The Palace(Voldar)

Cadence kept her head down as she stepped lightly in to the next room. She shook gently, not visibly but just enough to make her feel even worse. Her young, trusting heart was confident that everything would turn out well in the end, but her head was ruling against it. Unfortunately her head seemed to be in possession of more of the facts. The nagging doubts it was sending were niggling at her inner confidence. She pushed the useless worries to one side and brought something happier to mind. The memory of Lance’s lips on hers seemed to work very well, and within a few moments she was steady enough to carry on. With the colour returning to the height of her cheekbones she began to take in the new scene.

However, as soon as she looked up and took in the room around her, all previous thoughts were rushed from her head. The commander was there, with someone Cadence vaguely recognised as the palace tailor and a small, strange-looking man she did not. She returned his nod of welcome however, openly staring at the obvious celebration. Did these folk not care about all that was happening? Cadence scalded herself for being so self-involved. These were strangers, and as such there could be no reason for them to care the slightest bit about the troubles of her small party. Damien was obviously just entertaining guests and they had walked into the middle bringing all their problems with them. The King’s anger did not go unmissed either. Cadence thought Damien must want very much for these visitors to be relaxed and happy for him to test it so much. But then why would the visitors be brought here to their chambers of all places, at this time. The young woman knew there was something she wasn’t quite understanding, but couldn’t see what it was.

She almost felt like hitting Damien as she realised he had been playing with Voltigar. Or wanted the King to hit him for her. The word “Damien!” slipped from her lips, a cry of unrestrainable irritation. If he understood the strains and stresses they had all been going through in the room before, he would let them all stew in worry whilst he held the answer. She shot a venomous glare at the man, before the realisation of what it actually meant hit her. Her delicately arched brows lifted from her frown, and a smile of utter joy completely lit up her face. Lance took her hand and she moved towards him, looking up into his face with sparkling, delighted eyes. He touched his lips to her forehead and she moved closer still, placing her head on his shoulder briefly before turning back to give her thanks to the little man.

Just as she was about to stammer out a reply of heartfelt gratitude, the King began to speak instead. She held her twitching tongue until he had finished, fully agreeing with everything the man was saying. Instead of politely waiting for Mouse’s answer, the young woman burst into her own rendition of thanks. “Yes, thankyou Mouse, thankyou so much.” Her words were breathless, full of emotion, and she squeezed Lance’s hand which still lay in her’s. She beamed at Mouse.

~~~~~~~~~

As Iris rounded the door, her quickly complied composure fluttered in shock. The change from the tension in the room before to the easy merriment here almost was startling. She seemed to feel a change in temperature from one to the next, although the King still seemed to carry a fog of cold with him. His anger was obvious to her, and it must be to Damien too. Despite the advisor’s words her hope blossomed as she saw that he was the centre of all the happiness. Iris did not feel the same anger as Voltigar herself, she was too wound up with worry and fear and disappointment, and so she saw through the advisor’s playful teasing where the King did not. There was simply no chance that Damien would test his friend’s anger like this without knowing that it would soon be gone. Her heart fluttered, not for the first time this morning, but in now hope rather than worry. The young woman prayed that she was right.

Her suspicions were confirmed, not only by Damien, but by the little, comic fellow she had barely even noticed. “Master Mouse” Voltigar had called him. It was a strange name, but right now Iris could not care less. She ran his reasoning through her brain once more, and the tension visibly drained from her body. Where before she had been holding herself up to try and present a reasonable image to the outside world, now she began to radiate her usual air of competence and contentment. Tears of relief pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she moved over to pick up the bottle of wine, quietly refilling those whose glasses were running low. The movement helped her cover the loss of control, and also allowed her to pick up a glass for her and her sister. The warmth running down her throat was comforting, steadying.

Iris remained quiet as the others gave their thanks, and so it was that she was the last to present her own to the little man. “I would like to thank you too Mouse. For being able to see through what we could not. To Mouse.” She raised her glass in a toast.