<span style="font-style: italic">"My Lady! What has happened?”</span><br/><br/>Genevieve, wrought with emotion, didn't even look up at the question. Instead, she buried her head further into her pillow.<span style="font-style: italic">How</span>could she have been so naive to think- but she was so angry. With her father, with Motto, Setaphina. With herself. And underneath that anger was a sorrow she had never felt before. Past courtships had not prepared her for something like this. She had gone into those knowing she would be sent away. Wanting to be. And that want remained strong, even after months. But this? Within a week, Genevieve's mind had been changed. There was something about Motto that she had fallen in love with.<br/><br/>Elenore's gentle touch drew Genevieve from her pillow long enough to give the elderly woman a pathetic, watery frown. Brows were tapered up, cheeks were tear stained, and Genevieve's eyes had reddened. It was enough for the woman to give her a sympathetic murmur.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">"What happened, My Lady?”</span><br/><br/>Genevieve twisted, bleeding foot hanging off her bed. Even in her fit of emotion, the rational part of Genevieve's brain hadn't let her bleed all over her bedding. Sitting up, Elenore had propped Genevieve's foot onto her knee, giving it a once over before instructing Lavern and Mildred to fetch the physician. Genevieve winced as the woman's cool fingers dug out the easier pieces of glass. "Motto.." A sniff as she tried to gain some semblance of control. "We, we got into some stupid argument." A fresh set of tears rolled down Genevieve's cheeks. "I was stupid, and angry, and I blamed him for something that's hardly his fault."<br/><br/>Elenore handed Genevieve a handkerchief. Seriously, was this woman prepared for everything?? And Genevieve wiped at her face. But no sooner was it clean, then fresh tears collected and spilled over. She couldn't get the scene from her head. Motto's shirt thrown open. Her hands on his bare skin. Had the destruction she thought she'd seen been misconstrued in her mind? Were they really just the aftermath of throws of passion?? Genevieve's grieving heart was fogging her brain. For if she'd just think for one moment...<br/><br/>But she didn't. She was too heartbroken to think. "I saw him.." A sob as she covered her hands with her face. "He was kissing her, Elenore.<span style="font-style: italic">Kissing her.</span>" Before Elenore could even ask, she continued. "Lady Setaphina." A hiss for the petite brunette's name. "She was pressed up against him! Her hands.." She was looking down at her own set, salted tears dripping upon them as she searched for words. "Were pressed against his chest like.. Like.." She couldn't finish her sentence. Instead, hands closed into fists. And she looked away, afraid to see delight on the older woman's face. Had they all played her??<br/><br/>"I was stupid to think-!" It was a growl, and Genevieve threw a pillow from her bed. It hit a porcelain tea set, sitting along the wall, shattering it. Guilt blossomed in Genevieve's chest almost immediately. She drew her knee up, uninjured foot sliding across the bed, and folded her arms over it, face buried. "I'm sorry." It wasn't Elenore's fault. Nor was it fair for her to break such nice things, leaving a mess for the woman. Elenore simply patted Genevieve's knee. She did not see Elenore's face, shocked at her story, nor see it darken at its conclusion. Something was wrong. Young as Motto was, he would never do something like that. And he loved Genevieve. A true love, found and kindled to a raging flame in a matter of days. He would never.<br/><br/>When the physician arrived, Elenore took her leave. She knew there was more than one side to this story. More than three. Perhaps Hector would know Motto's.<br/><br/>______<br/><br/>The next morning for Genevieve was rough. Her night had been a late one. The physician had worked for hours it seemed, digging glass from her foot, before wrapping it tightly. She didn't need stitches, but with the rehearsal, she was expected to be on her feet, slowing the healing. Not to mention the horrible headache now pounding it's way out of her skull. She had cried long last night. Her eyes, pinched and slightly swollen, attested to that.<br/><br/>But she also rose with a new kind of determination. No longer a maiden, Genevieve would be forced to marry Motto. It was loveless, on his end it would seem, but not unfortunate. She would use her position to help Faldothia. The sacrifice she was forced to make would not go to waste. And, in Gilthlore. She would change lives. Looking on the bright side. That's what she was trying to do.<br/><br/>Mildred changed her dressings. Her foot had soaked through the cloth the night before, and she needed more salve applied. Wraps and salve would be brought to the rehearsal for one of her maids to change when necessary. Genevieve chose a gown of dark green, almost black. She was displeased with how things had turned out, thus the dark color, but there was still hope there that she could make a difference.<br/><br/>Refusing breakfast, for she had no appetite, Genevieve kept mostly silent. Instead, she was led, limping, to a carriage headed for the royal cathedral where the wedding would take place in two days time. Genevieve paused briefly in the shadows of the main entrance. Having spotted Motto, she needed a moment to steel her nerves. Of course they would share a carriage. Why not? They were to be married after all. Genevieve felt her bottom lip quiver for the briefest of moments. No. She was to be Queen, and needed to act like one.<br/><br/>So she did. Chin rose and Genevieve descended those stairs towards the king. Regal, despite her slight limp. "Your Majesty." A modified curtsy was given, keeping the weight off injured foot. Could he see behind her cool exterior? Did he notice swollen eyes and flushed skin? Did he care? Taking an offered hand, Genevieve was hoisted onto the carriage, where she sat, thankful to be off her injury. Green eyes were averted, looking to the golden embroidery of a dark sleeve. Genevieve couldn't look at him, for fear of tearing up again.