"It Would Be My Honor"
Posted: Thu Jun 17, 2021 9:40 am
May 21st, 2020 – Houston, Texas
Robin sat uncomfortably in an overstuffed chair, trying to avoid looking for too long at the affects around her. New Buckstone – the Prince’s public manor – often hosted Kindred. It was not even Robin’s first time on the estate, as His Grace often hosted small parties near the holidays for the Kindred of Houston to chat and feast at without the possibility of the Anarchs showing up. But she had never been in His Grace’s Drawing Room. And even at her age, she found the decorations surrounding the Prince’s sanctum a bit…uncomfortable. The risqué black-and-white photos of women adorning its walls were reminding her of some of the less pleasant parts of her mortal life.
But the naked women were not what left Robin afraid. And her fear by far outstripped her revulsion at the lewd images surrounding her. As the Anarchs’ principle ally – as the Baron’s only friend in the city – the Convention of Prague had been a blow to her standing. It had taken positions once considered unpopular and made them heretical – no, treasonous. And then New York had fallen. Whether the tears shed at Formal Court were real or not, the Domain was howling for Blood. For some, there was general outrage. For some, an opportunity to strike at the rabble they hated. And for whoever left, a chance to wail for the benefit of the Harpies.
Whatever the reason, though, Robin was worried howls for Blood would turn into howls for her Blood.
Before she could ruminate on her fear further, the door opened back up. His Grace sauntered in, dressed in an exquisite, concealing bathrobe. But despite the premise for the meeting, he was not alone. Behind him walked Henry. Short and gaunt, as always with the sunken features of a Vampire long unconcerned with their ties to humanity. The plain suit and red tie her wore clashed with his flamboyant Lord’s home attire. “I hope you don’t mind,” the Prince said in his faked Texan accent. “But the Seneschal – excuse me, the Prince of New Orleans – dropped by and I invited him in. Crazy coincidence, right?” All three of them knew it was nothing of the sort.
“Of course I don’t mind, Your Grace,” Robin said, standing to bow her head a bit as Henry entered the room and remaining standing until told to be seated again. “The company of our leader and his right hand are an honor to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Alderidge said. But he didn’t sit down in a chair. He moved over to his fine, mahogany pool table. “You know how to shoot billiards?” he asked Robin.
“I’m afraid I don’t, Your Grace,” she said.
“Shame,” His Grace replied. “You mind if Henry and I play while we talk? We’ve been keeping score.”
“Not at all, your Grace,” Robin replied again. She was careful not to betray her annoyance. Henry had not yet said a word, and that probably wasn’t good. “Perhaps I’ll learn something from you.”
“I think it’s more likely I’ll learn something about you,” the Prince replied. He began setting up the balls, one-by-one in the right order. “You know there have been whispers about you,” he continued. “About the kind of friends you’ve kept. About what you knew about New York. Or about Ella the Ripper.” The Prince was lying to her face – they were all there. They knew the truth. But the truth did not matter. In the Prince’s Domain, his word was law. “Many Kindred think you ought to lose your head.”
If Robin’s heart beat, it would be pounding. She didn’t say anything, though. Nothing she said would help. The Prince was milking the moment. Getting her scared. If she felt any relief, it was that he would not be doing this if he wanted her head.
“You know I’m a big softy,” Alderidge continued, setting up the cue ball. “And I’ve tried to tell those old codgers. She’s young. She’s naïve. Haven’t we all fell in with a bad lot once or twice?” Alderidge chuckled. “I swear, after that I was quite sure they wanted my head. That my hands would be tied. That I’d have to bring a tarp to the next Formal Court.”
Robin remained silent. She knew enough not to say a word until spoken to.
“I couldn’t convince them to keep you around,” Alderidge said, finally firing the cue ball into the other billiards for a perfect break. “But that’s why I keep Henry around. He talked them out of it.”
Robin still said nothing. Even to thank them, not a word out of place.
“His Grace was overthinking it,” Henry said in his quiet, unremarkable British accent. “Trying to appeal to the hearts of creatures who may well have none. His kind and generous nature leaves him at times ill-prepared to deal with those who do not share it. But they found me persuasive.” He looked over to Robin now, staring into her soul. “May we speak candidly with each other, Lady St. Claire?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, bowing a bit again. “You will always have my confidence. And my thanks for your intercession.”
“Then let us stow any talk you might have of your ‘friendship’ with the Anarchs,” Henry said, looking for a perfect shot. “Any appeals to their rights. To Thorns, null and void as it is these nights. Let us dispense with that pretense.” He smirked at Robin, a sickly expression from the walking corpse. “The Anarchs were your ladder to the top, weren’t they?”
Robin barely managed to hold back flinching. It wasn’t that her friendship with the Baron wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe that they should be kinder to the Anarchs. That conflict was undesirable. That they could coexist. But she’d never be able to make that happen alone at her age.
They’d have to help her rise if she was to help them attain their rights.
“It’s really quite alright, Lady St. Claire,” Henry said, sensing her hesitation despite her composure. “It’s an old trick. Certainly not the best trick, but a cut above most of the amateurish, third-rate plotting that goes on in this city. Most of the Domain did not suspect it, so much so that they thought you really meant it. It takes a keen mind to fool so many Elders so thoroughly.” He looked at her pointedly.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. Robin was off-balance, unsettled – just the way she knew Henry and the Prince wanted her. “I’d have done myself in without your hand.”
“Quite right,” Henry said. “But I see more for you than a pardon, Lady St. Claire. More than survival.” Henry seemed to find his spot, leaning over and driving the cue ball right into another ball. “Stripes it is,” he says to Alderidge as he lined up for another shot. “As my beloved childe can tell you, I believe in cultivating talent and rewarding accomplishment.”
“You are most wise, Your Grace,” Robin said, still very much a passive party in this conversation. But her fear was beginning to subside. She was confident she would not die, not yet. But she didn’t know what Henry would want in return for that.
“You’re quite gracious, Lady St. Claire, but it’s quite simple,” Henry said. He leaned over, but didn’t take a shot yet. “When talented Kindred make mistakes, they should not simply be left for the dawn. They should be given a chance to atone, and moreover a chance to put their talents to good use.” Henry let that hang in the air for a moment before sinking another striped billiard. “Among those calling for your head was Harpy Villanueva. After I convinced him otherwise, he was insistent that a Boon be logged for the trouble. A Life Boon.” Robin’s face fell, and Henry smiled. “I decided to defer the decision to later tonight, just before dawn. You see…I need a little favor, and if that favor were performed I would gladly tell the Harpy that there’s no need for any formalities.”
A Life Boon. A fate perhaps worse than Final Death. There was nothing Robin wouldn’t do to avoid it. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?” Robin asked. “To repay you for your kindness.”
“You know how to get in touch with the Anarchs,” he said. It wasn’t a question – Henry knew it. “They trust you. At least, a few of them do. I want you to call them and tell them you wish to negotiate our withdrawal from New Orleans.” Robin kept her face from quirking in confusion. What was Henry’s game? There was no way he was pulling out. “And I’d like you to convince Baron Richard and his gang of miscreants to show up at a location of my choosing in a week’s time. I will send you the details once they’ve been settled. You don’t need to be there. You don’t even need to be in the city.”
It hit Robin like a ton of bricks. There was only one reason Henry would care to meet with Richard. If Richard would not be leaving such a meeting. She didn’t reply. She didn’t say anything. Her conscience was at war with her better judgment. No…at war with the Beast. At war with her greed. Her avarice. Her ambition. This wasn’t just the end of Richard. She wouldn’t imagine them holding together without him. It would be the end of them all.
“And our debt will be resolved, Prince?” she asked the fledgling ruler.
“More than that,” her Prince, Prince Alderidge said. “Our kind are a fickle people, Robin. It is in our nature as predators to unlive moment-to-moment in our own way. As a young fool who cavorted with bad friends, you are a villain. But as a Kindred who realized the error of her ways and helped the new Prince of New Orleans seize his Domain from the thugs and hooligans who tricked you? You’d be a hero, Robin.” He walked up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder as Henry sank another ball. “I think I’d be forced to award you a title as our newest, brightest light.”
Robin’s mouth dropped open a little. A title? Office? For one as young as her? Her mindset shifted entirely. It pained her to betray a friend, but…Richard was one Anarch. With power, and with some time, perhaps she could do more. Perhaps she could bring this whole, mad war to the end. It was the story the Beast whispered into her mind. And it was the story she liked best – far more than the story of her Life Boon. Or the story of her head rolling across an Elysium floor before it melted to ash. Her stunned expression turned into a smile, and a bow.
“It would be my honor, Your Graces,” she said. “To restore my good name and do what I can for the integrity of our Tower.”
At the pool table, Henry sank the 8-ball, the last ball. Magnus hadn’t been allowed a second shot. But the Prince didn’t seem to mind. “You’ve made the right decision, Robin,” Magnus said with a grin. “You’re gonna look at great at the High Table.”
Robin sat uncomfortably in an overstuffed chair, trying to avoid looking for too long at the affects around her. New Buckstone – the Prince’s public manor – often hosted Kindred. It was not even Robin’s first time on the estate, as His Grace often hosted small parties near the holidays for the Kindred of Houston to chat and feast at without the possibility of the Anarchs showing up. But she had never been in His Grace’s Drawing Room. And even at her age, she found the decorations surrounding the Prince’s sanctum a bit…uncomfortable. The risqué black-and-white photos of women adorning its walls were reminding her of some of the less pleasant parts of her mortal life.
But the naked women were not what left Robin afraid. And her fear by far outstripped her revulsion at the lewd images surrounding her. As the Anarchs’ principle ally – as the Baron’s only friend in the city – the Convention of Prague had been a blow to her standing. It had taken positions once considered unpopular and made them heretical – no, treasonous. And then New York had fallen. Whether the tears shed at Formal Court were real or not, the Domain was howling for Blood. For some, there was general outrage. For some, an opportunity to strike at the rabble they hated. And for whoever left, a chance to wail for the benefit of the Harpies.
Whatever the reason, though, Robin was worried howls for Blood would turn into howls for her Blood.
Before she could ruminate on her fear further, the door opened back up. His Grace sauntered in, dressed in an exquisite, concealing bathrobe. But despite the premise for the meeting, he was not alone. Behind him walked Henry. Short and gaunt, as always with the sunken features of a Vampire long unconcerned with their ties to humanity. The plain suit and red tie her wore clashed with his flamboyant Lord’s home attire. “I hope you don’t mind,” the Prince said in his faked Texan accent. “But the Seneschal – excuse me, the Prince of New Orleans – dropped by and I invited him in. Crazy coincidence, right?” All three of them knew it was nothing of the sort.
“Of course I don’t mind, Your Grace,” Robin said, standing to bow her head a bit as Henry entered the room and remaining standing until told to be seated again. “The company of our leader and his right hand are an honor to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” Alderidge said. But he didn’t sit down in a chair. He moved over to his fine, mahogany pool table. “You know how to shoot billiards?” he asked Robin.
“I’m afraid I don’t, Your Grace,” she said.
“Shame,” His Grace replied. “You mind if Henry and I play while we talk? We’ve been keeping score.”
“Not at all, your Grace,” Robin replied again. She was careful not to betray her annoyance. Henry had not yet said a word, and that probably wasn’t good. “Perhaps I’ll learn something from you.”
“I think it’s more likely I’ll learn something about you,” the Prince replied. He began setting up the balls, one-by-one in the right order. “You know there have been whispers about you,” he continued. “About the kind of friends you’ve kept. About what you knew about New York. Or about Ella the Ripper.” The Prince was lying to her face – they were all there. They knew the truth. But the truth did not matter. In the Prince’s Domain, his word was law. “Many Kindred think you ought to lose your head.”
If Robin’s heart beat, it would be pounding. She didn’t say anything, though. Nothing she said would help. The Prince was milking the moment. Getting her scared. If she felt any relief, it was that he would not be doing this if he wanted her head.
“You know I’m a big softy,” Alderidge continued, setting up the cue ball. “And I’ve tried to tell those old codgers. She’s young. She’s naïve. Haven’t we all fell in with a bad lot once or twice?” Alderidge chuckled. “I swear, after that I was quite sure they wanted my head. That my hands would be tied. That I’d have to bring a tarp to the next Formal Court.”
Robin remained silent. She knew enough not to say a word until spoken to.
“I couldn’t convince them to keep you around,” Alderidge said, finally firing the cue ball into the other billiards for a perfect break. “But that’s why I keep Henry around. He talked them out of it.”
Robin still said nothing. Even to thank them, not a word out of place.
“His Grace was overthinking it,” Henry said in his quiet, unremarkable British accent. “Trying to appeal to the hearts of creatures who may well have none. His kind and generous nature leaves him at times ill-prepared to deal with those who do not share it. But they found me persuasive.” He looked over to Robin now, staring into her soul. “May we speak candidly with each other, Lady St. Claire?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, bowing a bit again. “You will always have my confidence. And my thanks for your intercession.”
“Then let us stow any talk you might have of your ‘friendship’ with the Anarchs,” Henry said, looking for a perfect shot. “Any appeals to their rights. To Thorns, null and void as it is these nights. Let us dispense with that pretense.” He smirked at Robin, a sickly expression from the walking corpse. “The Anarchs were your ladder to the top, weren’t they?”
Robin barely managed to hold back flinching. It wasn’t that her friendship with the Baron wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe that they should be kinder to the Anarchs. That conflict was undesirable. That they could coexist. But she’d never be able to make that happen alone at her age.
They’d have to help her rise if she was to help them attain their rights.
“It’s really quite alright, Lady St. Claire,” Henry said, sensing her hesitation despite her composure. “It’s an old trick. Certainly not the best trick, but a cut above most of the amateurish, third-rate plotting that goes on in this city. Most of the Domain did not suspect it, so much so that they thought you really meant it. It takes a keen mind to fool so many Elders so thoroughly.” He looked at her pointedly.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. Robin was off-balance, unsettled – just the way she knew Henry and the Prince wanted her. “I’d have done myself in without your hand.”
“Quite right,” Henry said. “But I see more for you than a pardon, Lady St. Claire. More than survival.” Henry seemed to find his spot, leaning over and driving the cue ball right into another ball. “Stripes it is,” he says to Alderidge as he lined up for another shot. “As my beloved childe can tell you, I believe in cultivating talent and rewarding accomplishment.”
“You are most wise, Your Grace,” Robin said, still very much a passive party in this conversation. But her fear was beginning to subside. She was confident she would not die, not yet. But she didn’t know what Henry would want in return for that.
“You’re quite gracious, Lady St. Claire, but it’s quite simple,” Henry said. He leaned over, but didn’t take a shot yet. “When talented Kindred make mistakes, they should not simply be left for the dawn. They should be given a chance to atone, and moreover a chance to put their talents to good use.” Henry let that hang in the air for a moment before sinking another striped billiard. “Among those calling for your head was Harpy Villanueva. After I convinced him otherwise, he was insistent that a Boon be logged for the trouble. A Life Boon.” Robin’s face fell, and Henry smiled. “I decided to defer the decision to later tonight, just before dawn. You see…I need a little favor, and if that favor were performed I would gladly tell the Harpy that there’s no need for any formalities.”
A Life Boon. A fate perhaps worse than Final Death. There was nothing Robin wouldn’t do to avoid it. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?” Robin asked. “To repay you for your kindness.”
“You know how to get in touch with the Anarchs,” he said. It wasn’t a question – Henry knew it. “They trust you. At least, a few of them do. I want you to call them and tell them you wish to negotiate our withdrawal from New Orleans.” Robin kept her face from quirking in confusion. What was Henry’s game? There was no way he was pulling out. “And I’d like you to convince Baron Richard and his gang of miscreants to show up at a location of my choosing in a week’s time. I will send you the details once they’ve been settled. You don’t need to be there. You don’t even need to be in the city.”
It hit Robin like a ton of bricks. There was only one reason Henry would care to meet with Richard. If Richard would not be leaving such a meeting. She didn’t reply. She didn’t say anything. Her conscience was at war with her better judgment. No…at war with the Beast. At war with her greed. Her avarice. Her ambition. This wasn’t just the end of Richard. She wouldn’t imagine them holding together without him. It would be the end of them all.
“And our debt will be resolved, Prince?” she asked the fledgling ruler.
“More than that,” her Prince, Prince Alderidge said. “Our kind are a fickle people, Robin. It is in our nature as predators to unlive moment-to-moment in our own way. As a young fool who cavorted with bad friends, you are a villain. But as a Kindred who realized the error of her ways and helped the new Prince of New Orleans seize his Domain from the thugs and hooligans who tricked you? You’d be a hero, Robin.” He walked up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder as Henry sank another ball. “I think I’d be forced to award you a title as our newest, brightest light.”
Robin’s mouth dropped open a little. A title? Office? For one as young as her? Her mindset shifted entirely. It pained her to betray a friend, but…Richard was one Anarch. With power, and with some time, perhaps she could do more. Perhaps she could bring this whole, mad war to the end. It was the story the Beast whispered into her mind. And it was the story she liked best – far more than the story of her Life Boon. Or the story of her head rolling across an Elysium floor before it melted to ash. Her stunned expression turned into a smile, and a bow.
“It would be my honor, Your Graces,” she said. “To restore my good name and do what I can for the integrity of our Tower.”
At the pool table, Henry sank the 8-ball, the last ball. Magnus hadn’t been allowed a second shot. But the Prince didn’t seem to mind. “You’ve made the right decision, Robin,” Magnus said with a grin. “You’re gonna look at great at the High Table.”