Kings and Thieves

Chapter 3

** OK, this chapter I'm finally introducing the third main character. I'm prob just going to switch POVs a few times each chapter, so you can see Lyla's, Ari's, and Aveline's thoughts separately.
To anyone who's still reading, thanks so much for taking the time to read my new story. It's definitely a work in progress, but thanks for sticking with me!!
***

Chapter 3

Lyla Quincy was proving a theory.

If she glared hard enough at the down parchment in her hands, she could, perhaps, disintegrate it with pure force of will.

She smoothed down a corner of the faded paper that she had crumpled in her severe frustration and released a long sigh, disturbing the solemnity of her bedroom. The ink-laced letters curled neatly around the page, taunting her with their existence.

She groaned once, (an unladylike sound, she supposed) and sank down onto her velvet armchair, the one with piles of clothes draped over it.

Lyla didn't think she could stand the edicts of her mother for much longer.

No, that wasn't it. She could stand them, she couldn't sit them. Lyla couldn't sit through more than five minutes of bodice-sewing at a time. She couldn't sit through another tedious dinner with stuffy courtiers and unjustly small portion sizes. And she wouldn't sit by while her family suffered. Inwardly, anyway; the people of Apreuna were always frustratingly cheerful-

"Lady Quincy, are you in need of assistance?" A muffled voice called from behind the door. Lyla drew in a breath and hastily shoved the parchment under her seat.

"I'm quite all right, Celia, thank you." She nervously twisted a cornsilk strand of hair away from her face and picked up the paper again, steadier this time. Calm.

The truth of the matter was; Apreuna was in trouble. Famous for its silks, textiles, and fashion, it was a relatively large kingdom yet rarely engaged in any contentions.
No, this particular problem was another matter entirely. And Lyla could do something about it, if only her mother would allow her to leave the castle for an upwards of five seconds without dragging her back for lessons on propriety and correctness and not forgetting to button her sleeves.

Above all, Apreuna valued culture. An appreciation for the arts, a talent for conversation, distinct style.

Lyla had none of these qualities. At least, not enough of them; according to her mother. If the Grand Duchess Azrielle Quincy had her way, Lyla would be stuck in the palace sewing gowns and practicing her Manners until she was sixty, if she hadn't been married off before then.

Lyla imagined herself gathering dust in her mother's sitting room, like the old pianoforte that no one played, and had been shoved behind a curtain and forgotten. Cobwebs.

She had to get out of there.

Lyla peeked over her shoulder at the tightly closed door to her room. The hallway seemed silent enough.

She shoved the envelope into her corset, pushing the paper down her side. The sharp corners scratched her skin a little bit, but other than that she could barely notice its existence.

Before she could rethink her actions, Lyla rushed to her door and out into the corridor, the ends of her plum-red skirts rustling at her ankles as she did so.

If she wanted something done, she supposed she'd have to do it herself.

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There was no sound as the wisp of Ari's shadow slipped through the door.