Snippet #2105309

The Queen’s Handmaid entered the queen’s chamber and parted the heavy drapes, a gentle morning breeze ran through, and the warm morning sunlight fill the large and opulent room, bringing to light the square chairs with high curved backs arranged with colorful cloths and cushions, the tables which corners flared upwards and finished with golden animal legs. There were several boxes filled with small jars of imported perfume oils, mirrors, kohl containers and make-up items, combs, and rare jewelry. The most elaborate furniture in the room was the oversize round-shape-bed surrounded by four large columns, inlaid with colored stones and ebony and ivory, carved into lotus flowers and snakes, and in the center of the bed laid the naked frame of the Queen. Her emerald eyes open vibrant after the long sleep, and she stretched her body ever so gracefully that even the handmaid stopped and stared at the naked beauty. The handmaid’s name was Claudette and she’d been the queen’s favorite since the last handmaid was killed, a woman no older than the queen yet hard eyed and aged by the scars and rigid life of a slave. But she was a happy slave, content with the life the gods handed her, and she loved the Queen unconditionally, a love without prejudice beyond the erotic world that is hidden and which is sometimes horrifically revealed.

Claudette gathered up the queen’s robe and carefully laid it on the bed, and stood on the side and kept quiet, with hairbrush in hand waiting for Isadora to get up from the bed and take the morning tea as custom. But today the queen was unusually lazy, held Claudette. There was a smile on her face and by the looks of her she seemed happy. Claudette could not help but wonder what happened after she took the Princesses to bed. The Queen was livid then and now, now she was practically glowing.

“I’ll have breakfast with my girls today, in the garden,” said Isadora.

“Yes your grace,” said Claudette.

Isadora finally got up and took her morning tea. She walked toward the open balcony and stood there in contrast to the golden sun light and the colorful backdrop of Kings Landing. She looked on beyond the tops of the buildings and towers that stretch the landscape, toward Visenya’s Hill and the Great Sept of Baelor, and took in all that her eyes could see. There was a knock at the door. Claudette answered and Damian entered the room. He joined the Queen in the balcony and Claudette dressed the bed listening to their conversation, they talked about Lady Lillian...

“I don’t know,” said Isadora, but it did not have the tone of truly I don’t know, but rather, let it be.

“But you do believe…that she will play her part even against her own father?” asked Damian.

“Of course I believe it. You don’t understand the advantage of fear. She reeked of it. She was baffled, helpless, with a bowed head she understood she bore the whole responsibility for her father’s life. She understood perfectly well where her loyalty is required most if she weds Alexavier. She will do her duty as the wife of the King.” She looked at Damian intently. “Don’t think on it, Damian.”

“There is a matter I came to speak to you about,” said Damian abruptly. “This morning I noticed Graham O’Connel riding fast through Street of the Sisters. He was alone and the hurried manner in which he galloped allured me to follow him. At some point I lost him through the winding streets of Flea Bottom.” Isadora wondered what the Hand of the King could be doing in Flea Bottom of all places. “I circled the area looking for Graham but didn’t see him. Then I noticed a boy with Graham’s horse, a few coins paid and I learned Graham and the Whore Laurea were having a secret meeting.”

“This is not news my dear brother,” said Isadora.

“It is when it involves your husband and his whore and the child in her belly.” Damian said finally.