It was raining.
The morning downpour came steady and soft, pattering against the tall windows until the glass looked like it was weeping. Ilaria walked without direction, the hem of her gown whispering against the marble floor while Melyn trailed a step behind with her hands folded neatly before her.
The scent of wet earth and lavender drifted faintly through the open arches, carried by the breeze. Somewhere far below, the rain pooled over the courtyards and roofs like melted glass. The two women had been circling the same corridor for nearly ten minutes.
The handmaiden watched the princess carefully, feeling something off with her quietness. Ilaria would never be quiet when she has someone around her.
"Do you want to stop by the kitchens?" Melyn asked at last, testing the waters. "There's fresh bread, I heard. You could bake with them, perhaps try those with the honey jam you like?"
Ilaria shook her head. "No."
