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@Lion !
A thick blanket of white ramson blossoms blanketed the forest floor, glowing in the slanting rays of the early morning sun. It wasn't, of course, really a 'forest.' Not in the true, wild sense of the word. No great, deep expanse of trees and hollows and glens that one could disappear into. Trees that whispered, if you could listen, the story of a nation. The ramson, more accurately, blanketed a wood. A fresh, sunny wood on the outskirts of Wulfbauer Keep. Her home. Her prison. Her home.
Constance Carwick, or "Olive," was no longer a skinned-kneed child running through these woods with the stableboy. Though she had been, once. And she was no longer a fugitive, disappearing in and out of the woods to stay alive. She had been, not long ago, though not these woods. She was no longer a prisoner, in one sense. And in another, she was more a prisoner now than she ever had been. Constance Carwick wasn't, actually, even Constance Carwick anymore.
Constance Carwick was now Constance Therrien, Duchess of Wulfbauer, the wife of Duke Erwin Therrien. Though, in her mind, she was Constance "Therrien," "Duchess" of Wulfauer, "wife" of Erwin Therrien. She couldn't drop the quotes in her head; the sense that it was actually real, and not some shadow play. But then, it was a play, of sorts. Constance and Erwin were the actors, the Keep the stage, and the entire duchy the audience. But it wasn't a play, however inauthentic it may have been. A marriage of convenience - for him, that was - to avoid a scandal and a simple way to join the Carwick fortunes with their ancestral lands, now ruled by the Therriens. The latter she didn't really mind; that was the way it was for her sort of people. Not mages. Nobility. It was the former that left Olive unsettled.
Especially now.
A warm, wet nose pressed into her palm, dragging her for a moment out of her reverie. Offering some momentary relief from the deep, heavy loneliness that weighed on her. Her green eyes glanced down at the red-and-white border collie at her heels, ruffling its ears. She bent down until she found a short, fat stick, a little soggy from the forest floor. But it would do. The dog Kipper ran in an excited circle of anticipation, until Olive sent the wet piece of wood soaring through the forest, then the dog took off like an arrow. For a moment, Olive smiled, but it quickly faded. The loneliness welling back up inside her.
Olive let out a little huff, then at first crouched, then finally sat down with a plop on the green floor of the wood. Very unladylike. Her head was in her hands, pushing against her face in frustration. She didn't let herself engage with these feelings all the time. Not even most of the time. Outside of these now daily solitary walks, Olive did not give herself time to feel sad, or to feel alone. She kept herself busy with financial planning with the Lord of the Coin, political planning with the Duke, and clandestine orchestrating her other endeavours with Astrid, Bairn and through Bairn, with Silas. Silas who was still free, but unsafe. Outside of this time alone in the wood, with only Kipper, Constance kept herself very busy. She didn't know what else to do. But for all her pull and clout now, as Duchess, and for all that being married entailed, Olive had never felt more alone. Or more trapped. Even now, when in a very real way - that proved her "marriage" didn't warrant the quotes she placed around them in her mind - she was
not alone.
Her chest clenched in an irrational panic at the thought, and for a moment she had the familiar sensation of drowning. But it passed, and pushing back her honey-colored bangs, Olive took her head out of her hands and looked up. It was only then that she saw Kipper standing stiff, tense. Eyes fixed threateningly on something behind her. Just over her shoulder. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and before she could turn around she heard a deep male voice.
"Well well, little mouse, what are you doing so far alone in the forest? Don't you know it isn't safe?"Not long ago, her reflexes would have been quicker. When she had been always on guard, always wary, always ready to fight for her life. But the relative safety of Wulfbauer had, perhaps, dulled those reflexes. Because just as Olive tried to turn to face the voice, she felt large, strong arms suddenly enclose around her, one pinning her roughly against the stranger's chest, the other clasped firmly over her mouth.