"My Luna! Please, a moment!"
The voice was sharp with urgency as it sliced through the quiet of the hall. Luna Vilka paused, her flowing gown sliding against the marble as she turned. She was returning from dinner, in the company of Alma and a lone guard at her back, a path of lamplight leading toward her chambers.
Lady Clarice hurried forward, her breath ragged and raspy. She sketched a swift, shallow bow. "A good evening to you, Luna Vilka."
"Clarice," Vilka replied, her tone warm but layered with surprise. The stewardess was not often one for public displays. "Is everything alright?"
Straightening, Clarice met Vilka's gaze, her own eyes blazing with an urgency that gave the Luna worry. "Not at all, Luna. Nothing is alright." The words tumbled out, charged and impatient, forcing Vilka to give the woman her full attention.
Vilka reached out, her flowing sleeve brushing Clarice's arm as she laid a concerned hand on her shoulder.
