Red Queen One-Shots

Take. It. Off.

A/N: A request. Takes place about 1,5 years after War Storm

Mare POV

I've been advised not to wear black.

"Purple," Gisa decided in an instant.

"Shoulder-free," said Farley.

"With a train longer than you," demanded Kilorn.

And Evangeline, the expert on Silver fashion and the first to speak against black since it isn't exactly the custom, handed me a black pin instead, shaped into an exploding star with merely a thought. I couldn't read her expression, whether the whole thing amused or sobered her.

Attending a funeral in Delphie as the sole Montfort representative certainly sobers me.

There are other Scarlet Guard members left in Delphie and the rest of Norta, but all I know of them is that Farley calls them "agreeable," whatever that means. So I straighten my posture as I step out of the plane and onto the Delphie airfield. Under the grey midday sky, a cold and sudden gush greets me and makes me squint my eyes. What a lovely start.

"Corporal Barrow."

I turn my head to the speaker. My escort, obviously, a Silver and security officer whose name tag says Welle. He salutes me.

I salute in return with a bit too much of a flourish of my fingers. Sparks fly off and the corners of my mouth twitch as Welle's face freezes.

I've learned showing off well from Evangeline and Farley.

I point ahead and let Welle guide me to a transport. I stop before I enter. "My condolences," I say quietly.

He nods, his face grim. "Thank you," he says in a husky voice.

The streets leading from the airfield to the residence of Delphie are strangely pristine as well as empty. I see no other transport in the avenue flanked by flags at half-mast, only bright mansions with the occasional dashes of colours. House colours, likely, either by tradition or alliance, and most of them are the Lerolan red and orange.

It feels fake, like a pretend, a show created for me that is typical for Silvers. They need so much to present only ever their best side that they exaggerate and make it unbelievable. Evangeline can complain endlessly about this if she's in a talking mood.

I know that Delphie loved the queen dowager as much as Cal. For all we know, the city is in order and agreeing to the new laws, but it's irks me I'm brought through the "nobles'" quarter as if the Reds have to be hidden from me.

I sigh, pressing my brow against the window. This is a courtesy visit, one that might take a more personal turn, but I'm aware I'm expected to report on more than pretty pageants of grief.

The palace resembles the mansions' white and cream-coloured architecture, despite lacking their embellishments. This building is elegant in its simplicity.

To my surprise, Welle offers me a hand as I exit the transport. I almost smirk at the lady-like treatment and accept his help, wondering if he fears an electrical smack from me and fights the fear by touching me deliberately.

He doesn't even flinch. "You're welcome in Delphie, Corporal Barrow," he says. "May the queen dowager rest in peace."

I mumble the words with him before I go on, not sure if I mean them.

I've seen my share of palaces by now that I guess I've grown accustomed to them. Gone are the days I feared their halls of splendour, although the dark memories linger, always waiting in the back of my mind. Delphie's residence doesn't wake them, with its interior design as simple as the outside. It might be called boring compared to other places, but I find that it calms me with its creamy shades and few, flame-like, flashes of orange decorations.