Lizard-Tongue

Lyla's slow footsteps echoed against the marble floor, the sound carrying through the stone-walled corridor. 

Her hands trembled as she balanced a tray with a ceramic cup and teapot, hesitating before knocking on Elara's chamber door. 

Pushing it open, she found Her Grace seated at the study desk, brows furrowed, seemingly indifferent to her arrival.

The sharp spice of ginger mixed with the sweetness of cinnamon curled in the air, rising from the steaming herbal tea Lyla carried. 

Familiar with the scent and aware of Lyla's presence, Elara remained unmoved, her focus locked onto the scattered papers before her.

"Time to drink your remedy, Your Grace."

"Hm. Put it there."

Lyla set the tray down beside Elara on the desk. But when Elara showed no intention of drinking it, she silently moved the tray right in front of her, covering the scattered papers she was reading.

"What are you—" Elara's eyes widened as she shot Lyla a glare, only to be met with a knowing smile.

"You refuse to see the Royal Physician because you don't want to draw attention. Instead, you rely on these herbs to ease your chest pain. So at the very least, Your Grace, you should drink it while it's still warm. That's what Seer Nuntius prescribed, isn't it?"

Elara frowned, her lips pursed in a pout, but she drank it anyway—she didn't have time to argue with Lyla right now.

"Did you find something, Your Grace?" Lyla asked, setting the empty cup aside then she began brushing Elara's long, wavy hair.

"Last night, when the paper got damp in the carriage, I found a hidden symbol. At first, I thought these foreign writings contained a secret message." She explained, pressing another damp cloth against the aged parchment in her hand. It turned out the paper reacted to moisture, revealing hidden ink.

"But all it revealed was the sun and moon symbols… and—does this look like a snake eating its own tail?" Elara squinted, holding the sheet out to Lyla for a second opinion.

"Hmm… it does, Your Grace." Lyla took a glance at it, her hands still weaving through Elara's hair.

Elara threw the paper onto the table, frustration tightening her jaw. Her chair creaked as she slumped back with heavy shoulders. 

She stared at the window, unfocused, as the warm sunlight narrowed her eyes. Heat rose in her veins, pulsing with her growing irritation.

"Perhaps, I can find similar words in the library," she mumbled under her heavy sigh.

As soon as Lyla pinned the golden butterfly to her bun, she quickly tidied up the desk, locked the papers away in the compartment, and they headed straight to the Hall for the evening feast.

Servants moved swiftly between the four long mahogany tables that spanned from the hall's entrance, stopping just short of the high table reserved for the Marquess and his wife.

The clatter of silverware arranged on the table and hurried footsteps mingled with the crisp scent of freshly washed fruit, filling the air.

A few servants smiled and gave a slight bow as Elara moved between the tables. The sunlight streaming through the vents mirrored her warm smile, returning each greeting with ease. 

For four years, the castle staff had learned to trust that their Marchioness always gave her best in everything she did.

Two young maids, placing fruit on the second table, watched Elara with admiring eyes. 

How could they not? Not only was she known for her kind nature, but her beauty also radiated a light that could warm even the coldest nights. 

Her hazel eyes held a gentle power, drawing people in. Despite the toll of restless nights and an unforgiving schedule, her oval face retained its radiant glow.

When she smiled, the soft curve of her lush lips deepened the warm flush on her cheeks—like the gentle blush of a ripened peach.

No one in the Hall doubted Elara's beauty, except for herself. 

But lately, as she took better care of her skin in preparation for the Prince's return, a newfound confidence began to stir within her. Perhaps, she was beautiful after all.

As Elara was about to enter the buttery where the ale and wine were stored, her step halted at the doorway, and she paused, stunned.

"Do you think they'll get divorced?" the shorter maid asked.

"Of course they will. You know the Corsaria Princess? Ugh… Our current Marchioness is nothing compared to her. Hmm, should I just call her by her name now?" the taller maid replied, giggling in a sinister laugh.

"Sssh… watch your mouth."

"Oh bloody not, why should I? I never really liked her to begin with. I was quite disappointed when the Prince brought the disgraced baron's daughter here as his bride-to-be."

"Yeah, never expected that. But she was lucky to have a child with him. I didn't know the Prince was that good—they did it in one shot," the shorter maid said with a lewd expression, as if imagining something indecent.

"Hmm… are you sure she was his daughter?"

"Oh, Carol! Your mouth is a beast—tame it if you can."

"You know, listen—"

The deliberate thud of footsteps from the doorway made both maids turn, their eyes wide and breaths caught in their throats.

"The one who should listen is you, Carol. You should listen to her when she says watch your words," Elara commanded in a fierce yet calm tone.

The two spiteful maids immediately knelt down, their faces flushing as cold sweat beaded on their brows.

"Your Grace!" they cried in unison.

"Y—Your Grace, I… I… forgive me," one stammered.

"Your Grace, forgive us… we—"

"Back to your work. I'm sure you have piles of work that need more attention than the 'obvious truth' you've been gossiping about for the past four years." Elara said coldly.

"Y—Yes, Your Grace." The two slowly stood, heads still bowed, and quickly disappeared down the corridor.

Lyla, who had just emerged in the buttery, instantly recognised the gossipy maids as they rushed down the corridor leading to the kitchen—she had a hunch that those venomous snakes had just stirred up trouble.

"Your Grace, what happened? Are the lizard-tongue sisters causing trouble?"

"Lizard-tongue?"

"Ah yes—Carol and Catheline are known among the maids as 'lizard-tongue' because they love to spread malicious gossip. But when the truth comes to light and their words turn to lies, they twist them around like lizards mating with each others."

Elara chuckled at the nickname before moving on to inspect the barrels of ale, drawing near the spigot to catch any unwanted odour.

"What a strange nickname," she murmured, as she examined two glass bottle of wine and savoured its aroma.

Lyla frowned, noticing that Her Grace remained unruffled.

"You have to be a bit tougher on maids like them, Your Grace. Otherwise, they—"

"Why should I?"