Catarina and The Prince | Tales From The Court Of Ravaeryn #1

37 | diphylleia

1712, De Fontaine Manor, Lorewell

       There was a knock on the door. "Miss, I've brought your breakfast. May I come in?"

No answer came. Rosie pursed her lips dejectedly, then tried to turn the doorknob. Locked.

    "I will leave the tray outside, Miss. If you need me, I'll be right here."

She stood there silently for a short while, hoping that her mistress would eventually come out, but she never did. It had been four months since Catarina returned from the palace. No proposal ever came, and her mistress had never left her room since. Rosie could not blame her though, as that final day at the palace was nothing short of traumatic.

    She had been strolling around the palace grounds with Marie that morning, and as a result, they were among the first people to see Lavinia Olivier's splattered head.

Almost immediately after a crowd had formed, the accusations about the Prince's alleged affair with Eleanora Finley came to light following the discovery of her pregnancy. What a scandal!
While one might relish in such delicious gossip, this particular piece had affected her mistress so deeply that Rosie felt sick to the stomach whenever she heard it.

When it became certain that Catarina would not come out, Rosie let out a resigned sigh and eventually walked away.

    Inside the bedroom, Catarina waited with bated breath for Rosie's footsteps to fade away, and once they had disappeared entirely, she finally let out a sigh of relief.

She rarely ate since she returned home, but the sensation of hunger seems to have long abandoned her. Her stomach no longer rumbled, and her tongue no longer craved the taste of salt and sugar. It was as if her body was rotting, dissolving in this thick miasma of melancholy, disintegrating into a pile of nothingness.

    The bedding felt so soft underneath her, so warm and comforting. If she could remain there forever, she would.

There is no one here, only darkness and her continuous desire to sleep and never wake up. No sound could be heard other than her own weak breaths and the ticking of the clock.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

    It has been four months since that day. She had not been chosen as the Prince's consort. Eleanora was, albeit disgracefully.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

    It was autumn when she left, and now, it is winter. Soon, spring will come, then summer, then autumn again.

Although she herself had uttered those cruel words towards the Prince, deep down in her heart, she wished that he would continue reaching out for her. She wished that he would come to her. Wrote her letters proving his innocence. But they never came, and nor did he. In her eyes, his silence only confirmed Dinah Finley's accusations.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

     It has been four months.

∆

    "A letter has arrived for the young lady," the pageboy said, handing a small, weathered envelope to Rosie.

    "From whom?" she inquired.

    "I don't know, mam. But it came from the northern border."

The little brown envelope almost crumbled in her hands, and the messy handwriting on top of the envelope was barely corrigible. 'Lady Catarina de Fontaine,' it wrote.

Rosie brought the envelope up to Catarina's room, then softly knocked on the door. "Miss, there is a letter for you," she called out.

But as per usual, there was no answer. With a sigh, she knelt down on the floor and slipped the letter through the gap under the door.