[center][color=salmon][h2]Michaela Müller-Hohenstein[/h2][/color][/center]
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The water Michaela laid in was of a perfect temperature to help soak away the aches and stresses of the eventful day that she had experienced. While the day itself had started well enough, having reunited with Lord Draufkrieg of Arbormark, it ended on a rather troubling note of this ‘Northern Alliance’ to back Sharles of Bremerant as the rightful heir to the thrown. The news had come to her through one of her father’s people, one spy among many which he had planted in the castle throughout his long years in service to the crown. As his only child and heir, she of course had knowledge of this expansive network as well as the ciphers used to send secure messages across the borders. While this business was primarily under her father’s control, she would occasionally receive or send messages through the network.

The duchess felt that this alliance was done in desperation and people who are desperate are people who are afraid. As for their candidate of choice, Sharles, she took him to be a fool. His ideas, while not without fault, were well enough for her to sympathize with but at the end of the day, he proved to be a puppet whose strings are attached to the council he chose to keep and a called upon a blood relation so distant you needed to compare detailed family trees to confirm it’s legitimacy. He simply lacked the strength Prince Daymian had and under his indecisive rule they would only experience ruin. As she reflected, Michaela sank deeper into the milky pool that was her bath and submerged herself completely within the water after inhaling deeply. 

[b][i]“If you could choose your life, a dream life, what would it be?”[/i][/b]

The earlier question asked by the duke echoed through her mind once more. It seemed easier to answer now that bold moves had been made that complicated matters greatly. How would the people take it? Would they live in fear of the threat of war or would they rejoice at the chance to fight for their ideals? They would pay equally or even more so than those who were in seats of power and responsibility. Only time would tell and, until then, how Michaela spent that time would be crucial. As she resurfaced, the young maiden used her hands to push her long red hair back from her face while exhaling sharply the last of the air that remained in her lungs. Her hands moved to remove the excess water from her eyes before she pressed them against the metal sides of the basin to lift herself out of the tub. Water dripped from every part of her as she rose and she was careful not to splatter it all over the bathroom floor. 

Michaela wrung out the water from her long hair before grabbing the towel from the stool that stood at the end of the tub and stepping out onto a plush woven carpet. She took a moment to enjoy the soft mat, grabbing at the wool with her toes in childlike joy for a breath before continuing to dry herself off with the towel she had in hand. Once sufficiently dry, she placed the towel back on the stool before making her way across the icy marbled floor to where her robe awaited from its hanging spot against the door. The air of the room was cold against her naked body and goosebumps rose along her skin. It was always colder once out of the warmth of the bathwater, but Michaela had heard Ilse moving about their rooms as she packed their things and stoked the fire that burned against the hearth of their fireplace. She wouldn’t be cold for much longer. 

After feeding her limbs through the armholes of the garment, Michaela used the sash to fasten the robe around her slender waist. The grey-colored fabric of the garment was thick but soft against the skin and able to absorb the leftover moisture of her body. It wasn’t something so delicate like silk that would have been easily ruined from the aftermath of a long soak in the tub. The duchess opened the bathroom door into the welcomed heat of the bedroom and found their room was in organized chaos. Numerous travel chests laid open about the floor as the handmaiden packed their belongings, most of which Michaela could do without as they were primarily filled with the various layers that went into a court woman’s social ensemble. She didn’t bother to pull the other woman from her task and made her way to the ornately carved wooden vanity to prep herself for bed. Michaela learned long ago not to offer Ilse her help as the woman was highly organized and took pride in her efficiency. The handmaiden would be finished by the time Michaela was done with her hair and facial routine. 

In the morning they would say their goodbyes and make haste back home to Steinland where if she were to be stabbed in her sleep, at least it will be in the comfort of her own bed. Her last thoughts of the night were of her horse, Aria, and whether or not the stress of their journey will heavily impact her mare's chances of carrying her own foal.