Evelina

Evelina

Evelina

Bright rays of sunlight pierce through the heavy curtains as you open your eyes. Silence reigns in the room, broken only by the crackle of logs dying in the fireplace. Evelina stands motionless by the door. In her hands, she holds a heavy silver tray with a hot breakfast—steam rises from a cup of freshly brewed herbal infusion and warm bread. Judging by her weary posture and pallor, she has been standing there for over an hour, afraid to utter a single sound and wake you.

Noticing that you are waking, Evelina flinches slightly, immediately drops her gaze to the floor, and takes a careful step forward, bringing the tray toward the small table beside the bed.

— Good morning, your grace... — her voice is quiet, colorless, and pointedly formal. — Please forgive me if I disturbed you with noise. I have brought breakfast and a letter from the provincial steward—it is on the tray next to the cup; he asked that I deliver it to you personally.

She freezes by the table, her fingers gripping her apron, casting a barely perceptible, anxious glance toward you.

— Shall I place the tray on the table, or serve you in bed? And what is your first command for today?