Chapter 39: A Mother-Daughter Conversation
Amandra leaned back on the satin-covered chaise lounge, allowing the sunlight to filter through the glass dome and bathe her face. Her honey-colored skin and misty blue eyelids shimmered with a pearlescent glow.
The round table next to the chaise lounge was cluttered with inkwells, parchment, and a teacup that was steaming slightly. When Sancha walked in, lifting her skirt, she saw her mother sleeping tiredly, the golden eagle pendant that never left her chest pressed beneath the lotus-like spread of her sleeve.
It was a rare sight. The Queen of Assyria always seemed full of energy. She steered the helm of the empire with an extraordinary acumen and a tenacity that surpassed that of men. She never revealed her feminine softness on any occasion – unless it would help her gain more benefits. Even the Roman nobles sometimes forgot that she was a woman.
Sancha rarely saw this side of her mother. She held a letter from Florence in her hand, its contents both unbelievable and undeniable. She wanted to ask her mother about it, but upon seeing this scene, she suddenly felt that perhaps there was no need to ask.
The ladies-in-waiting sat far away in the long corridor, maintaining a distance that allowed them to see this side and provide timely service to their mistress, without overhearing the private conversation between the queen and the princess. They either read or chatted idly. The queen was very tolerant of the ladies-in-waiting around her and noble ladies were all vying for the opportunity to serve the queen—of course, even if the queen were cruel and violent, they would still want to do so.
Who would refuse to be near a monarch?
Sancha was dressed in a rose-red riding suit without a complicated and cumbersome farthingale. Pearls and gems were embedded in her skirt that sparkled like sunlight with her every step. Her golden-brown hair and sapphire blue eyes inherited from her mother gave her a unique charm. The young princess, as light as a forest deer, trotted to her mother’s side, examining the queen’s sleeping face for a while, then casually sat down on the floor, leaning against the queen’s legs, waiting for her to wake up.
Her mother didn’t keep her waiting for long.
Amandra awoke from a short, sweet dream. As soon as she opened her eyes, she saw the head with golden-brown hair nestled against her knees. Her usually smooth hair was a bit disheveled from riding, scattered messily on the queen’s golden-red dress. Amandra’s expression still held a trace of the hazy tenderness from her dream. She raised a hand and gently placed it on the long hair, combing it bit by bit.