Queen Anette froze, and Daphne saw the slightest hint of fear enter her mother's eyes. That, more than anything, told her that she had to be on guard. Daphne could count on one hand the number of times when she saw her mother afraid.
After all, Queen Anette was infamous for being a mountain of ice, the embodiment of glacial calm. It was rare for her to display any negative emotion outwardly. Even the presence of Lady Josephine and Drusilla in her marriage was endured with nothing more than a stony silence.
"Alistair, you should still be resting," Queen Anette scolded as she looked over Alistair critically, sounding every inch the concerned mother. "You're still recovering."
Alistair let out a mocking laugh, casting her a derisive glance. "Mother, I can sleep my hours away, but it will not regrow my missing hand. Daphne's beloved husband had made sure of that."
Queen Anette pursed her lips at her son's rudeness, but she didn't rebuke him.
