It’s a very, very fortunate thing for Khada Jhin that Cassiopeia DuCouteau is a woman of Noxus.
Women of Noxus understand there is a card in the sleeve - something as hidden as a silver blade or a silver tongue, waiting to be used against you, or to simply protect itself. A meeting between the elite is never as simple as a parlour’s afternoon; it is layered in secrecy, veils of cherry red over black roses. As such, she understands the morally unfavoured may make a public appearance. But no fool would stand in a room of Noxian elite and out someone’s hidden identity so clearly.
The knives may come out. The bride will come out.
The DuCouteau parlour hums with a violin by the window; Countess Eliza stands at the doorway to the kitchen that leads to the patio, charming the brother to her husband. Cassiopeia DuCouteau lays on a lounger, white gown stretched over her beautiful legs, not a single fold rustled by the wind.
The Black Rose sends only its best.
“Are you the one who represents High Command?” she asks it with all the innocence of an inquisitive maiden, the one who can slip a nail under the latch and swing it open. She doesn’t know where he came from, but she knows he’s no Noxian by blood. And that is acceptable. She knows his uniform is real. She knows he’s comfortable. An uncomfortable presence doesn’t settle by Marcus’ serpent daughter so boldly.
“My dear sister told me we would expect visitors from parliament,” says Cassiopeia, finger twirling a brown hair curl. “Or do I have you mistaken for someone else?”
@thegoldendemon