The Royal Palace

"Ah... she's. .."

But they were stopped from speaking when the King interrupted. A rushed and whispered conversation flew furiously between the women before Lady Vanelle ran after the King.

"She's in the deer park," she said, referencing the woods stocked with deer and game for the King's guests. "Every morning Lady Arianne goes riding. Please don't tell her mother. She thinks she's at prayer."

And indeed, the Queen to Be was riding through the woods, hell for leather with an unbreakable, free smile on her face...

Remelia made her slithering way to the palace. Travere was an interesting dichotomy of cosmopolitan and, what she assumed was, classical Gauldin culture. Not being a native of the city, she couldn't tell if this was because of the coming royal marriage or not.
Down by the city gate people had been paying less attention to her, save the guards who gave her the same speech she got at the border. Now in the more affluent part of the city, where the residents typically had the proper number of legs, people were looking at her with more open curiosity. Not detecting hostility or disgust in their gaze, she allowed herself t o enjoy the attention she drew. Being the center of focus warmed and invigorated her as much as basking on a warm rock would. This was reflected in the brilliant smile she gave the guardsmen at the gate a she came to a stop, pulling her long body up under her.
"Good day, gentlemen," she called. "This is a lovely city you have."

Remelia turns her head to focus on him, focusing him with a warm smile and weighing serpentine stare, both as genuine and intrinsic to her nature as the other. "I believe you can." She replies cheerfully, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear in a manner she knows to be demurely appealing to some men. Also, it was tickling her cheek annoyingly. "I'm a singer of some skill from foreign lands come to offer my services in the upcoming nuptials." She reached into a discreet fold of her exotic dress and took out a sealed letter. "If this could be delivered to the appropriate personage, they will doubtless wish to meet with me. I will be content to wait if they can meet with me shortly or, should they not be so available, I would be in your debt if you could suggest a clean and friendly tavern where I could await their summons."

She smiles and nods, sliding into a spot that has been in the sun for a while and curls up into pile of serpentine body to wait, her head angled to catch the sun just so. She remains there, entirely motionless in an entranced state, until her summons comes.

Remelia moved like oil as Gaspar drew near, giving him an easy smile. As she shifted, her scales seemed to shine and gleam like rubies, somehow more vibrant now that she'd spent some time basking. "Set up?" She asked, briefly confused before sudden understanding made her laugh. "No sir, I require no set up for an audition. I would have sent a letter ahead of time, but I only learned off the coming marriage shortly before crossing your borders. My apologies if I seem uncouth."
She looked about the outside of the castle, then back at Gaspard. "Is there a more secluded location? A courtyard or room, maybe?"

She laughs and waves a hand dismissively, not searching for insult or insinuation in his words. "Don't worry, sir, I can preform wherever you place me, but my music is a sacred thing, I'd do it a disservice if I gave free performances." She probably sounds egotistical, but she's also being quite literal, some of her music is from a Pre-Cataclysm bardic cult of romantic love that only existed now in moldering scrolls of hymns to their ecstatically beautiful goddess. She'd sing them to pigs for pennies, but she wouldn't sing them to kings for free.
"This is your palace," She said with a smile. "Lead the way, Measure Gaspar." She's completely and blissfully ignorant of her mispronunciation of the Gauldinian title.

Remelia slithered past him, eyes casting about with darting movements as she located where she'd be the most aesthetically pleasing to be positioned, settling for a patch of wall where two trees together form like an arch. She swivels back towards Gaspar and fixes him with a calm look, waiting until she has his attention. When she does, her eyes slide close as she sinks into a place of peace and connection with her music. For a moment, there is silence, then the performance begins.

A storm begins softly with the fall of rain, words in a dead language fall from Remelia's lips, then a symphonic wind poured from her throat rising into a crashing tempest. Twined between the sweet, innocent but entirely alien words of the lamian woman and the music forged by her voice was lashing winds, sheeting rain and the throb of thunder. One half expected to look up and see dark clouds. It rose to a horrifying crescendo that was both a battle of giant proportions and the wrath of a storm god. Then, with a jarring fading note, sweetly clashing with the terror evoked by her song, it stopped. Next came piccolos, or perhaps birdsong, which danced lightly in the air. The symphony could no longer be distinguished from the words, together they wove a soft story of lovers in spring. The clashing of storm was in some intrinsic way connected to this love, though any who heard it would remember nothing of the substance later. Words resumed again in the same dead language, weaving a beautiful tale that yearned for peace, joy and the love of a man and woman. All the while, a dark and swirling storm of despair was held at bay by the beauty of Remelia's voice.

The lamia had started to move now, swaying in a way that was demurely provocative, her movements fluid yet exaggerated. Her face was rapturous with delight, eyes wide open and staring into the music, unseeing of the real world. As the music rose to a majestic, exultant crescendo, her eyes returned to Gaspar's eyes for the first time since she started singing and fixed him with an entrancing gaze. She rose without stopping until despair, storm and even though were drowned by her yearning sweetness lacing her music. Just when the emotion pouring forth from her could became overwhelming, the music peaked and her voice faded. The symphony and song, now married to each other sank into a warm well of eternity that could be touched long after Remelia had stopped slinging.

Remelia blinked and pulled back, without realizing it she'd slithered to within a foot of Gaspard, entranced by her own music. She flushed slightly pink and nervously tucked her hair back behind her ear. "Umm... sorry. I deviated a little from the original composition..."

Remelia glances back to see who Gaspard was looking at.

Remelia looked at the crown then at the face under it. If she knew more about Gauldin's heraldry and les flutered by her own singing, she might be more impressed. Instead, she assumes he's some visiting noble. "Whether or not I'll be performing at the royal wedding celebrations, sir."