In Which Dea Has Work to Do

July 1, 1192

Dea had never been one for fancy gowns. She didn't dislike the concept of them, nor did she think there was anything inherently wrong with women who did like them... but to her, they'd just never been a priority. She couldn't quite put her finger on why--a woman could easily be both smart and beautiful, as many in her life demonstrated. Perhaps she'd simply never cared for the pomp and ceremony of formal dress.

The coronation gown she'd chosen hadn't even been commissioned. It was an old one of her step-grandmother's that had been hemmed to fit her. She didn't know why she'd picked it. Possibly because it was the most formal-looking gown of the right colors in the castle, possibly in honor of the late Queen Laralita, possibly as a take that to her father. All three, most likely. She doubted she'd wear it again. Riona or Lily might want it, as a memento of their mother, and Dea would be more than happy to honor that.

But, today, it would serve well for the coronation.

Finally--after all these years of barely daring to hope. She would be Queen of Naroni, officially. Queen Regnant of Naroni. Medea the First.

Everything had been sorted out. She'd finish her schooling via correspondence; anything she happened to miss, Lady Arletta had assured her, would be doubly compensated for by her undeniable practical experience. Her room at Scorpio House would be kept free for her, so she could stay on campus for exams and so she could visit her friends when time allowed.

Gennie and Hollie would come and go as they pleased between the castle and wherever their mother ended up living in the long run. At present, Gennie was living here while Hollie was at Tetran Keep with their mother. That would probably be the usual state of things. Gennie was a princess, born and raised, and the castle was her home. Hollie's home was with her mother.

So was Dea's, if she was honest. But, her mother had declined her offer of continued residence at the castle, and she could understand why. This castle had been her prison for long enough.

Under Dea, she vowed it would be a prison for no one.

It did not serve a monarch to be cruel. A monarch had to be just, strong, tough--but not cruel. Cruelty was its own brand of weakness, the weakest brand. Cruelty was a suffering populace, scheming lords, a fractured kingdom. It was self-service, corruption, but a kick to one's self in the end.

Dea had a lot to learn. But, she'd do her best to keep learning, to listen to the people, to keep her moral compass pointing in the right direction. It was not the job of a true leader to shepherd one's followers off of a cliff.

Dea pushed one last curl of hair into place and stepped away from the mirror. Starting today, she had work to do.

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