The streets of Middewold's capital city were thronged with late-morning pedestrians, most of whom seemed to be in no particular hurry. They milled around, going about their various business, blithely obstructing any cart or equestrian trying to pass through.
However, something about a single cloaked figure pulling a two-horse carriage drew a great deal of attention. Crowds parted; bystanders fell silent. The carriage's journey towards the palace had the look and feel of a funeral procession—which was fairly apt, since the carriage itself had become a makeshift hearse.
Luvenia resisted the urge to adjust her tiara or brush any stray locks of hair back into place. She had to remain motionless, detached, untouchable.
She tried rehearsing her greeting for the king in her head. It was a good little speech, she hoped. It would have to be.
When she caught sight of the palace at the end of the road, her throat tightened. The building itself was a marvel of architecture, more striking by far than the stark edifice of her home. –Her former home, she reminded herself. This palace, with its bright stained glass and its detailed mosaics, was to become her new home.
That speech needed to be better than good. It had to be the best performance of her life.
***
The gates outside the palace opened to admit the carriage without question, likely because of its Middewold livery.
A daunting number of knights lined the long marble staircase leading up to the palace.
"Iron Hans" stopped the carriage close to the foot of the stairs. "He" removed the improvised harness and assisted Luvenia in descending from the driver's seat.
Luvenia wished she could keep her hand on Hanna's arm for longer. Looking up at the legion of silent guards in polished armor, she felt shabby and small.
She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders, and lifted her chin.
"I am Luvenia Charisse Eddine, Princess of Alatir. I request an audience with his majesty, Gorogon of Middewold."
One of the knights on the lowest step moved out of line and approached her. Luvenia held her ground, controlling her breathing in an attempt to calm her thundering heart.
The knight took off his helmet, went down on one knee, and inclined his head.
"Greetings, princess of Alatir. We will convey your message to the king at once."
He turned and made some sign to another knight, who bowed and began to swiftly ascend the steps.
Luvenia became aware of the murmur of a crowd gathering at the gates. She desperately wanted to turn her head and see the onlookers' expressions, if only to get an idea of what the king might think when he saw her.
She had anticipated a long wait, and was pleasantly surprised to see a crowned figure emerge from the palace doors mere minutes after the messenger knight went inside. The king descended the stairs as quickly as decorum allowed, trailed by a retinue of servants.
"Princess of Alatir, I bid you welcome. I am Gorogon."
He was reasonably attractive, with sandy curls and a trim figure, an intelligent face and keen eyes. His garb was simpler than her father's formal regalia, mostly Middewold green with a few golden accents. Even his crown was lighter, resembling a lattice of gilded branches rather than a grim wall of white gold. He was no less a king than Eddard, but they were different as a summer day and a winter night.
"I pray you forgive our poor hospitality. We had not anticipated your arrival."
He looked at her steadily. Luvenia knew that he must see her torn and bloodstained dress, her coif half-undone. She recognized the tension in him, the anxiety he was repressing with all his might. It told her that they were very much alike.
She performed a deep curtsy, then raised her head and shoulders without rising from the ground.
"Your Majesty, I thank you for your gracious welcome. I embarked upon this journey with our envoy, Lord Phaon, and your own emissary, Lord Caradon."
Gorogon flinched when she named his envoy but quickly regained his composure. He gestured for her to continue.
"We were attacked after crossing the border. The brigands took our horses and killed the rest of our party, whose bodies we have brought with us in the carriage."
She fell silent. The king could not wholly conceal his horror, though he kept trying. It was unsettling how much he reminded her of herself.
Instead of continuing the speech as she had planned, she decided to finish it quickly so the king could have a moment alone to come to terms with this tragedy. That's what she would have needed in his place.
"Lord Caradon was able to compose a message for his majesty, which he then entrusted to me."
At her signal, "Iron Hans" stepped away from the carriage, drew the envoy's message from beneath "his" cloak, and proffered it to the king with a bow.
Gorogon's hands visibly trembled as he took hold of the letter. His eyes skimmed over the wax seal and fixed upon the bloodstains.
"Did he suffer?"
The question took Luvenia by surprise.
"...He died bravely, your majesty."
The king turned away, not fast enough to hide the pain in his eyes. Luvenia's heart ached in sympathy.
"You must be exhausted." His voice was taut with restrained emotions. "Let us speak again after my servants have seen to your needs."
"It shall be as you say, sire."
As servants rushed to attend to her, Luvenia raised her voice to catch Gorogon's attention.
"I must request accommodation for my father's most trusted servant, Iron Hans, who not only guarded me but also brought me and the carriage here solely by his own strength."
The crowd buzzed with excitement, and even the king's servants stole glances at "Iron Hans" with varying degrees of fear and admiration.
Gorogon, already partway up the stairs, turned back just long enough to issue a decree: "Attend to him also, and prepare adjoining chambers for them."
Luvenia was still tense as a bowstring, but at least the first challenge was over and done. She gave Hanna a weary smile before the flock of attendants flew her away.
***
The queen of Middewold, Gorogon's mother, had predeceased her husband by a number of years. Since then, there had been no women of royal blood in the palace.
Luvenia learned this from the maids attending her, though she might have guessed without being told. Their enthusiasm bespoke an absence that had only just now been filled.
She quickly gave up on maintaining an imperious detachment. They were all so sweet and earnest, so eager to please her. By the time they had bathed her, dressed her, and styled her hair, she wanted to hug every one of them.
"Your hair is so dark, princess! Every accessory stands out like a star in the sky!"
"All you need is a hint of lip rouge, your highness. Your skin is too perfect to smother with powder."
"I've never seen eyes so clear and blue as yours, miss. They're more brilliant than the jewels in your tiara."
"I'm keeping all of you," said Luvenia impulsively, prompting a chorus of gasps and giggles.
One of the maids was already unpacking a cedar chest. Seeing her mother's dresses for the first time in ten years, Luvenia found herself trembling.
"Would those even fit me?" she wondered aloud.
The maid's eyes widened. "Oh, princess, would you rather wear one of these now?"
A thrill of fear seized her. If her father saw her in one of her mother's–
But her father was miles away now. She would not see him again unless and until she formally wed Gorogon.
"There should a dark blue dress decorated with pale blue flowers in one of the chests. If you're able to prepare it without too much trouble..."
"We would be delighted, your highness!"
They cooed over the fine fabric, the elegant cut, the delicate embroidery. A few minutes was all they needed to refresh the garment. Soon they had her in it, cleverly pinned to fit her slender frame. She gazed at herself in the mirror and could almost see her mother reflected back.
"How lovely, miss! It even matches your eyes!"
"It was my mother's favorite dress."
Saying even that much frightened her. Her mother was a traitor. One did not speak of traitors.
She saw in the mirror that the youngest-looking maid was on the verge of tears. Without thinking, she turned and embraced the girl.
"Oh, miss..." The maid sniffled, her thin arms stealing around Luvenia's waist. "I'm sorry—you just looked so sad, that I–"
"Don't be angry, your highness—Mellie means well, but she's sensitive."
"That's right, miss. Mellie, dear, you mustn't..."
"It's all right, girls."
Mellie looked up at her in awe. Her nose was already pink. She was so much like Myra that Luvenia's heart ached.
Luvenia squeezed her gently before letting her go.
"Mellie," she said seriously, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."