Thomasine's repetitive steps were designed to stem an impatience that would stun the masses. Reigning queens did not pace in deserted chambers that were designed to stay young brides from escaping binding marriage contracts they'd had no say in. Hence, the strategically placed windows near the top of the walls edging an unreachable ceiling. One could only imagine the spectacular view hearing the harsh waters crash against jagged cliffs. The only way out was to fly, if one could squeeze through the small opening.
Stone walls and hard floors echoed with her steps against the cold surfaces, even in her light slippers. This portion of the castle had been uninhabited for years. It created the ideal location to meet Faustine, her twin. Her son could not possibly think to find her here. At times, that boy seemed as clueless as his father, she scowled. It had taken clever maneuvering to find a locale where some overly helpful servant or maid did not lurk, ready to announce her whereabouts.
On her fifteenth or twentieth turn about the room, a ringlet of shining ripples wafted from the floors, revealing the presence of the angel in pink. Angel, her foot.
"I'm worried for him," Thomasine declared.
"Ma chére," Her sister tsk-tsked, "you said yourself this task should be carried to fruition, otherwise, the dear boy should never learn to concoct a reasonable thought of his own. I would remind you that this entire scheme lies directly at your feet."
"Oh, what difference would it make, Faustine?" Thomasine sniffed disgusted with herself. "Let him find a woman who is able think for him as I have for Osmond all these years," she said. "You can see from my own example it has not hurt a thing."
"Please refrain from calling me that obscene name. You know how I detest it," Faustine chastised.
"Well, 'tis your given name, is it not, sister? It means the highest of luck. And what I need now is luck."
Faustine scrutinized her twin. They had the same dark curling hair, flashing blue eyes, and upturned noses. The only difference in the moment was Thomasine's defensive posture, stern expression, and clenched fists. And, well, Thomasine's magnificent dress compared to her own frothy pink tulle gown. But diamonds sewn throughout the pink were an especially nice touch. "Well, of course, it doesn't hurt anything," she agreed. "But what of your determination that Prince take pride in a decision he himself could or should make?" Faustine spoke gently. Thomasine was most defensive when it came to Prince. "You have always wanted more for him. You have said so yourself."
"Your point." Thomasine demanded, tapping one foot.