your highness carries a unique sting of it's own, like biting into a soured fruit. a reminder of her title, which in itself is a reminder of the weight of her bloodline. of all the secrets that she could never keep. of all her hopeless ambition. ❝ solene is fine, please. ❞ she sighs, melting into her seat. her eyes flick to the candles surrounding her vanity, but she doesn't make an effort to dim the lights, considering it a lost effort at this rate. eyes turn to the jester instead, raking over the form of his bow. ❝ does the fool care to translate the castle's whispers to me, or are you simply here to pry? ❞ it's an effort to try on her father's words – all ill-fitting, leaving another sour bite in her mouth. features soften with a blink, ❝ apologies – it has been a long day. ❞