location: castelgrande castle; english quarters featuring: @atudors
euphemia douglas, the countess of morton, hastened her walk through castelgrande, late for a scheduled afternoon meal with the duke of york. the prince arthur had been injured for some days and she was worried, though euphemia had not gone to him immediately, certain that to do so was improper, given their current surroundings and the spies and royals that seemingly lurked behind every corner. she was the wife of a scottish diplomat; on paper, there should be no relationship so close and warm with the duke of york. when she entered the small parlor where she’d arranged for them to take refreshment, euphemia offered him a smile.
the sling on his arm disturbed her, though euphemia’s emotions showed mostly in her eye. she was not the type to become hysterical over such injuries, even if her heart had leapt into her throat when she’d been told. perhaps, if she thought on it, euphemia would acknowledge that she was more frightened of arthur being injured than her own son. though, if that was the case, she certainly would not admit to it.
it was not until the servants had poured tea and left that euphemia spoke. she walked toward arthur and reached a hand up to push some hair out of his eyes. “arthur, you’ve frightened me.” her voice was low, worried and filled with emotion. “are you feeling better?”