Her poise, her position, her posture, everything about Nimue screamed of sophistication unseen by the noble women of the courts of Lionmane. She may have been a concubine by reputation but as she sat upright and proud as her portrait was being painted, she treated herself like a queen.
The artist flicked his wrist, his brush bristles enriched by a bright blue. His eyes flitted around, studying both the canvas and the subject. His focus was apparent as he attempted to embody her magnificence on the previously empty sheet.
Nimue's breathing was steady and precise, her movements minimal but as her ladies-in-waiting discussed trivial gossip, Chrys could see the glint in her eye. The canvas was feeding her narcissism, Nimue was currently in a state of ecstasy.
"Lady Farfwright-Comfret was seen leaving Lord Hedwyn's estate again, late at night too," one of the handmaidens remarked as they all sat awaiting their mistress' next instructions.
"That's the third time this week, there must be something going on."
Chrys studied her peers as they continued to weave fantasies about the affairs of Lady Farfwright-Comfret whose husband was waging war on the borders of Ruvia. She watched as they took great pleasure in their web of lies and gossip before switching her attention toward the lady in the centre of the room whose frustration was starting to become apparent. She could see as the eyes of the blue-haired woman became angrier with each word, how her lips started to quiver in exasperation.
"Hasn't Lady Farfwright-Comfret lived half as many winters as Lord Hedwyn? I mean he's as grey as a dire wolf," one of the handmaidens commented.
"And how would you know?" Nimue blurted out, "I can't imagine a simpleton such as yourself would have encountered a dire wolf before."
The handmaiden immediately felt uneasy as the cold stare of Nimue's crystal blue eyes descended upon her, instantly aware that one wrong word could end her life, "Apologies milady."
"Apologies milady," Nimue mimicked, mocking the young woman who was nervous by the exchange. "My lady, my lady, not milady, when will you simpleton's learn?"
There was a grunt from the artist as Nimue frowned ferociously at her handmaidens. Clearly, Nimue had strayed from the artist's desired pose.
"You girl," Nimue spoke abruptly, staring at Chrys before returning her gaze to the artist's desired point.
Chrys tried not to sigh as Nimue's continued attempt to degrade her was becoming tiresome.
"What do you have to say about Lady Farfwright-Comfrey and her out-of-hours clandestine meetings with the ancient Lord Hedwyn, apart from Farfwright-Comfrey is an incredibly terrible title to have to continuously repeat?"
What was Chrys to say? That the Lady Farfwright-Comfrey had originally set out to perform oral satisfaction on the elderly, but rich, Lord Hedwyn as her husband refused to provide her with the finances to maintain their estate. Only to find out that Lord Hedwyn's sword failed to stay erect ever since his beloved wife departed this gods-forsaken world. Should Chrys then explain that Lady Farfwright-Comfrey spends her time singing to him so that Lord Hedwyn can battle his terminal insomnia and that he treats her as the daughter he never had?
Was Chrys to tell them, that instead of the hurtful, distasteful gossip that the handmaidens were determined to fan into flame was so far from the truth that a beautiful friendship had formed out of desperation?
Perhaps while she was telling them that, she could explain that the Lady Farfwright-Comfrey gets her sexual gratification from her stablehand instead, and for breakfast most mornings, she has strawberries with honey covered in goat's milk.
Gossip meant nothing to Chrys, she was the Nightengale and knowing everything about everyone was part of the job, but subsequently not being involved in gossip, for a woman of her age, some others would consider it to be somewhat bizarre and unseemly.
Chrys took a look at her fellow peers before glancing back at the impatient Nimue, as she could see her mistress breathing heavily, Chrys knew she had inadvertently entered a minefield.
"I could not comment on it my queen, I have more interest in the dire wolves that you speak of."
Chrys could feel the eyes of anger boring into her back, the heat of envy growing as Lady Nimue smiled at the use of the word queen.
"Indeed, you speak true, dire wolves are far more interesting than the sexual pleasures of that plain woman." Nimue reacted.
Chrys smiled, but not because Nimue appreciated the answer, but more toward how she considered the fair-looking Lady Farfwright-Comfrey to be plain.
"You ladies represent me," Nimue commented, her eyes remaining focused on the corner of the room she had gazed at for nearly an hour. "You are not some silly wenches brought out from the dregs of society, you are here to represent a queen, therefore you must start acting like it."
Chrys couldn't help but admire her charge, how Nimue's completely delusional opinion of herself brought an unfounded and unbreakable confidence that sustained her in every discussion. Though, while Chrys admired her confidence, she severely despised the woman that she had to wait on all day, every day. If she wasn't the key to tearing down the empire for Loldirr, she would have been tempted to call one of her many assassins at her disposal to end the Sapphire Whore.
She was sick of constantly smiling when she was so full of hate inside, tired of being treated like an irrelevant individual and ridiculed by the woman she needed to be available for every single moment of every single day. The others felt it too, and while the easiest thing to do would be to incorporate herself into the inner circle of handmaidens, the job required that she become an outcast. To try and befriend the unlikeable and to cause discord between her and the Emperor of Isovine.
Chrys scratched her arm as it reminded herself of the latest scar that she had inflicted on her skin. Her reminder of Jayen, whose lifeless body was dragged from the lake as a result of Chrys' scheming. As all the thoughts raced around her mind of more schemes, dead bodies and fake smiles, she wondered how long it would be before the strands of sanity in her mind would start to stretch and bend, and how many more people would die as a result of her actions before those strands would snap.
Brought back from the dark thoughts that bombarded her mind, the door crashed open unceremoniously. The huge towering frame of the Lionguard Sir Searmundr stomped into the room, briskly pushing passed the artist and toward the awaiting ear of Nimue.
He spoke quietly in her ear, before stepping away and glancing toward the bewildered Chrys.
Nimue immediately brushed her sky-blue satin dress, and carefully smoothed her hair, "The Emperor, he makes his way here," she smiled.
That smile, it was the same one that Chrys had been forcing upon herself since she had become lady Nimue's handmaiden. While the Emperor may adore his blue-haired witch, the feeling was certainly not reciprocated. So why would Nimue endure his repulsive and oppressive behaviour if she hated him so much?
The commotion down the corridor echoed ferociously as the sound of clanging armour signalled the arrival of the Emperor and his retinue. As the sound grew stronger, Chrys started to feel intimidated by what was to enter the room, and as the door flung open, two fully armoured Lionguards pushed their way inside.
She watched as they ignored Sir Searmundr, instead, focusing on the task of confirming there was no threat inside. As they studied the gaggle of women, the artist and Nimue, it wasn't long before they exited to allow the largely framed Emperor to make an explosive entrance.
As per protocol, Chrys curtsied and lowered her head, while Nimue appeared to adjust her dress to reveal more of her leg. The artist stepped away from the painting and it appeared for one moment that everyone in the room had turned to a statue as Arnaud strode into the room like a red-faced bear.
It wasn't long before Nimue's smile had melted into a frown, something was up.
"You said he was dead!" Arnaud bellowed, causing all within to shudder.
Nimue carefully stood to her feet, curtseying to appease the Emperor.
"I am sorry, who do you refer to my Emperor?" Nimue spoke, her tongue appearing to slither like a snakes.
Arnaud turned away, his eyes refusing to lay on the blue-haired woman. "You said that he fell from your room and he had died on impact, then tell me why I have confirmed sightings of him in the west, not far from the insurrection that plagues me daily?"
Chrys was initially confused, but as Nimue's blue eyes appeared to turn pale, for the first time, she could see something in her that she did not think the Sapphire whore was capable of.
Fear.
"He fell... No one could... He was dead!" Nimue stuttered.
Without warning, Arnaud spun around and struck her with venom, causing Nimue to stagger back and hold her cheek. "You promised me that he was dead! Yet my enquiries find that no body was discovered, and the men sent to deal with his family have long since disappeared. If the Widow Maker lives, then both of us are in grave danger!"
Nimue's face had turned to one of rage as her once pale-looking cheek had turned to a plum red, but instead of focusing on the pain, she stood upright, standing up proudly toward the rotund tall emperor. A posture which appeared to put Arnaud slightly on the defensive.
"Sir Gervais fell from the window, no one could survive that," Nimue replied.
There was a brief silence in the room, all heads were lowered, but all eyes were glancing at the raging Emperor.
As if something had snapped within him, Arnaud lunged forward, his hand like a vice around the delicate woman's neck and as Nimue attempted to break the grip, it appeared to make his hold tighten harder.
The whole room seemed to shake in fear as they watched the small blue-haired lady gasping for breath.
"The reports have been verified by several people in the area! Do you have any idea what this will mean if he lives?"
A genuine fear seemed to shroud the angered Emperor as he watched the life slowly slipping away from Nimue, and as her clawing became more intense, Chrys watched as Sir Searmundr edged closer to his leige, hand edging closer to the Zweihändler strapped to his back.
Would Sir Searmundr strike his Emperor down in an attempt to save Nimue's life?
As if sensing Sir Searmundr's steps, Arnaud released Nimue from his grip, his rage still apparent as she fell to the floor desperately attempting to grasp air into her lungs.
There was no remorse on Arnaud's face as his delicate concubine coughed and spluttered. "The queen arrives at the next full moon, ensure you are suitably prepared for her arrival," he commented, turning like a walrus to head toward the exit. "And do what you must to purchase the necessary protection, Sir Gervais will undoubtedly be back to finish what he started."
"Lionguard?" Nimue asked in between coughs.
"This protection comes from your pocket, I have no more Lionguards to spare," Arnaud replied, his anger seemingly focusing on the large frame of Sir Searmundr.
"First the Aex-Igh, then Ravenscourt, now the Widow Maker," the Emperor moaned, "it appears I am surrounded by incompetence. Someone will wish they were not born after this."
The Emperor abruptly left, a shroud of bitterness and trepidation was left in his wake. As soon as the door closed behind him and the sound of heavy metallic steps descended the hall, Nimue's handmaidens all rushed to her aid.
"Leave me be," she struggled to say, as the woman rushed to kneel by her side. As soon as one attempted to touch her she flinched erratically, her eyes wide with anger, "LEAVE ME BE!" she screamed, the sound piercing the room like a pig had been sent to slaughter.
All the handmaidens quickly reeled back standing to their feet, as Sir Searmundr carefully pulled Nimue up to hers.
She rubbed her neck and her cheek had now started to turn purple and swollen, but her eyes remained steadfast in anger. "Sir Searmundr, choose one to remain, everyone else out now!"
Chrys watched as the face of Sir Searmundr turned into a rye smile and the women in the room seem to all take a step back in fear. As each of their heads lowered, their eyes desperate not to lock onto the Lionguard, Chrys knew something was dreadfully awry.
"Her."
His voice seemed to echo and linger in the room as all eyes looked up to where the finger was pointing, and as heads started to linger in Chrys' direction, she knew the gods were not in her favour.
"The rest of you out now!" Nimue instructed, taking a seat on the chair that moments ago had encouraged her narcissism.
Without hesitation, all left the room, with only Nimue, Sir Searmundr and Chrys remaining.
Chrys remained in the centre of the room, aware was what was to come, and the pain she would likely endure. As Sir Searmundr removed his gauntlet and proceeded to stalk around his defenceless prey, Chrys instinctively did the one thing she knew she was not meant to do. Stare directly at her charge.
Her eyes locked onto Nimue, despite the stroke of Searmundr's callous hands on her cheek. As she stared at the blue-haired woman, aware that Nimue would take pleasure from Chrys' distress, she refused to show fear or submission, instead, defiance darkened her eyes and a proudness made her stand tall awaiting the first strike of Sir Searmundr's hand.
Anger appeared to flash on Nimue's face as the two stared intently at each other, but just before she was to give the order to strike her handmaiden, Nimue's hand raised and her face relaxed.
"Hold."
Sir Searmundr grunted as a clear dissatisfaction painted itself on him. He glared towards Chrys and as she glanced briefly in his direction he took a step back allowing no obstacle to stand between Chrys and Nimue's interaction.
"You are fortunate that I recognise that look girl, otherwise I should have your eyes burnt out," Nimue reacted, her anger still visible on her bruised face. "Your father has done this to you before? Several times I imagine?"
Chrys shook her head, refusing to blame her beloved father for such atrocities. "Not my father, my queen."
Nimue chuckled, "Men feel the need to control what they can, and take what is not there's."
Chrys nodded, yet refused to reply, as thoughts of the brutality of her previous master Lord Millendahl Darke raced through her mind. A numbness rushed itself over her as she glanced at Sir Searmundr before returning her eyes to her hypocritical mistress.
"Men have tried to control and conquer me all my life," Nimue reacted, "and only one more remain before they all will fall to their feet and worship me."
Nimue's anger appeared to return as her eyes set themselves once more onto Sir Searmundr, knowing her words were born of emotion and not restraint.
She pulled herself to her feet, "Sir Searmundr, I like this girl, see that she is not to be touched. I shall retire now, so inform the artist that we shall resume tomorrow."
Sir Searmundr nodded his head and smashed his fist against his breastplate, "As you wish my Lady," he responded with a hint of malice in his voice.
As Nimue exited the room, Searmundr took to following her, but it only encouraged Chrys to focus her bitterness on the Lionguard. "Do you take pleasure in hitting defenceless women?" she asked, aware that the words she spoke were extremely dangerous and far beyond her station.
His darkened blue eyes snapped onto her like a wolf waiting to devour its meal, "The lady Nimue favours you for now, but her favour fleets quickly. When it does, hitting you will be only a small amount of pleasure I get from breaking your body."
Chrys could feel a tempest raging in her as if for one brief moment her composure had been broken by the bitterness and anger of the people around her. She stepped forward, her eyes locking onto the man who towered over her like a bear, but there was no fear in her voice, no anxiety, just a quiet fury, one that she did not recognise in herself. "When I finish with you, my Lord, the only pleasure you shall receive is the executioner's axe to end all your suffering."
Searmundr chuckled before he bellowed out an unrestrained brutal laugh. "Where did the roar come from this little mouse? You have amused me little girl, and I am sure you shall amuse me further."
As Searmundr left the room, pushing Chrys from his side, the room fell empty and lifeless leaving Chrys to drop to her knees in exhaustion.
What had she done? To openly threaten the Lionguard was foolish and brash, yet as tears streamed down her face, a small smile started to appear. In this one exchange, she had learnt more about Sir Searmundr, Nimue and the Emperor than she had ever learnt from her spies, and with the Queen making her way to Lionmane, the whole situation was as ripe as a powder keg desperate for a flame to introduce itself to it.
Chrys had to work fast. She had foolishly exposed a small part of her intentions, but with so much happening around them, it wouldn't take much to make each of them focus on the other and cause discord that would tear their worlds apart.