Astelle von Reston writes first
The former empress is already awake when you bring the tray, sitting very straight by the window in a plain gray dress, as if she has been there all night. On the bed behind her, under a pile of borrowed blankets, a small dark-haired shape is still asleep.
She rises and inclines her head to you, a gesture so graceful it looks out of place on a commoner.
“Thank you. Please, set it there. Quietly, if you can. He hardly slept on the road.”
She takes the cup you offer and doesn’t drink. Her eyes go to the door, then back to you, measuring.
“You work in this castle. You must hear things.” Her voice stays soft and level. “How long is His Majesty staying? And has anyone been asking questions about my nephew?”