Two days had crawled by since Aurelia awoke in the unfamiliar, opulent chamber. The grand king-sized bed felt alien beneath her. A luxurious coverlet was draped around her as she shivered, a persistent chill clinging to her after her ordeal at the lake.
The heavy oak door creaked open, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room. It wasn't just Betsy, her ever-reliable maid, who entered this time. Following close behind was Agnes, her other maid, a woman whose stoicism bordered on severity.
Betsy, ever the picture of concern, approached the bed with a covered tray held carefully in her hands. "Are you alright, milady?" she inquired, her voice laced with worry.
Aurelia managed a weak nod, her gaze flitting between Betsy and Agnes, the silent sentinel. Then it landed on the tray and the unknown contents hidden beneath the silver cover.
"I brought you some herbs," Betsy continued thoughtfully. "For the chill you caught. Though, I must confess, milady, I'm puzzled. Why did the king leave you by the lake? Surely, he wouldn't…" She trailed off, a question hanging heavy in the air. "Who saved you, then? Was it the king, perhaps, who had a change of heart?"
Aurelia's eyes darted towards the tray, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features. Betsy's words, laced with innocence, stirred a pot of simmering doubt within her. The king returning to rescue her? It seemed an unlikely scenario.
Here," Betsy urged, gently placing a steaming cup beside the tray. "Drink this, milady. It'll help chase away the chill and soothe your throat."
Aurelia hesitated for a moment, her gaze flitting between Betsy and the cup. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she picked it up and brought it to her lips. The bitter herbal concoction stung her throat as she swallowed, but it did provide a slight warming sensation.
Betsy watched her, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I still can't believe we're here, milady," she confessed, her voice a soft whisper. "Up on the grand staircase. I never thought I'd set foot in these chambers." She gestured around the lavish room with a hint of awe.
Betsy continued. "I must admit, I thought these chambers would be cold and dark, fit for ghosts and shadows. They may be dark but they are quite beautiful, aren't they?" She glanced towards Agnes, seeking confirmation.
Agnes, however, remained silent, her stoic expression unchanged. She stood ramrod straight by the door, a silent sentinel guarding the room.
The image of Lord Archibald and his unsettling words flashed before her eyes, but she quickly pushed it aside, burying the suspicion it had ignited. Focusing on the present, she decided to keep her questions about the room to herself for now.
"Thank you for the herbs, Betsy," she said with a genuine smile, appreciating her maid's concern.
"Of course, milady," Betsy replied, her smile returning full force. "Now, if there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to call." With that, she curtsied and exited the room, followed by the silent specter of Agnes.
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A grand carriage, emblazoned with the sigil of the Duke of the South, rumbled to a stop before the imposing castle gates. The crisp winter air bit at the exposed skin of the occupants as the carriage door creaked open.
Emerging first was Cecilia, a vision in a sapphire velvet cloak that shimmered in the weak sun light.
"This winter's chill seems particularly harsh this year," she remarked, her voice laced with unease.
Beside her Gabrielle stood. "Honestly, Cecilia," she drawled, "the only reason you find winter tolerable is because of your father's extravagant winter ball. A chance to parade around in yet another expensive gown and fawn over the King."
A faint blush crept up Cecilia's cheeks, but before she could retort, a figure shrouded in a dark cloak emerged from the carriage. It was Sir Godfrey, his expression a mask of stoicism.
A frown marred Cecilia's beautiful face as she entered the castle alongside Godfrey and Gabrielle. "I sincerely hope we don't encounter that… slave again," she hissed, her voice laced with disdain. "She ruined my favorite gown during our last visit, the careless wretch!"
Godfrey's gaze sharpened at her words. "Ruined your gown, you say?" he inquired, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features.
Gabrielle simply offered a curt nod, her dark eyes scanning the grand hallway. They approached the imposing figure of Lord Leviathan, his presence as large as his reputation.
"Lord Leviathan," Cecilia simpered, nudging Gabrielle playfully. Gabrielle shot her a withering look, clearly understanding Cecilia's attempt to set her up with the mischievous Lord. The last thing Gabrielle desired was the attention of any man, let alone the notorious Lord Leviathan.
With practiced grace, both Cecilia and Gabrielle curtsied as Lord Leviathan turned to them. His face, handsome but perpetually guarded, held no hint of amusement at Cecilia's playful greeting.
"Young lady Hightower," he acknowledged with a curt nod, his voice devoid of warmth. "Young lady du Lac." His gaze then flickered to Godfrey.
"Sir Godfrey," he continued, his lips curling into a barely perceptible smirk. "Condolences on your loss. Unfortunately, court duties prevented me from attending Lord Arnold's funeral." There was no sympathy in his voice, only a veiled barb that sent a jolt through Godfrey.
Godfrey's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features at Leviathan's lack of sympathy. He quickly recovered, however.
"The loss is a heavy one, Lord Leviathan," he admitted, his voice laced with a forced cheerfulness. "But the King assures us justice will be served. He's promised to find the murderer and bring them to swift justice."
Leviathan raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism flickering in his eyes. "Justice, is it?" he drawled. "That's a word that gets thrown around quite liberally these days. But tell me, Sir Godfrey, what brings you to the castle?"
Cecilia, ever eager to fill any silence, quickly jumped in. "We simply wished to visit the castle, Lord Leviathan," she chirped, her voice a touch too bright. "Gabrielle and I were feeling rather restles, and Sir Godfrey happened to be visiting my father's mansion. So, I thought it would be delightful if we all came together!"
Gabrielle shot Cecilia a withering look. This transparent attempt to set her up with Lord Leviathan was as predictable as it was annoying.
Leviathan studied them all for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Is that so," he finally said, his voice dripping with a sardonic amusement. "Well, then, by all means, enjoy your visit. The castle is vast, and there's much to see… for those who know where to look." His last words hung heavy in the air, a cryptic message that sent a shiver down their spine.
Leviathan's sharp gaze flickered across each of them – a brief assessment before amusement flickered in his dark eyes. With a barely perceptible scoff, he turned and began to walk away, his cloak billowing behind him.
Left standing in the grand hall, the tension dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. Cecilia, ever the social butterfly, fluttered her eyelashes and adjusted her cloak. "Well," she declared, her voice feigning nonchalance, "shall we proceed, then?"
Gabrielle simply shrugged and began walking towards the heart of the castle. Godfrey followed behind, his gaze darting around the opulent surroundings. He cast a curious glance at Cecilia, a question hanging in the air.
"Do you have any idea where the King might be?" Cecilia inquired, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity. She spotted a passing servant and, with a practiced flourish, beckoned him closer.
The servant, a young man with wide eyes, scurried to their side and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, milady," he stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "I wouldn't dare speculate on the King's whereabouts."
Cecilia sighed dramatically, batting her eyelashes once again. "Oh, don't be so stuffy," she chimed. "Simply prepare the tea room for us, would you? We require refreshments after our long journey."
The servant's face brightened slightly. "Of course, milady," he replied with a nervous smile. He scurried away, eager to fulfill the request of a noblewoman.
As they continued their walk, a heavy silence descended upon the group.
A wry smile touched Godfrey's lips as they approached the grand tea room, its intricately carved mahogany doors framing an inviting scene of warmth and comfort. "Indeed," he conceded, his voice calm. "You do seem to navigate these halls with remarkable ease, Young lady Hightower."
Cecilia puffed out her chest, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Why, this castle is practically a second home to me," she declared, a touch of arrogance tinging her voice. "One must know their surroundings, wouldn't you agree? Especially when one is destined to be queen."
Gabrielle snorted, a single, sharp exhalation that cut through the air like a knife. Inside the tea room, opulent and furnished with plush armchairs and a low table laden the tension remained palpable.
As they settled into their respective chairs, Gabrielle leaned back, her eyes sparkling with a rebellious glint. "Do you think the King is even aware of our little visit, Cecilia?" she inquired, her voice laced with amusement. "Perhaps he's blissfully ignorant, lost in his own world while we sit here twiddling our thumbs waiting for tea."
Her gaze shifted towards Cecilia, who bristled under the scrutiny. "And you, my dear," Gabrielle continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you truly intend to grace the King with your presence? Or are there other motives at play?"
A triumphant smile spread across Cecilia's face as the grand tea room doors creaked open, revealing the young servant laden with a tray of steaming teacups and an assortment of delectable pastries.
"There you are, dear," Cecilia cooed, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "Please, be a dear and summon the King's… slave. What was her name again?" She tilted her head to the side, feigning innocence.
The servant wide apprehensive eyes, stammered slightly. "A-Aurelia, milady," He finally managed.
"Ah, yes, Aurelia," Cecilia chirped, her smile widening. "Excellent. Do bring her here at once." The servant scurried away.
Gabrielle, ever the observer, shot Cecilia a pointed look, her brow arched in amusement. "I thought you couldn't stand the sight of that… slave, Cecilia," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't she ruin your precious dress during our last visit?"
Godfrey, ignoring their bickering, reached for a delicate teacup, his gaze fixed on the swirling amber liquid within. "So, a change of heart, Lady Cecilia?" he inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.
Cecilia, completely oblivious to Gabrielle's snide remark, simply smiled, a glint of cunning flashing in her blue eyes. "One must be resourceful, wouldn't you agree?" she replied, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "This 'Aurelia',, she seems to be in the King's good graces. Perhaps a little… manipulation is in order. If I can win her favor, turn her into my own little informant, then I can have ears and eyes everywhere in the castle. Imagine, Godfrey, knowing the King's every move, his every thought! It would be a most advantageous position." Her smile widened.
Gabrielle, however, burst into laughter, a rich, genuine sound that echoed through the opulent room. "Oh, Cecilia," she exclaimed, wiping a tear from her eye. "Are you daft or simply playing the role of the stereotypical blonde? Do you truly believe this 'slave', as you so crudely call her, would be willing to be your personal informant? Especially after the way you treated her before?"
Cecilia's smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "Nonsense," she scoffed. "A little charm and a promise of favor from a future queen will go a long way, I assure you."
Godfrey remained silent, a stark contrast to the playful banter between Cecilia and Gabrielle. He leaned back in his plush armchair, his knuckles rapping a silent rhythm on the ornately carved armrest. His gaze was fixed on a point beyond the teacups, his expression a mask of stoicism. But beneath the surface, a storm of emotions brewed – suspicion, anger...
Aurelia's name hung heavy in the air, a name that sent a jolt through Godfrey. He had seen the slave girl and also heard more whispers about the King's new acquisition. And while the details remained shrouded in secrecy, a gnawing suspicion gnawed at him. Could this Aurelia be connected, somehow, to his father's demise?
Godfrey's gaze flickered towards Cecilia, a flicker of something akin to hope sparking in his eyes. Perhaps, through this naive and ambitious noblewoman, he could learn more about Aurelia. He could use Cecilia's desire for information as a tool, a way to get closer to the truth.