The way was straightforward. Her mind made up. She would apologize, and even if he didn't accept, she would request to stay. Not because she didn't have a choice, but because she wanted too. The petals lead Genevieve's feet down the corridor. It was beginning to grow familiar to her now, at least the pathway between their chambers were.<br/><br/>How odd.. Brows furrowed. On the ground, before her, lay the King's discarded coat. It seemed to have been torn off in a fit of rage. The petals crossed perpendicular to the corridor it seemed he had gone down. Not to his rooms, but.. Genevieve bent to take the King's torn coat in her hands, shaking the petals from it before slinging it over her arms before her. She followed the direction the petals had been disturbed with hurried steps. And came upon a painting, frame destroyed, canvas ripped. It was a beautiful thing: sad, but still beautiful. She noted the green of cloak. A gorgeous color, and touched the paint strokes of it before turning away.<br/><br/>A vase! Shattered upon the ground. The king had come this way! Genevieve did her very best to inch around the broken porcelain, but a shard, small by all rights, found its way into the arch of her foot. Genevieve winced, pausing long enough to look her foot over for that little shard. And couldn't find it. A huff of frustration...She'd have Elenore give it a once over when.. Voices! Motto? Genevieve started forward, careful of her foot, towards the pair of voices. She<span style="font-style: italic">thought</span>she had heard Motto, but now all she could hear was a woman. Perhaps she had been wrong?<br/><br/>A hole in the wall. No doubt Motto's work, guided Genevieve to a crossroads. He had been angry, and she had a lot to apologize for. Head turned one way, and then another...<br/><br/>The soft drop of his jacket hitting the corridor floor was Genevieve's only announcement. The scene before her rendered the woman speechless. "Mo-" A hard swallow, as her mouth felt suddenly very dry. She could feel a lump forming. "Motto?" Tears blurred her vision as they threatened to spill over lids. He was kissing Setaphina. The General's daughter. Whom he had claimed to barely know.<br/><br/>Setaphina.<br/><br/>Afraid to let him see her cry, Genevieve turned, running the way she had come. She was stumbling over herself, his robe upon her body was too big, cumbersome. A cry of pain as foot stepped onto broken shards. Of course, the vase. She was foolish to have forgotten about it. But what was one more foolish act amongst the others? Following the path of destruction back, Genevieve made her way to the path of petals. Angry and upset, she fell, foot bleeding, only to sweep at the petals, hoping to break the connection between their chambers. And when she couldn't? Genevieve stood, hot tears running down her cheeks, and made for her rooms.<br/><br/>Inside the door, she sobbed, letting her pain out, standing on one foot. She wiped her face with the sleeve of his robe before looking to it. A swell of anger, fueled by hurt, filled her chest, and Genevieve wrestled to get it off. "I can't believe I-" Robe off, she opened her door and threw it from herself and into the corridor. Not that it went far. It was heavy. Door shut, alone, Genevieve limped to her bed, and fell on it, her face buried within a pillow. She wanted to go home. Regret clawed it's way into her mind. What was she to do? Did she have any real choice? She still had to marry the man. But why? He had his little Setaphina. She was in a foreign land. And had no one.