The Chorus Of A Raven | ONC2025

Once Rosalie had gratefully accepted the opportunity to be a part of Prince Darick's workforce, she wasted no time in devoting herself to her chores and learning the ways in which tasks needed to be carried out.

She was given a role under the housekeeping staff and worked alongside Liliana, whom she had happened to form quite a brisk friendship with. At sixteen, Liliana was the youngest of the mansion's labour, something she had revealed to Rosalie as the reason which had made it more difficult to build any sort of companionship with others.

My daughter is quite taken with you.

Katrina's earlier statement hadn't really made much sense, regarding it was too soon to be declaring such an emotion, but Rosalie later realized why as soon as she learned of the girl's age.

As the morning ticked by, their chores led them to the formal dining room by the afternoon where they were required to set the lengthy mahogany wooden table with the finest cutlery and ceramic plates. Rosalie was extra vigilant when it came to placing the tall crystal champagne glasses at each seat.

"How often does the Prince entertain other leaders of Varkanord?" Rosalie curiously enquired, slowly resting the last remaining flutes upon the table.

"It will be his debut since the death of King Frideric," Liliana answered somewhat despondently.

For all the lashings of enthusiasm Liliana had shown, Rosalie wasn't comfortable with the deceleration in her mood. The morning had gone like clockwork in the company of Liliana's chatter, but once she disappeared for a time to assist Madam Francine, she had not been her chirpy self since returning. A yearning to probe niggled at Rosalie, but was it really her place to delve?

"What about your ladyship? Does she participate in these gatherings?" Rosalie asked, mindful of how much information she should actually be asking for.

Folding her fifth or sixth napkin, Rosalie could not be sure, Liliana limply shrugged her shoulders.

The deafening silence was beginning to aggravate Rosalie, this was a side to Liliana she was not accustomed to and she wasn't sure whether or not it was valued.

Deciding enough was enough, Rosalie came to stand at Liliana's side, resting her palm over her new friend's working hands.

"Liliana," she said, pausing until Liliana faced her, "there seems to be something troubling you. I can help you, if you tell me. I would like to repay the kindness you have shown me."

"I can't, Rosalie."

Rosalie staggered back a fraction at her unexpected brusqueness.

"I apologise. I didn't mean to sound so harsh," Liliana said, her words tumbling out in a rush, "if I am being candid with you, the only reason I can not confess to you is because I don't know whether I believe it myself."

A loud clearing of one's throat rang through the vast space and stood in the doorway - the location of the sound - was the lady herself: Francine Quentin.

"Is it all going according to schedule?" Francine bluntly queried, her plump pastel lips set in a straight line; not a grace of a smile to be seen. Her slim frame sat comfortably in a cloudy blue dress made of the town's finest satin and a frilly lace collar plunged down into the valley of her chest.

Rosalie did not have enough knowledge of Prince Darick's newly betrothed. Did not know how she came to be the soon-to-be Queen of Crausley Sands, nor did she have the desire to know. What did she know, however, was the chill Francine's presence had called forth to race down her spine.

"Yes, ma'am." Liliana bowed and Rosalie followed her lead, although rather reservedly.

"Time is of the essence, girls. Our guests will be here in due course, and with this in mind I'd advise you to save any interactions until the task is complete. Wouldn't you agree?"

Liliana was quick to concur, nodding her head vigorously to the point it could easily detach from her neck. Whereas, Rosalie merely did nothing of the sort. A dangerous choice to make against someone who could have her evicted from the mansion with the click of her fingers.

"Rosalie?" Francine's stern gaze settled on her, the dull grey-blue irises alight with disdain. "You do not understand my instructions? Has life as a vagrant numbed your ability to comprehend what is asked of you?"

Clenching her jaw in an effort to not entertain her with a venomous response, Rosalie kindly, albeit with an undertone of sarcasm, replied. "Forgive me, ma'am. I simply forgot myself. But, to answer your question, no, my shelterless life has not withered my brain. Though, it has shaped my trust in people who have not found it within themselves to treat me as a normal human being. Who would much prefer to label me as the tramp undeserving of luxuries and privileges. Therefore, please excuse my cold manner."

Rosalie blinked, surprising even herself. The crushing weight of Francine's subtle scowl extinguished the short bravado she felt in the company of the future Queen and in turn, Rosalie was starting to feel rather small like a flake of dust hovering in the atmosphere.

"If I am to understand correctly, you are insinuating you are distrusting of me. Are you not?" Francine asked, an eerie calmness to her voice.

"I am quite certain that is not what Rosalie is implying at all, ma'am," Liliana interjected, "are you, Rosalie?"

"Of course not," she mumbled in reply, bowing her head in a muted apology.

The smile that spread across Francine's winsome features did nothing to expel the lingering stain of her hair-raising tenor from earlier.

"I am happy to hear that," Francine said sweetly, "the last thing I would want is for you to feel I am untrustworthy." Pausing, she cast her gaze from Liliana to Rosalie. Concluding, she said, "please don't continue to dawdle. We wouldn't want my darling Darick to think you both incompetent."

Francine vacated the dining room with a swish of her frock and filling the air in her absence was the audible sigh of relief from Lilana. But when Rosalie turned to face her friend, she was puzzled by how shook up she was.

Liliana's body convulsed in spasms of fright, prompting Rosalie to rush over to her and envelope her, feeling the vibrations of Liliana's terror rattling against her own body.

"I have never been that fond of Madam Francine," Liliana suddenly confessed, "yet, now it scares me to suspect she is not who she says she is."