Lady Isabeau was not one of many talents, in this case particularly she wasn’t a good server. She gazed out the large stained glass window surrounding the garden room, vaguely hearing the quiet clinks the fine china made around her. Through the colorfully cloudy glass she could see the flourishing royal garden, it was beautiful but untouched or seen. It’s restriction from public eyes was truly a tragedy, Lady Isabeau couldn’t help but think. Something so gorgeous was primed and caged like a songbird.
“Lady Isabeau? Is there something interesting in the garden?” Her attention snapped back to the tea party, all three ladies were holding up their tea cups for a refill. Isabeau glided towards the table, her pale blue silken dress trailing behind her.
“Do forgive me my Lady,” she said as she filled up each cup with a lady-like grace, “I was just admiring the recent approval of care in regards to the garden.”
“Ah I see, but I do hope you don’t venture into curiosity, Lord’s do not like that in a Lady.” The old woman chuckled along side the other three older women at the table, all the wives of the Southern Lords, all with a little too much time and tea. Isabeau knew this would be her place one day, she couldn’t exactly despise it.
“Anyways how about you run along and tend to the guests on the property, I’m sure you’d be of better use than simple servants.” Said one of the oldest Ladies, the mother of an oh-so familiar Lord, adorning traditional clothing of the Andres. She’s said to be a near exact look alike of her son, whom Isabeau had been flaunted to by her father. Most of the other women also flaunted the richness of culture and economic flourishment through dress at these little tea parties.
The Lady of the Andres raised her eyebrows at Isabeau’s prolonged gaze. What she said was an insult and a compliment, how most nobles talked. Isabeau nodded and set down the tea pot on a golden embellished tray, since gold was abundant in the Southern Lands, and accepted her leave. She showed no emotion as quiet gossip continued behind her, as she was taught.
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Lady Isabeau trailed along the brick hallways, only lit by a faint candlelight. She was headed towards the front hall where various lower nobles in the region met and discussed politics. The hall was not grand but the polished floors gave it a sophisticated mood let, increasing the nobles feel of importance.
Isabeau wasn’t uneducated, she listened in and played ignorance enough to understand a lot of the politics but looked so bliss that many did not watch what they said around her; which they should. Inviting her into their affairs just by starting as conversation and impressing her with politics. Except they weren’t impressing her, they were informing her.
“...and thus I shall soon make my departure, for my father expects,” a handsome younger man said, “I shall hopefully see you again.” He said at Isabeau, she flustered on the inside but outside her cool gaze didn’t fluctuate.
“It was a pleasure to meet you..” She couldn’t remember his name, not a good thing for her blank faces.
“Soon to be Lord of Andres,” said the young man poignantly, “do remember the name, for the sake of a not so awkward greeting in front of our parents.” Isabeau truly looked at the man, his skin a deep mocha with rich curls falling onto his forehead, clearly the Lady’s son. How had she been so oblivious?
Once he realized she didn’t intend to respond he smiled politely and bid her farewell; Isabeau prayed he was a sweet fellow or news of her ignorance towards guests would soon reach her father. But that wasn’t all that occupied her mind, she turned and began to mosey around the slowly filling room in hopes of gaining more Intel.
Middle aged men adorned by young trophy wives indulged in agreements while their wives stood there as Isabeau soon will. Inserting herself into conversations had gotten a lot harder with some of the wives clearly possessive over something they had no possession of, holding onto only an illusion to comfort them. Isabeau indulged herself a little with more politics before her father entered from the center stairs, the Southern Lords trailing behind him.
Isabeau felt his cold stare at her sending goosebumps down her spine, but she would stiffen, and she would not let it show; as she’d been taught. The Lord of Larson halted at the top and looked down upon the rest of his guests.
“For this information you wait was necessary, through one of the King’s messengers I have received news of an attack on a monastery in the York Islands,” gasps erupted from the room, “the King has requested us Lords to meet at his Majesty’s palace in Proben to provide aid.” He stood unaffected by the news he brought, waiting for the idle conversations to die out.
“I must talk business with you lower nobles in regards to your support, wives may leave the room with Lady Isabeau.” He said poignantly, gesturing his hands to the open courtyard.
Without hesitation Lady Isabeau linked arms with a girl that looked no older than 13 on her left, exiting expectantly, waiting for the others to follow behind. As they exited Isabeau glanced at the girl whom was of Raugeh decent, probably from Dent where most pretty refugees made cheap nobles uphold social status. Carefully looking in her peripheral vision when they finally got through the cluster of the hall, she leaned an inch closer to the girl.
“Hello little one, how do you do?” Isabeau whispered in Raugeh, barely moving her lips. The girl turned towards her shocked, her brown eyes glittered in the sunlight and her thick black hair swung across her back. She smiled, recognizing the common Dent greeting phrase, a sense of understanding passed through the two.
Isabeau however didn’t dwell, others filtered into the courtyard and she slowly slid away from the girl to admire the recently planted petunias. The girls face returned to that of stone, she knew her duty and her place, and she had accepted this long ago. Isabeau had too, only she’d done it at birth.
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The Lord of Larson had become fairly busy, tending to various foreign matters and political alliances in preparation to meet the King. The days in the manor felt elongated, Isabeau only relished in this due to her building reluctance to travel with her father to see the King. Since her mother died she’d taken to fill in her place in almost all of her previous duties as a wife. Some of the things she didn’t mind, like sitting at the opposite table head or having an inch more of influence; but some things she wouldn’t talk about.
Isabeau watched the servants clean up the last of the hors d'oeuvres placed upon mini tables scattered throughout the hall. All the guests had filtered out eventually leaving Isabeau alone in the vast manor, almost alone. Her father still stood atop the staircase filling Isabeaus thoughts with disgust, making it harder to stand still in her doll-like ways until her father gave her a duty.
“Isabeau,” her father called, “do not make yourself late for afternoon lessons, they will still occur today.”
“Yes father,” she said with a bow, ducking her head from his piercing stare. His eyes lingered until she exited into the hall.
Her tutor, Saer, stood at the end of the hall, a broad smile adorning his round features and soft brown eyes. He was one of the only good things about this vacant manor, but too good.
He stepped beside her and began walking into the study, “Good afternoon my Lady, how did the party go?”
“So and so,” Isabeau said halfheartedly, she wasn’t much of a talker, “and your afternoon?” Saer looked a little disappointed with the deflection: He moved to sit at the grand piano in the center of the room.
“Come,” he patted the open space on the bench, “we’ll start with piano today.” For all his niceties he was a deflector himself, she couldn’t help but think. Regardless she sat on the bench, folding her skirts under her.
Saer turned onto the piano and began to play a gentle melody, comforting her. Isabeau closed her eyes and swayed with the tune, music was the only duty that didn’t require as much boundaries and rules. Music let her breath, let her take in air she had never once dared to touch.
Saer nudged her shoulder, motioning her to join in. For warm ups she would always play the background melody on the lower end of the piano, in unison with Saer. Playing with him also felt less like a duty to Isabeau, it was familiar and warm.
They moved into a more difficult melody, increasing the tempo and focus. Isabeau knew how Saer felt about her and Saer about her lack of feelings, but they both let each other be selfish people here in this study. Isabeau gained a breath of freedom and Saer a hint of affection.
After they had finished her piano lesson, Saer arose from the bench and motioned for Isabeau to come to the desk that sat in front of the window. Isabeau shut down her feelings of sadness and went to carry on her etiquette lessons, melancholic towards the loss. She shoved herself back into her mold and began to practice her curtsies for meeting the royal family.
“Why,” Saer began, staring out the window, “why do live this way?”
Isabeau only feigned a sigh, “I don’t know what you’re referring to?” Saer looked dejected, a little pained by her mask.
She knew he deserved better, a sweet woman who would love him for all of him no matter how much he weighed or how he dressed. Someone who would be devoted to him, but that wasn’t Isabeau. She desired comfort but had lost the ability to deliver or receive love years ago, and Saer couldn’t change that.
“Hopefully a visit to the palace will up your spirits,” Saer piped up, face masked with comfort, “I’ve heard the royal family is fairly reclusive for a reason…” Saer finished, changing the subject.
Isabeau glanced up at him, dropping curtsy form. “And what would the reason be?” She played along with his conversation.
“They say Her Highness is baron and that her first born is a disappointment,” Saer said.
“Awfully harsh talk for nobility,” Isabeau chuckled, “and any first born of female descent is a ‘disappointment’.” She didn’t mean it harshly, nor did she say it that way, she just stated what it was.
Saer cringed, “Sadly that is true, M’lady, but I heard she was interesting one.”
“Where are you hearing all of this?” Isabeau replies curiously, taking a step towards Saer. He flustered.
“Nobles talk,” he shrugged despite his reddening face, “and the lowlife listen.” Indeed they were lowlife, both secretly indulging in such noble talk to keep from being idle. Isabeau looked at the sadness in his eyes as he talked, about things that held no importance, about things they were raised to abide and indulge in.
Saer reached for Isabeau’s hands that were gently folded into one another, “Promise me you will be back from the palace soon.” Isabeau tried not to tense under his touch, instead opting for looking away.
“It is not that serious, I am simply an accessory for my father on a quick business trip.” Isabeau slipped her hands from Saer’s and turned towards the door. “Is my lesson done?”
She couldn’t see Saer but she knew his face would be contorted with hurt, “Yes my Lady, your lesson is done.”
At that Isabeau glided out of the room, off to a garden or study to stand around waiting for news of when they would depart.
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