"Lady Lucille, please!" one of her maids pleaded, struggling to keep up. "We’re running out of ti. The king’s court will begin soon, and—"
"Then stop bringing ugly dresses!" Lucille interrupted with a huff, her bright green eyes narrowing. "Audrey, how do you always look so perfect? I swear you must have the best maids."
Audrey chuckled, turning slightly to glance at her. "Perhaps if you stopped terrorizing yours, they’d have a chance to do their jobs."
Lucille rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. "You’re no fun, Audrey. Where’s the drama in that?"
One of the maids finally held up a gown that caught Lucille’s attention: a deep erald green with gold embroidery that shimred like sunlight on water. "Ah, finally! Sothing worthy of ," she declared, clapping her hands.
As the maids hurried to help her into the gown, the room beca even more chaotic.
One tripped over a discarded dress, nearly toppling into Lucille, while another accidentally knocked over a jar of perfu.
The rich, floral scent filled the air, and Lucille wrinkled her nose.
"Careful! Do you want slling like a garden?" she snapped, though her tone was more exasperated than truly angry.
anwhile, Audrey sighed and shook her head, her calm deanor unwavering. "You do realize you’re making everything harder for yourself, don’t you?" she remarked as she rose from her seat, her gown of soft lavender and silver flowing around her like water.
Lucille stuck out her tongue. "Oh, hush. I’ll be stunning regardless. Chaos is part of my charm."
The maids finally managed to get both won dressed and ready, though their efforts left them looking flustered and exhausted.
Lucille twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the way the erald fabric hugged her figure, while Audrey adjusted a pearl bracelet on her wrist.
As they prepared to leave, Lucille’s cat, a mischievous gray tabby nad Hoppe, leapt onto the vanity, sending a few jars of costics crashing to the floor.
The maids groaned, and Audrey couldn’t help but laugh softly.
"Even your cat is ssy," she teased, brushing past Lucille on her way to the door.
"Hoppe has personality," Lucille retorted, scooping the cat into her arms. "Co on, let’s go show the court what real beauty looks like."
With that, the two won swept out of the room, leaving their maids to clean up the aftermath of their chaotic morning.
~~{────────────
Wyfkeep Castle, Wyfellon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The queen’s chambers were a sanctuary of regal elegance, but the air was heavy with the bustle of preparation.
Morning sunlight stread through stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the polished marble floors and the fine silks draping the bedposts.
Queen Sansa sat in a high-backed chair, her poise impeccable despite the storm of thoughts brewing in her mind.
Maids flitted around her like bees in a hive, expertly pinning her hair into an intricate coiffure adorned with diamond-studded pins.
Another maid gently applied rouge to her cheeks, while yet another fastened an elaborate golden necklace around her neck.
But Sansa was barely paying attention to the process; her mind was elsewhere.
Her brow furrowed slightly as she thought of her grandchildren.
She hadn’t had a chance to check on them since the chaos of recent events, and the worry gnawed at her.
The king’s birthday celebration ant the castle was packed with guests, and she felt a responsibility to ensure that everything was running smoothly.
"My queen," her lady-in-waiting, Lady Morgan, said softly, breaking through her thoughts.
Morgan was an older woman with a sharp eye and a sharper tongue, but her loyalty to Sansa was unmatched.
She stood to the side, arms crossed, observing the maids with a critical gaze.
Sansa sighed, her hands resting lightly on the armrests of her chair. "I cannot sit here all morning, Morgan. There are too many things to attend to. The children, the guests—"
"—will be just fine without your intervention," Morgan interjected firmly, stepping closer to the queen. "You are their grandmother, not their nursemaid. And as for the guests, that is why you have an entire staff. Your priority today is to look stunning, to remind everyone that you are the queen. Not just the king’s wife, but the woman who outshines those damned concubines he insists on keeping around."
At the ntion of the concubines, Sansa’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I have no need to compete with them," she said coolly, though the faintest edge of irritation crept into her voice.
"Of course you don’t," Morgan replied, her tone conspiratorial. "But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure everyone rembers why you are the queen and they are... well, not. A touch more rouge on her cheeks," she added, directing the maid working on Sansa’s makeup.
Sansa allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of her mouth.
Morgan always had a way of putting things into perspective, even if it ca with a generous dose of sass.
As the final touches were added—a cascade of pearls to her gown, a subtle dab of jasmine perfu—Sansa shifted in her seat, her impatience barely concealed. "How much longer?" she asked, her voice steady but clipped.
"Almost done, Your Majesty," one of the maids replied nervously, hastening to secure the last pin in her hair.
Morgan placed a reassuring hand on Sansa’s shoulder. "Relax, my queen. Today is a day to command the room with your presence, not run around fretting over every detail. Let the king have his mont; let the concubines preen. You are the heart of this castle."
Sansa took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "You’re right, as usual," she admitted. "But after the court session, I will check on the children. That much I won’t compromise."
"Of course," Morgan agreed with a sly smile. "But first, let us make sure you leave an impression so dazzling, the entire court will still be talking about you tomorrow."
With her ensemble complete, Sansa rose gracefully, her gown of deep sapphire silk trailing behind her like a wave.
She glanced at herself in the gilded mirror, her reflection exuding the poise and power befitting a queen.
"Let’s go," she said, her voice firm and regal. And with that, she swept out of the room, her lady-in-waiting and maids hurrying to follow in her wake.
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