The Loneliest Ballad

A couple of hours or so later, Celia pushed her chair back from the heavy oak desk to inspect her efforts. She flexed her hand open and closed repeatedly to stretch out her tired, cramped fingers.

She was nearly out of ink and must have gone through at least a dozen sheets of parchment, discarding and throwing her earlier efforts into the fireplace.

But she was finally finished and she hadn't done a bad job. Not bad at all, actually.

The letter before her was an exercise in flattery, warmly thanking His Majesty of Iquis for his birthday gift of a grand bejeweled sword. It was carefully written in Tobin's large, looping scrawl and even had a passable imitation of his signature at the bottom. All that was missing was to fold and seal the letter with Tobin's crest.

Once she could see the ink was completely dry, Celia grabbed a stick of red wax. She softened one end with the nearby candle, until it was turned pliant enough for a dollop to be smeared on the carefully folded letter. With a final flourish, she pressed Tobin's seal into the soft wax, marking it with the double T of his personal crest.

Now the only thing left to do was to place the letter in the ambassador's hands and hope it was enough to soothe his king's dented pride.

No point relying on Tobin to hand over the letter, either. Celia knew the only way to guarantee her husband would do something was to take the responsibility out of his hands entirely and do the damn thing herself.

So that's exactly what she was going to do.

She marched out of her apartments with the letter hidden in her pocket. Striding through the enormous palace, Celia saw other people giving her bemused glances but she ignored them. They were probably shocked that after almost a year hidden away within her own rooms, she was finally venturing out confidently.

It took her a while to reach her destination and she had to stop twice to ask servants for directions. Eventually though, she reached a large courtyard with a fountain at its centre and an abundance of fragrant lavender shrubs. It was known by the courtiers as the diplomatic wing. Almost every foreign diplomat had his apartments opening out to the courtyard.

A few men were milling about the courtyard and enjoying the sun. They all turned to stare at Celia in surprise, quickly dropping to bow when they realised who she was. She figured their reactions were from the sight of an unannounced single woman roaming their quarters.

Celia however, was solely concerned with finding Lord Da'ar. She scanned the crest above each set of doors. When she spotted the cluster of stars that represented the Kingdom of Irquis, she rapped loudly on the heavy door.

"Come in." a deep voice called.

Celia pushed open the door and found herself in a large, airy study. The ambassador was seated behind a carved wooden desk, writing. His jaw dropped in disbelief when he looked up and saw her.

"Y-your Highness!" he stuttered wide eyed, then bowed. "This is unexpected."

Celia gave him a tiny smile and pulled the letter from her pocket, extending her hand to the ambassador. "From my husband to your king, Lord Da'ar. Tobin sends his apologies for the delay."

She could only hope the man wouldn't ask the reason behind Tobin's delay. She didn't trust herself to lie on the spot convincingly enough.

Lord Da'ar carefully took the letter she was offering and glanced at Tobin's crest stamped into the wax seal. He stroked his elaborately curled beard as if thinking deeply. "I thank you, Your Highness, for this. My master will also thank you for your gesture."

"Small gestures of kindness are what keep the bonds of friendship strong, aren't they?" Celia quoted the words she'd once heard from her wise old grandfather.

Lord Da'ar smiled wider, a genuine smile. "Not enough people understand that, my lady. But I'm impressed you do, despite your youth."

Celia flinched away from his piercing stare. She wasn't visiting him to be the centre of attention. She was just trying to stop Tobin's lack of etiquette from causing problems with an allied kingdom. "This is my husband's gesture. I'm just here to deliver his message."

"I see."

The silence began to roar in Celia's ears. She decided it was best to just leave and hope her efforts had been enough.

"Tell me, Your Highness, is there anything my people can do for you in return?" Lord Da'ar's voice was oddly gentle.

She blinked. Well, that was an unexpected question. She kept her voice deliberately light and carefree to reply. "Thank you for your offer but I'm as well as can be. I'm simply glad to be of service for my husband."

The ambassador said nothing, continuing to quietly scan her with his eyes.

Celia followed his face in confusion, realising he was staring at her bodice. A bodice made from pale rose silk and embellished with lines of beading.

The soft colour made the crimson droplets splattered on it, stand out boldly.

Oh lord, what had she done? What the hell had she done?

In her haste to write and deliver the forged letter, she'd forgotten she was still wearing the same dress as when Tobin had struck her face. She'd walked through the entire goddamn palace in bloodstained silk. She probably still had blood streaked on her face too.

No wonder the servants and courtiers she'd crossed paths with, had stared at her with round eyes.

Celia wanted the earth to open up and devour her, leaving not even a trace of her foolish presence behind.

She'd worked so hard to prevent one problem brewing but in her stupidity, she'd probably gone and caused another one.

She was every bit as stupid as Tobin said she was, wasn't she?

When Celia finally looked up, she saw something unexpected in the older man's gaze.

Sympathy.

It made her feel so pathetic. She'd unwittingly gone and announced to everyone with eyes that not only was she not a cherished wife, she was also one who'd earned her husband's physical punishment.

"Wait, Your Highness!" the ambassador said hastily when she whirled to flee from his room and his pity.