Horatio Bella Williams

from the castle gate and the tops of her ships’ sails peaking over the overgrown shrubs. “I took Poland, I took Denmark, I conquer and I’m good at it and I don’t have time for diplomacy with a bunch of useless bureaucrats!”

Horatio waits for her to catch her breath before trying to deescalate the situation. Luckily she seems more upset with her general situation than him specifically, and her anger fizzles out as quickly as it arose. “Have you been in contact with your uncle?”

“No. He’s been trying to contact me, though. Keeps saying I need to come back

home so he can put one of his emissaries in charge here. But he told me I could have Denmark once I took over and so I’m keeping it.” She grumbles with her hands in fists like a petulant child. A petulant child with a sword and a sizable military. “My lord, if I may speak honestly—.” “If I wanted someone to lie to me, I’d go talk to Osric or something.” Horatio, digital “I don’t think you’re ready to run a kingdom.” She chuckles like it’s a dare. “You’re not the only one.” “I’m serious.” It’s his turn to gesture towards the flags and ships. “You can’t keep this up forever.”

“I don’t have to. Kings don’t last very long.” She grins at him like her words are some bit of light observational humor. To her they probably are. “You should know that better than most.”

Horatio doesn’t laugh like Fortinbras expects him to, and they walk another minute in silence. She asks him to accompany her to the next meeting with the lords.

“I never know what they’re talking about, but you probably would.”

“I doubt they’d let a commoner in.”

Again, she puts her hand on the pommel of her sword. “If they have a problem they can take it up with me.”

Horatio doesn’t feel great about the idea of spending more time around court than necessary, but he feels worse about letting Fortinbras continue stumbling around on her own like a bull in a very treacherous china shop. Leaving broken shards of porcelain lying around is an easy way for a lot of people to get stabbed, after all.

Scene IV

“Again, Your Highness, Denmark does not, and has never had, female rulers. Neither has Norway, for that matter.”

Fortinbras glares daggers at the baron speaking from across the table as she fidgets with an expensivelooking pen, unscrewing it into pieces and snapping it back together. “Neither had Poland. Funny how things change when you’re not too busy fussing over details to take the opportunities right in front of you.”

“England has a queen at the head, and they seem to be doing alright,” Horatio offers as unobtrusively as possible.

“If by ‘alright’ you mean still paying tribute to

Denmark,” Fortinbras growls out the side of her mouth, elbowing him under the table. “Maybe don’t compare me to losers next time.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you didn’t have time to know things about international relations,” he whispers and elbows back.

“And shouldn’t King Fortinbras have a suitable male heir somewhere?” says an earl from farther down the hall. “I’m fairly certain I remember him leaving behind a son.”

Fortinbras has stopped reassembling the pen and started scratching at the expensive-looking wooden table with the nib. “It’s a common misconception. Listen, do you want Sweden? If you just give me the navy, I could get Sweden. We don’t even have to wait around for the coronation or anything.”

Another duke scoffs. “You expect us to trust you with our forces? With your father’s track record?”

And then everything happens very fast.

The screech of a chair across the floor, of steel from its sheath. People shouting, Fortinbras shouting louder.

“What? You’re not afraid to fight me, are you? With my father’s dueling history?”

“Of course not,” says the duke, muttering something about having to find dueling blades of the same length, something about Fortinbras’s being poisoned for all he knows.

Her sword clatters to the table in front of the duke. She pulls her dagger from her belt and drags its edge across her palm, holding her open hand up for everyone to see the trickle of clearly unpoisoned blood down her wrist. “It’s actually really funny that you think I need poison to kill you. And I’m ceding the