“What’s the first order of business?” Asked Pirouette of the prime minister.
Giving his papers a final shuffle, clearing his throat and looking about at the the stony faces around the table, he spoke, “Your coronation- I mean to say, the planning of your coronation, is of the utmost importance. I’d say that the sooner the better.”
Pirouette looked around the room, every head was nodding in agreement. “But what about my marriage to Monsieur le comte?”
Monsieur le duc des Potins spoke up. “It is feared, Your Majesty, that if you wed Monsieur le comte before your coronation, then he will be seen as your equal, or worse yet, your superior. He will undoubtably wish to be coronated beside you. That would never do. It would engender dangerous jealousies among the noblemen of the Kingdom.”
“Are you all in agreement with these fanciful ideas?” Asked Pirouette quietly. Murmurs of assent drifted around the table. Abigail, who was standing directly behind Pirouette’s chair, leaned in and whispered something in Pirouette’s ear. Pirouette laughed. “Perhaps Monsieur le duc would care to replace my beloved GarGar as my consort?”
Everybody in the room, even the guards, burst into laughter. The only person not laughing was the duke himself who was not only twenty years Pirouette’s senior but also already married to one of the wealthiest women in the Kingdom. He had a high opinion of himself, so he secretly resented being the brunt of the Queen’s joke.
“Perhaps Monsieur le duc could be the new Court jester!” Chimed in Tata Sous-sus, never one to measure her words before speaking.