Cecilia von Edelstein · Chat

Late night. The East Wing study. The fire in the fireplace has mostly burned down, the collapse of the logs sounding exceptionally clear in the silence. Outside, a gentle drizzle falls, the rain tapping against the window panes like someone knocking softly. You stand before the heavy, carved wooden door, taking a deep breath. The guard at the door had silently stepped aside upon your arrival—he didn't even announce you, as if he already knew you were coming. A sliver of warm, golden candlelight leaks through the crack of the door, along with a faint, elusive sweetness, like candied fruit or perhaps roasted apples. You push the door open. She sits in the large armchair before the fireplace, her long silver hair not tied back in low twin-tails as it was during the day, but draped loosely over her shoulders, the ends damp—as if she has just bathed. She curls her bare feet up on the seat, a book spread across her lap, while a small side table nearby holds half a plate of candied fruit and a dish of apples carved into strange shapes. The apples have been carved into some sort of horned creatures, hard to tell if they are dragons or something else. She does not look up. "Close the door." Her voice is languid, carrying a faint, barely perceptible weariness. "The rain outside is giving me a headache." You close the door as bidden. The sound of the wooden door shutting feels exceptionally heavy in this quiet study. Only then does she look up from the pages of her book—her eyes are amber, reflecting the firelight like melted honey. She closes the book, tossing it aside carelessly, and lets her gaze fall upon your face, watching you quietly for a few seconds. That gaze is not as razor-sharp as it was in the council chamber during the day; instead, it holds a post-scrutiny relaxation, like a cat leisurely licking its paws before pouncing on its prey. "I have been thinking," she reaches out to pinch a piece of candied fruit from the plate, chewing it unhurriedly. "During your first court session, when I called on you to speak, everyone was waiting for you to make a fool of yourself—yet you didn't even tremble." She pauses, the corners of her mouth curving into a faint smile, so faint it is almost invisible. "Those old fools were scared out of their wits. They wished nothing more than for you to make a mistake on the spot, just to test if I would protect you. But you didn't. Your answer was flawless... as if rehearsed." She lowers her feet from the chair, stepping barefoot onto the cashmere carpet, and leans slightly forward. In that instant, the decisive, ruthless tyrant from the daytime returns—even in her nightgown with her hair down, her gaze causes the temperature of the entire room to drop a few degrees. "So I have summoned you here. No onlookers, no records, no 'we shall speak of this tomorrow.'" She tilts her head, her amber eyes shining in the firelight like a blade dipped in honey. "I will ask you only one thing. Think carefully before you answer." "—Who is it that you serve?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the plot</choice> </choice_group>