(1299-10-02) Loyalty and Protection
Summary: Backscened to 11 years ago. After a year of staying in the Rocaille estate as Duc Fernand's ward, Lady Perrine de Verreuil holds her first real conversation with his heir, Matthieu de Rocaille.
RL Date: October 2, 2018
Related: None
matthieu perrine 

Rocaille Estate - Siovale

The Rocaille family's stronghold in Angouleme, Siovale.


The year Perrine de Verreuil has spent under the watchful eye of the Duc de Siovale's household would be illuminating on several levels - not just to give her a passing exposure on the family's messy internal politics but also the comings and goings of Fernand and Ava's numerous children. He had three sets, she would have learned, and from three different women - Aveline Toluard, the first duchesse, long deceased, Ava Toluard, Aveline's half-sister and who was responsible for birthing most of them, and Anabelle de Perigeux, his consort, also deceased.

But Fernand has only one heir and in spite of Ava's constant machinations to try and turn his eye to her own firstborn son, his hopes remained squarely on his own, Matthieu de Rocaille, the oldest of the brood and as Perrine would have learned, also the busiest.

He travels often, set on the business of learning about the province which he was to inherit. His days are mostly spent visiting various Siovalese holdings and attending various classes at the University of Siovale, situated in the family's seat of Angouleme. In about two years, he would be venturing across the rest of Terre d'Ange, to visit other courts and learn from the triumphs and mistakes of his elders. But for now, his focus is on Siovale.

Today is rare in the fact that Matthieu has actually returned to the family's sizeable estate before the sun has completely disappeared from the skies to make way for the evening. Even before the House's elevation as the Siovalese sovereigns, the Rocailles have always been important; the castle is old and the grounds substantial, cared for by a veritable army of gardeners and horticulturists to keep them in a state of lush, verdant beauty. And yet the young heir seems to notice none of it when he hands the reins of his Cherevin mount to the Master of Horse, and cuts so briskly across the cobblestoned path leading to the castle's main foyer. That would be deceptive, however. He is known for being observant, and sharply perceptive.

He is followed by his Cassiline - an austere-looking man in his late fifties, clad in the Brotherhood's famous gray garb, vambraces gleaming on his forearms. Brother Albert Montpellier was due to retire within the next few years, but he carries himself with the predatory grace of those who dedicated their lives to the protection of others.

At nineteen years of age, he is tall and broad-shouldered, over six feet, and will be taller still, kept to a lean and fighting trim given his training as a cavalry man. While there is a sword buckled on his side, and while he knows how to use it, word has it that he prefers the spear, and is enthusiastic enough in its art that he's won a few jousts to his name. His hair is so pale it is almost white and his time outdoors has given him a complexion lightly kissed by the sun, and despite his status, there is nothing ostentatious about his clothes, though the materials they've been fashioned from are fine indeed: a tailored jacket dyed a deep, dark green with black epaulets, black breeches and riding boots and a high-collared white shirt tucked underneath. The cravat that is the fashionable convention, however, is unknotted and draped around the collar - he never did like the style.

Upon entry, he unbuckles his sword belt and hands it to his Cassiline, both men exchanging quiet words.

Perrine is a dutiful ward, finding little to do other than read and write in her various journals, recording her time within the Rocaille household. The anniversary of her brother's disappearance at sea is soon to be nigh and she has been seen less and less as the date approaches, attending her lessons but finding herself more often than not sequestered in her rooms and in the evenings the servants say they can hear her restless nightmares that plague the poor young Verreuil heir. Perhaps with the guilt of the position she has had to take up.

This serves to answer why she looks to exhausted as she is passing from the grand hall to the stairway when Matthieu enters. She lifts her foot to take the first step in her usual silvery blue gown, a wealth of books stacked atop each other enroute to her room. Willowy as ever there has begun a change of the girl into a young woman, a slow process but obvious for those that are not witness to the minute changes from day to day. That slippered foot rises higher and in her distraction at his entrance while her blue eyes follow him she misses and gracelessly feels her foot start to fall - not supported by the step she expected to be there. The books tumble, in a cacophony of sound and rustling of pages as she spills herself across the steps and looks all together shocked by the expression on her usual cool expression.

Several books scatter in his direction, one with its pages molested as it lands face down and open. A smaller skids and slides till it comes to rest a few things spilling from its pages. Ignoring the pain from her shin, she pulls at her skirts to try to find a modicum of dignity in the unfortunate tableau. Lady a somewhat akimbo, her circlet lost, books littering steps and floor.

The one that has strayed so far has no title to it, its a worn leather cover that has seen a great amount of use and it is the one that had spilled its contents - or possibly some across the flower. Pressed flowers are the most notable item but then there are scraps of fabric and the book itself if looked in will have a few charcoal sketches of varying things. "Shemhazai bless me…" she whispers and is furiously trying to restock the tomes and books on one of the steps as her pale cheeks - for once- burn furiously bright.

It's the Cassiline that notices her first, protective senses being what they are; Albert's eyes widen a touch, however, when he takes in the disaster to follow.

By the time Perrine has managed to pull her skirts to a more modest arrangement, she would find both sets of eyes turned her way, Albert's own dark-eyed stare a direct contrast to the cutting blue of Matthieu's own, as pale as northern glaciers and set with silver shards. While the Cassiline's expression holds very little by way of emotion, the Rocaille heir's face is fitted with one of muted surprise - and recognition upon seeing who it was that had been attempting to carry all of these rare volumes on her own. He has never forgotten a face in his life, despite his constant absences.

He stoops to retrieve the journal of sketches and pressed flowers, immediately reminded of another person in his life who does much the same thing, and with a sweep of a broad hand collects them back within the pages without looking at them and at the very least in the doing, keeping a lady's privacy intact. A few more volumes plucked from where they had fallen near him, and retrieving the circlet that had fallen from her hair, he rises to take several long strides towards Perrine as she fusses around with what remains of her burden.

"Lady Perrine." Never 'my lady', his baritone holds the faintest traces of concern largely overwhelmed by inquiry, and should she look up, she'd find a hand offered to her, palm up, the rest of her books tucked against his side. "Are you injured?"

Turning his head over his shoulder: "Albert, the books. I believe she'll need them delivered to her chambers."

Ignore them, everything shall go away if it is ignored and not remarked upon. So is the mantra that keeps repeating in her head to help center her fluster and keep it in line. Perrine is so involved with guiding herself that she doesn't immediately respond to his presence or her name. Finally she is forced to give into the fact she was in fact noticed - which by all logical accounts would be hard to miss. There is no smile, just the fading embarrassment that begins to rise anew offered aid. "Just my pride," she says in a rather collected tone before her eyes look to the collection at his side. "I am more afraid for the books and their bindings," she admits. "How frightfully clumsy and.." she begins to protest as the other books are spoken for but bites it back quickly.

She puts weight on her affronted leg, pressing her foot down as her mouth pulls to one side. She makes no other complaint but gives in to the offered hand so that she can better untangle herself from the wealth of fabric about her legs. With his aid she takes a slow step down and back onto solid ground instead of the risers. "Your arrival was a surprise Lord Matthieu, that and my mind was wandering. Your concern is appreciated but unneeded. I have carried the same amount before up the stairs," she claims easily. The dark circles under her eyes speak of little sleep but there it is, a faint smile that she musters to pull at her lips. "I trust you have been well?" She aims the topic in another direction, hoping that the little indiginity might be forgotten though she takes a careful ginger step to the side and smooths her skirts as best she can - they cover the favoring she gives the bruising shin.

The professed worry about the books and bindings has Matthieu lifting up the bundle that he is carrying to inspect them with a critical eye. "They seem undamaged," he remarks. "But I'll have the librarian check them over just in case in the event that we'll need the document experts from the University to repair them." It isn't just the Siovalese deference to academics and learning that prompts him to say such things - books are still transcribed by hand, and in the Rocaille estate, at least, they are a significant investment. He adds the pile to the one gathered up by Albert, who carries the load easily with one arm.

Once her hand is lifted to take his, his grip is secure, but gentle in spite of the coarseness of his skin, rendered such by calluses and training, and he helps her up from the ground and down to the main floor. "Nevertheless, I'll have the chirurgeon fetched for a visit before you sleep." His eyes have not missed the dark circles around hers, as always never of a disposition to miss much of anything, and an opportunist enough to use her fall as an opening for whatever additional diagnosis Simone Blancmange might make on her condition.

He releases her hand once she's able to stand on her own power. "I'm certain it's no trouble at all to have them delivered to where they need to be," he says, nevermind that she tells him that his concern is unneeded - Perrine was a guest, and under their care. He retrieves the smaller, leather-bound book from the pile, the one he has surmised is actually hers, and he hands the journal back over to her, letting her carry that, at least. "Were these going to your chambers or back to the library?"

I trust you have been well?

The smile that lifts the corners of his mouth is barely perceptible with how faint it is, but it is genuinely meant. "Well enough," he confirms, a hand falling to bracket over one hip, his other finally giving into the temptation he has harbored since the day's ride. He yanks the unknotted tie from around his collar and shoves it in his pocket. "Business took me to Montauban today. Yourself? How are you?"

A look of relief crosses across her features, shattering her mask of well tended calm when he offers to have the books looked at. A grateful smile blossoms readily then, "Good, though should they I would like ot watch." And learn. Perrine gives a glance back to the books she had managed to stack upon the stairs, as if there is a desperate need to be certain they have not upended themsevles again or likewise burst into flame and became wholly ruined by her unsteady misstep.

As quickly as it had been the smile is gone when he mentions the chirurgeon, her lips forming a line that has her sculpted features marred by disappointment. "If that is what you wish, so shall it be." For she is a guest and refusing the care and hospitality would only mark her as ungrateful. Little nuances made, she reaches forward towards the book he offers her. The journal is pulled closer before fingers part the cover to look at some of the items that had been so hastily lost and she pulls free a soft velvet in burgundy that she smooths her fingers over before quickly setting to the inside of a page and closing. Relief again.

"My room. I find that I am more apt to explore further and read more pages when shut away. My room allows me such things," she admits. Though the light within the confines of her chambers is likely not as good as that in the library. "My thanks," she adds the last, glancing to Albert as well and giving him a dip of her head as her smile is soon to follow.

Eyes focus once more upon the Rocaille heir and another nod - a trademark of head dips is given though her focus settles on the tie before it disappears before she hmms thoughtfully. She blinks a few times and presses through her weariness, "Montauban. I do miss traveling," a fondness enters the lilt of her voice as a wistful look is given the door before she lifts her hand to motion, "I am well. Your family has been more than generous with their time. I am truly grateful though, father recently wrote and he said he was going to send something for you. What it is I can not say but I am to expect it in a month's time. I think he may have lost it in his hoard of treasures somewhere." Amusement flickers in that soft gaze, warmth showing across her features.

It's a request that is easily enough to be seen to. "I'll include that in the instructions to be delivered to the librarian, then," Matthieu replies, hand left in the pocket of his trousers now that the tie has been dispensed with.

She may be disappointed at the offer of the chirurgeon, but there is no apology on the Rocaille heir's features, though perhaps there is some relief to be had that she doesn't insist on not seeing one, if not for decorum's sake. The young lady was under their care, the future Vicomtesse de Lourdes, and his father was burdened with enough matters that to assure both him and the Verreuils that Perrine continues to be in good health is the very least he could do in the hours he spends in the estate. And despite his poor relationship with his stepmother, he does the same for the rest of his half-brothers and sisters, Elliot, especially.

"That is my wish," he confirms. "Simone will see you this evening."

With his earlier supposition confirmed, Matthieu gestures for Perrine to lead the way, following up the stairs with her and with Albert in tow once they get moving. "Your father and mine have been friends since their childhood," he observes. "With everything else that has happened to him and your family, I trust that he'll continue to be dedicated to aid as much as he's able, and what is good for your family is also good for Siovale." There's a sideways glance to Perrine. "I've not spoken to the Vicomte for quite some time, should he be amenable to it, I'd very much like to visit him in Lourdes. Perhaps when I'm on my way to Poumarous."

She'd find his brows knitting at the mention of the place - the baronnie had been devastated by a drought a decade or two ago and from what he has seen of the reports there, it is struggling to shake off its effects. If he visited, then maybe he could think of…

He shakes his head, his attention falling back on Perrine. "His artifacts have always been interesting things. The last time I met with him, his collection was already sizeable. I trust it's only grown in the last few years." He stops in front of her door.

Perrine is not like to argue at all even if she may disagree with certain choices being made or things said. "Then I will be sure to not be in the midst of my books this evening," she says as if she could not imagine pulling herself away. Turning about, the lady will take to the side of the stairs nearest here and carefully using the railing guide herself upwards. Her other hand with her journal takes her skirts to be sure that she is not clumsy a second time so near to the first. Each step is taken with care, as if afraid the risers might suddenly betray her and change height or disappear all together. Nostrils flare with each press of weight to her right foot though that stoic expression remains - so strange for one so young. Her journal might speak of a different soul entirely.

"I am sure my father would enjoy your company and welcome you into our house for however long you wished to stay. Then you might see for yourself what a lifetime of traveling and exploring the other lands has given to our descendants. Such strange wonders." She smiles at this, reminiscing as they round the first landing and go for the second. "My favorite thing to do was stay indoors on a rainy day and catalog them, learn of their stories…." another wistful breath is drawn and it does not hide the hiss that comes with her climbing of the stairs though she does not cease their climb - however slow it might be.

"After the wreck he did not travel so much anymore…only close trips. But he has others he sends in his stead and they do bring back items but it is not the same for him, I think. They are still wonders but not ones found by his hand. I had thought we might go on one last voyage when I return home after my stay with you," she says. "Mother will of course, object but then anything to do with ships leaves her in a horrible mess." For reasons that should be plain.

"As far as memories go, Hellas was always my favorite. Such beautiful architecture and views. I wish I had had more time to learn from them," she admits and then glances to the two, the larger books that Albert has in his care are studied again her earlier inability to stay upon her feet cause for their possible damage. But her eyes lift to Matthieu.

Her room is further down the hall and she makes the walk across the distance look graceful, easing herself through the tight feeling in her shin as her chin lifts slowly to take everything in stride. "I was hoping that we might visit Elua while I was here. It has been some time."

"I intend to experience travel for myself outside of our borders, eventually," Matthieu tells her as they walk, his strides long, confident and brisk. He doesn't have the predatory stature of his Cassiline and nor does he have Perrine's grace. "While I can. I trust that most of my life is going to be planted firmly here in Terre D'Ange and the older I become, the more my inability to leave it grows. It's part of the reason why I would like to visit your father, actually, to see what he recommends."

He makes no move to enter her chambers once they reach it - this may be his family's home, but he is a gentleman enough that he will not cross the threshold of a lady's boudoir without being expressly invited in. "You must miss your family a great deal," he replies. "I'm certain that if your other siblings wanted to visit that they could. Father would not object." There's a pause, and his hand removes from his pocket, a thumb rubbing the center of his forehead. "Her Grace may have something to say to that, I'm sure, but Father will have the last word there."

He falls quiet, then, when she speaks of Hellas and his lips pull in an answering smile, more visible than the first. "The future Comte d'Albert is a childhood friend of mine," he reveals. "And he's always been fascinated by Hellas. I can't profess a specific fascination outside of what I've read of the Isles in my studies, but I'm certain they're beautiful, if not just because of the traces that have been left behind in Marsilikos. Perhaps you and your father can visit Hellas again in this last voyage."

A sturdy shoulder adopts a lean against the wall by her door, arms crossing over his chest. "As for Elua, the family takes a pilgrimage there every year for the Longest Night. It's in a few months, so at the very least, your hopes will be realized. You're too young to participate in the festivities being held at Mont Nuit, but you'll be in the city." Judging by the subtle light in those ice-and-silver eyes, however, like most young men, he is especially looking forward to it.

"Travel.." there is a sudden passion in her voice. "There is only so much one can read inscribed by the worlds of others. I know for you it will not be easy to do so nor as free as it should be but if you have that chance, never hesitate." Perrine says emboldened as she hesitates outside her room before she touches the handle. Her hand rests there however, not opening the chamber door just yet until she glances back to see Albert with the stack of books. She blinks, focusing once more on the task at hand. The handle turns, the door gives and she steps aside. Even from their vantage point it will become clear that her gathering tendencies she inherited her from her father remains. Her desk, pressed and moved up against her windows is laden with bits of widelife and even a butterfly frozen in repose. sketches are strewn across its top and a few untouched pieces of parchment remain alone against the sea of attempts.

"Please…the bed," she instructs, realizing her desk is not fit place at the moment for the beautiful books - what with charcoal dusting the surface. She crosses and clasps her hands before her and in a fit of rare mirth she looks across at Mattheiu where she rests against the door. "I will say that should you seek my father out a question on a subject of his travels will mean you will be stuck there for what is likely a lifetime," her laugh is short, but no less genuine as she lifts her fingers to cover her lips before she turns to regard her room and its myriad of items - more or less having some order.

"Perhaps we will…and your friend has a right to find a great deal of interest in Hellas," she says and then there comes a phrased utterance in the native tongue of those very lands as it only proves to brigthen her expression further.

Elua is mentioned and she watches him closely, her smile remaining but fading some as she observes. She dips her chin, a light faded hue to her cheeks rises though it doesn't seem to keep her from answering, "No, but I would be glad to explore the city itself. The Mont and its curiousities can wait," she admits and steps inside and pauses. "A moment, please.." she does not invite him in, infact but he may watch her cross the room towards a small wooden box. Upon opening it, it will become clear that it is a small jewelry box by the way some things gleam within its hold. She pulls something free and it gleams a rich golden metallic before she closes the lid. Tucking it into her palm, she crosses back towards him and the doorway, pausing just there and extending her hand to him. "Since I am not sure you will ever see Hellas for yourself. Please.." she explains and there in her palm is a long golden chain with a Hellene medallion of some sort of religious aspect. "If you wish, when you are not busy with your duties I will explain to you what it is and what it means. But for now all you need know is that the Hellene believe it grants its wearer protection."

Albert follows the lady's directive, crossing the threshold to her bed and rests the stack of books with great care on the most solid space he can find close to it - a desk, perhaps, or a trunk by the foot of it. The Cassiline bows to Perrine from the waist, before exiting her room and Matthieu follows the gray-clad man with the usual attentiveness he gives almost everything else - Albert has been a good and devoted companion for many years, but whatever remorse he may feel at his retirement has been alleviated by the fact that his exit from his service inevitably means that Gabriel de Montreve will replace him.

With Perrine lingering at her door, however, he returns his attention where it ought and the rare amusement there has him smirking faintly. "I'm certain if I had a lifetime to spare listening to his stories, I would give it," he tells her - words expected from any courtier towards a lady's beloved parent, to be sure, but from the taciturn firstborn son of Fernand de Rocaille, they are truthful and genuine. He was never one to flatter and Geoff de Verreuil, the adventuring lord, was much like the other larger-than-life figures he has spent a significant portion of his time learning from, well entrenched in the august company of the Vicomtesse de Seyches, the Marquis d'Evereux and Oriane Somerville de Toluard, left-hand duchesse and consort of the Duc de Toluard.

"When we were younger, Raoul, Gabriel, Olivia and I made a game out of guessing which countries our lives would lead us," Matthieu continues, his words absent and thoughtful, but subsumed by a rare note of remembered affection. "Raoul would always pick Hellas and Liv, determined to follow her older brother everywhere, would pick that also. Gabe would rather venture to the furthest corners of the world. East, he would say - towards Ch'in and the Empire of the Sun."

There's a curious look towards her heightened color, but realization sets in immediately - it would be two years before she'd be able to experience Mont Nuit herself, though she's undoubtedly heard of what happens there during the Longest Night. However, before he could say much else, she's already leaving. Brows furrow as he watches her depart, but he doesn't deny the lady's request and remains where he is.

And then she extends the medallion and while he reaches for it, there's a hint of hesitation on his features - that is rare, also, the young man was the decisive sort. "Are you certain?" he wonders. "You were just explaining how much you miss the country, would you rather not keep the token to remind you?" For protection, she explains, and that, at least, he could understand. Perrine might just be demonstrating her consideration, and she was intelligent despite being so young - a year in his household, she couldn't have missed just how thorny his circumstances are with the lady of the House.

Giving Albert a grateful look, Perrine follows his movements as well, curious perhaps in their observation but her attention lingers not. There is a brighter smile still for her father, delight showing where cool exhausted calm had been and the dark circles seem to disappear beneath the light of her gaze. "One thing to hear, another to go." she intones, "though dreams will fuel the actual journey. But you did not say what you would choose," she says, a curious quirk of a single dark brow steals some of her stoic mannerism away to her youth which he will reflect upon with her blush when all comes to the Mont. She knows, all know what happens on the Mont but there is a difference between knowing and seeing…seeing and experiencing. Much like her journies abroad with her as the tale teller, and in this he could be, though it would not be appropriate.

The medallion now rests in that pale palm of her's, uncalloused unlike his own hand. Its tarnish is real, earned by age and travel but with a little cleaning is likely to shine as brilliant as the day it was created. "I would never offer if I was not certain," Perrine promises. "With it comes the promise of a story of how it came to be in my possession and its meaning. But all things must find new homes and I believe, if I may, you need this more than I. I have my memories of Hellas and countless artifacts my father has collected. This was something I chose for myself and thus, it is something I feel I am free to give to whom I wish."

Her smile remains and she will let it rest there between them but throws in on caveat to go along with it. "That you return my circlet," a tease?! "And you tell me more of your own adventures in your youth or even now. Stories are precious things and I would like one from you." Fingers had curled about the medallion but now that the caveat has been given life she unfurls her fingers to allow him access to the medallion. "We are to rule our houses likely at near the same time. Why not begin such a future with a promise of loyalty and offered protection."

But you did not say what you would choose.

His answer is silence, but with the lingering trace of his own amusement hinted by his eyes and the way he tilts his head. If nothing else, it is a young man's mischief, to withhold the answer to a question when the person posing it looks so curious.

The fact that the medallion had been one of the lady's own choosing has Matthieu's brows furrowing further - it seems that he's not all that inclined to keep it if not only did she select it to keep, but one that has a story attached to it. But not one to disappoint a young woman or be such a callous monster that he would disregard her implied wishes for his well-being while she lives under his father's roof, he accepts the token and lifts it eye-level to inspect it. It's true - a jeweller's cloth and solvent would be enough to leave the artifact shining again, but there's something about its present patina, the passage of Time wrought upon its surface, that appeals to him. If nothing else, it is a tangible testament to the old addage that those who do not learn History are doomed to repeat it.

"I'm interested in hearing about it, the story," the young man finally admits and after a moment, he drags out the discarded tie, wraps the fine cloth around the antique carefully and pockets it. "Once you're feeling a little better."

He misses nothing.

Reminded of the circlet, he finally laughs - the sudden sound cuts like thunder, and the look of it, as brilliant as a star's cradle, streaks like lightning over his typically impassive mien. "Rest assured, I had no intentions of keeping it," he tells her, handing it over. "I was simply waiting until you were properly situated again." And true to his character, he does not point out the fact that she looked so embarrassed that to call any attention to it might only embarrass her further.

A pause: "…besides, my head's too big for it."

She attempts to wheedle a story out of him, and his mouth twists in a contemplative fashion. "I've no talent as a mendacant," he tells her. "And I'm certain the most interesting stories I've ever experienced are the ones I've made up in my younger years. Most of my own are largely focused on study and training, but I'll endeavor to find something." Her words regarding both of their houses, however, earn her something faintly approving on the stubborn line of his mouth. "Indeed. I hope you know that you're always welcome here, Lady Perrine."

With that, he pushes away from the wall. "I'll let you get back to your books," he says. "Though now that I'm home earlier than the family has expected, I trust dinner will actually start at the appropriate hour. I'm certain I'll see you there along with the rest of my siblings." Unless there's anything else, he gives her a shallow bow from the waist, arm folded behind his back, and turns to go, Cassiline following suit.

There is something near contentment when he finally accepts the offered gift and all that it implies for the future between their houses. And also what its own 'supposed' power will offer him in kind. She watches him tuck it away, a soft exhale escaping her as her gaze seems to look through him for a length of time. Perrine is pulling on those very memories it would seem, "Nothing will ever look the same without Baptiste, he was the true color to my world. I am glad you will find some use for the medallion and I am glad I could offer such a thing." She blinks, a slight sheen to her eyes that never truly presents itself fully as she lifts her hand to pass a finger just above the ridge of her high cheekbone that begins to become more prominent with her age.

"Very well, when I am better, of course," she says, her expression regulating itself once more to truly composed. Fingers clasp together before her properly before a twitch of a smile starts, perhaps even a grin at his reaction to the circlet. The jest does not go missed and it is appreciated as brows lift and her eyes follow suit to study his head. "I suppose you may be right, but you never know until you try," she explains but reaches out for the circlet with its small stars ringing aroud it. The stars of Perrine captured for her as a gift so she may always wear them.

She lifts it to her head, setting it back atop her brow at the pinnacle of her person so that she can glow like the heavens but as a dim reflection. "As you are, Lord Matthieu," she says, reflecting not only stars today but his own level of decorum.

"Thank you for helping me safely arrive to my domain with such precious items. I will be glad to know they did not receive any undo harm." She pauses as he starts to go dipping into a curtsey but when his back turns she speaks a promise - no she did no miss his lack of answer. "I will one day know where you dreamed of going," though it is said merely to herself and not for the departing heir before she turns and enters her room, the door closing softly behind her.

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