"It's not often you call me to your chambers anymore, " Donatien spoke, "a lack of company during your tea time?"
Sitting in the room appointed to the old, yet youthful in appearance sage with flowing, platinum locs, the navy-haired man took a small sip from the porcelain cup.
Beatrice smiled with a quiet and brief chuckle, swirling her spoon in the warm beverage as she looked at the glasses-wearing Outlander with those ever-curious eyes of hers.
"That's only because I had to renovate a bit; the security wasn't up to par--I had to set up my own spells," Beatrice smiled.
A few moments of silence lured Donatien to speak as he adjusted his glasses, "So? What is it you'd like to talk about?"
"Is it so abnormal to simply want to converse with one of my precious Outlanders? It is my duty to overlook your health--both physically and mentally. I know the passing of Lucas has been difficult for all of you--"
