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[color=808080][color=10636f][b]#10636f[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/1aStJpQ][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]rhea’s bedchambers[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Rhea slipped back into the Citadel through the undercroft, led by Coren. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last time that the Guardsman would take her that way to avoid the Queen. While her mother knew what she was doing, any and every opportunity where she could avoid running into her, and one of her stern lectures that usually followed, the better. Knowing the Princess’s luck, her mother already knew what happened on the Weave and was waiting to have words. But the one thing she could always count on was the Queen wouldn't be caught dead in the servants’ wing of the castle. 

Their path led them through tight corridors of stone that perspired from the heavy humidity in the air, droplets trickled down the large bricks like the Citadel itself was weeping from the heat. They climbed slick stairs until the walls parted and opened up into the guard barracks. Dozens of men filled the room, perched on cots and stools in various stages of undress as they polished or donned their armor for the upcoming festivities. At first they didn’t notice her arrival until the sound of her steps echoed over their soft murmurs, the high pitched clicks upon the stone a stark contrast to the heavy muted thuds of Coren’s gait. The men stirred to attention and covered the parts of them unsuitable for a Princess’s gaze. They all bowed, deep and reverent as if they lined the walls of the Great Hall not their own quarters, half naked and caught off guard.

[color=10636f]"At ease, men,"[/color] her voice rang throughout the intimate room, a song like a soft breeze that cut through the harshness of the barracks. [color=10636f]"I am only passing through."[/color]

Rhea went to take a step forward but stopped when she caught sight of the door to the Captain’s quarters ajar. She sparred a sidelong glance toward Coren as her feet started carrying her deeper into the gathering of men. [color=10636f]"A quick moment."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Princess,[/i]"[/color] Coren tried to voice his argument and take her arm, but she was out of reach before he could act. He sighed and waited where she left him, although his gaze never left her for a moment.

The Princess weaved her way through the various guards, flashing them all a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, for she dared not let them see the turmoil that churned within her. The Queen was always present on her mind, but now after her run in with a Járnbjørn, she needed her brother’s guidance and reassurance more than anything. Her hand rested upon the old wooden door that led to the quaint bedchambers. Perfectly polished plate armor was laid out along the bed in preparation for the night’s events, his writing table was covered in parchments denoting planned guard schedules, and a half-drunk goblet rested beside them… But no Declan. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Pardon, Your Grace,"[/color] the nearest guard turned his attention toward her and bowed a second time. [color=d6d6d6]"The Captain is in the Valley retrieving the Prince."[/color]

[color=10636f]"Of course,"[/color] she responded quietly with a resolute nod of her head. She should have known better. It wasn’t uncommon for Dorian to go [i]missing[/i] on the eve of anything important. Rhea had grown accustomed to his disappearances and Declan’s subsequent vanishings to seek out their brother and bring him home. With the feast being mere hours away she would have thought it would have been handled already, but she supposed meeting your future betrothed carried more weight than avoiding a knighting ceremony.

[color=10636f]"Thank you, Ser Arryn."[/color] She bowed her head toward him as she passed. 

Halfway back to Coren, she noticed one of the men struggling to fasten his shoulder piece to his breast plate with only one hand. Rhea had never donned armor herself, but having watched her brothers she knew it was a job that often took a second set of hands and patience. Seeing that no one was aiding him, she stopped in her tracts and took a step toward him. [color=10636f]"Allow me,"[/color] she instructed quietly while taking hold of the leather ties. It took her but a moment to tie the piece in place with a secure knot. [color=10636f]"There we are."[/color] She gave the armor a gentle pat before retreating.

[color=d6d6d6]"Thank you, Your Grace."[/color] The man bowed his head in silent awe and gratitude. 

Rhea returned to Coren a bit dejected with her previous haste returned. [color=10636f]"Let us go."[/color] Without her brother as a shield or a shoulder to lean on, her final hope was locking herself away in her room until the Welcoming Ceremony. 

The pair left the barracks and disappeared deeper into the Citadel following the winding labyrinth of servants’ passages that snaked between the walls, remaining out of sight. It took longer to reach the wing where her bedchambers resided than if she had taken her usual route, but it kept her hidden until she had no choice but to step out into the hall. They hurried to the door, Coren assuming his usual stance, back to the wall beside the entrance while Rhea grasped the ornate gold leaf and crystal handle. She looked over at him with a smile that didn’t fight to hide the sadness or weight behind her eyes. The mask she wore in the presence of others melted away and she sank into the comfort of his presence as one of the few people she could be herself around. [color=10636f]"Thank you,"[/color] she said barely above a whisper as she turned the handle and pushed open the door. [color=10636f]"We—"[/color]

A room that once thrived in ordered chaos was staged for guests and no longer the safe haven Rhea had created. Towering stacks of books that lined the walls had been returned to their homes on her bookshelf or carried off to the Citadel library. Novels left open on her writing desk, bed or windowsill had vanished, no longer marking her place to return to them later. Musical instruments she had been attempting to teach herself—and failing—were gone. Her bed that was always unmade with a burrow of blankets and pillows had been given fresh linens and remade to perfection. Even the candlesticks caked in wax and long absent anything to burn were cleaned and given a new candle. This was not her room, but the room of a Princess her mother wished her to be. 

The windows had been cracked to let in the cool breeze that swept off the mountaintop while the fireplace remained dark and cold. A wooden tub had been placed in the corner, draped in damp fabric, for comfort, that was held in place by the water within that had long been still. Then in her writing chair, stoic and silent as a statue, sat the Queen. Her austere expression was unwavering and cold. Her disappointment and anger was prevalent in the tense muscles of her neck and the darkness behind her eyes. She was already dressed for the Welcoming Ceremony, wearing an ornate gown of ivory and indigo that was accented with golden embroidery. Her brunette hair was braided and pinned into an intricate swirl on her head with her silver and sapphire tiara perched atop it like a robin’s eggs resting in its nest. 

Poised hands rested upon her crossed legs. A single delicate finger tapped impatiently at her daughter’s tardiness. [color=942641]"[i]You[/i] are late."[/color]

Rhea swallowed the lump that formed in her stomach as she tried to force air into her lungs. She took a single, apprehensive step forward into her room and turned to close the door. Her movements were slow, methodical, like she was trying not to startle a wolf lying in wait for its chance to pounce. For a breath of a second her gaze met Coren’s, sympathy and concern furrowed his brows but he said nothing, nor did he dare peek into her room and catch a glimpse of the Queen. The door clicked shut and she hesitated, steeling her resolve and attempting to steady her erratic heart. 

She slowly turned to face her mother, dragging out every movement and second like the prologued silence would lessen the final blow. Rhea stood straight, back erect, but her head was downcast and her hands cupped tightly before her to try and ease the trembling in her fingers. [color=10636f]"Apologies, mother. I lost track of time—"[/color]

[color=942641]"Yes, I heard. Was that your plan to earn the common people’s support?"[/color] the Queen asked as she idly ran her hands along her skirts, smoothing wrinkles and removing any errants hairs or lint. [color=942641]"Trample them to death?"[/color]

[color=10636f]"I didn’t—"[/color]

[color=942641]"[i]Think?[/i] I am aware."[/color] Her mother did not move a muscle beyond the rhythmic brushing of her fingers along the satin fabric. Only her eyes shifted to look over at Rhea, dark and judginging, cast in shadow from her brow. 

[color=10636f]"No,"[/color] she spoke up with more conviction. But whatever confidence she had immediately faltered as the Queen’s head snapped in her direction in silent challenge. Rhea took a quick step back like a beaten animal flinching from a strike. [color=10636f]"I didn’t kill him—"[/color]

[color=942641]"[i]Nearly.[/i]"[/color] The woman sighed, eyes rolling as she shifted her attention out the window towards the mountains. [color=942641]"Who was the man so we might send a formal apology?"[/color]

Rhea rang her hands together, twisting the dove skin leather that encapsulated her fingers into tight wrinkles, clinging to the discomfort like an anchor. Words were lost. She knew his name, but couldn’t bring herself to speak it. There was a brief moment where she contemplated throwing herself from the window to save herself further torment. Would her mother stop her? Did she have enough time? Would it—

[color=942641]"[i]Speak.[/i]"[/color]

[color=10636f]"...Emil Járnbjørn."[/color]

A single sharp laugh rang throughout the room like an alarm, jarring and abrupt. It was not a laugh of amusement, but sardonic and biting. The Queen was not surprised. It was hard to surprise her when she always expected the worst from Rhea, like it wasn’t a matter of [i]if[/i] but [i]when[/i] she would mess up again. [color=942641]"[i]Even better.[/i] You meet a prospective suitor and almost kill him. Is this your way of punishing me?"[/color] She stood up, heels clicking upon the stone floor muffled by the swishing layers of extravagant fabric as she began pacing the length of the room. [color=942641]"I spent [i]months[/i] organizing, summoning [i]all[/i] the Lords and Ladies of the Ninefold here for you and your siblings to have a say in your marriage—a choice [i]I[/i] did not get—and this is the gratitude I receive?"[/color] She pivoted, tossing her skirts behind her as she started back in the opposite direction. [color=942641]"You are determined to disgrace this family one way or another. As if it was not already enough that you ran away, married a peasant, and forsaken your maidenhood—"[/color]

[color=10636f]"I am still a maid—"[/color]

[color=942641]"[i]Do not interrupt me,[/i]"[/color] her mother snapped, sharp as a blade with a silent venom behind her glare. [color=942641]"Your insolence is trying my patience, daughter. I have been waiting in this pig’s sty you deem to call a room for over an hour while you plunge our house further into ruin."[/color] One hand held her side as the other raised to rub her forehead, as if to stave off a headache that tickled behind her brow. [color=942641]"Why are you not more like your sister?"[/color] she asked beneath her breath like a thought slipped loose, but the words were too loud to not be intentional. [color=942641]"Is it, at least, finished?"[/color] she asked, holding her hand out, palm up and expectant. 

[i]Why wasn’t she more like her sister?[/i] A question Rhea found herself asking more frequently the longer she remained imprisoned in the Citadel, locked away in her mother’s clutches. Her gaze flitted to the window a second time as she took a step forward. She did not run for Umbran’s sweet embrace, but moved reluctant and solemn toward her mother like a leashed animal too frightened to lash out against its master. She removed her glove as she closed the distance, tugging the leather free from her skin with a trembling delicacy. Her left hand rose on its own accord and fell listlessly into the awaiting palm. The Queen’s grasp was harsh, lacking a mother’s warmth, as she pulled Rhea closer for inspection. Her fingers were bare, the only remnant of the string was a small indent from two years of wear.

[color=942641]"It would appear you are capable of following [i]some[/i] orders after all."[/color] The Queen’s hold tightened as she pulled Rhea in closer. There were only inches between them as she stared, not into her eyes but through them, into her soul. [color=942641]"You shall never speak his name nor visit his grave again, so long as you live within the Citadel. Do you understand me?"[/color]

[color=10636f]"Yes, mother,"[/color] Rhea agreed barely above a whisper, forcing herself to hold her mother’s gaze no matter how much it made her want to recoil in on herself. 

[color=942641]"Very well."[/color] The Queen discarded her hand like a dirty handkerchief with no further purpose. [color=942641]"Your bath has run cold and there is no time to fetch warm water. Perhaps the chill will bring you to your senses."[/color] She ran her hands down the front of her skirt for the countless time, before motioning toward a garment that had been laid out across the bed. [color=942641]"I had your gown brought straight from the royal tailors."[/color]

Rhea’s gaze drifted to the dress that she hadn’t noticed in her mother’s presence. It was a stunning ivory satin with a square neckline, sheer sleeves and a subtle glimpse of the indigo petticoat. Golden embroidery, similar to that on her mother’s dress, ran along the bottom of the skirt and decorated the subtle blue trimming around the bodice. It was a beautiful gown… But it wasn’t [i]her.[/i] [color=10636f]"I had a gown set aside—"[/color] she began, motioning toward a turquoise dress draped over the door to her armoire. 

[color=942641]"We are dressing as a [i]family,[/i]"[/color] her mother interjected, [color=942641]"in the house colors to show strength and unity. You would not wish to insult Madame Thea by shirking her hard work, would you?"[/color] She walked over to the bedside and started running the tip of her finger along the embroidery as she spoke. [color=942641]"It is made from the finest satins and silks, with the richest blue dyes imported straight from The Sunderlands. But your gown—"[/color] She gave the skirts a small tug to pull free the wrinkles, then ran her hand along the soft fabric. [color=942641]"—is as white as fresh fallen snow. Pure… Chaste—"[/color]

[color=10636f]"Mother, [i]please[/i], I am a maid—"[/color]

[color=942641]"I will not have this discussion again."[/color] The Queen stood upright, turning her full attention toward her daughter, while whatever patience she had fluttered out the window and disappeared into summer heat. [color=942641]"You will wear this gown and pray that the tales of your deviancy do not reach your future husband’s ears before you have shared the marital bed."[/color]

Rhea’s head fell, gaze fixed on a frayed bit of rug beneath her bed as her mother’s skirts brushed over top of it on her way toward the door. [color=10636f]"Yes, mother,"[/color] she replied quietly. Her voice was not strong and confident like the woman out on the trail, but quivering and broken like a child broken into submission, where conceding was easier than defiance. 

[color=942641]"She must be spotless to present to the Lords."[/color] The Queen’s voice cut through the silence, drawing Rhea’s attention. Standing in the back corner of her room, silent and observant like a gargoyle stood her handmaiden, Amira. [color=942641]"I do not care if you scrub her skin raw, just get it done."[/color] The Princess’s cheeks reddened from the embarrassment of knowing there was a witness to their conversation, but she said nothing, remaining obedient and still. 

Her mother opened the door and took a step forward before turning to glance back at Rhea. Once their gazes met, she spoke to her one last time. [color=942641]"You are expected outside the Great Hall at sundown. Do not be late."[/color] With that, she exited. No love or affection or motherly advice before throwing her daughter into the viper’s den to be pawed at by every eligible Lord in the Kingdom. 

Outside the room, the Queen turned toward Coren who stood vigilant in the hall. [color=942641]"She does not leave this room unless it is to go to the Great Hall. If you fail that order, I will have your head, Guardsman."[/color] Then the storm of a woman disappeared like a whirlwind, leaving behind the wreckage… Rhea silent, stunned and unmoving. 

Once the echoing clicks of the Queen’s steps vanished deep within the Citadel, Coren stepped into view, reaching into the room to grab the door. There was a brief second where he looked up, finding tear filled hazel eyes staring back at him as the maid worked to remove her other glove. Rhea’s gaze broke away before his. She stared at that same frayed bit of rug, ashamed and hollow, as he locked her away from the rest of the world to be stripped of what little bit of her remained.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] queen valenya [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] declan, dorian, emil & maeve[color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none[/color]
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