The Palace of Versailles was a very restless place. Whether it be an international conference, a disturbance from the press, or a family conflict gone viral, it was a monument of hectic activity. And if there wasn't chaos breaking loose, then there was a brief moment of piece that would only be a preparation for a great tragedy to come. Which is why, after a rather uneventful weekend spent lounging around the castle, Queen Adelaide found herself attending their weekly tea alone, anticipating the news that she would soon announce.
A black-vested waiter served her her traditional tea, soaked in honey and lime, fizzing with sugar cubes. Stirring the drink with her lips puckered sourly, she stared at the grand facade of sweets blamefully, disappointed in her daughters' lack of punctuality. Their Sunday tea had become a sacred tradition, something that had only ever been attended with the Queen and her daughters, for generations past. And although in reality they literally sat there and filled up on pastries before dinner, the mother had become accustomed to it and even looked forward to the bonding opportunity.
It was a lovely arrangement, after all; there were levels of miniature red velvet cupcakes and chocolate chip muffins showcased on a black iron frame. Lean slices of angel food cake were scattered, decorated with sliced strawberries and spritzed with cream. Frozen lemon sorbets sat in chilled glasses beside every plate, accompanied with a glass of iced water. Vibrant macaroons sat in silver trays, arranged as orderly as sardines, with a flavor as playful as they looked. Wedges of cucumber sandwiches on thin bread were around the center table decoration, a glass-warped swan, smeared over with creme cheese. Pastel Pettit Fours in wax-paper holders created intricate swirls around the grand table, line with a cotton-white table cloth that poured over the edges into a floral design. And on either side of the table, the spouts facing the centerpiece, laid an identical pair of vintage tea sets. The tea cups were placed on the table mat of every spot and each person was given their own specific blend, along with a miniature jar of honey, equipped with a sterling silver Tiffany utensil, that was cleverly shaped like a bee-hive. Taking in the full extent of the scenery, the Queen eyed one of the guards while slowly sipping her tea.
"They're late," she said bluntly, although the daughter's still had a good ten minutes to spare and on that single observation, five separate guards were sent into the castle, each to retrieve their own princess. Taking another sip of her tea, her lips spread into a thin, aging smile towards the remaining men. Staring out past the men, to the vast maze-gardens, fountains, and the flowers that drowned the land, she felt more sure than ever of her decision. It was a bold movement she was about to make, revealing to her daughters that they literally chose their own fate, but there was great reasoning behind it. They were all going to show their true colors and their devotion to the throne. She was unaware of the hell that would soon break loose, but that was mostly because her only involvement was getting the opportunity to sit back and watch it play out. "It's a special day, indeed..."