06-11-2020, 06:02 AM
A CONTINUATION OF "A DAY IN THE LIFE", IN THE HOURS FOLLOWING THE DISSOLUTION OF THE ROYAUME
Yolande Cartier sat quietly next to one of the windows in her cell at Clairvaux, her gaze lingering on the points of light dotting the New Paris sky. Far above, the Council battlefleets stood victorious over the few remaining forces of the Roi. King Charles had long since departed for the Hebrides, leaving the seat of power in Gallia hauntingly vacant for the first time in generations. An occasional pinprick of fire marked the last stand of a gallant Royal Navy pilot, refusing to surrender to the usurpers, perhaps a Lynx smashing helplessly against the powerful shields and reinforced armor of a battleship in a daring suicide run. She could only wonder if the pilot had hoped to garner favor for his family with the King, should he ever return victorious to his throne.
"Quite an evening, isn't it, Arnaud?" The Corse matriarch turned to face her ever-present Royal Police guard, a motherly smiling tugging at the corners of her mouth. For once, the heavy steel door of the prison cell that ostensibly held her was thrown open, the guard having accepted the occupant's invitation to join her. Arnaud had always been aware of Yolande's ploy, her use of the legal system to shield herself from the ire of her enemies. He'd been paid well for his services, not by the Roi, but by the woman next to him.
"It is, madame, it is." He shifted in his seat, biting his tongue gently as he considered the ramifications of what was taking place above. Yolande gave an expectant stare towards the well-built guard, who seemed slightly smaller than before. Cartier had been nothing but kind to the son of a minor nobleman, but with the ways of the Roi now thoroughly out the window, he was just another soldier without a general. The Corsican cocked her head to the side just slightly, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her face with a practiced precision. Inquisitive eyes studied the posture of the man next to her, drinking in his thinly-veiled discomfort. She let the moment simmer in relative silence as the clock against one wall ticked away, before speaking once more. Her voice was gentle and caring, a stark departure from the aloof tone she typically took with visitors.
"Quand le vin est tiré, il faut le boire, Arnaud." The guard gave a small sigh in response, eyes settling back on Yolande and leaving the vista outside behind for the moment. "It would seem my time in this place is drawing to a close." As if on cue, the atmospheric rumble of approaching ships began to echo over the horizon. A small blue light illuminated itself on Yolande's datapad, her other constant companion throughout her incarceration. Tapping a small touchpad near the edge of the screen revealed the face of one of her five daughters, Marie, clad in a black and purple flight suit and helmet. From the view out of the rear of the cockpit glass, Yolande watched the rolling hills of New Paris receding in the distance.
"Bonjour, Mère!" The sing-song voice echoed through the room, and Yolande caught Arnaud jump slightly out of the corner of her eye. Marie had always been the most cheerful of her daughters, and one of the hardest working. It was no surprise she would be the one to call. "Your chauffeur will be arriving shortly."
"Chauffeur?" Arnaud queried, cocking an eyebrow. He shouldn't have been surprised, Yolande was always thinking three steps ahead of anyone she associated with, and that included himself, the Council, and the Roi. What he should have known was that when the time was right, his benefactor would move on to greener pastures.
Yolande sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Not so loud, Marie. It's late." Turning her full attention to Arnaud once more, the rumbling of engines grew louder. "I've seen this coming for many, many years, Arnaud. It was only a matter of time before those uncouth barbarians in Liberty lent enough strength to break the back of the Royal Navy. With their rapt attention on glassing a worthless ball of steel and rock, the Council slipped in the back door and cut the head from the serpent." To accentuate her point, she spread her pointer and middle fingers into a "v", before pressing them together. "But, the hydra of Gallia may grow another, and I'd like to be... Involved in that growth."
It wasn't long before the eerie purple glow of Corse-manufactured engines washed over the complex, overwhelming the muted blue of the Aurochs trailing behind the trio of Curassier Noirs. The vessels settled onto their pads, cockpits and cargo bay doors sliding open. Yolande took to her feet, spending a few seconds to straighten her dress and compose herself, before sauntering to her nightstand. As if repeating her morning rituals, she knelt down and opened the lowermost drawer, withdrawing the silver box containing what most other Corse would consider the ultimate sin. "Arnaud, you've been a dear, dear friend." Tucking the box under her arm, her heels clacked against the hardwood floor as she loomed over her companion. Painted nails traced over Arnaud's cheek and jawline for just a moment, as if the Corsican was petting a puppy.
And then, without another word, Yolande stepped past the gate of her iron cage and into the foyer. A quick left, then a right, then down a flight of marble stairs, the tails of her midnight black dress trailing as if caught in a gentle breeze. The irony of the situation was not lost on the woman as she stepped over the threshold of the chateau and made her way towards the waiting vessels. Turning one last time, Yolande glanced up at the window she often occupied, the one she would sit in front of and bask in the warm rays of the Ile-de-France sun. She'd always pretended to not notice the guards, Arnaud included, stealing glances through the bars at her often-bare, svelte frame. Now she was the one sneaking a nostalgic coup d'œil, before armed Unione enforcers escorted her aboard the unassuming freighter to disappear into the inky black of night.