Queen's Light

After the Ball

Why?

Her door slammed shut behind her. Without breaking her stride, she walked straight up to her desk and slammed her shaking hands onto it, relishing the momentary sting of her skin.

One of her maids scurried out from the parlor, where she'd been dusting. "Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, as if in disbelief.

Rhiannon turned to her, watching as her expression grew into a flinch as she met her queen's steeled gaze. "You should leave."

"Your Grace, how much have you had to drink?" The young maid inquired timidly.

"I said," Rhiannon reached for a nearby candlestick, "GET OUT!" and threw it at the maid, who scampered out of the room like a frightened shrew.

She shouldn't have done that. She knew it perfectly well. But at the moment, Rhiannon didn't particularly care. There was something far more grievous angering her.

Had she had too much to drink? She didn't drink fermented drinks often, but even less than a single glass had loosened her tongue. Why had she told Charles -- and the others, had they been listening -- where she was from?

She knew he'd want to discuss it. Perhaps not tonight, but eventually. And what could she trust him with? What could she tell him? What was she even comfortable with telling him?

She snorted aloud. She didn't trust any of them.

Loved them, of course, as if they were her own family, and they were, for all intents and purposes. But trust them? Not particularly. Especially not Charles. He had a shifty past, she knew.

It took one to know one.

What would he -- or any of them, for that matter -- say if he knew the truth? That the queen, the queen of a northern island kingdom, was born of the south? That she fought for the south during the last of the great wars? That she'd been coronated simply because her superior had died? That she was not of royal blood, the daughter of two Untouchables, the sister of a bastard vagrant, and herself a recovering addict and a possible seer? Would they accept such a woman as their queen if they knew?

She sighed, hanging her head, all energy suddenly fleeing her system. She felt dizzy, likely due to the wine. Rhiannon had to get out of her dress. She had to get out of her room. She had to breathe.

Once the dress was back in its rightful place and been replaced with a more simple one of blue, Rhiannon set out into the halls, not caring or paying any mind to where she was or where she was going.

Until she came across voices. Curious, she paused, hiding behind the corner. She heard Charles' voice for certain, as she realized she was just near his office, and another voice she couldn't recognize. Peering around the wall, Rhiannon saw Charles apparently berating a young servant boy. Not an unusual sight, except at this time of night. Rhiannon watched as the boy ran off to the stairs on the opposite end of the corridor. She waited, expecting the Seneschal to reenter his office, but he didn't.

"Don't think I didn't notice you, your grace," he said, turning. Instinctively, Rhiannon ducked back behind the wall, despite the fact that she was already too late.

After a pause, she meekly came around the corner, her hands buried into her skirts. "I must have lost my touch, then. Once upon a time, I might have been able to hide so well that I wouldn't be noticed until...well, I wouldn't be noticed." Why was she spilling even more? Why could she not just keep her mouth shut when she needed to?

Charles regarded her coldly, somehow more so than usual. She wondered as to what he would say next.

(Psst, Malgeres , that's your cue)