Under the Maltese Skies

[Omi]

Inwardly, the princess was seething. Outwardly, she knew better than to show it -- once she was in decorum mode, it was a lot easier to suppress her anger.

"Yes, I'd like to contact her," she eventually replied, now acutely aware that she was walking on eggshells. Loyola was as changeable as the weather on Orléans, running both fiery hot and icy cold within seconds of one another. The wild excitement and veiled threats came rattling after one another like a rollercoaster gone wrong, and for a moment Charlotte wondered if she'd crossed a line permanently by antagonising her so. Maybe it was time for damage control. "I don't know what to expect from her, of course, but-- I'm, of course, happy to accept your help regarding any of it." As if I have a choice in the matter.

She took a deft step away from Enma, under the guise of turning to stare out of the window again, breaking contact as she did so.

"I'll leave it in your capable hands, then," she continued, watching the snowflakes fall in earnest. The entire mountain range would be wreathed in a white blanket soon enough. "Where are we going first, then? As long as it isn't back to that villa." Her hands were more proverbially tied than she'd realised, Charlotte had come to understand, but now that things were finally moving, perhaps soon there'd be an opportunity to assume some measure of control here. All she had to do was wait and see.

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