- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, Romance, Magical, Fictitious, Mystical, Dark & Light
Clarice paused suddenly, a frown coming to her lips. Something felt...something felt wrong. It was just her intuition, but she had a tendency to trust that. She looked towards Ashley, an intense look on her face. "Stay here," she said softly. "Just - take a seat, stay comfortable...I'll be right back," she said, rising to her feet. She paused, glancing to where she knew the guards were supposed to be standing. "You stay here, too," she said quickly. "Call in a servant while I'm gone - have them prepare and deliver lunch to the throne room."
The Queen turned and headed out the throne room door, trying to keep herself composed. It wasn't often that she got these feelings, these gut feelings that something was wrong, but they usually turned out to be right when she did get them. Sometimes it happened in a strange and roundabout kind of way - in her conversations with Phillippe, she had learned that some of her most intense episodes, ones that often escalated into full-scale panic attacks, had occurred on days that had been significant to him. She had even requested that her father have all her old diaries sent to her, and in looking through them, she discovered that she'd had episodes coinciding with the days his two stillborn children had been born. She hadn't mentioned it to him at all, but she had cross-checked the dates in her diaries with the dates on the three tombstones in the royal gardens that marked where the babies had been buried and, sure enough, it was as if something inside of her had known that her future husband was suffering.
Once she was out the door, where Ashley and the guards couldn't see her, she broke into a run - a slow and careful run, not wanting to trip over her skirts, but a run nonetheless. She hurried, as quickly as she could, towards the grand staircase. The unsettling feeling inside of her had grown from a simple flurry of butterflies to a deep, gut-wrenching, almost sickening sensation. Something was almost definitely wrong.
She reached the castle's third floor and moved quickly towards the room where the King was resting. She had offered to let him stay in their room and to take a spare room herself, but he had refused, saying that his beautiful Queen deserved the royal bedchamber until he was well enough to return to her bed...for all his faults and flaws, the King was a romantic, and a good man when it came to his wife. Clarice had a deep appreciation for how well he treated her.
She was almost to the room when she encountered a cluster of servants, almost in a panic. It all but confirmed her fears, and the moment they saw her, she could see them instantly tense up.
"What's happening?" Clarice asked, her brown eyes looking intently towards the group. She hoped they knew better than to lie to her - she'd been good to them as long as she'd been in the castle, and she hoped that they had learned by now to do the same for her.
"It's nothing, your highness," said one quickly, a young elven man. "The King's illness flared up somewhat, but the healer says she has it under control," he continued.
"If it's under control, then step aside and let me see him," Clarice demanded, and in an instant, the group split down the middle, opening up a walkway for Clarice. She walked quickly through them and to the door, her fingers curling around the knob and grasping it firmly as she pushed open the wooden door.
The Queen turned and headed out the throne room door, trying to keep herself composed. It wasn't often that she got these feelings, these gut feelings that something was wrong, but they usually turned out to be right when she did get them. Sometimes it happened in a strange and roundabout kind of way - in her conversations with Phillippe, she had learned that some of her most intense episodes, ones that often escalated into full-scale panic attacks, had occurred on days that had been significant to him. She had even requested that her father have all her old diaries sent to her, and in looking through them, she discovered that she'd had episodes coinciding with the days his two stillborn children had been born. She hadn't mentioned it to him at all, but she had cross-checked the dates in her diaries with the dates on the three tombstones in the royal gardens that marked where the babies had been buried and, sure enough, it was as if something inside of her had known that her future husband was suffering.
Once she was out the door, where Ashley and the guards couldn't see her, she broke into a run - a slow and careful run, not wanting to trip over her skirts, but a run nonetheless. She hurried, as quickly as she could, towards the grand staircase. The unsettling feeling inside of her had grown from a simple flurry of butterflies to a deep, gut-wrenching, almost sickening sensation. Something was almost definitely wrong.
She reached the castle's third floor and moved quickly towards the room where the King was resting. She had offered to let him stay in their room and to take a spare room herself, but he had refused, saying that his beautiful Queen deserved the royal bedchamber until he was well enough to return to her bed...for all his faults and flaws, the King was a romantic, and a good man when it came to his wife. Clarice had a deep appreciation for how well he treated her.
She was almost to the room when she encountered a cluster of servants, almost in a panic. It all but confirmed her fears, and the moment they saw her, she could see them instantly tense up.
"What's happening?" Clarice asked, her brown eyes looking intently towards the group. She hoped they knew better than to lie to her - she'd been good to them as long as she'd been in the castle, and she hoped that they had learned by now to do the same for her.
"It's nothing, your highness," said one quickly, a young elven man. "The King's illness flared up somewhat, but the healer says she has it under control," he continued.
"If it's under control, then step aside and let me see him," Clarice demanded, and in an instant, the group split down the middle, opening up a walkway for Clarice. She walked quickly through them and to the door, her fingers curling around the knob and grasping it firmly as she pushed open the wooden door.