A\N: Hey! I changed Celeste's name; Estelle's wild cousin; to Giselle since Celeste is a pretty common French name. That was just something to hold to until I found a more suitable name. Here's another random update for you, enjoy!

*~*~**~*~*

   "Ä̤Ṳ̈ R̤̈Ë̤V̤̈Ö̤Ï̤R̤̈, ma chérie!" Giselle waved excitedly as Estelle mounted her steed. She was still in her navy night gown with a cream-coloured shawl sprawled across her shoulders. The knights that had accompanied the Queen tried their best to look away as a layer of blush spread across their cheeks.

   But no, Estelle knew she couldn't depart for her companion was yet to join her. Most probably he was still tangled in his sheets with no inkling at all that they were to depart at the sun's first ray.

   "I am here!" There it was, the groggy baritone of Rafael as he ran through the gate, his feet heavy and his eyes lidded. Estelle swallowed her reply; it was nowhere near kind. She was torn between kicking her steed's hip and galloping off, or to wait for him to saddle. After some time, she chose the latter for it was more reasonable.

   "Do tell me what took you so long, this time?" she asked, her tone strained, holding in a curse.

  "How were you able to wake up so early? Do you not suffer from veisalgia? My head is pounding and my eyes are red. I probably look frightening at the moment, do I not?" he asked as he slowly climbed atop his mare. Estelle swept him a glance and shook her head. No. I will not waste my time and voice on this idiot, she thought, her jaw ticking unbeknownst to her.

   Rafael had already wasted her time enough. He had delayed her by a whole hour! Estelle, liked, no, was always punctual. She was one who let no one pull her back on her schedule, and if so, the person would face the full brunt of her wrath. However, there was one thing that held her back: the fact that Rafael had tucked her into bed the night before made her swallow her anger and bite her tongue.

   "Cousin, promise me you will visit soon?" Giselle asked, oblivious to the way she made her knights uncomfortable. A pleading look was on her face with just a pinch of sorrow. Estelle sighed and nodded her head.

"Promise me, Estelle," she begged. Estelle had almost forgotten how her cousin always wanted a promise and to hear you utter the words so that she could hold you to your promise. Now that she thought of it, Estelle realized that she had forgotten much about her darling cousin. With a sigh, she vowed to dedicate a little more time for her cherished cousin.

"Je promette, ma cherie," she vowed and in response, Giselle nodded her head with a bright smile on her countenance. Throwing her dear cousin one last glance, Estelle kicked her steed and rode off, with her entourage following suite. After all that transpired the night before, she still had other duties to attend to and duchies to supervise. But, she knew that it wouldnt be the last time seeing her cousin; especially after recalling how precious she was to her.

⚔👑⚔

Upon their advent at Valliere, all the commoners had gathered at the street pavement as the Queen made her way through, waving a hand with a make-believe smile on her face. The peasants cheered as their monarch passed down their cobbled streets with haste; they finally got a chance to get a glimpse of her features. Some were taken aback at how their Queen wore breeches, rode astride and at the way she rode her horse so roughly; while others on the hand, cared not a wit.

Rafael waved occasionally even though the peasants shot him confused glances, wondering who exactly he was to be riding next to the Queen like so. He paid them no mind as he galloped onwards to catch up to Estelle.

Once inside Valliere Manor, Estelle came to a slow and steady canter upon sighting the welcome group that was led by Duke Renaud himself. Stable hands rushed towards the Queen and her retinue to escort the horses to the stables where they would be groomed and fed, while Duke Renaud made his way to the Queen and the foreign Prince.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," he said, bowing low for the Royals. Estelle jumped off her horse and dusted her clothes before looking up at the Dukes kind eyes, tinted with a bit of surprise as they took a gander at her clothing.

Oh, she thought, it must be the breeches. All in Paris had gotten used to their monarch gallivanting about in supposed-menswear. This was Valliere–-a duchy far towards the South. Seeing a woman donned in breeches was the same as seeing her naked to them. However, she halted her train of thought; she did not care about what old-Renaud thought about her choice of clothing.

"Your Grace," Rafael and Estelle said in tandem as the both of them inclined their heads in respect. Renaud took Estelle's hand and placed a light kiss and then turned to Rafael and they shook hands.

"Follow me," he said as the servants that had gathered at the front steps dispersed and bowed as the Queen passed by them.

Valliere Manor was a beautiful place; beautiful enough to rival the Queen's Castle. There were two flights of stairs opposite each other and Renaud took them up the right one.

"Indubitably, you two are exhausted beyond compare. Let me show you your quarters so that you can rest a bit before dinner. Oh and, Majesty, my daughter offered to be your lady-in-waiting, if that is alright with you?" he asked, briefly looking behind him to gauge Estelle's reaction and in response, she nodded. Their rooms were located at the furthermost corner of the Manor, on the Second Floor, each facing the other. With another bow and a warm and heartfelt smile, Renaud left the two and the both of them slid into their respective rooms.

"Good evening, Majesty!" Estelle had not even closed her door when the soprano-like voice spoke up from the middle of the room almost causing her heart to desist. Holding a hand above the left side of her chest, Estelle looked up to see a girl with features so much like Renaud's that she had to do a double take. The girl had braided her brown hair into a single braid and it fell down her back up to the middle of her shoulders. She had on a pale blue dress––one that matched the colour of her eyes––that swept up to her slipper-clad ankles.

A giddy one, no? Oh dear, this will be hard to deal with.

"Please, refrain from startling me so," she said, releasing a sigh and settling into the soft and fluffy settee located at the end of her bed. A blush crept up the girl's face as she curtseyed in embarrassment.

"How old are you?" she queried, eyeing the girl in front of her, studying her: her mannerisms, her quirks, her stature; she took in everything. It was a force of habit of hers whenever she encountered someone new––her father had taught her the trick when she was young. When he was alive.

"I am turning sixteen this winter, Majesty," she answered quickly, fumbling with her skirts and fiddling with her fingers. She was clearly nervous, that was obvious. Estelle hadn't meant to frighten the girl with her speech.

"Que votre nom?" she asked in Troyent with a somewhat softened tone that made the girl visibly relax, just the slightest.

"Colette," she answered with a smile, finally looking up into her Queen's eyes. Her blue eyes mirrored the smile plastered on her face, a genuine smile and not the forced ones Estelle had gotten used to at Royal Court.

"That is a beautiful name," Estelle said with a smile of her own. The girl indeed was exactly like her father: kind and genuine in all she said and did.

"Merci, Votre Majeste," she said, bowing her head in gratitude. Estelle had found herself growing fond of the girl already and she had only known her for a short span of time; the girl was just that nice.

"Shall I fetch Her Majesty some refreshments or assist her in disrobing and adorning her dinner gown?" she asked in a composed manner, her tenor stable and her pitch had been brought down to a considerable one.

"I would rather appreciate it if you could aid me in disrobing, if you please," she replied and just then, a knock sounded on her bedroom door as a loud thump followed it. Colette rushed to open the door and there stood a page boy with a trunk sitting beside his feet. With a huff, the young man lifted the trunk filled with Estelle's clothes inside her chambers and shuffled away after placing it down carefully; for in it carried her valuables as well.

After the page boy's hasty departure, Colette helped Her Majesty in disrobing, bathing and dressing into a simple zaffre dinner gown. Her lady-in-waiting had already been prepared before she came to assist Estelle hence, she was ready to descend and indulge in dinner along with her father.

They stepped out of the quarters and made their way down the flight of stairs only to find Rafael at the foot of it. His hair had been coiffed back with gel, leaving his face clear of any lingering strands. He was clad in a brown, well-fitting suit and though it was barely audible, Estelle heard a gasp from Colette, who was standing beside her. When she looked over, she found that the girl had clapped both her hands together as a dreamy look took over her face when she looked at Rafael.

In turn, Rafael turned around at that moment and noticed the two standing not-so-far-away from him and he smiled that enfeebling, blinding smile of his that made Colette gasp once more as her cheeks flamed. Rafael made his way towards them, not once wiping away the smile on his countenance. Upon reaching them, he bowed at Colette who had curtseyed as well––and then kissed her gloved hand, making her blush even more.

Estelle watched on in relative silence at their exchange; Rafael tended to have that effect on every woman he met with––except her that was, unless under very uncomfortable situations.

"Your Majesty," he said, eyeing her and taking her hand to place a lingering kiss on it. "You look stunning as always," he went on as he got up and offered his hand to her. Accepting, Estelle turned to look at her lady-in-waiting, but, she was already gone. In response, she shrugged and walked on with Rafael towards the dining room, which he had claimed to know its location. As they neared the room, he stopped and turned around to look at her from head to toe.

"I can't recall when was the last time I saw you wearing a gown," he said with a smirk as he watched her neutral face lighten. As a response, Estelle simply rolled her eyes at him.

"Not that I mind you wearing breeches, not at all. To be honest, I like them better. They are more suited towards your body and less . . . voluminous" he said with a chuckle, laughter in his eyes.

Estelle smiled; how he understood her with the few days that they had spent in each other's company. It was the exact reason why she preferred breeches to gowns, they were easier to handle and did not restrict any type of movement. Shaking her head, with her smile still intact, she grabbed his elbow and dragged him towards the dining room. All this time, she hadn't realized that she was, for a fact, famished. They had not stopped for lunch so that they could arrive at Valliere in time to catch supper and a warm roof, for once a ceiling not overshadowed by endless spiderwebs.

"Renaud, dear friend. It has been long since I last met you. How are you fairing? Your little girl, as kind and adorable as always," an unfamiliar voice spoke and Duke Renaud muttered something in reply that set them both into guffaws.

"It feels good to be back with you, Old Chap. Why do you not come visit me?" That accent; that horrid accent that haunted her dreams some nights. That horrid accent that sent shivers up and down her spine incessantly, bringing back horrid memories. Memories she wished she could wipe away and completely efface from her mind. Without even noticing it, Estelle had halted in her tracks, reconsidering whether it was plausible and possible for her to turn back and run into her quarters and feign sickness. Because, at that moment, she would offer her right arm to walk away from a person who harboured such an accent; an accent that made her shudder and shiver at every syllable he pronounced.

"Star, are you quite alright?" Rafael asked, slightly jolting her back to reality and away from the memories that petrified her up to the present day.

"I . . .," she exhaled, and then took in a staggering breath. "I cannot go in there, Rafa. I cannot, nay, I simply cannot," she murmured, wrapping her hands around her person as she shivered more, as that fateful day flashed through her mind. Over, and over, and over.

Seeing the way she had entirely transformed into a different person, Rafael felt his heart tumble. This confident, independent woman was shivering despite there being no cold at all, murmuring 'I cannot' all throughout. He reached out to wrap her in a hug, but, as he laid a hand on her arm, her bloodshot eyes shot to his and he saw in them what he saw that night above the Eiffel Tower: fear. She was scared, scared of him laying a hand on her, scared of him. Rafael closed his eyes in pain.

How can I make her understand that I would never want to harm her in any way?

"Star, mi corazon. Tell me, whats wrong?" he said, his tone soft and levelled, compelling her to look up at his eyes.

"That voice, that accent. He is . . . Martinian," she replied breathlessly, tears rimming her eyes. No, there was no way he was going to let her cry right then.

"What about them, Star?" he asked once more, and her eyes shot up to him once more and it all made sense. Her uneasiness, her insecurity, the way she did not want him to lay a finger on her, it all made sense. The people who . . . defiled her were Martinian. And that voice had triggered her. Rafael kneeled down on one knee and looked up at her slate-grey eyes.

"Star, did you not mention that your father slayed all those bastards?" he asked and she tentatively nodded her head in response.

"But, Martinians are all bastards," she replied, her tone sharp with a hint of vulnerability.

"Now, Star. We cannot go around forming opinions on individuals without getting to know them. Tell me, do you not think that there are Troyans who have caused pain to others? If one were to stick that view unto all Troyans, they wouldnt be doing you much justice, would they? Not everyone is horrid, Star––remember this," he said, once more his tone soft and not pressuring in any way possible as he gently squeezed her upper arm. Estelle seemed to be brooding over it as she closed her eyes and her dark, long lashes fluttered above her cheeks.

"If that man dares to lay a hand on you, we will walk out of that room and this house and find somewhere else to rest. That is, right after I slit his throat open and throw his head and innards out for the stray dogs to feed on," he added with a smile, and that caused Estelles face to brighten up a smidgen.

"Promise?" she asked, akin to a toddler and Rafael nodded his head reassuringly. With a deep breath, she nodded her head, at first seeming unsure. But as she did the gesture a couple more times, she became affirmative and grabbed his hand to haul him up from his feet––which she successfully did, much to Rafaels shock at her strength.

Together, they walked in hand-in-hand to the dining room and the small ensemble got out of their seats and lowered into reverences as they walked past. Rafael made sure to sit just next to his betrothed so that he could be able to notice any sign of discomfort easily. With another sigh, Estelle grabbed her crockery and begun eating her dinner, intently avoiding the Duca Piero of Milan––which Renaud had explained as soon as they had sat down––answering all questions she was asked and contributed little to the conversation.

As soon as she was done, Rafael made up an excuse for her and they both retired to bed earlier. Upon stepping out of the dining room, Estelle deflated and placed a hand on her steadily-beating heart, leaning on the wall behind her for support.

"See, that wasn't as bad, was it now?" he asked. "The Duke was nice and friendly as well. He didn't give off any bad signs. I told you it would be alright," he said, a gentle smile stretching his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a dimple made itself prominent on his left cheek.

"Well, that was because I had you," she said, her tone smooth and relaxed as she gazed unrelentingly at his hazel eyes. Rafael stilled as the words echoed through his brain. Unbidden, his eyes welled and his heart swelled at the words he most probably misinterpreted.

"That might be the most sweetest thing youve ever said to me, mi corazon," he said, faking a sob and wiping away non-existent tears from the corner of his eyes. In response, she rolled her eyes in perfect Estelle-esque fashion. When they reached their doors, Rafael bowed for the last time that evening and bid her goodnight before retiring to his rooms.

⚔👑⚔

As she descended the stairs that early morrow, gruff, male voices echoed across the parlour as if in a debate. However, in the end, they all burst out laughing. Another one spoke, his baritone levelled and familiar. When she stepped foot on the Main Landing, the three men looked up at her; one of them smiling, the other confused and the last one, taken aback.

"Majesty," Rafael said, bowing down to her and taking her hand to place a lingering kiss on it, as he normally did. Snapping back to their senses, the Dukes echoed what Rafael had said and bowed in perfect synchronization.

"Are you going out riding?" Rafael asked, taking a gander at her horse-riding getup. From her black, leather riding boots to her jet-black hair tied into a pony-tail, with not a single stray strand.

"Aye, did you not know? I could have sworn that I had sent someone to inform you of it. Why, are you engaged this afternoon?" asked she, eyeing the shell-shocked Martinian Duke and raising a brow to him as if demanding whether he was done evaluating her choice of clothing yet or not. The Duke shook his head and focused his attention at the tapestry to the side.

"Nay, no one came to inform me. And aye, I had been engaged. I was to go out with the Dukes hunting, but, if you are going out into the city then wait for me a little so I can go and have a change of clothes," said he, cocking an eyebrow, seeking for her opinion on his tender.

"Or maybe, Majesty could join us? I heard that you are an amazing shot," Renaud said, his ever-stable smile on his countenance, not once faltering or withering.

"Thank you, Renaud. But, I fear I have to decline. I prefer shooting inanimate objects," she replied, then turned around to find the Martinian Duke still staring at her.

Is he that shocked with me wearing breeches, for goodness sake?

"So, I guess that means I should go change, no?" asked Rafael, waiting for her to give her view on it. In response, she waved her hand, motioning for him to go already and halt galling her so.

"Well, Majesty, we shall be on our way off. Shall we, Piero?" Renaud asked the Martinian, whose attention was not wholly focused on the ongoing conversation, his mind elsewhere, as if ruminating on a certain decision. After a few moments did his mind register what Renaud had asked him and he slowly shook his head, his eyes snapping towards Estelle.

"I wished to have a word with Her Majesty before we do. Majesty?" he asked, offering Estelle his hand which she eyed with evident suspicion and distrust, pondering on whether to go somewhere with a Martinian. Last time she had been alone with a Martinian was . . . terrible––and that was to put it lightly. With persistence, the Duke still held out his elbow, waiting for her to finally make a decision. Uncertainty still dwindled about her mind as her hand tentatively accepted his, and as if waiting for that exact moment, Piero began walking towards the East Wing Garden in rushed steps. Estelle evenly matched his fast pace, often glancing at his visage to read what was going on in his mind, trying to see what he was thinking and planned on doing.

Once opening the door for Estelle and sealing it shut, Piero turned to Estelle with a tight smile.

"Majesty, the reason why I asked for a private word with you is to convey a message from my King to you. He wishes for an alliance between our Kingdo-"

"Kingdom and Queendom," Estelle corrected him, her voice sounding strained and overly-controlled. Piero nodded, that tight smile still on his face as he cleared his throat to go on.

"As I was saying, King Giasone seeks for an alliance with Troyes. Preferably to have an import of its minerals and agricultural produce," he ensued, naming a couple more things that his King wanted to trade with them. Estelle listened al the while, her eyebrows furrowing, wrinkles forming on her forehead, and her eyes turning into slits as she surveyed Piero.

"And what would Martino have to offer me? I do not require any produce for my Queendom produces just enough to feed the entire nation. Minerals are in abundance, more so oil and coal which fuels all our smithies. There is nothing that I could want from Martino that I am not already in possession of," she said, crossing her arms on her torso, leaning on one of the pillars nearby with her right shoulder. Like that she had initiated an intimidating posture; one that showed indifference and aloofness, but also an air of superiority.

"Security, Majesty. Security," said he, his smirk turning sinister.

"And why would I require security from you? asked she, her gaze flicking to his visage.

"Though you might try to keep it under wraps, Majesty, almost every Kingdom in the Realm is aware that you are very close to having a war with Nayern," said he, his eyes sweeping over her countenance to see whether she betrayed any emotion; she didnt. Unbeknownst to him, she had gone through multiple things in her life, multiple things along her way that taught her that the exposure of one's emotion can be their demise. Cocking her eyebrow and tilting her head to the side, she looked at the Duke, a storm of thoughts brewing in her mind but none of them showing on her perfectly-schooled features.

"So?" The word seemed to catch Piero unawares as a look of befuddlement and puzzlement flitted across his face which he quickly covered.

'Troyes only has a small strip of land to the West bordering the ocean while the East is bordered with Martino––which is in possession of a very wide coastal line starting from the South up to the East. And our marina militare is considerably powerful. With our substantial help, we can keep any Nayern troop out of your land without a doubt and slaughter any that cross our path. And I will attest to that for it is the ducato under my supervision," he finished, straightening the sleeves of his cloak with a smarmy look on his countenance.

"All that for trade?" asked she, her eyes narrowing.

"Initially, it was in the exchange of your hand in marriage. However, I came to drop that idea since I found out that you were betrothed and worst of all . . . ruined," said he, palpable disgust in his tone and his nose scrunching up in disgust as he looked at her. That sentence caught the attention of Estelle, her eyes widening in shock and pushing herself off of the pillar to slowly walk towards him in slow, cautioned steps.

"How did you know?" she queried, only a foot away from him, her eyes suspicious and studying him ruthlessly.

Her father had slayed all the men and none other than her family had known of that. The news didn't travel further than the family; then how did it reach Duca Piero all the way in Martino? That would be if . . .

"Did you orchestrate that attack on the Castle four years ago?" asked she, her breath departing from her tight lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe. Without her knowing, she staggered behind, her eyes widening further.

"Nay, I neither organized it nor played a part in it, Majesty, I just simply know, said he," nearing her, his steps slow and intimidating, forcing Estelle to back up to a wall. "And I know everything. Now, how about the alliance and after we are down, I will be heading back home," he said, a snide smirk stretching on his thin lips, his tall height looming over Estelle, making her almost cower. Almost.

A sudden jolt shot through her being as she recalled her fathers words that he had told her during sword practice.

Nary show your enemy your weakness. Make them think that nothing at all scares you. When you feel like cowering, straighten your back and level your shoulders. Make them see that you are not to be trifled with, mon ange.

"Which means you knew of my cross-country tour and knew that my next stop was Valliere. And what did you do? You got on your carriage, rode straight here so as to catch me and have a little chat, no? And all the while you relied on the friendship that you once had with Renaud. Which means you didnt just come here to talk about an alliance, no. You came here to frighten me into an agreement with you––which I strongly decline, mind you. I do not associate with rats like you or a country filled with them either. So, Duca Piero," she said, regaining her confidence, stepping closer to him, this time forcing him to step backwards. "Go and tell your King that I decline his attempt in allegiance. And I want you out of my Queendom, now. And I forbid you from ever visiting it or stepping foot on Troyan soil, am I clear?" she asked, her gaze chilly, breath even and tone eerily calm as she cocked a brow.

"Majesty, you will regret this-"

"I am not one to repeat myself twice, Duca. Out, now," she growled, making the Duke visibly shudder. Now that she thought about it, the Duke looked older than her by a few years, mayhap five and twenty years––which would have explained his menacing figure. But no, she would not let herself be threatened by scum like him.

The Duke unlatched the door and stepped out, his form slouching as he trudged down the hallway towards the Main Landing. Duke Renaud was nowhere to be seen, it seemed he had tired of waiting as they had their little chat. However, when they made their appearance, Rafael came down the staircase, adjusting the lapels of his shirt, his steps smooth with an extra skip to them. When Estelle met his eyes, she recalled what he had said the day before about Piero.

'The Duke was nice and friendly.'

'He didnt give off any bad signs.'

'Told you it would be alright.'

She narrowed her gaze at him, making him furrow his eyebrows in confusion at her gesture. Slowly, he watched her stare turn into ice, making him feel the chill from all the way there. In his confused mind, he wondered what he had done to warrant such treatment. Last time he remembered, the relationship between him and Estelle was friendly and they had gotten to know each other better during their troubles. The last time he had gotten such a stare was about a week ago when they were travelling to Clermont and he woke up late. But, this one was more intense, filled with a low-lying hatred. With confusion, he watched Duca Piero leave up the left flight of stairs, his face forced into a scowl.

"Estelle! Are we not going horse-riding to the city?" he shouted and her head snapped towards him, her face fixed into a grimace.

"No," she replied curtly then left off, leaving him there in disarray.

*~*~**~*~*

Estelle slammed the doors to Renaud's office and Reading Room open, caring not a wit of the barons and marquesses gathered in the room.

"Everyone, out; except you, Renaud." With a bow, everyone exited the room in a rush, shocked to see Her Majesty so angered. Renaud got up from his seat at the end of the table and flashed Estelle a puzzled look.

"Majesty, what has you angered so?" he asked, his countenance filled with nothing but concern.

"You,: she replied, her tone levelled as she strutted towards him in steady steps, taking her time.

"Pardon?"

"For how long have you know Duca Piero?" she asked.

"Well, we met at Rhone-Alps, the Eastern Duchy, he had gone to discuss border issues while I had gone to pay the Duke a visit. It has been roughly four years," he dutifully answered.

"Well then, I have banished him from the Queendom and if he is to ever set foot on Troyes, he will be killed immediately. Your interactions with him should come to a stop henceforth. Am I clear?" she asked, her gaze boring into him, the air turning chilly and intimidating like it always was when she pulled that look on. In response, Renaud simply nodded his head to show that he would not question her. With that, Estelle nodded and stepped out only to bump into Rafael.

"I've been looking all over for you," said he, panting and short of breath. Staying silent, she watched him breathe in and out, catching his breath, his face flushed from over-exertion. When he had finally regained his composure, he looked up and saw her cold, calculating gaze, devoid of any emotions.

"Star, he said, hoping to make her iciness dissipate, but it only worsened. "I heard that you chased away Duca Piero, why?" he asked.

"What does it matter to you, Rafael? Did you want him to stay for some reason?" she questioned him, narrowing her gaze at him.

"What? No, I am just wondering, Star. One moment you dont mind him, the next you're banishing him from the Queendom," he said, his tone slightly rising.

"When I told you the Martinians are all bastards, you didn't believe me. But, what did you tell me? 'He was nice and friendly'. Are you jesting with me? You've only met one while I have met three of them at once and my encounter . . . you know how the tale goes. Yet you had the nerve to tell me otherwise," she said, narrowing her eyes further into slits as Rafaels eyes widened.

"You see, Rafael, this is why I dont trust people," she said, not giving him enough time to form a coherent argument to what she had said before, too swallowed up in shock to think. She stepped away from him and headed down the corridor and at the end of it, she turned and shot him a chilling glare.

"And you know what? Im not even sure if I can trust you either."

A\N: I've figured out that my updates are too random and I've decided to come up with a set schedule now. I will be updating on Fridays and Sundays and maybe, just maybe, I can sneak in a chapter within the week.

Here I have a question for you, do you trust Rafael? Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)

Glossary:

Au revoir, ma cherie: Goodbye, my darling!

Veisalgia: The unpleasant after-effects of the consumption of alcohol; a hangover.

Je promette, ma cherie: I promise, my darling.

Breeches: A garment worn by men, covering the hips, and thighs; trousers. And that is the reason why people are so shocked by darling Estelle wearing breeches since they are 'garments worn by men' *insert Estelle-esque eyeroll*

Merci, Votre Majeste: Thank you, Your Majesty.

Votre Altesse: Your Highness.

Lady-in-waiting: A lady, often a noblewoman, in the household of a queen, princess or other woman of higher rank who attends her as a personal assistant, generally a role considered as an honour.

Mi Corazon: My sweetheart.

Duca: Duke in Italian; which is Martino for me.

La Confiance Est Un Must: Trust Is A Must.

Chapitre Cinq: Chapter Five.

Queendom: A realm ruled by a Queen. Yes, it wasn't always about the Kings, sometimes.

Marina militare: Navy in Italian.

Ducato: Duchy in Italian.

Mon ange: My angel.

Sigh, that was long! Have a great day!