"I have done nothing but in care of thee, o thee, my dear one - thee my daughter, who art ignorant of what thou art."
November 13th
Goneril sat alone in her study, basking in a quiet night, a warm fire, and a certain degree of satisfaction. She had fared reasonably well in court so far, both on her own merits and in comparison to her niece. Juliette did not know her place, but, with each passing day, the stupid girl was earning herself an ever-more painful reminder. Juliette, Hermia, and Tybalt had been born Capulets but chosen to be traitors. Goneril would make examples of them all. Verona would see what happened to those who tried to destroy the House of Capulet. After the traitors would come the Montagues. Although she would have enjoyed watching Antonio Montague humiliate and destroy his family across the years, she could not be so selfish. A safe and secure Verona would have its charms, too.
A knock at the door drew Goneril out of her thoughts. The only person who visited her study at this hour had returned home, though Goneril planned to call on her in the morning. Hal's grumblings had betrayed the seriousness of his intentions toward Bottom Summerdream. The response would have to be both swift and quiet; she and Regan would be safe from prying ears at Middleham. Goneril hoped this knock was not her son come to spew his feelings and test her patience. "Yes?"
"May I come in?"
Thank God. "Of course, dear." An evening's worth of Fae wine had warmed Goneril's manners considerably. She smiled at her child, who tarried at the door as she had so often done in the past. Tonight, however, she looked afraid rather than disdainful. "Come, sit with me."
Without a word, Miranda took her aunt's usual chair.
