Countess D'Lione found Benedict despite his best efforts, and had cornered him off of the main hall. She'd caught on quickly to the limp he tried to hide. To say she could be a mother hen at times was an understatement. It was only by her grace, and that of her children, that life of the castle-thralls was tolerable. She had her hands on once bountiful hips which had withered with age. Her hair had once been a lustrous black, but was not streaked with grey. There was still a regal beauty to the cast of her face, untarnished even by wrinkles. Her hazel eyes were flecked with gold, and brimmed with concerned anger. "How many times have I told you not to cut across the cairns, Benedict?"
"Twice?" He teased, trying to deflate her displeasure. It didn't work. "Really. I'm fine, your Excellency. I promise. The cut is cleaned and bandaged."
The woman tensed. Her soft blue dress had a high neck of white lace made it impossible for her to swallow in distress. The Countess tried anyway. "Did, so