Chapter Text
Beca’s POV
She commands the attention of all present the moment she enters a room and she does so—all without uttering a single word.
The methodically timed footsteps with a precise second and a half beat between one and the next is the fanfare to her arrival. No one else walks with such precision. Doors hiss open long before she approaches them, allowing her to stride through the halls to her own undisturbed rhythm.
“Commander,” the final door parts at a slant in the middle, allowing her through. The voice adds, “Her Majesty has been expecting you.”
She’s dressed in black from head to toe save for the neon purple trim that traces the seams of her ensemble. The lower half of her face is hidden beneath a black mask and the hooded cloak thrown over her shoulders tosses gracefully with each step. With each swift movement forward, the fluttering of the fabric reveals a portable arsenal consisting of a sheathed long blade, pistol, and dagger fixed to her form.
Her hair leaves two curled brunette strands that frame her face while the rest is secured in a low bun. Eyes blue like the sea and cool like steel remain focused dead ahead and somehow the occupants of the room seem to stiffen even further as she crosses the threshold into the throne room.
A man in a thick white robe that match the trimmed whiskers covering his cheeks and jaw steps in her path. Clearing his throat, his wrinkled voice starts a rehearsed speech, “You are in the presence of Her Majesty—“
“There will be no need for that.” Another voice interrupts and the room grows quiet save for heeled taps descending the steps of the throne. They draw closer and though spaced more irregularly as the result of a slight limp, does not appear any less graceful. “I know this woman as sure as I know myself. I summoned her here, there’s no need to introduce us. Leave us, all of you.”
Clamoring steps move around the commander as they ease down onto their right knee, dipping their head and folding their arms over their thigh. The other steps lift in volume until the tips of white heels peek into her lowered vision. A hand appears next and she sheds a glove, taking the hand and guiding it to her masked lips.
“Your Majesty.”
“Stand and let me look at you.”
The commander does as she’s instructed, readjusting her glove standing without any further noise. The older woman stares her down until the door to the throne room hisses shut and a grin molds onto her lips. Before the commander can protest, slender yet strong arms ensnare her in a warm embrace.
She remains rigid but permits the contact with a hint of discomfort that goes unnoticed beneath her mask.
“There’s my girl. My, how you’ve grown. How long has it been?”
“Twelve years, Your Majesty.”
“You were such a small thing back then, though I suppose you’re still as much.”
Taking a step back, arms folding behind her, the commander nods. “Our clan is not known for its height, My Queen. Though what we lack in height, we make up for in ability.”
The queen laughs, revealing glistening white teeth beneath fiery lips. “True enough, though I suppose that even you are cut from a different cloth than that of your own blood. A commander and at nineteen years no less. Your mother would be proud.”
Expression unwavering, the commander only nods, “I would hope so, Your Majesty.”
“Beca,” the older woman acknowledges with a stern yet amused lift of her lips, “You are family to me just as your mother had been when she was in my service . It’s but the two of us here and there’s no need for formalities between family. Call me Celeste.”
Beca nods, “As you wish, Your—Lady Celeste.”
Celeste cuts her eyes but never loses the warm smile. “Beca, dear, walk with me.”
Beca laces her arm through the loop held out to her and matches each step without fault. The pair pass through several arches before coming to a spacious corridor. The ceiling is wide and brightened by the sun though shielded under a glass dome. The room they enter is vast and familiar, teeming with all types of flora of varying hues, sizes, and fragrances.
A fountain dominates the center of the room and the caretakers of the diverse greenery nod and bow respectively before returning to their work. Twelve years since she’d last set foot here but everything was just as boundless and mesmerizing as it had been back then.
“Do you know why I summoned you here?” Celeste’s regal voice coaxes her mind back to the present.
Peering from the corners of her eyes, Beca takes in the older woman’s features. She certainly still maintains her youth but the silver streaks of wisdom that thread her deep auburn hair and the crinkles at the corners of her eyes speak a different story. But the ever present hand of time is not why Beca was called here.
To any untrained eye, it wouldn’t seem like much but Beca’s eyes were of a different kind.
She notes the thin purple vein that branches along the queen’s neck, only lightly veiled by the high color of her own regal robe and a thin sheen of makeup. It throbs and pulses with such reserved intensity that one could easily overlook it. But Beca had seen it before and there was no mistaking it.
Directing her eyes straight ahead, she says plainly, “The curse.”
“Yes,” Celeste plucks a white and blue speckled flower from its stem, lifting it to her nose to draw in its fragrance, “They’ve had every balm, talisman, and oil brought to me. Nothing has worked.”
“I thought the Morçei were working on a cure.”
“I’m no fool to believe I will live long enough to see it. It’s a wonder that I survived as long as I did though,” Celeste lifts the flower to Beca who carefully inspects it before adding, “I suppose I have your mother’s memory to thank for that. I had heard that when the fever took her, you were the one who…”
They lock eyes briefly but Celeste, queen though she may have been, is respectful enough to drop the conversation. It’s not a memory Beca wants to reflect on at present and allows herself to gently be pulled from the gardens through another corridor.
The silence is not at all incommodious but there’s a single question that pesters incessantly at the commander’s usually focused mind until she begins in a half proclamation, “Were you—I—never mind…”
“I’ve told my daughter this more times than I can count but I pray you’ll be kind as to not make me have to beat you over the head with this again,” Queen Celeste starts as they veer down another hallway, “Even in such a world as ours where a woman’s word is law, never hesitate in front of anyone. If you must ask anything, ask in full. Time is short, mine even shorter. Whatever you would ask of me, do so while I still have breath in my body.”
As commander, Beca knew how to give orders but long before that, she had to learn how to take them. Her Majesty would indeed not have to burden herself with the lesson twice.
Lips pursed, Beca nods, “You were close with my mother?”
Celeste’s eyes glint over with something indiscernible but the slim traces of a smile tease at something worthwhile. “Does that surprise you?”
Nodding, Beca keeps her focus north. “Yes.”
They turn down yet another corridor but this one is familiar. It had been twelve years since she last traversed this same passageway. In fact, the deeper they press on, the fiercer and more vivid the memories of chasing a reckless young girl seems to grow. One might forgive her for thinking that it all had been but one night ago.
That girl had grown up now and so had she.
“Evyia and I weren’t so different from how the two of you used to be all those years ago,” Celeste chuckles as they pass two armed sentries outside a set of doors, “In fact, the two of you used to be thick as thieves if I recall correctly.”
“We were children.”
“You’re still children. Neither of you chose this and for that, I’m sorry.”
Beca sighs, free hand twitching behind her back while the other lightly squeezes at the angle of Celeste’s arm. “No one remains a child forever, Your Majesty.”
She hums, placing her hand on the sensor just outside the final door, “Perhaps, but you both deserved far more time than this world gave you. You even more so.” She shakes her head, offering Beca a courteous smile, “Let’s see if your old partner in crime is still fond of you.”
But Beca didn’t need to contemplate on the obvious. She’d heard that the little girl she’d known back then had changed. She had developed into a young woman, calculating and direct, devoid of that bubbling persona that Beca used to be so inexplicably drawn to. But this was happening and when the door parts with a gasp, Beca instinctively locates the tall redhead curled into her window, book in hand.
Celeste drops Beca’s arm but she doesn’t miss the contact. Stepping further into the room, she pauses, watching as icy blue irises lift from the pages in her lap to glance at Beca. If she’s surprised to see her, she certainly doesn’t make it known.
The look is narrowed and the downturn of plush lips imply a loose indifference. The woman glances between her mother and Beca, regarding them both with further silence before her attention falls to her lap yet again and she flips another page.
“It’s been a while, Princess. I’m glad to see that you’re in good health. ”
“Likewise, Commander .”
Celeste clears her throat, looking not the least bit surprised by the tense greeting between the pair. The young woman scoffs but one maternal glance later and she’s swiftly shutting her book with one hand. Sliding from the window, she moves in and Beca feels a hand pull at her own shoulder.
“Come now,” Celeste beckons, holding both girls by the shoulder, glancing between them with a grin, “You two can do better than that. Back then, you two were attached at the hip and now you two can barely stand being in the same room as each other.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” the princess bites sharply.
“Then perhaps you should quit acting like one.”
A hand darts out to each girl’s chest, keeping the pair as far from each other as the span of the queen’s arms would permit. Reluctance mists into her tired sigh but the faintest outline of a knowing smirk glides in between.
“You’re still a smartass, twelve years later. Huh, Beca?”
“And twelve years later, you’re still a royal pain in my ass. Guess some things never change. Right, Chloe?”
Celeste manages to keep them apart a bit longer and despite the glares reaching from opposite ends of her arms, she laughs. Yes, she’d definitely seen this before and the fond memories that surface as she recalls her own banter with another feisty Mitchell are pleasantly welcome.
It would seem that some things were just destined to repeat after all.