this one, even then though, on those occasions, she had had an inkling of the contents of the agenda. But this, well, this felt different. The face of the Clerk to Council, usually friendly and welcoming had been cold and matter-of-fact as he met her, and that in itself worried her the most.
Guards had been placed along the approach corridor, not a particularly strange event in itself but as she proceeded she sensed that they were following her with their eyes, watching her. Although, of course, that could have just been the paranoia that accompanies the unknown.
The double doors were shut to her as she approached; a normally symbolic event signifying the barring of the right of passage and one that was never done in the face of a serving monarch. Her powers to go anywhere, whenever she wished would usually dictate that no door was closed to her. That was another strange thing. As she approached, the right hand door opened ajar, and then swung slowly inwards, revealing the chamber beyond. The attendant at the door bowed his head slightly and Ysabel smiled at him.
'Thank you,' she said, as she passed the man but it didn't escape her notice that he avoided eye contact with her. She frowned.
More guards had been placed around the chamber, again another act which in itself should not have alarmed her, although the two on either side of the throne did. Now, that never happens, she told herself. Ysabel made her way into the silent chamber. The seats of the council members were vacant as she made her way to her throne. She looked around her for any clues as to what could have happened that was so important that meant that she had needed to be called down from her personal quarters to attend a meeting at short notice. She frowned and made her way to the throne, taking a seat in anticipation.
Ysabel looked to her left and towards the door that led to the Council ante-chamber, a side room where preparations were made for meetings, out of sight of the main hall. The handles turned down with a clunk as the latch was released and the door opened inwards. Two robed men entered the chamber wearing the solemn clothes of the Election clerks, carrying the voting trays that were used in council debates to decide matters of state not in the remit of the monarch. The men marched into the room as if they were pall bearers at some state funeral, and they stopped, on either side of the processional. The maple voting boxes had been placed on the trays, each containing the cubes of ivory, a vote for, and the cubes of ebony, a vote against.
The main door at the far end of the chamber opened wide and the council members filed in, heading directly to their seats, their faces silent and solemn. Ysabel glanced across at them, all her friends over many years, but they too avoided her gaze and froze her out. What was this was all about? she asked herself.
As the Electors passed the trays they each took a box and then continued on to their seats. They all reached their final position and they waited, then at the same time they sat, all eyes falling upon the single figure of the Speaker standing rigid in the centre of the room.
The man was late middle-aged with wiry grey hair and dressed in his grey ceremonial robes. In his left hand he carried his gnarled dark-wood staff of office. The metal end tapped on the tiles as he turned and set off towards Ysabel. Beneath his right arm he carried two tablets tied closed with a red ribbon; a document holder containing the business of the day. As he reached his usual spot before the throne, a pageboy shot out from the side aisle and took the staff, standing to the man's right. The Speaker untied the bow of the document holder, the ribbons falling to hang loosely down either side of the tablets, and he folded them open as if they were the pages of a book.
'Your Majesty,' he said, looking around the chamber, 'your graces.' His voice was strong and loud as he projected it all around the hall. 'We are here today to decide two matters of state that have been proposed by the Council. The first item of business being a vote of no confidence in Her Majesty, as proposed by Duchess Rennick.'
'What?' Ysabel stood and stared across at the Duchess. 'What do you mean? What is this about? Why have you not spoken to me about this, Kaitlynn?'
The Duchess lowered her eyes, refusing to return the Queen's gaze.
Ysabel looked back towards the Speaker. 'On what grounds?'
'Constitutional law does not require the grounds for a vote to be made known to enable that vote to go ahead, Your Majesty.'
The Speaker's voice was cold and monotone as it kept to the bare facts of the matter.
'To hang with constitutional law,' Ysabel replied, 'what about common decency? Surely I have the right to know of what I am being accused?'
'Not according to the law, Your Majesty. This is not a criminal trial. There need not be any accusation for a vote to be proposed.'
Ysabel remained standing, her feet planted to the floor, her blood boiling in frustration. Kaitlynn? Proposing a vote? Why in god's name?
'None of this makes any sense to me, your graces,' she said, searching along the lines of the faces that she had considered her peers, but not one could look her in the eye. She slumped back into her seat. 'And the second matter?' she asked.
The Speaker focussed on the words written before him and then up and across to the Council. 'To endorse Lord Robert Courtenay as the elected king of The Commonwealth.'
Ysabel jumped out of her seat again. 'Are you serious?'
She spat out the words, surprised and alarmed at the revelation, and then glanced around the chamber again. No one moved.
'Your Majesty,' the Speaker said, turning to face her. 'I must ask you to restrain yourself whilst the due and legal process of the Council proceeds.'
There must be a reason for all of this, she told herself. But what? Ysabel stepped down from her throne and marched across to the rail that divided the two sections of the Council Chamber.
'Not even a word from any of you?' she asked. 'Not even an explanation?'
'Your Majesty, please,' the Speaker said. 'Do not make this any more difficult than it needs to be.'
'More difficult than it needs to be?' Ysabel turned to face him. 'What, so the result is already known?'
'No, of course not,' he said.
'Then give me the common courtesy of being able to plead a case for my throne.'
'But there is no precedent for this, Your Majesty.'
'Neither has there been a proposal of a vote of no confidence for one hundred and fifty years, but here we stand.' Ysabel turned towards the Electors. 'Why have you lost faith in me? What have I done to deserve this?'
'There is to be no debate today,' the Speaker said.
'No debate?' Ysabel's ire was truly rising now, and her rage building within. 'Then how am I to plead my defence?'
'As I said before, there is no need for defence, for no accusations have been made.'
'Then what in hell's name is happening here?'
Tears of frustration welled up in the corners of Ysabel's eyes as she stared at the man. Regal or not, she was finding it difficult to hold back the urge to slap him across the face.
'Debate must be sanctioned and requested by the Council, Your Majesty.' The Speaker shook his head. 'No such request has been forthcoming.'
Ysabel heard the footsteps ring around the still silent chamber as their owner sauntered out of the shadows and into the main aisle. Ysabel spun around, realising that their owner, whoever it was, must have been there all along, watching her suffer from the sidelines.
'Your people have decided,' Courtenay said, 'as is their right, that it is time for change, Ysabel. Your country desires a stronger leader.'
'You!' Ysabel glared at the man that she had taken into her care, someone that she had trusted, provided with a home. 'I gave you asylum, Courtenay. And you repay me by...well, this?'
'Perhaps,' Courtenay replied, 'if you had been the leader that your people desired, then none of would have been necessary.'
'I have been strong,' she spun to look at the faces of the Electors, but they lowered their gazes again. 'Tell him,' she begged, pointing towards Courtenay, 'Please!'
Then she realised what it was that had been in t
heir faces, the look that she had seen all the way through and not noticed until now; that they were lost to her.
'You see, Ysabel,' Courtenay said, 'none will give you their support now. It is over.' He continued towards her. 'It is time for you to gracefully accept the inevitable, like the Queen that you have been.'
'No.' Ysabel shook her head, frantically. 'I cannot accept it.'
'But you must, Ysabel.'
She raised her hands to her face trying to close out the world. 'This is not happening,' she said, to herself.
Courtenay placed his hand on her shoulder, leaning in.
'Take it in good grace,' he said, 'and give these good people the respect to vote as they might. And just remember the old words of wisdom that, ''Everything under the sun passes away in its own time''.'
The tears of frustration rolled down Ysabel's cheeks, and she could not find the words to add to what she had already said. She was empty. She looked up at her throne and with a bowed head made her way back to her seat.
'Do as you wish,' she said, finally, leaning on the arm of the seat.
Courtenay smiled and turned to face the Speaker.
'Please,' he said, 'continue with the process.'
The Speaker faced the boy that still stood nearby and he took his staff from him, tapping it on the wood-tiled floor. Two pages stepped forward from the back of the room. Each carried a blue-glass bowl and they took up a position on either side of the Speaker.
'Your graces,' the Speaker said, 'on my right