@bdwilliamshakes
Mindless wanderings had prompted Madeleine on a wild goose chase throughout the labyrinth halls of Hampton Court – the so-called ‘Great Room,’ where all dined and supped to the tune of merry court dirges, which delivered her sinful soul unto the Chapel, a quiet and sunlit sanctuary purged of sullied consciences, stretching into a warren of stone-flanked corridors no different than the countless others Madeleine had strolled through. Only, where the halls of Château de Blois overlooked the sprawling hills and sage-warmed elms of the Loire, Hampton Court commanded a view of the dank little Thames; more like a garden snake sneaking along London than a landmark, a river destitute of might or vigour, wafting a stench across the city that would cause the Saints weep in their marble tombs.
But with all hopes of returning to the Queen's side in a timely manner thoroughly aborted, Madeleine craned her neck to a patch of light leaching from beneath an arched doorway. Tiptoeing into the ostensibly empty chambers, a quicksilver shaft of lightning wresting across the skies bleached the space moon-white as she stood beneath its vaulted beams, rolling with carvings of chivalric tourneys, knighthood in bloom. Not daring to wail out in order to discern the room’s occupancy, the lady crept toward the imposing escritoire dominating the space, and tugged open one of its sundry compartments; finding within an even greater number of secreted cavities, crammed with leaflets curling at the edges, piles upon piles of parchment, bearing the hallmark of a thumb's moistened caress, words gushing across the page. No sooner had she plucked up one such document did the wooden floorboards creak with another’s weight, alerting her to a man's presence. Clutching the parchment to her chest, and with movements fluid and unperturbed, Madeleine pirouetted to face him.
‘Before you have me tried and hanged, remember that a lady never rummages. She only delicately snoops.’ Releasing a dulcet smile, the lady lilted, ‘these are yours, I presume? You must be the Princess’ newest charge … Shortspear, was it? A bard, oui. A very good one, or perhaps merely a prolific one?’ She twisted her arm and laid her hand flat on the desk, the single ring she wore clinking against its lacquered surface as she propped herself against the oak’s ancient weight. ‘These days, is there any difference, monsieur?’