To say Maria was looking forward to the dinner that evening would have been about as true as saying she loved Ivor. The dinner was up there on her list of loathsome tasks and even the idea of seeing Brad that night didn’t do anything to quell the feeling of disgust that she had. Could she vocalize any of that disgust? No, because the moment she opened her mouth, Simprina would descend and Brad would be out of the kingdom in the breadth of a heartbeat. There was no one she could talk to, not even him...What was there to say, anyway?<span style="font-style: italic">Sorry, I’m with child, and it’s his so I think it’d be better if I...stayed away from you?</span><br/><br/>That’d go over about as well as her avoiding him like she had.<br/><br/>Eyes bore into the back of her head as the toast was given, all the while a smile was plastered on her lips to keep appearances. The last thing she needed was the king thinking she not true in the marriage or wanting this pregnancy to come to term.<span style="font-style: italic">Even if Ivor is deplorable...and the worst man to ever walk this earth…</span>she added to herself, sipping from her glass and trying not to look as horrified that Ivor was suddenly there, attentive, “loving” like a husband should be.<br/><br/>Another voice rang out and startled her, causing her to jump a bit in her chair, though her eyes remained pointedly on her plate. Simprina came forward, whispering in her ear while the rest of the conversation continued.<br/><br/>“Are you alright?” she asked softly, a hand resting on her shoulder while another felt her forehead. “Are you ill? What’s startled you?”<br/><br/>“Nothing, Simprina. I merely forgot myself,” Maria tried to brush off, glancing up at her and realizing it was a mistake. The look on Simprina’s face spoke of just what she knew and how she’d expected it. Those eyes, seething in their cold stare, shifted from her...to Brádach, where they lingered.<br/><br/>Now, where she was the princess’s right hand, her actions weren’t questioned. She could move as she needed, and (so long as her actions weren’t prying) speak to whom she needed to. So, when the man looked over at Maria, seeking eye contact, she moved. Her steps were quiet, barely a whisper with fabric louder than the hard soles that moved in one focused direction. Once over there, her hand touched his shoulder and she leaned down to whisper in his ear.<br/><br/>“Brádach, we must speak. Excuse yourself from the table and we’ll speak frank,” came her quiet demand.