A/N: This chapter is mildly angsty, and features performances by Geneva, Noah, Etta, Ambrosia (new character I totally forgot about, sorry Sloth!), Olivia, Laurie, Rhaena, Seth, and Marc, also with mentions of Nesryn, Sosa, Saori, and Bas. Is it too soon for people to start having quarantine-related breakdowns? Yes? Too bad!

Quarantine, Day 2 Part 3

Geneva had already listened to the voicemail dozens of times, but that didn't stop her from lifting the phone to her ear and pressing play.

Hey, Neva. It's me...but you probably already knew that. I'm stuck at the airport. They won't let any of us leave. Kinda funny...only one flight away from jumping ship. So much for the press tour. You should have come with me. You should be here, with me. There's a pause, a little wobble to Israel's voice. Geneva could almost picture the wobble in his bottom lip to match. I forgot to bring my charger. You can scold me for it later. I don't know how long this'll last but, I just wanted to say that I hope you're safe, and I love -

The voicemail cut off. Geneva's phone had died. She threw it across the small room.

All it took to break her down these days was a mention of her brother's novel and the sound of his voice. Fuck this quarantine turning her into a dysfunctional psycho. Fuck the separation anxiety. Fuck all of it.

Stupid, Geneva cursed herself. Weak. You are better than this. You've been through worse.

A knock at the door had her furiously wiping away the tears building in her eyes. No one could see her like this, not even some random stranger on the other side of the door. She hadn't even met her roommates, but weeping damsel in distress was not the first impression she wanted to give.

The door opened, revealing none other than the guy she'd invited to the press conference: Noah what's his face. She honestly didn't care.

"Oh, it's you." Geneva threw herself onto her bottom bunk. She was exhausted, but not too exhausted that she was completely useless. "We need to regroup, come up with a new plan."

"Actually, I was, uh, looking for Nesryn?"

"Who's Nesryn?"

"Your roommate...I think she bunks here?"

Why was everything out of this guy's mouth a question? "Never met her, but she's not here."

His face honest to God fell, like someone told him Santa wasn't real. "Oh, well, can you let her know Noah stopped by?"

Geneva waved her hand, his mundane request already forgotten. There were bigger, more important things going on than worrying about the whereabouts of some girl.

"Since you're not busy, I need your help with something." Geneva pulled on her game face, looked Noah in the eye so she had his full attention. She didn't like to repeat things. "There's a killer in the palace, and so far everyone is making a mockery of the investigative journalism process. I need to find a way to get back in charge, do things the right way before they're screwed up beyond recognition by a bunch of piddling amateurs."

Noah blanched. "I, uh, well..."

She should have known this kind of thing was beyond what his poor, minor-league brain could handle. Not everyone was cut out for the hustle and bustle, the grind of truly demanding work.

"I think I can help," came a voice from above.

"Christ!" Noah shouted, completely spooked. His eyes had gone wide, and he clutched at his chest. A little bit of an over-reaction. He glared up at the girl spying on them in her top bunk. "Have you been up there this whole time?"

The girl shrugged, completely unapologetic.

Wait a minute...Geneva knew this girl. She was the girl Geneva knocked over during the press conference.

"Why do you think you can help me?" Geneva asked, unconvinced and also unconcerned she was being spied on.

"Besides from the fact that you're super rude and you pushed me to the ground and called me a knock-off Nancy Drew, you seem to know how to get things done. The royals want to keep the murder hush hush. They want to avoid an investigation. They want to smother the truth. But the people deserve a chance to know what's going on."

"I think I like you, Nancy Drew," Geneva said. The two of them shared a conspiratorial smile. "A couple of guards are there now, but I think I can sneak us back into the infirmary."

"Perfect." Etta bounced down from her top bunk and landed on her feet. She smoothed her skirt, fixed her hair. "Let me grab my coat and let's go."

"You in?" Geneva asked Noah.

"I should really try to find Nesryn," he replied, apologetic. "Maybe next time?"

Geneva shrugged, pushed past Noah, and walked past the room with Etta in tow. Hopefully there wouldn't be a next time. As exciting and life-changing as this opportunity was, she wasn't entirely heartless...or without a sense of self-preservation. A murderer was just one more thing to worry about, to contain, and she was already at her wit's end cleaning up the messes this bunch of royal imbeciles were making.

The two girls walked in silence down the halls. No one bothered to talk to them; no one looked their way. Everyone was too caught up in their own drama, trying to call loved ones or use their last precious bits of battery to make video calls. A few people were crying. Geneva knew their pain well, but kept a stiff upper lip. She had to hold her head high, set a good example. There would be plenty of time for falling apart later.

You've been through worse, Geneva kept telling herself. You've been through worse.

The basement was completely blocked off. Two guards stood in front of the main entrance. It was only because she knew the one, Sosa, that they weren't told to turn back immediately. Sometimes working for the palace did have its perks. Down in the basement itself, another familiar face was waiting.

"Oh hey, Ambrosia," Geneva waved, genuinely surprised to see this particular agent. "They got you doing guard duty? What short stick did you have to draw?"

"I volunteered." Ambrosia arched her brow, peered down at Geneva and Etta with unveiled suspicion. "What do you want, Geneva?"

"What makes you think I want something?"

"You always want something."

There was no beating around the bush with Ambrosia Raine. She was always able to see right through you, and if the circumstance were right, she could swallow you whole. Ran in the family; Geneva had heard through the palace gossip circuit that Ambrosia's father was not a man to trifle with. Clearly his daughter inherited those qualities.

"I need you to get me in to see the body."

Ambrosia flashed a perfectly white, perfectly condescending smile. "No can do."

"Come on, please?" Geneva was not beneath begging, not after the couple of days she'd had. It was only mildly mortifying to have Etta, someone who should fear and respect her, see her like this. "Can't you bend the rules a little? For an old friend?"

Another smile, a cock of Ambrosia's head. She was positively amused. "Is that what we are?"

Touché. Friends wouldn't have been Geneva's first choice of word either, but it was a less explicit than 'that one girl I hooked up with at orientation my first summer'. Truth be told, Geneva just...stopped talked to Ambrosia, and Ambrosia, being who she was, never reached back out. Geneva was fine with that. Totally fine. Ambrosia was fine. Hell, Ambrosia was great. She looked great. Perfectly happy. The rumor mill had said something about a booty call in every province.

Great.

Geneva placed a hand to her heart, then to Ambrosia's arm. "You wound me."

She ran her hand all the way down Ambrosia's arm, lingering on the skin of her wrist where her suit jacket ended, then brushed across her side before returning her arm to her side. When she finally pulled back and shoved that hand into her pocket, Ambrosia frowned.

"Give it back, Geneva."

"Give what back?"

"Whatever it was you just felt me up to get. Give it back." Ambrosia stuck out her palm, expectant.

Busted.

Geneva groaned and begrudgingly emptied her trench coat pocket. Inside was a pack of gum, her cellphone, and Ambrosia's keys.

Ambrosia took too much pleasure in grabbing her keys, bright red nails leaving temporary scratches on Geneva's delicate skin as they closed as quick as a Venus fly trap. She tutted and waved the pointer finger of her other hand. "Naughty girl."

"I had to try."

"Yeah," Ambrosia said with a roll of her eyes, unimpressed. She crossed her arms over her chest. She meant business when she said, "Now get out of here before I throw you in a holding cell for tampering with evidence. This quarantine sucks already as it is."

Geneva wasn't going down that easy. But as soon as she opened her mouth, a young woman wearing a crisp pencil skirt and purple blouse sauntered over to the group. She had a file folder under one arm, cups of hot coffee in both hands. But it wasn't what she had that riled Geneva. It was her face.

"You!" Geneva accused. She knew she sounded childish, and that pointing her finger didn't make the situation any better, but the rage that overcame her as she saw the blonde's smug mug was unstoppable. "What are you doing here?"

Olivia took one look at Geneva, then blatantly ignored her.

"Is the king here?" she asked Ambrosia, raising the coffee cups as explanation. As if the badge on her lanyard reading palace intern didn't grant her access enough.

Ambrosia nodded and lifted the yellow tape. "Just around the corner."

"Thank you." Olivia smiled and ducked under the tape. From the other side, she turned and actually stuck her tongue out at Geneva.

That little bitch!

"Are you serious right now?" Geneva shrieked. She was at her limit.

"Come back with a legitimate reason, and I'll let you in," Ambrosia said cooly, calmly, but it was clear in the subtle shift in her weight, hand inching towards the taser at her waistband, that she was ready for an altercation. Geneva had already thrown her morals out the door and gotten into one fight this week. What was another?

"I have a reason," Etta interjected and stepped between them.

Geneva had honestly forgotten she was there. Ambrosia said nothing, just waved her hand, prompting Etta to spit out whatever bullshit she was about to concoct in that strange, strange head of hers.

"Miss Hollander pushed me down last night during the press conference - I'm sure you saw that - " she cut her eyes towards Geneva and gave her a nasty look. " - I came down here after to get antiseptic, and I think I left my headband behind. Is it alright if I go look for it? It's big, bright yellow, has a bee pined near the top."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Ambrosia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just don't touch anything."

"Thank you so so much," Etta thanked, laying it on thick but Ambrosia was eating it up.

The yellow tape lifted and Etta ducked under it. She gave Geneva a quick wink before disappearing down the hall just like Olivia. Ambrosia stood still as a sentinel in front of the barricade, daring Geneva to make a move.

Geneva was stuck. It was up to Etta to find any answers now.

Rhaena was exhausted. Near forty-eight hours of nonstop work, and she was dead on her feet.

It took the entire afternoon to clean Princess Addison's room. There were so many feathers Rhaena would be finding them in her hair for weeks to come. It didn't help that she was allergic to the damn things, sneezing up a storm, eyes watering so badly it was hard to see when it finally came time to deliver evening meals. She had walked so much that her blisters had blisters. Saori had made a special salve out of some herbs in the kitchen, watched as she made sure Rhaena put some on. It had helped, mildly, but the only thing that would fix her now was to get out of these heels and put her feet up.

Only a few more rooms to go. She could hear her bed singing.

She was half way down the last hall, retrieving dirty dishes from outside the guest suites, when she was stopped by one of said guests.

"You work here, yes?" the woman asked. She was dressed well in a silver pinstriped suit, her greying hair cropped and slicked back. Everything about her was sharp, from the angles of her cheekbones and nose down to her razor of a smile. She was probably going for friendly. The end result was something akin to predatory. "I was wondering if you could tell me, if you would be so kind, where the King's office is located. We're old friends, you see, and I have some information he might find...enlightening."

The King keeps strange company, Rhaena thought.

"Information?"

"That is what I said."

Despite all her supposed 'information', the woman remained frustratingly vague. Rhaena was too tired for this bullshit.

"It's up one floor, down the hall to your right. The door posted with guards." Rhaena pointed in a vague direction she hoped was correct. She was so tired she wasn't even sure what floor she was cleaning. "I can't guarantee they'll let you in without an appointment, friend or not."

The woman hummed and stared down the hall. Rhaena thought conversation might be over, that she could finally go back to finishing up this last bit of cleaning and get some rest, but the woman turned her head. She studied Rhaena from head to toe. It wasn't the most comfortable experience, having someone look straight through you with their pale, frigid eyes.

"You look like you could use a break."

"You have no idea," Rhaena sighed as the woman reached into the breast pocket of her suit and pulled out a packet of something powdery and white. She offered it Rhaena. Was that...? "Oh, sorry, no thank you. I don't use drugs."

The woman shrugged, unbothered. The packet continued to dangle from her long, spider-like fingers. "These are unexpected times. People make unexpected decisions."

She stared at Rhaena for a beat, two -

"Miss Salisbury, there you are!"

Rhaena would know that voice anywhere. She didn't even have to turn around to see the thin, blond man speed walking down the hall.

The woman grinned, amused but not kind. "A different type of break, then."

She turned on her high heel and walked off without a sound. Rhaena barely had time to process what had just happened before she was bombarded with Seth's unrestrained anxiety.

"Yes, Seth?" she asked, very aware of how annoyed she sounded.

"The Duke of Savoy is personally asking for you." Rhaena had to stifle a groan. She'd been dodging those particular requests for her all day. Saori had started making fun of her when the third one came in an hour. The joke must have run out, because whatever happened with the Duke had Seth's face redder than usual. "Whatever you did to offend his royal highness - "

"I didn't do anything." ...unless the Duke knew she had been using his requests (and following bad poetry) as kindling for the kitchen's grill.

"I certainly hope not, or your position in this household will be in jeopardy."

"I'm not a fool, Seth. I know exactly what's at stake," Rhaena snapped with more force than necessary. She had a lot on her plate right now; the last thing she needed was Seth breathing down her neck. She put the last of the towels on top of her cart and kicked up the brake. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go see to the Duke."

Her feet screamed the entire way to the Duke's room. Each step was increasing agony, but she kept a professional, pleasant look on her face as she passed guests who treated her as part of the decor. Invisible. Not human.

It only took one knock for the ornate doors to fly open, and there he stood: Duca Marcello Giovanni Achille Savoy di Venice. He looked just as severely beautiful has he had yesterday, dressed in the same robe left half open. His entire face lit up like Cain and Cecily on Christmas as soon as he saw who had disturbed his beauty rest.

"You called for me, Your Highness?"

"Yes! Beautiful woman, come in, come in!" Marc ushered Rhaena in, his hand on the small of her back. "As you can see, I am in need of your services."

Rhaena stopped short in the doorway. She could not believe her eyes.

It was like Princess Addison's room, but worse. The pillows were overturned, some were ripped and spilling more damned feathers all over the room. Clothes were everywhere, like someone had thrown his clothes in the air and let them fall as they please. There were even some in the chandelier! Food had been spilled on the parquet, on the rumpled sheets. Someone had shattered a bottle of vintage wine on the white shag rug.

"What happened?"

"I turn my head for one second and bah! There it is. Mess." Marc gestured to no spot in particular. All of them were equally bad. "I cannot leave Bas alone for a single second."

"Bas...did this?"

"Well...I may have contributed a little," Marc admitted, smiling as if this whole thing was some kind of funny, innocent joke. He walked over to a non-broken bottle of champagne chilling on ice. Two glasses had already been poured. "But you're such a hard woman to get ahold of. This way, I was guaranteed to see your lovely face. And, we can keep talking! We were so rudely interrupted last time - "

"You thought the only way to see me...was to make a mess for me to clean?" Rhaena asked slowly, to make sure she got this exactly right. She didn't need verbal confirmation. His face said it all, as did the sheepish look on his face as he reached out to offer her the second glass of champagne, which she blatantly ignored. "You realize this is going to take hours to fix."

"Hours is perfect," Marc said, hand still outstretched and waiting for her to take the glass. "More time for us to talk, to get to know each other."

Rhaena was not one to let anger get the best of her, but she was exhausted, and hungry, and sore, and beaten down, and missing her children. Frustration bubbled to the tip of her tongue, unstoppable and devastating.

"What would you like to talk about, Your Highness?" she asked with an overabundance of alarming cheer. Her smile was so wide it was manic, made Marc take a step back. But this was what he and everyone else in this palace wanted: the perfect servant running about, doing his bidding without a single complaint and a smile on her face. "About all the meals I had to deliver today? All the steps I had to climb? Rooms I had to clean? Feathers I had to sweep that I am still picking out of my hair? That I'm working the load of four servants? That, while you and your friends destroy perfectly good furniture, my friends have to sleep in the hall, if they get to sleep at all? That I am beyond my wits and it is only the second day? That I haven't seen my children, or that I probably won't be there in time to give them a bath or tuck them in? But no, that's fine. I live only to serve the king and his guests. Your wish is my command."

She ripped a shirt from the lampshade with excessive force, the ceramic base wobbling on the table. Rhaena had a manic urge to push it over. What was one more mess?

Marc look stricken. Gone was his arrogant ease, his effortless charm. "I...I am sorry. I did not think - "

"Of course you didn't," Rhaena said, unable to smother the small sob from escaping. She was just so tired. "Why should someone of your stature give a single thought to a servant?"

"Please, beautiful woman, do not cry," Marc begged, becoming frantic now that his grand plan at romance had backfired spectacularly. He placed the glasses down on the side table - without coasters, so the rings would stain the wood - and reached for the nearest article of clothing. "I can help. I can do this, please let me -"

"You've done enough!" Rhaena snapped.

The silence in the room was deafening. She had to stop. There were tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat and she was talking to a prince. A guest of the King and Queen of Illéa, her boss. There was more than just her feelings and her pride at play if this man decided to run across the palace and accuse her of speaking out of turn.

Rhaena took a deep breath, tried to calm herself the best she could.

"Please stop calling me beautiful," she said, proud that she only wavered on the 'please'. She placed the mangled shirt over the back of the couch. She couldn't deal with this, she just couldn't. "Please stop calling on me at all."

Rhaena backed out of the room. She would call someone else to fix this mess, someone with a fresher face and more positive attitude. Rhaena had given all she could give.

She paused for a moment, hand on the doorknob. As much indignity as she had suffered in the past two days, her gut still twisted when she thought of leaving on a sour note. Yes, Marc had been rude to her, but she couldn't bring herself to be rude back. She would be better. She had to be better.

So, she said a quiet, "Goodnight, Your Highness."

Then, she pulled the double doors shut and didn't look back.