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She watches from the window of her luxurious guest room as the two young men clash swords below in the courtyard. Wolfram's golden hair shines gloriously by moonlight and she sighs as piercing green eyes flash in annoyance at Yuuri's protests. He's a beautiful man. They really would make the perfect couple, she and Wolfram. She could almost see the portraits of them together now; happy, smiling, and with pretty little blonde children surrounding them.
A fanciful pipe dream. She shakes herself from her wandering thoughts to return much less optimistic eyes to the scene below.
She should be watching Yuuri's form, paying attention to the way he fights and discovering his weaknesses. But all she can see is the persistence in Wolfram's movements as he pushes the Maou onwards, the way he corrects the boy's wrong movements tenderly. Such care seems at odds with the harsh voice and stern eyes. But she sees those eyes when Yuuri isn't watching; she sees them soften. She sees the corner of that delicate mouth curve upwards when the young King finally gets a manoeuvre right. What chance does she really have? Even if she wins tomorrow, Wolfram will be miserable. He loves Yuuri, not you, her subconscious whispers traitorously.
A single tear rolls down a smooth cheek and splashes onto the soft fabric of her nightgown.
"My Lady, are you alright?" A timid voice interrupts.
"I...I yes, I'm fine." Elizabeth startles from her private reverie, hastily wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. She turns to see a young brown-haired maid with large, concerned eyes, their size further amplified by the spectacles resting across the girl's nose.
"I apologise for surprising you. I came in to bring you some fresh towels and bathing oils and noticed you seemed upset." She pauses, watching the noble woman's face. "Don't worry about tomorrow, My Lady; I'm sure everything will be fine. You are a fine swordswoman, from what I've heard."
"How can you say that? You live here; you must have seen it...."
"Seen what, My Lady?" Sangria asks politely, genuinely confused by what Elizabeth is talking about.
"The way Wolfram looks at him, acts around him when the Maou is not looking...he is in love with this foreign King. How can I compete with that? He barely acknowledges my existence." On the verge of tears again, the blonde woman bites back a sob; she would not cry again in front of this girl she barely knows.
The young woman looks thoughtful for a moment, before asking a tentative question. "Do you love him, My Lady?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then you must have faith that everything will turn out right." The brunette's optimism is catching, and Elizabeth weakens ever so slightly under its power.
"Faith, you say?" Her gaze casts back out the window, a faintly determined smile returning to her lips. "Well, I guess we will see..."
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