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There, in the palace courtyard, Gisette can almost forget that she’s no longer royalty. It is a fine day, sun dappling the table through a canopy of vines, just enough of a chill on the breeze to make the warmth of the tea the servants brought out a welcome one.
Gisette had entertained her own guests in this courtyard many times. The fountain here is not only a pleasing sight, but a useful measure for countering would-be spies, the pattering of the water muffling any conversations at the table to those beyond it. She closes her eyes as she takes her first sip of tea, and like that, she can almost imagine it to be another one of those days, another one of those little meetings, another guest of hers sitting across from her, ready to be played like a harp.
But no, those days are gone. Gisette is no longer royalty, and the servants are only attending her at the behest of the new queen sitting across from her.
“Have you been doing well?” Sayra asks. She speaks in a tone free of both guile and of vulnerability. If Gisette didn’t know better, she might have mistaken the question for one of genuine interest.
“How could I not be well?” Gisette asks, settling her teacup in her saucer with a click. “My job is hardly demanding. In spite of taking me on as an advisor, one might come to believe you don’t care to take my advice at all.”
“That’s a no, then.”
Gisette frowns in reprimand. “Your majesty, as your advisor, I must recommend you avoid making such sweeping and decisive claims, especially when you have no way of knowing for certain that you’re correct.”
Sayra has the nerve to smile at that, and sip at her tea, and say nothing.
There has always been an easy sort of dignity to the way Sayra moves, one that Gisette had noticed even at the summit. At the time, Gisette had seen it as unbefitting a woman of her station and brushed it off as a sign that the island staff had forgotten their roles in the seven years between summits. Now that Sayra isn’t playacting as a lady’s maid, it’s much easier to place that dignity as something regal.
Gisette wonders if there’s something like that in herself now, something in her bearing that belongs only to royalty. A part of her hopes so, hopes that being royal is not something passed along as easily as a throne, that it is something that still in some way belongs to her.
The part of Gisette more concerned with practicality prefers that Sayra see in her someone eager to serve and not a rival.
Sayra is still quiet and Gisette can only assume she’s trying to weaponize the silence, trying to compel Gisette to speak more. It is a harmless victory for her to win and an easy loss to take, so Gisette gives it to her.
Lowering her lashes, Gisette says, “Surely your majesty didn’t schedule this tea simply to ask me how I’ve been.”
“But I did,” Sayra says.
Gisette can feel her mouth faltering open. “How unconventional,” she utters, just to say something.
Sayra continues, “So much has changed so quickly, for Revaire, and for the both of us, as well.”
“For you more than I, I’m sure.” On a hunch, Gisette added, “Perhaps I am the one who should be asking after your majesty’s wellbeing.”
Was that what Sayra was after? Company and commiseration? Why was she hoping to find it in Gisette?
“I can’t claim to be well with all the troubles facing this kingdom, but I’m managing. It also helps that I have Ria always checking in,” Sayra says.
“I see.”
Gisette sips at her tea, buying herself time before speaking. It’s intriguing to her, the way this woman is both straightforward and inscrutable at once.
“If your majesty will pardon my directness--”
“I’d prefer it, actually.”
“If you’ve no need of my advice or my companionship, why is it that you’ve brought me here?” Gisette asks.
“You would have it that I answer that question with a question, I take it?”
“No,” Gisette says peevishly, pettily. At any other time, Sayra would have been correct, but Gisette hadn’t ignored her better judgment and directly challenged her queen’s decisions just to be denied an answer.
“In that case…” Sayra pauses, her eyes lingering on Gisette’s. “I want to keep you close.”
Unbidden, Gisette’s brows rise. Simple as the statement was, it provoked more questions than any question might.
Gisette feels an unexpected thrill in her, hearing those words, a flicker in her chest, across her lips. Though perhaps it’s not so surprising—she has always appreciated a woman who can best her in a good verbal spar, and while Sayra’s manner is artless, she can’t deny the way she feels lain bare.
“To keep me close,” Gisette repeats. “I suppose I ought to be pleased.”
“Oh?”
“That may be the first evasive thing you’ve said all day. Perhaps you are learning from my advice after all.” She adjusts her posture as she reaches for her teacup, the angle of her shoulders, the tilt of her spine, until she’s leaning in that way that always has men staring at her dresses like they’re trying to burn them off with their eyes. She looks up through her lashes, gaze locked with Sayra’s as she adds, “Although, if you’d prefer I take pleasure in being kept close, I’m sure I could manage that as well.”
At long last, Sayra seems taken aback. At long last, Gisette feels she has the upper hand in their conversation. She hides a satisfied smile behind her teacup.