The Queen walked through the castle grounds, her golden puffed-sleeved gown trailing behind her. Though no longer recognized as Queen—at least not by the King's decree—Nerezza Vauclain carried herself with the dignity of someone who dared the world to deny her. Her small entourage followed in silence: a Lady-in-Waiting nearly her age, and two young servants whose eyes remained respectfully lowered.
"Didn't you say you had something to tell me, Marceline?" Nerezza's voice was calm, her green eyes fixed ahead as though she hadn't spoken at all—but the subtle sharpness in her tone made it clear: Why haven't you started talking yet?
Maceline bowed immediately, her words tumbling out in apology. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. It's my oversight." She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard that His Majesty had an unconscious woman in his arms when he arrived at the Castle last night."
"And where did you hear this from?"
