The Queen's chambers were calm that fateful morning, quiet except for the faint whistle of the winter wind through the balcony doors. A low fire burned in the hearth, its warmth filling the space with a soft glow.
Lysara stood behind Giselle, carefully braiding her hair into a half-up, half-down hairdo, while Elisa arranged the Queen's jewelry and perfume bottles in neat lines on the vanity. Her mother, the Duchess, was dressed and waiting on the seat by the window for her daughter to finish up and go out for a short stroll within the palace's walls. This morning's routine was like others; normal and serene. If it weren't for the fact that somewhere within these walls, that troublesome aunt of Fabio's still roamed (the 'Iron-fisted Lady as the servants rumored her to be) all would've seemed to be completely fine.
"Hold still, my Queen," Lysara murmured, looping the final braid into place. "You'll be ready for luncheon soon."
Giselle smiled faintly. "Thank you."
