Gabrielle strutted down the castle corridor, her nose held high. Unlike Cecilia who reveled in the upcoming hunting trip, Gabrielle had "accidentally" caught a terrible cold, a strategic ailment that conveniently excused her from the frigid outdoors. Beside her walked Betsy her head bowed in quiet deference.
Today, however, her usual mischievous glint was dimmed by a flicker of something akin to… curiosity. She stole a sideways glance at Betsy, her brow furrowed in thought. Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic click of their heels on the polished stone floor.
Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, Gabrielle cleared her throat. "So, Betsy," she began, her voice a hushed whisper, "how long have you been working here in this dreary castle?"
Betsy, startled by the sudden question, looked up. Her eyes, usually bright with a youthful innocence, held a flicker of something older, more guarded. "All my life, milady," she replied softly, her voice barely above a murmur.
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flitting across her face. "All your life? That's a long time to be stuck in these stuffy halls."
Betsy offered a small, hesitant smile. "It's all I've ever known, milady." Even as she spoke, her gaze darted around nervously.
Gabrielle's curiosity piqued further. There was something about Betsy that intrigued her, a hidden spark beneath the surface of her meek demeanor. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to the quiet handmaiden than met the eye.
Gabrielle flushed a delicate shade of pink, a stark contrast to the pale snow blanketing the castle grounds. The casualness with which she'd inquired about Betsy's life seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a surprising shyness.
"About that," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, "I… I apologize for that." She gestured vaguely with her hand, clearly referencing the incident with the kiss. "It was a foolish impulse, nothing more."
Betsy inclined her head in a slight bow. "There is no need for apologies, milady. It was a fleeting moment of… curiosity, I suppose." Her words were carefully chosen, betraying none of her own thoughts or feelings.
Sensing a shift in the conversation, Gabrielle cleared her throat, a spark of her usual defiance returning. "Can you read, Betsy?" she asked, a playful glint returning to her eyes.
Betsy shook her head, a hint of sadness flickering across her features. "No, milady. Such privileges were not extended to those of my station."
Gabrielle hummed thoughtfully, her gaze wandering across the snow-covered garden. The crisp air stung her cheeks, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon.
"A pity," she finally remarked, her voice soft. "There are so many stories waiting to be discovered. Worlds beyond these castle walls."
Suddenly, Betsy spoke, her voice hesitant. "May I ask you something, milady?"
Gabrielle paused, surprised by the request. The handmaids were trained to be seen, not heard, their opinions rarely, if ever, solicited. Intrigued, she nodded curtly. "Of course, Betsy. Ask away."
Betsy took a deep breath, her voice barely a murmur. "The rumors… about your visits to the red district… are they true?"
Gabrielle felt a flicker of irritation. The very notion of her private life being a topic of gossip was infuriating. Yet, looking at Betsy's sincere expression, devoid of judgment, a different thought occurred to her.
Perhaps, just perhaps, a little well-placed honesty wouldn't hurt. With a sly smile, Gabrielle leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The truth, dear Betsy," she said, "is always a little more… complicated than rumors make it seem."
Gabrielle's words died in her throat as her gaze drifted towards the castle gates. Three carriages, their occupants returning early from the hunt, trotted into view. A frown creased her brow.
With a sigh, quick as a flash, Gabrielle clutched at her cloak, pulling it tighter around her shoulders. A grimace contorted her face, a well-practiced performance of sudden illness. "Oh dear," she muttered, her voice laced with exaggerated weakness. "This chill seems to be worsening."
Before Betsy could offer assistance, Gabrielle was already shuffling towards the approaching carriages, her steps unsteady. Just as she was about to call out to Cecilia, inquiring about an early return, a carriage door swung open, revealing a sight that sent a jolt through her.
~
Aurelia remained hunched in the carriage, her body bouncing with the rhythmic trot of the horses on the snow-covered path. Across from her, Lord Leviathan sat with an air of nonchalance that bordered on boredom. He seemed completely unfazed by the scene he'd just witnessed – Aurelia plunging a dagger into the King's chest.
Her hand instinctively clutched the fabric of her dress, a hidden wellspring of crimson staining the material. The King's blood. Her enemy's blood. But the elation of revenge she'd expected never came. Instead, a chilling emptiness gnawed at her.
The vivid memory of the spectral King, his golden eyes replaced by bottomless black voids, played on a loop in her mind. What did it mean? Was it a mere trick of her fractured imagination?
Leviathan's voice finally broke the suffocating silence. "The King will be fine," he stated, his tone a monotone that sent shivers down her spine.
Aurelia flickered a glance at him, doubt clouding her eyes. No words of reassurance passed her lips, only a silence thick with unspoken questions.
A bitter taste coated Aurelia's tongue. "So, I'm to be executed?" she asked, her voice laced with a chilling calm. She didn't miss the way Leviathan remained silent, his enigmatic smirk the only answer.
Internally, a dark humor bubbled up. Wouldn't dear Aunt Meredith be thrilled? Finally, the King would be out of the picture. The man who'd orchestrated the slaughter of her family, gone at her hand. A surge of satisfaction, fleeting though it was, flickered through her.
"Do you wish to die, Aurelia?" Leviathan's voice, a silken caress laced with a sly edge, interrupted her dark thoughts.
Die? She'd plunged a dagger into the King's chest. Stabbing a man in the heart usually meant death, didn't it? But the lingering doubts, the chilling memory of black eyes, gnawed at her certainty.
The rhythmic rocking of the carriage suddenly ceased. The door swung open, revealing Leviathan stepping out first, his hand extended in a silent command.
Aurelia hesitated, her gaze flickering between Leviathan and the unexpected sight outside. There stood Lady Gabrielle and Betsy, their expressions a mix of concern and surprise.
Tentatively, she stepped out, her legs feeling strangely unsteady. Leviathan stood close behind, a shadow looming over her.
"Goodness, what happened?" Gabrielle's voice, laced with genuine worry, cut through the tense silence.
Leviathan, ever the master of composure, shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing much, Lady Gabrielle. The hunting didn't quite go as planned." His response was vague, a deliberate omission of the regicide that had just transpired.
Aurelia frowned. Didn't he intend to explain anything? Was she expected to simply play along with this charade?
The second carriage door creaked open, revealing a figure that sent a fresh wave of confusion crashing over Aurelia. Cecilia emerged, a practiced cheerfulness plastered on her face.
"Oh, Gabrielle! It seems the King has pressing business to attend to," she announced, her voice dripping with feigned concern. "We must return to our manors."
Aurelia's frown deepened. This was the same Cecilia who had earlier launched into a tearful tirade, demanding her head on a silver platter. Yet, here she stood, seemingly calm and collected. What had Leviathan done? What words had he whispered to silence her outrage?
Confusion and suspicion gnawed at her, a tangled web with no clear answers.
Gabrielle's sharp eyes, however, didn't miss a beat. They darted towards the crimson stain blooming on Aurelia's dress, a stark contrast to the pale snow. A flicker of concern replaced her initial greeting. "Aurelia," she said, her voice laced with genuine worry, "are you hurt?"
Betsy, ever vigilant, echoed the sentiment. "Milady? Is everything alright?"
Leviathan, seemingly unfazed by the scrutiny, stepped forward, a disarming smile gracing his lips. "Nothing to worry about, ladies. A mere scrape from a… rather enthusiastic wild boar. Seems the hunt took a turn for the unexpected."
Aurelia's gaze snapped to him, her jaw clenching tight. She knew better than to speak. Leviathan's hand, light as a feather, landed on her shoulder, a silent command to keep quiet.
His touch, though seemingly casual, sent a jolt through her. It was a reminder, a chilling certainty – he was in control. He knew what had happened, and he was expertly maneuvering the situation.
Cecilia, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, chirped on about the "horrible ordeal" of the hunt, her words hollow and self-serving. Aurelia couldn't help but steal a glance at Gabrielle, whose gaze remained fixed on the telltale stain on her dress. Did Gabrielle suspect the truth?
The heavy oak doors of the castle swung open, revealing the bustling life within. But for Aurelia, the familiar sights and sounds held no comfort.
As they entered the grand hall, a new question clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. What was happening? And more importantly, what game was Leviathan playing?