Chapter Text
Anselma gripped Cleobulus's elbow the second Lambert entered the hallway with the commander of the King of Lions Corps flanking him.
The king's arrival shouldn't have surprised her since Cleobulus had told her he travelled through this corridor every morning to the throne room. Still, Cleobulus kept her expression perfectly amiable even as she removed Anselma's fingers from her arm one by one.
She curtsied demurely to the beast the second their eyes met. "Your Majesty, you grace us with your company," she hummed mellifluously. At her side, Anselma followed her example silently.
"Lady Cornelia, my presence doesn't measure to the succour you bring to Fhìrdiad," the king greeted her with a mere bow of the head instead of grovelling at her feet as he ought to. "Lady Patricia."
Anselma, the skitterish little thing, swallowed thickly and averted her eyes to the floor. "Your Majesty," she mumbled.
Tittering, Cleobulus pretended to marvel at the king's proficiency with basic pleasantries while she subtly shifted Anselma between herself and the beast. As instructed, Anselma had collected her hair in a long braid on her shoulder, akin to the habit of the dead queen. Even more, the modest gown she wore, which covered her from neck to feet, resembled the style that had dominated the royal closet with its narrow waist and wide sleeves. It would have seemed almost bare if not for the accents of arctic fur and a single, glittering azure pendant in the shape of a teardrop.
For a man mourning a deceased spouse lost to an enemy strength couldn't defeat, the mere sight of a vulnerable woman reminiscent of his beloved queen should have stirred something.
Yet, the king didn't deign Anselma of a single look. Not even a quiver begetted from an attempt to resist sweet temptation.
Cleobulus fought to keep her falsely polite smile from straining further. She hadn't missed how the beast's eyes had followed Anselma when she introduced them to each other. Further exposure to the idiotic woman should have nourished that attraction, not caused it to wither into nothingness.
Just as her nerves began to tug at her lips, the animal excused himself laconically, citing his engagement with matters of the kingdom. Soon, he and the taciturn commander walked through the door at the end of the hallway and out of sight.
Anselma clutched Cleobulus's arm closer to her ribcage the second they were alone. "...He's not interested," she whined into Cleobulus's ear, absently worrying her bottom lip. Between her unwanted touch and the high-pitched voice, Cleobulus itched to shove the useless baggage away. "What will happen to me now, Cornelia? I have no family here… No possessions… The Goddess has forsaken me..."
Cleobulus eyed the offending hands, wishing she could slap them away without risking the destruction of her cover. Then again, the vapid woman wasn't wrong; this latest attempt proved that Lambert disregarded her in all the ways that mattered. With the opportunity to ensnare the king's heart a mirage, Anselma would have to forge ahead in a foreign kingdom where her family name begot negative value.
How tragic it was that she lacked any notable skill, unlike her brother.
Well, Cleobulus thought as she distractedly consoled Anselma with empty words, There will be more opportunities in the future. I imagine I don't need to search for a new experimental subject now, at least.