ivery

It had all happened so fast. An innocent chance meeting on the street that turned an especially merry day into a nightmare. In her heart, Deia knew it had begun long before that- from the moment her precious sister was taken from the field of flowers- but she'd so firmly believed there was a chance at happiness. A chance for everything to return to what it was, and simply be, forever-lasting. Now, sitting in the clinic bed alone, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, there's a hollow feeling in her chest where she'd poured it out. A slow trickle in the garden, years ago, a steady stream in the low light of the Basilica, and finally the waterfall that soaked Ruthern's keep in blood. What could she have changed, for a different outcome? Should she have trusted less, or said more? As she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, she has no answers- only those last words echoing in her ears. She glances to the side at last, through the lattice at the man sleeping in the next cot. ("My darling sister. I will not let the wolves take you for his sins," Laelia whispered, and sealed the promise in blood.) With a dour frown, she rolls over to face the wall instead.

The moment the missive reaches Haense, one young handmaiden audibly gasps and takes off from her post to search for two specific dear friends. Her second-hand excitement is mostly incoherent, but when she reaches her fellow palace staff she can be heard blubbering, "Look look look!" @RingAroundRosey @Koodini

Within the palace, Deia looked over the Queen's shoulder at her invitation, concern evident in the devastated look it wrought. "Your majesty.." she offers at first, seeking to soothe her distress, only for the words on the page to register. "I'm in a what?" she asks the open air. It takes her some time to startle out of it with a shake of her head. "Your majesty, perhaps you might attach the Lord Marshal's report.."

As the handmaiden Deia delivers the news, her voice terribly hushed, she bows her head down to not see how the Queen's expression grows distraught. She cannot bear it, no more than she can bear the news herself. It is a scandal beyond reckoning, made worse by their presence in court. The Princess Nataliya had always been an oddly fitting piece in the palace to the servantry, and especially to her mother-in-law's handmaidens. No matter how polite she was, never to raise a cruel hand, they could not help but be intimidated when comparing her nature to that of the Queen of the People. The efforts of a single lantern are barely noticeable when placed beneath the blazing sun. In truth, many of them avoided her, in trepidation for the eventual succession. But at the scandal, such frigidity started to melt. For their Princess caution became sympathy- "Did you hear?" "Her poor Highness.." - and it was the bastard prince and his mother that were carefully avoided. Little trinkets offered- cheap but meaningful to whatever culture the maid had come from, gentle compliments while braiding her hair; they could not have announced their support more obviously without forming a protective circle around Nataliya like clucking hens. As for the Crown Prince, well- if they neglected to let the mouser into his study as often as they should, no one would know but the rats.