Book 3, Chapter 20: Morning Tea
“Good morning, Princess.”
“Morry. It’s morning. Definitely a morning.” I yawned and my body stretched out, arms above my head, stomach tight. Soft sunlight streamed in through the windows and the smells of morning filled the air. Hot and fresh bread, cooking meats and the slightly sulfurous smell of eggs, woodsmoke from the fires.
“Tea is on the table. I have to leave quickly I’m afraid.”
“You’re going to miss Tread. He’s coming with my schedule for the day.”
“Give him my best.”
“My schedule is full of suitors. Like last week.” I put my head into my hands, “I swear, Morry, all these kids wanting to get married. I’m quite sick of it all.”
“In that case, give him my worst. And the suitors worse than that.”
“Ha! Take care, you scoundrel.”
He left. Me, finally alone for a bit. Brin always woke up late. Guards outside the door, waiting for my exit. I wondered, then, how exactly did that assassin get into my apartments. Morry said he came through the window. But did that mean he climbed up the wall? Perhaps came down from above? That’s how I’d do it. I made a mental note to check it out. That and get all the extra rooms sealed shut, openable from the inside only.
After I’d sat down with the usual morning fair, Tread knocked at the door and entered. “Your Highness.”
“Tread, come in. Sit. Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
I filled a cup and passed it to him. “Eggs, sausage?”
“I’ve eaten, thank you.”
“Well done. Brin’s still asleep, so I believe you’ve won this round.”
“Won? What have I won?”
“It’s just an expression. What’s on the agenda for today?”
Tread pulled out his notes. I was still in some shock that he could write, being a farm boy and all that, but he was full of surprises. “Earl Yohstone wishes to speak to you about-”
“About his troops, and to badger me to marry him or just dash away with him to some secret place where we can be together, alone.”
“Yeah, he might have suggested such a thing. I didn’t write it down.”
“He’s an idiot. Don’t be like him.”
Tread cocked his head at me, “Of course.”
“Ah, sorry, I’m-”
We said it together, “-grumpy in the morning.”
“Of course. Uh, Major Gunmack would like to talk to you.”
“Really? That’s odd. Why didn’t he just come to me?”
“He said it involves matters of the state.”
“Alright. So, first a meeting with the earls, then Gun.”
“After that, the new saddles.”
“Oh, nice! I am looking forward to their designs.”
“Tomorrow, you’re meeting with the Bechalle Archbishop – you still haven’t changed the castle name – and the three local earls Hafthon, Carlisele and Crygmore.”
“Right, have to change the name. We’re planning the coronation. What do you think, will they budge on the age issue?”
“I don’t think so. Making you queen at fifteen isn’t likely.”
I knew the answer, but I wanted to challenge him. “Why isn’t it likely, Tread?”
He fidgeted, “Uh, it, it would make them look bad. Like, when a farmer’s wife sows the fields.”
“Huh? How does that make the farmer look bad?”
“You see, it’s a man’s job. If he can’t do it, he’s not so manly.”
“Yeah, ok, good analogy. What if he does the laundry in trade?”
“I can’t see that happening.”
“There have to be some single farmers out there!”
“Not for long. Sure, some become widowers, but farm life is a good life. Widowers aren’t single long if they own a farm.”
“Huh. I had no idea.”
“You wouldn’t, being a noble.” He immediately covered his mouth, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I really would have no idea. You can always tell me new stuff, Tread. And correct me when I’m wrong. Hey!” An idea suddenly struck me, “We should sneak off before Brin wakes up!”
“Whatever for?”
“Then I wouldn’t have to-”
“Good morning to both of you. Good to see you, Tread. Is tea ready Cayce?”
“- wear a dress.” I sighed.
***
“Does it have to be so billowy?”
“Not this one then? You can’t wear a plain dress, Cayce.” Behind Brin, one of the ladies in waiting gasped with her casual use of my name, then quickly looked down at the make-up set she was organizing on the table.
The thought of make-up made me sigh. I swear I had this problem solved. Just a couple weeks ago, it was nothing but me and the chainmail. Brin wins again.
“Ok, not this one.” Brin hung it back up in the wardrobe, thumbed through some dresses, “What about a black and green one?” She pulled it out. The green wasn’t gaudy, which was nice, very muted, and its sides weren’t quite black, but very dark green.
“Isn’t that a ballroom dress?” One of the three ladies in waiting, really girls between ten and thirteen, was running a brush through my thick hair. Every now and again, the brush would tug hard, stuck, and she’d apologize. It barely registered as pain. Just jerked my head a bit and made the side conversation go like this: Tug, “Sorry, my lady.” “It’s fine.” Tug, “Oh no, sorry.” “It’s good.” Tug, “Apologies.” “No worries.”
Brin ignored the torture of my hair, saying, “This is not a ballroom dress.”
“It looks fancy.”
“Cayce, you’re the princess. You get fancy.”
“Doesn’t that show off just a little too much cleavage?” I was worried about the V-shape of the dress, but otherwise liked how not-puffy and not-frilly it was.
Brin smiled sweetly, “No, no, it won’t show off too much cleavage.”
“Owe!” The hair girl caught the brush on my earring.
“Sorry, my lady.”
“It’s fine.” I’m sure I had a scrunched-up face and narrow eyes, looked at Brin, “That one then. It better not show too much, uh, skin.”
“It will show just the right amount of skin. Here,” she took my hands and stood me up. They dropped the dress over me, then fussed at it. In the mirror, the dark green of the dress ran down my sides, deeply accentuating my inward curving waist and wider hips. The girl in the mirror with her hourglass figure froze me, staring, for a moment.
Brin took something from the make-up girl’s counter, brought it to my face, gently turning my head and gaze back to her. She began brushing under my eyes. “Hey, last night you said a word.”
“What? Like, in my sleep?”
“Yeah. A strange word. What was it? Oh! ‘Val-hal-la.’ Is that a real word?”
“Valhalla?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. I mean, that’s what you said. Three times.”
“Huh. Three times? Like, in a row?” I couldn’t exactly tell her what that meant without also adding, ‘Oh yeah, back on my world,’ so I closed my eyes instead. She was about to do make-up to them anyways.
“Well? Does it mean anything?”
“I think it’s Laemacian for, uhm, a place where you eat and drink.”
“Dining hall? It does kind of sound like that.”
“Yeah, with plenty of mead and ale.”
“Your two favorite drinks. That must be why you were dreaming of it.”
“Hey! Tea. I like tea. I’m not a drunk. Am I drinking too much?”
She paused to change brushes. “You do have to entertain all these guests.”
“I need to cut down if you think those are my favorite drinks.”
Brin touched my lips with her finger, startling me, and I opened my eyes. “Red. To match the green. A soft red for today.”
It was strange to talk with her finger against my lips, so I pulled back a bit, brush-girl snagged my hair, tilting my head up, Brin’s finger fell against my chest, just above my cleavage and it was suddenly all too much for me, and I took her hand in mine, “Hey!”
“Oh,” said Brin, looking down at where her hand was, “Maybe a little cleavage. Just a sec, you’ve a red streak between your breasts now.” Brin grabbed a cloth.
“Brin, you said-”
“I lied a bit,” rubbing my skin with the cloth. “You have to look enticing to your suitors.”
“Enticing!”
“Sparks the imagination. They’re not,” she smiled and brushed my eyelids closed, then touched her finger on my lips, running it along them to apply coloring, “only thinking about the kingdom when they court you, Cayce. They’re,” her warmth against my ears as she leaned in to whisper, “also thinking about the bedroom.”
The girls all giggled to my great and unending embarrassment, and then started chatting about the physical merits of the suitors.
“Calm face now, so I can get the make-up on you properly.”
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