Oath of Steel

2 |A Corvine Invitation|

A set of high-heels slammed against the wooden planks broke the perpetual silence of the private quarters of a member of the imperial family, the first set of lights of the day trespassing through the stained windows of the higher grounds. The early mornings' mist outside and the candles burning inside gave off the silent figure of a walking dame.

Much work had been done the day before, but nothing still was set in stone, and she knew that very well.

Her attire was fit for the role she'd begun playing nearly a decade ago, when at the age of seventeen she'd been selected to become a private attendant to the imperial family.

A pearly-white long-sleeved fabric shirt with the emblem of the imperial crest on both sides, a gown of the colour of the moon hugging her figure while a fur mantle flowed gracefully with each calculated step she took towards the antechamber at the break of dawn, making the posing sentinels aware of her arrival.

Greeting the sentinels with a curtsy and small smile she waited for them to push the door open, her glimmering marble-like eyes didn't bother looking back as the doors closed right behind her.

Lady Rosalynde had no time to spare, and that morning would have been the same as all others.

She'd already taken a peek at the newspaper that the Lowen Chronicles Newspaper had released. Seeing the photos of Brek Haywire and Bishop Ferdis hadn't come as a surprise.

The antechamber seemed to open on itself, getting smaller with each step she took forward, the extravagant interiors slowly gaining back their colour as dawn started creeping into the room. It was time for her to execute the first thing on the list of things to do for the day.

That's how she entered the private chambers of one of the heirs, silent as the virtuous night and white as the pallid snow melting under a spring sun, making her close to the thick curtains which had been installed three months ago after losing a bet in a drinking competition.

The canopy bed in the middle of the room would have made any fine merchant go pale at the mere sight, the carvings of the post bed intertwined with the history of the Rowlian Empire, the draping around the bed clear proof of past battles that the empire had fought.

Lady Rosalynde quickly surveyed the room, her eyes having long ago gotten used to the morning darkness that the room offered with the arrival of the winter winds now pending on the obscure horizon.

She'd come earlier than usual, the sheets half falling off the canopy bed as two distinct breaths filled the room. One light, even and steady. The other one guttural, with the same rhythm of a broken piano made her well aware of the number of people that had spent the night in those chambers, and of who was awake and who was not.

She brushed a small lock of her silver hair away from her shoulder, moving her eyes from the bed to get close to the table close to the bathroom door. Her index finger slowly slid down the smooth surface of the wood, delimitating something that last night hadn't been there.

A frigid glass bottle sat alone on the nightstand, and a faint scent of whiskey still lingered in the morning air.

"You're early this morning."

She didn't flinch at the sudden voice filling the room, a rustling from the canopy bed made Rosalynde turn around.

"I'm always early on days like this," Rosalynde replied.

"If you say so," the woman said, her bare feet now grazing the floor.

"How was the funeral?"

"How was the opera?" Rosalynde asked in return, even if she knew that the other would have never answered a question such as that one first thing in the morning.