location: castelgrande castle; euphemia’s chambers featuring: @gaelicstatues
the lamplight was low in the parlor attached to euphemia’s bedchamber. she had little space to herself here in switzerland, as part of the english contingent, but she was thankful for what she had as she sat in her chair, dressed already for bed with her hair loose and a heavy robe cinched at the waist. the book in her hand, the lives, detailed biographies of italian painters, sculptors, and architects, and though she had read it so many times before, she devoured the words written on the page.
the sound of the door opening from the hallway surprised her and euphemia’s head turned toward it, finger keeping her place on the parchment before her. her husband had stayed with his current plaything and even if he had not, he would not grace her domain without first being announced. euphemia was not one to expect a visit from her son this late in the evening either, and her brow furrowed, wondering if something had happened with arthur. the man who stepped through the threshold, however, was neither of those and once she saw his profile, she stood quickly, setting the book beside her barely touched goblet of wine on the table.
“mo chridhe,” the gaelic endearment was little more than a soft breath escaping her lips and one hand reached up to cup his cheek. “how i have missed you.”