Isabella watched the interaction between the two sisters with mute interest, watching the obvious secret conversation that the pair were sharing. It wasn't unexpected, it had been assumed from the start that the pair would plan insurrection and revolt against King Decimus' rule, but even still he had insisted upon their continued existence.
"I would rather have a barbed arrow in my quiver, that will bite me as it flies, than be left without." The King had said when Da'Karro had pressed the issue, it was of no real consequence, and any rebellion the pair incited would be swiftly crushed. But having them as figureheads, even double agent figureheads, was more useful than their corpses.
The elder one, Julia, appeared to be under the impression Julia could not speak, and for the most part she was correct. With the exception of Scarlet the previous night, the only two people (living) that she had spoken to in years were Ramas and Da'Karro.
She would keep silent, keep watch, and should any major plot be unveiled, she would relay the information to Da'Karro, who would know what best to do.
Da'Karro gently drifted up form the depths of his dreamless sleep, the murky grey of his unconscious mind giving way to the sensation of cloth and warmth, the smell of fresh linen mingling with the residual odour of blood and sweat. His mouth was dry, and he sluggishly moved his head up from where it lay buried in pillows in search of a pitcher. A small silver jug sat on his bedside, and he dragged himself, still half asleep, over to it. He seized the pitcher and greedily chugged down the cool water within, draining it with half a dozen large gulps. His thirst satisfied and feeling marginally more alive, he lazily looked around the room in which he had collapsed. It was lavish enough, a guest room for some minor noble or lord, and while ostentatious, was not nearly as grand as the Princess' own chambers. His thoughts wandering back to exactly where he was and the task at hand. H glanced at the window and judged by the low sun that it must be sometime in the afternoon, not a bad nap but not nearly the rest he needed. He rose form the bed, groaning as he stretched and popped his back in various places, rolling his shoulders to loosen up their stiffened joints.
Food.
The simple thought wafted into his brain and he grunted in agreement, pulling on his underclothes and armour, ansuring everything was where it should be. Finally, happy with his equipment and appearance, he exited the room, wandering off in search of the kitchen.
He could foresee himself not getting much sleep over the next few months.