deputies. But this was more than an official function. Before Coidavid became Prime Minister, and Boyer was Speaker, they were student and teacher. At the Université de Montbéliard the college student defended his treatise on the necessity for reinterpreting the function of the monarch in modern constitutional affairs. It was the later doctor of political theory who requested the professor to be a part of his wedding festivities, become godfather to three of his children, and accept “The Chair” in the lower house. The surrogate father was now there for another important part in his life - saving the government from falling.

Formulating what he would say to his “son” he was escorted to the private apartments of the Prime Minister - another sign of the affection the prime minister felt for him. He stood up as Coidavid entered the room.

“Prime Minister,” Boyer announced. Coidavid smiled at Boyer’s formality, despite his prior radical ideology.

“Monsieur Président de la Chambre,” Philippe spoke with a twist of sarcasm in his voice. They shook hands and smiled, breaking with some forms of formality. Years of service to the Crown, Coidavid thought, can make any man a loyal monarchist. With the servants and staffed dismissed from the room the two gentlemen sat on the gilded couch. Boyer moved his eyebrows as he explained the results of the election.

“Prime Minister, I am afraid that if this vote is passed the government will most certainly fall.”

“What do we do now?” Boyer grasped his cane, looking at his surrogate son.

“Monsieur Lochard will arrive to discuss options of how to prevent the passage among the Peers.” Boyer stood up, steadily, as Philippe helped him. “I have also dispatched a letter to His Majesty.”

 

[Cœurléon]

Palais Royal de Cœurléon, Sainte-Elisabeth

6 December 2011, 1:52 p.m.

The Monarchy has been the pride of Cœurléon for more than six centuries. Although today the monarch reigns and the ministers rule, it is still within the king’s prerogative to advise, counsel and warn the government of the day.

Born Louis Philippe Francois Henri Georges on 9 August 1956, he was the only son and younger child of Louis IX and his wife Marie-Thèrése, formerly Theresa Garland, daughter of the last High Prince of Havenshire. Louis IX was an ardent monarchist and ensured his son would share similarities. Cold and often distant, the relationship between father and son was never a close one. In addition Louis IX established for his son a household of his own, interestingly in the southern regions of the kingdom.

It was the Seigneur du Maxe who acted as the king’s mentor, friend and deuxième père. He would groom the wild-child prince into a prince well-mannered, charming and above all eloquent. Tall, slender, and handsome, the young prince became an instant royal celebrity. His image as a bon vivant - spending summer weekends at luxury beaches with models, princesses and actresses - interestingly made him popular among the youth of his day. But after the death of his father in 1979 the still unmarried king was guided by his reactionary mother the Queen Dowager. It was she who ensured the regal setting at court, and insisted he marry the southern aristocrat Isabelle de Elbereque, who had more royal patrimony than her husband. While the modern wedding was based on the traditions of arranged marriages, the marriage between King Louis X & Queen Isabelle was of love. With their children Marguerite (b. 1984) and Ferdinand-Philippe (b. 1986) they became a model for a new type of monarchy - one which blended the traditions of the past with upholding modern values.

~~~~~~~~

The King was in a meeting with members of the Dojeine Chamber of Commerce in the Grand Blue Drawing Room, discussing the improvement of local businesses. The page opened the door.

“Madame Mathilde Clerc, Your Majesty.” The Government & Media Liaison entered the room. She curtsied by the door, walking hesitantly toward the king. King Louis was speaking in the Catalan tongue to the guests, and waited for a signal to give him the news. After four minutes standing there the king raised his left ring finger. Madame Clerc curtsied again and approached His Majesty. She whispered to him the note she held in her hand.

“Well for Heaven’s sake, Madame, call upon Madame de Corza!” His whiskey-bass voice shook everyone in the room, nearly the room itself. Clerc curtsied, and quickly scurried out the room. Still shaken from the king’s sharp response, the young royal servant was even more shaken by having to call the Comtesse de Corza.

 

[Cœurléon]

Hotel de Loncret, Sainte-Elisabeth

6 December 2011, 3:19 p.m.

“They will not agree to any new bills until there are some cuts,” said Antoine Lochard, Deputies Chief Whip. Flicking his thumb through the papers in his leather folio, the 73-year-old statesman looked nervously at the prime minister. “Monsieur le Premiere Ministre, unless you agree to some cuts in the budget I am afraid the government could fall.” Philippe Coidavid looked out the window. He was glad his office looked out to the gardens of his residence instead of facing the government buildings across the street.

“Why back this bill, Chief Whip? What do they want?”

“It is simple. The Conservatives simply want to undermine you. This is the last point in...damaging the credibility of your mandate,” Lochard quickly looked up at the prime minister, then down back into his papers. “What is even worse is fiscal conservatives within our own party are joining the opposition in order for cuts in administrative costs but...”

Lochard paused as he and the other gentlemen in the room heard - or, more correctly, felt - the figure approaching the door. They recognized the heels hitting against the floor as the government’s second-in-command and foreign minister the Comtesse de Corza. As the senior-most government minister and Whip in the upper chamber, the comtesse was a political powerhouse. It was even speculated she would disclaim her title in order to become prime minister. One of the prime minister’s staff ran over to open the door for her. She quickly finished her conversation - speaking in English, perhaps to a counterpart - as her assistant grabbed her coat and bag. Despite being a half hour late the countess did not apologize, taking a seat to the prime minister’s left. She raised an eyebrow as cue for Lochard to continue.

“I forgot what I was going to say.” Even the Marquis, despite his long career and service to the State, felt intimidated by the countess. Smiling, she took out her ministerial folio from her designer handbag.

“Monsieur le Premiere Ministre,” Corza said in her thick Catalan accent. “I am glad to announce that, after meeting with the loyal supporters in the Cambra dels Parells, they have agreed to drop their support for these money bills.” A unanimous sigh of relief was breathed from everyone in the room. “I have also called upon the Leader of the Opposition in the said house, indicting him on the 1933 Act which forbids the Peers of the Chamber initiating any bills or holding discussions on bills pertaining to the finances of the government.” The whole room applauded at the foreign minister’s last minute effort to save the government. She took off her glasses and folded her hands. Philippe smiled at Corza, who simply smirked and put back on her glasses.

“Well, with that done, perhaps we could get to real business," she said.

 

[Cœurléon]

Hôtel de Loncret, Sainte-Elisabeth
2 January 2012, 0200 local time


Philippe Coidaivd could hardly sleep. His wife reassured him it wasn’t a big deal; his father, Alexandre, who also served as Prime Minister, told him it was common. But for Philippe it was much more. After a year of factionalism, rivalries and political intrigue from his own party, the request by the Chamber of Deputies to summon his entire ministry for questioning was equated to a court summons. Once an athletic, handsome politician, the 37-year-old now appeared a slightly younger image of his father. Amelie, his chief communication manager, knocked on his door.


“Sorry to disturb you, prime minister, but I have the program from the Palace regarding the visits.” She handed him the paper with the royal seal as its letterhead. Coidavid nodded and returned reading Le Soleil. On his normal days he would smile at her; on his stressful days he would at least grin or give a sign of hope. But nothing this time. He was utterly defeated. She turned around before leaving. “Everyone here supports you, sir.”


At least I have some here, he thought. He smiled at Amelie as she closed the door. Coidavid turned on his television to see CRBS 2, the 24/7 news service, to see the anchor discussing international news. He slumped over to his leather sofa. On the coffee table were two blank sheets. One began with ‘Your Most Excellent Majesty”, while the other began with “My Dear Minister”.