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“Wait, Lady Camilla. Allow me.”
Beruka appears at the princess’s elbow silently with an outstretched hand. Camilla looks down at her retainer with a sweet smile as her conversation partner, a heavyset man in formal robes, jumps in surprise. Beruka gives him little regard as she plucks the offered goblet from his hands.
“W-wait! That’s not for you, girl!” He squeaks as his chubby hands grab at the gilt cup. Beruka takes a step back, out of the man’s reach.
“Beruka… surely we can trust our guest?” Camilla questions, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. The edges of her scar peek out from behind her curtain of hair; red and crisscrossed like a steak taken to razor wire.
“You can never be too safe,” Beruka states, clutching the drink with both hands.
The war might be over, but a power-hungry noble is a power-hungry noble, and none of them are to be trusted, even at a so-called celebration of good will. She gives the drink a sniff. It’s wine, the same wine being served at the banquet. It doesn’t smell off, so Beruka takes a sip.
Tastes fine too.
After mulling it over for a moment, she hands the goblet back to Camilla with a stiff nod. The princess’s finely manicured hands brush over her fingers as she takes the drink back with a “thank you” and a smile, her bangs sliding back over her eye once more. Beruka retreats back to her spot by the wall as Camilla turns back to the flustered man, picking up their conversation right where it had been left off.
The assassin scans the room, content with the princess’s safety for the time being. It’s a lively party; nobles and soldiers alike celebrating the end of the war with Hoshido. Not all the details had been worked out just yet, but given Lady Corrin’s ascension to Valla’s throne… peace was on the horizon and approaching fast.
But not fast enough.
She keeps a wary eye on every man that approaches her lady; scrutinizing their body language, their gifts, their words and their intentions. Everyone wants to be on the Princess’s good side, or so it seems. But appearances can be misleading; a fact the assassin knows well enough as she takes a testing sip from the fifth glass of wine Camilla has been offered this evening. It’s fine, just like the rest, but it’s Beruka’s job to be sure, and it’s a job not to be taken lightly.
By the time the night finally winds to an end, the princess is well and truly drunk, giggling slightly as Beruka guides her back to her quarters. Camilla holds her heeled shoes in one hand, slinging her other arm across her retainer’s shoulders as they walk deeper into the castle. The sweet smell of perfume and wine falls over Beruka as Camilla leans heavily on her much smaller body.
“Oh… my dear Beruka… I’m so glad the party went well…”
“Of course, Princess. Without a hitch, as expected.”
Camilla titters, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The edges of the scars that cross her face catch the moonlight filtering through the windows, dappling her face like glitter. Her makeup is smeared by now, a sign of the late hour. Beruka unlocks the door and leads the princess to the couch in front of the fire, which is already glowing with heat. A maid must have beaten them here, judging by the slippers and robe already waiting by the door.
“Perhaps I overdid it tonight…” Camilla mumbles as she begins to tug off her dress and change into the robe. Beruka turns her back to give the princess some privacy, wandering over to the icebox in the next room. Some water would help with soon-to-be hangovers.
A crystal tumbler is placed in the pajama-clad princess’s hand, and Beruka pours her a drink.
“Thank you, my dear,” the princess mumbles as she brings the glass to her lips.
A smell, a new smell, an unfamiliar smell , drifts past Beruka, brought towards her by the slight draft from the fireplace. Her hand moves faster than her brain, smacking the glass away from the princess’s face forcefully.
“My- Beruka?!” Camilla yelps in surprise as the tumbler shatters across the stone tiles of the room. Beruka brings the bottle of water to her nose.
“Poison, my lady.”
Camilla blinks owlishly before smiling. “Oh those tricky little weasels… I shall have their heads for this.”
Beruka places the bottle on the table instead of pouring the contents down the drain. Evidence for later. The new regime was very particular about doing things lawfully from now on, rather than through a series of backhanded assassinations. The perpetrator must not have gotten the memo.
Camilla’s warm arms snake around Beruka’s neck. The princess, still buzzing with alcohol, buries her face in Beruka’s hair. “You do such a good job, my sweet… What would I do without you?”
Beruka sighs as Camilla pets the top of her head lovingly, taking her hand off the hilt of her dagger. She could hunt for the culprit later. Murder was off the table for now anyways.