Work Text:
“Don’t breathe too loudly, Ser,” Genevieve muttered to the seamstress, eyes focused on a chink in the mortar of the stone wall.
“I don’t think that they’d notice, to be honest,” Seren snarked quietly, arms crossed as she leaned in to look at the gap where she was standing. Lady Sandra and Prince Maxwell of Bennegrove were in deep conversation by the fireplace, sitting close enough to each other that it was almost improper. What was improper was that they were the only two in the room, though.
The two women watched as Prince Maxwell to Lady Sandra’s hand gently between his own, holding it as if her hand were made of the thinnest of glass. Lady Sandra blushed a delicate pink, averting her eyes down to her lap briefly. Genevieve and Seren had no issue with either of the two Bennegrovians until Genevieve had accidentally been witness to Prince Maxwell and Lady Sandra sharing a kiss, shadowed in an alcove underneath the stairs in the South Wing. The two had not seen her, thankfully, but it immediately changed how the Handmaiden thought about Princess Vanessa’s upcoming wedding.
“Why are we doing this again?” Seren asked after a few minutes of silence, watching as Prince Maxwell progressively moved to lay on the sofa and put his head in Lady Sandra’s lap.
“I needed to prove my suspicions right,” Genevieve said, tapping a finger against the stone next to her eye. “And I have.”
“And you wanted me here as, what? Another witness to this debacle?”
“My, my, someone is full of questions today,” Genevieve fired back, not moving.
“Well, I have to direct a bunch of new seamstresses in the craft this month, as you are well aware. I do rather think it is my turn to ask the questions.” Seren tugged on a lock of Genevieve’s hair affectionately.
“I want you to make his court robes as uncomfortable as you can without it being suspicious,” Genevieve finally revealed to Seren why she was needed here, leaning away from the crumbling mortar to look at the Mother Seamstress. “I do not want him to have a single moment of peace in our lands while this affront to our Princess, to the very Crown itself, takes place.”
Seren frowned, rubbing at her wrist, which was absent of the normally there pin cushion bracelet. “… That is quite a risk you are asking of me, Gen,” Seren said eventually. “I despise his actions just as much as you do, but going so far as to tamper with the soon-to-be Prince Consort’s attire? Gods, you know that I am quite awful at this kind of subterfuge.”
Genevieve slumped against the stone wall. She had known that her request was unreasonable, perhaps even treasonous, were it not for his currently unmarried status. “I know, Ser,” she sighed, resting the side of her head against the cool stone behind her. “But I might well suggest to the Princess that she and him sleep in different chambers, even after they are wed. That moulded root does not deserve to sleep in the same bed as her.”
Seren breathed out a huff of air, and stood, dusting off her skirts before offering a hand to Genevieve. “I know you are in love with her,” her tone was soft, full of empathy, as they walked away from the Bennegrovians, out of one of the hidden servant’s corridors into the seamstresses’ rooms. “But do not let that protective heart of yours overrun your mind.”
Genevieve let go of Seren’s hand and began to re-braid her hair, using the distraction as a way to calm down and sort her thoughts. Once it was secure again, she took both of Seren’s hands in hers. “Thank you,” she said, pushing all the things she could not voice into the two words.
“Mm,” Seren hummed, pulling Genevieve in for a hug. “Things will work out as they ought for our Princess, and for you. Remember, on Wings and Willows do the Mighty of Us Soar.”
“Alright, alright,” Genevieve said, her tone changing to something lighter. “How is the progress for her gift?”
“Oh, the quilt is coming together finally. I still cannot believe how hard it was for any of my girls to find the colours we need for it.”
Genevieve listened attentively to her friend’s update, but inside, she was still torn over the problem. She was a sorter, and this mess, it seemed, could not be cleaned with a tidy bow.