Eleanor, never one to back down, seized the moment to plunge her verbal dagger into the conversation. "Oh, sister dear, are you earnestly taking her side? How can you be so certain that she didn't peddle herself on those very streets, trading her dignity only because she wore the crown princess title?"
The room seemed to shrink under the weight of Eleanor's acid words. Henrie's palm slammed onto the table's polished surface, the sound reverberating through the air.
"I must caution you, Eleanor," his voice thundered, his eyes ablaze with a fire seldom seen. "Regardless of our blood ties, I shall not permit such reckless transgressions across the boundaries of respect. Do not presume that my reluctance to curb your behavior mirrors our parents'. Know this—I do not fear you as they might. Yes, you bear your own demons, but so do I."
His words were a declaration, a proclamation of strength and unyielding resolve. With unwavering determination, Henrie stood from his seat and directed his gaze toward his mother, a steely challenge within it.
"Mother, if you insist on punctuating our dinners with rudeness aimed at my betrothed, then Lady Runa and I will find our own sanctuary. We shall abstain from these royal family gatherings."
Henrie turned toward Lady Runa, extending his hand in a gesture that was both protective and inviting. "Shall we, Runa? The serenity of my chambers seems a more fitting backdrop for our repast tonight."
Lady Runa gracefully clasped Henrie's proffered hand, a serene bow to the company her parting gesture. A collective inhale of held breaths followed as they departed, leaving a charged atmosphere in their wake.
Queen Emma's vexed exhalation broke the moment, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips like a gust of wind. "Eleanor, restrain your tongue. No matter your feelings, the words of a princess should be cloaked in grace. And Elke, you would do well to cease your defense of her."
Indignation flared in Elke's eyes, her voice resolute as she defended her stance. "Defense? Mother, why must you make this a battle between you and Lady Runa? She's the woman Henrie chose, and if you took a moment to truly know her, you'd realize she's a remarkable person. Why won't you give her a fair chance?"
"A chance? All she has been is a persistent thorn in my side," Eleanor replied with frustration, her patience clearly dwindling. She cast Elke a glare that might have drilled holes into stone. Her grip on the fork tightened, knuckles whitening with the effort.
Elke, undeterred, calmly lifted her knife with a glint of challenge. She dared, "Go ahead! If you dare attack, let's see if your fork reaches my eye faster than my knife finds your throat."
Queen Emma's patience snapped like a brittle twig, her voice ringing out in a crescendo of authority. "Cease this, both of you! Is this a battlefield? Are you vying to mimic barbarians? Violence has no place at a royal dining table. Lower your utensils, for they are not meant to wound your own kin."
Eleanor's fork remained poised, and in a final, reckless display, she thrust it at a minuscule gap near Elke's finger. The deliberate miss spoke volumes, a declaration of power wrapped in restrained violence. With an air of seething frustration, Eleanor abandoned the chamber, her exit trailed closely by her attendant, Hanne.
"Eleanor becomes more insolent with each passing day. And it is your leniency that has enabled this, Mother," Elke's voice held the weight of her frustration.
"This chaos would never unfold if you'd properly reprimand her for her outrageous deeds. You feign ignorance, but don't you see? Don't you know what she's done? What she did to Elisa! How can you bear to call yourself our mother when you've done nothing to shield us from a monster like her?"
With that, Elke pivoted and departed from the dining chamber, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease. It would be a blatant lie for the queen to claim ignorance of Eleanor's sinister actions.
Deep within her heart, she had sensed the growing darkness that surrounded Eleanor's treatment of Elisa. The signs were there, the whispers of cruel behavior, the hidden injuries.
But the queen had mastered the art of selective blindness, choosing to see only what suited her fragile peace. If she didn't directly witness the malevolence, she could pretend it didn't exist.
She turned her gaze to her youngest daughter, Elisa, who had returned to the royal dinner after days of absence, a purported illness masking her retreat. Elisa's frailty was evident, her once-vibrant presence dimmed by her ordeal.
The memory of that fateful day surged, but Queen Emma swiftly smothered it. The memory held horrors she couldn't bear to relive, the darkness she refused to confront.
***
The anticipated day of the High Priestess' visit to the palace finally dawned. Yohana meticulously monitored the palace gates, her focus primarily fixed on the northern entrance. This gate, situated closest to Queen Emma's wing of the palace, seemed the most likely point of arrival for the esteemed guest.
The late hours offered the ideal cloak for the High Priestess' arrival. As the rest of the palace slept, Queen Emma made her way to the northern gate, a carriage dispatched at her command to fetch the High Priestess.
The High Priestess possessed striking light blue eyes, sharp and piercing. Her nose was rather round, and her lips held a subtle pout. These features combined to give her a fierce countenance, though a single smile could effortlessly transform her into a figure of kindness and warmth.
A cascade of golden fabric enveloped her form, trailing elegantly to the ground, the length of her gown. Atop her head rested a modest crown, a symbol of her elevated status within the temple hierarchy. Her body was adorned with intricate gold jewelry, a common sight among Solists, signifying their devotion to the sun.
Silently, Yohana trailed behind, her steps inaudible, her form blending with the darkness. She remained concealed from the flickering torchlight, her watchful eyes unobtrusively locked on the pair.
"Your Majesty, how fares Reichwein in these times?" inquired the High Priestess, her words dripping with courtesy as they strolled along the corridor.
The torchlight danced ahead, held by Lady Rafaela, while Lady Catharina mirrored its glow from the rear. Yohana observed, recognizing that both ladies-in-waiting were privy to the queen's true beliefs.
With a measured sigh, Queen Emma began her response, "It is a complex situation, Mother Mercy." Within the realm of Solism, the leaders were affectionately addressed as Mother Mercy or Father Mercy by their devoted followers.
With a genuine concern, the High Priestess probed further, "In what manner? Has the shadow of past persecution fallen upon Solists once more?"
In the era of King Alois' father, a fervent adherent of Sanctus, the plight of Solists was dire. They were branded as criminals, their faith outlawed, and the penalty for being caught by royal knights or local constables was severe — imprisonment or even execution by hanging. Solists lived in constant fear, compelled to masquerade as Sanctists in public to evade persecution.
"Not to that extent, thankfully. The crown prince, Henrie, is diligently working to reshape our systems, fostering an environment where our faith can be practiced openly. Yet, progress is not swift," the queen admitted, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation.
The High Priestess gracefully paced alongside Queen Emma, her attentive gaze capturing every nuance of the queen's demeanor. "You appear somewhat pale. Have the burdens of your duties been taxing your well-being?" she inquired softly.