Luvenia had only gone outside the palace grounds once before.
She didn't like to think about that particular journey. It had begun with her in her pastel bedroom and ended with her in her pastel bedroom, and what had happened in between was best forgotten.
***
By midmorning on the day she departed for Middewold, Luvenia had been thoroughly reminded of one unpleasant aspect of that journey.
Even the luxurious royal carriage juddered along over the rough roads of Alatir. Eddard the Faithless only spent enough on infrastructure to maintain the flow of commerce, with no allowances for comfort and the bare minimum for safety.
Both carriages halted around ten o'clock so the envoys could stretch their legs and eat a leisurely breakfast. The emissary from Middewold graciously invited the princess to join them, but she declined just as graciously, instead foisting Iron Hans upon them so she could have the carriage to herself.
The moment she she was alone, Luvenia hitched up her skirt and petticoats and untied the ribbon holding Myra's parcel against her thigh. She left her legs exposed as she undid the parcel and pored through its contents.
Two flattened tubes of cotton-filled muslin. A needle, its points blunted with tiny balls of wax, and a bobbin of dove-gray thread. Half a dozen headache tablets. A handkerchief, plain but for the initial 'M' stitched tidily in one corner, wrapped around a phial of rosewater. A piece of candied ginger in a twist of paper. The parcel itself was made from a knitted shawl, sturdy but soft to the touch.
A few tears had darkened the handkerchief before Luvenia even noticed she was crying. She dabbed her eyes carefully and hoped that her makeup had not been spoiled.
Someone knocked on the door. She sat up in panicked disarray, took a deep breath, then set the undone parcel on the seat beside her and smoothed down her skirts.
"Yes?"
"I, uh..."
It was the coachman's voice. She could hear his nervousness, which made her feel relatively calm.
"Speak."
"Your, uh... Mister Hans, I mean..."
She leaned over and opened the door. The coachman jumped back, clutching his hat in his sweaty hands.
Iron Hans stepped between her and the coachman. The darkness beneath his hood seemed to swallow the sunlight without a trace.
It took her a few seconds to notice the plate in his hands: thin crackers and soft cheese.
"Is that for me?" She accepted it, then paused uncertainly. "...You can come back in, if you like."
He waited until she was fully seated before rejoining her. She felt odd having someone watch her eat, but she needed something to settle her stomach. (She was determined to save the ginger candy in case the roads in Middewold were worse than these.) To make herself feel better, she decided that he must have closed his eyes; even so, she ate very delicately, as only a strictly-taught princess can, without getting a single smear of cheese on her fingers.
"Thank you."
She held out the empty plate. When he failed to take it, she set it down next to him. Maybe he really had closed his eyes.
"We can go as soon as the others are ready."
Iron Hans slowly reached for the door and opened it with the peculiar daintiness she had observed before. He stepped down, then pointed to the plate and held out his hand.
"Why...?"
The cloaked figure betrayed nothing. Sighing, Luvenia picked up the plate and set it on his waiting palm.
"I don't understand you," she murmured.
To her surprise, this earned her a soft chuckle from beneath the hood. She smiled in return and settled back in, leaving the door open as she repacked her parcel in a leisurely fashion.
At least she knew that Iron Hans was human, and that he had a sense of humor, and that it mattered to him that she was fed as well as protected.
With the spring sunshine warming her feet and a soft breeze caressing her cheek, she felt much more optimistic about the next leg of the journey.
***
An hour later, Luvenia had sworn off optimism entirely.
She found out later that a recent rain had turned nearly the whole length of this dirt road into mud, then ox-drawn carts had carved the mud into irregular ridges by their passing, then the spring sunshine had cheerfully baked the road into a nigh-on-impassable sculpture several miles long.
The reasons were less important in the moment. Luvenia's teeth rattled until her skull ached; her stomach roiled; beads of sweat left tracks through the powder on her face. She began to wonder if it mightn't be faster and less painful to simply walk the rest of the way to Middewold.
Iron Hans did not seem at all disturbed by the turbulence. He sat quietly with his hands resting on the left and right walls of the carriage. His arms were long enough that he could touch both sides with his elbows bent.
There was a brief halt when one of the wheels of the envoys' carriage got stuck. Luvenia flung the door open and took in loud gulps of fresh air, knowing it was indecorous of her to do so in front of a man, but well past caring about decorum. He was already seeing her at her worst, so she might as well seize the opportunity to feel a little better.
When her stomach settled and her breathing returned to its customary rhythm, she slouched back against her seat, steeling herself for the journey to continue.
Iron Hans made another indecipherable gesture. She sat up and watched his hands move until the meaning dawned on her.
"You want me to... sit on..." She could hardly believe the words even as she said them. "...your LAP?!"
His cloaked shoulders rose. She thought for an outraged moment that he was shrugging; then she saw his fingers curl and realized that he was cringing. Her anger softened into simple bewilderment.
"I'm sure you mean well," she said, though she was only half-sure, "but such a position does not befit a princess and her guard. Do I make myself clear?"
She could almost hear her father's voice uttering those very words. Her jaw tightened along with her resolve.
"You will not suggest anything of this sort again."
Iron Hans nodded. The tension in his shoulders held until the carriage began to move again, at which point his hands went back to the walls.
Luvenia tried to copy him, but even with her arms fully outstretched she could not reach both sides at once. She resigned herself to continuous discomfort.
A particularly hard bump knocked her sideways. Her head struck the wall with an inauspicious sound.
"Ow," she whispered, trying to pull herself upright but not quite able to determine which way was up.
She felt weightless for a moment and decided that she must be fainting.
Then she felt a pair of firm thighs beneath her and a firm chest behind her.
"Oh– Sorry, I–"
"Shhhh."
Between the throbbing in her head and the whispering in her ear, Luvenia was forced to admit defeat.
"Fine. Just... just for now."
She leaned carefully back against Iron Hans. He held his arms in a wide loop around her, lightly resting his joined hands on her knees. The sheer size of the man took her breath away.
"Promise me you won't do anything... ungentlemanly."
His laugh was low and pleasant, rumbling deep in his chest. He freed one hand and offered it to her. She shook it firmly, and he laughed again.
Luvenia was surprised and delighted to find that Iron Hans' body absorbed most of the shocks that rattled the carriage. Her sore muscles began to relax. Soon, even the pain in her head subsided to a dull ache.
"You promise?" she mumbled drowsily.
"I promise."
Something about his whispered response seemed strange, but she was feeling comfortable and had no desire to investigate theoretical strangeness. She let her eyes drift shut.
She dreamt that someone whose face she could not see was skimming the pad of their thumb across her face, smoothing over the flaws in her powdered makeup with incredible tenderness. When she tried to see who it was, she only saw her own reflection—not of her present self, but of herself as Middewold's queen, tall and strong and cold as the grave.