Stars twinkled far above Celeste as she sat at the writing desk on her balcony, a cup of wine in one hand and a quill in the other. A cooling breeze drifted over her, ruffling her hair and the puffed sleeves of her gown. She was far from soothed, however, despite the calmness she displayed on the surface. She was anticipating news from Arlea, news that could either be good or bad considering that she had yet to receive any messages from her informants—particularly Lord Huntington—for nine days now when he usually updated her once a week.

"Your Grace?" The butler appeared suddenly at her chamber door, his steps near-silent. "I have your correspondence."

He indeed held a stack of letters on a brassy salver. "Thank you, Joseph. You may be dismissed."

Celeste gave him a warm smile as she stood to take the envelopes from him. He bowed deeply and left. She let the mask of gracious kindness fall from her face, free to be herself once more. Though not entirely—she could never expose her true self, her true intentions, to anybody. Not even Isko saw the full extent of what others would consider her 'dark side.' For how could she gain power if people saw her directly seeking it?

If a man was ambitious, he would be lauded with praise, and given every avenue to pursue his goals. If a woman was ambitious, she was an unnatural power-hungry snake who needed to learn that her place was in the home and at her husband's feet. Such was the way of life, and so Celeste had long ago learned to hide her yearnings for authority. She pushed the bitter thoughts out of mind now, and focussed on the task at hand: Abel Huntington.

Has the baron betrayed me?, she wondered. Celeste slit open the envelope, breaking open its blue wax seal with her crimson-painted thumbnail. She recognized the seal as Huntington's; the wax was stamped with a bridge motif, alluding to the Huntington estate's location, which was directly on the border of Arlea and Seralia in the North. The envelope, however, held the unfamiliar and cloying scent of lilacs.

Scent aside, she unfolded the letter. It was written in a flowery, equally unrecognizable script—a feminine hand. It must have come from Huntington's wife, she realized. Marie Huntington. Celeste hoped it wasn't accusations of an affair—that would be both untrue and beneath her. She skimmed the contents of the message, and felt her temples begin to throb.

Dear Lady Julia,

My husband has been detained by the queen of Arlea for his part in the failed assassination of the heir to the Arlean throne. I write to you not to beg for his release or for you to send him salvation, but to tell you that you may be implicated as well for your part in these crimes. The baron is being held under torture, and may confess to anything to save himself. I write to warn you: make yourself untouchable.

Regards,

Marie Huntington, Baroness of Abbotsford

Celeste sighed. No, Abel hadn't betrayed her yet. But the journey from Arlea to the Sleeping Island was half a week long in good weather, and he could easily have confessed to her involvement by now. Of course, that was only assuming he knew it was she who were involved, and not someone else. The only person she had corresponded with was his wife, and under a false name to boot.

It was also unlikely he would recognize the Mendoza crest if he did see it—the baron was often drunk, or so her spies had informed her, and therefore was hardly observant when it came to recognizing major Arlean sigils, let alone that of a small, minor island nation. That was the reason he had chosen to ally himself with Seralia,—other than his proximity to the foreign nation's capital—because he needed gold to pay the debts he had accumulated through damaging his liver. No, likely she was safe... for now. But she needed a culprit, someone the queen could string up beside Huntington, or else it would be Celeste herself who wound up hanging from a noose.

She leafed through the rest of the mail. A love note from one of her many suitors—men she collected and then strung along and seduced to pry Intelligence from—caught her eye. Between the lines of romantic prose about the shade of her eyes matching the night sky, she found buried a dark little gem of a secret. 

Yes, this is certainly more useful, Celeste thought with a genuine smile this time.

She sipped her glass of red wine to celebrate, the crimson liquid sloshing around her metallic goblet. Too translucent to be blood, but close enough to make her think of how close she might come to death if anyone discovered her plans.

Celeste sliced open another envelope. This one wasn't addressed to her—she had hired a pickpocket to filch it for her from a ship that had been speeding towards the Filipias. It was from Natasha Blackmore, the Queen of Arlea, addressed to her sister, Dominica Romero, née Blackmore, the Queen of the Filipias. She read its contents hungrily, and one line of text stood out to her.

I think, dear sister, that it is time for Arlea to relinquish the Sleeping Island to Filipian rule.

On the parchment, crisp black ink bore words that could spell doom for Celeste's entire future. And she would have to ensure the plans they spoke of never came to fruition.

Short, I know, but I was feeling a little writer's block this past few weeks. Hope you enjoyed!