Post by Deleted on Apr 8, 2016 23:06:40 GMT -5
The hour was late.
... But wasn't it always?
It was a nearly week since Mariette and her retinue had departed for Vasile; and yet Antoinette couldn't say the comings and goings on the Capital had gotten any more predictable or quiet. There was some planning in part for the final stages of the celebration, and that in itself called for heightened security; nothing like a grand ball for a few unsavory characters or the gentle slip of a knife into a doublet -- when would they all find themselves in such close quarters any time soon? If there was a time to exact a payment, it would be now.
The golden-haired Princess gave her head a gentle shake, trying to dislodge such unwelcome thoughts, unavoidable as they seemed, of late; and continued to don her cloak, head bowed, draping the thick, lined material over her shoulders. She was used to assistance in such matters, but instead worked silently and alone; having cast off Brunnild and Marie earlier. The pair were sent off to their own rooms, kept to close to Antoinette's -- but she knew the two young women to be fast asleep just now, and had no intention of waking them.
Not at this hour.
But she could think of someone else who would be wide awake. Should be, at least.
"Sir Mace?"
Her voice would be but a whisper when she finally cracked open the door to the hallway, the dim light from the sconces casting shadows along the corridor. Her golden hair was loose and unkempt now, natural; shaken down her shoulders in an unrestrained fashion, unlike the last few weeks; rouge gone from her lips, slender shoulders covered. An oddly fresh and relaxed version of herself; one Antoinette was not usually apt for sharing. But she needed to move that evening, and he decided to think nothing of it.
Her blue eyes darted expectantly towards where Salvatore usually stood -- gone, now, riding alongside her sister; and she felt a small ache in her chest, thinking of her dashing knight. But Mace was to be there, in his stead -- a paltry consolation, even if he was finding a way to amuse her, of late.
She knew he would be there -- her guard, stationed where the Deliambre Captain always stood.
Or at least -- she thought he would be.
The door creaked open wider, and Antoinette's brow furrowed, one hand on the door-handle, one foot in the hallway.
-- Where was he?
@macegardiner
... But wasn't it always?
It was a nearly week since Mariette and her retinue had departed for Vasile; and yet Antoinette couldn't say the comings and goings on the Capital had gotten any more predictable or quiet. There was some planning in part for the final stages of the celebration, and that in itself called for heightened security; nothing like a grand ball for a few unsavory characters or the gentle slip of a knife into a doublet -- when would they all find themselves in such close quarters any time soon? If there was a time to exact a payment, it would be now.
The golden-haired Princess gave her head a gentle shake, trying to dislodge such unwelcome thoughts, unavoidable as they seemed, of late; and continued to don her cloak, head bowed, draping the thick, lined material over her shoulders. She was used to assistance in such matters, but instead worked silently and alone; having cast off Brunnild and Marie earlier. The pair were sent off to their own rooms, kept to close to Antoinette's -- but she knew the two young women to be fast asleep just now, and had no intention of waking them.
Not at this hour.
But she could think of someone else who would be wide awake. Should be, at least.
"Sir Mace?"
Her voice would be but a whisper when she finally cracked open the door to the hallway, the dim light from the sconces casting shadows along the corridor. Her golden hair was loose and unkempt now, natural; shaken down her shoulders in an unrestrained fashion, unlike the last few weeks; rouge gone from her lips, slender shoulders covered. An oddly fresh and relaxed version of herself; one Antoinette was not usually apt for sharing. But she needed to move that evening, and he decided to think nothing of it.
Her blue eyes darted expectantly towards where Salvatore usually stood -- gone, now, riding alongside her sister; and she felt a small ache in her chest, thinking of her dashing knight. But Mace was to be there, in his stead -- a paltry consolation, even if he was finding a way to amuse her, of late.
She knew he would be there -- her guard, stationed where the Deliambre Captain always stood.
Or at least -- she thought he would be.
The door creaked open wider, and Antoinette's brow furrowed, one hand on the door-handle, one foot in the hallway.
-- Where was he?
@macegardiner