Apprehension twisted in Askatla’s stomach as the trees and houses along Rue de Rollingergrund swished by on the way to Château de Septfontaines. She had confirmed that all the wounds at least remained closed when Oeuf helped change out the bandages around her feet for lower profile plasters so she could wear her customary court shoes. She knew she would have to walk carefully to avoid aggravating them but did not want to provide a physical reminder of the incident at the hospital. Ideally, that would not be a topic at dinner. 

The gate opened automatically as their silver sedan approached, smoothly shutting the moment their rear bumper had passed. Appearing at her door, Oeuf helped her out of the car and guided her to the entrance.

Warm light reflected invitingly on vanilla cream coloured walls from the numerous sconces that lined the grand foyer. Her father stood stiffly inside, still dressed in his usual steel grey suit, paired with an ice blue shirt and burgundy tie. 

His butler, Rufus, a kindly old man whose last wisps of hair matched his and Oeuf’s suits, stepped forward and held out his arms, “Good evening, Lady Askatla, Mister Oeuf, may I take…