Chapter 4 #3
Philippa brings forth the gown she’s selected for me to wear tonight.
It’s significantly finer than anything I’ve ever seen—all pink silk and embroidered roses.
She helps me into the heavy skirts first, then laces on the tiny bodice with its little pointed V waist and plunging neckline.
Once in place, it displays not only more of my bosom than I am used to seeing, but also rather a lot of ugly burn scar.
“Don’t you think something a little higher necked would be…appropriate?” I suggest.
Philippa steps back, taking me in from head to toe. Her gaze doesn’t linger on my burns, though I know she’s fully aware of them. She tips her head a little to one side, rubs a delicate finger along her upper lip. Then, finally: “No.”
“No, what?”
“A higher neckline would not serve. You are a princess. You must dress as one. We can’t have you showing up for your own Presentation looking like a nun on her way to chapel prayers, now can we?”
“I should think there’s room for a bit of nuance between this and a nun’s habit!”
Philippa will hear none of my protests, however. She slides the delicate detachable sleeves up my arms and stitches them to the shoulder seams. Finally satisfied with her work, she turns me to face the glass again. “You are positively regal!” she declares.
I take in my reflection once more. My bosom, propped up by the corset, seems unnaturally round and prominent, surrounded by a veritable garden of silk and glittering roses.
Even I must admit, the effect is striking.
And the artful arrangement of my hair covers most of my scars.
One would have to look closely to notice them.
Philippa might have dabbled in sorcery, so complete is the transformation. I scarcely recognize myself.
“It’s wonderful,” I admit, rather reluctantly.
Then I let out a heavy sigh. “What I don’t understand is…
why? Why is everyone going through so much trouble to find me a…
a husband?” I catch Philippa’s gaze in the mirror.
Her brow is stern, her expression closed off.
“I understand that a champion must be found to ‘assist me in my destiny,’ as it were. But why is it so blasted important that I marry him?”
Her gaze sidles away from mine. It’s no more than a mere instant of break before she looks at me again, unblinking. But it’s enough that I notice. “When petitioning the gods’ own aid for great and mighty deeds, it is vital that purity of both body and soul are protected.”
I blink. “So, I’ve got to marry my champion to maintain…appearances?”
“Appearances matter, Princess.”
I fight not to roll my eyes. Something tells me Philippa would not deem eye rolls ladylike. “You do realize this is nonsense, don’t you?”
“The ways of the gods are mysterious.”
She doesn’t believe what she’s saying. For all her carefully maintained eye contact, I’m not forgetting that telltale glance away.
There’s something else going on here, something she doesn’t want to admit.
Something she’s…afraid to admit? Possibly.
But judging by the absolute rigidity of her features, I won’t be getting anything more out of her just now. I’ll have to keep my eyes open.
Philippa tilts her head a little to one side. Her stern brow softens slightly. “You do know I am trying to help you, Princess. Don’t you?”
And she is—I do believe that much at least. By calling me princess at every turn, by adorning me in these fine garments, by coaching me in courtly etiquette, by teaching me to balance books on my head while I walk, and all manner of things I had absolutely no notion mattered to anyone until recent history.
A hopeless endeavor in the end, I fear—for I don’t intend to remain here and be anyone’s tool or weapon.
The second I see a chance for escape, I’m taking it.
And if I don’t see one, I’ll make one myself.
But I’ll play along. For now. “I know,” I answer.
“I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Philippa. ”
She takes my hand and squeezes it firmly.
“One day, I hope you will understand just how vital all of this is. I myself had to fight for the honor of coming here, of serving as your personal lady. Dozens of women across the Kingdoms of Belanor tried to claw their way through one another to win the High King’s favor and be granted this role. ”
“Why?” I scoff softly. “So you can spend your days mending all my rips and tears and fixing the embroidery on my gowns?”
“It is my honor to mend any number of gowns for the sake of the Dragon Princess.”
The way she says it…like I’m a saint or an angel, some sort of sacred being. Some creature utterly unrelated to what I know myself to be. But she means it. They all do. And I cannot convince any of them to think otherwise.
“That being said,” Philippa continues, letting go of one hand to take the other, preventing me from unconsciously picking at the embroidery emblazoned across the bodice, “I would prefer not to stay up until the wee hours of the morning perfecting my satin stitch, so…if you would try to be careful with this particular gown?”
“Yes,” I answer meekly. “I’ll try.”
“Good!” With a last tug to straighten the front of my skirts, Philippa turns to fetch a set of jeweled haircombs from the side table. She is just fixing them in my hair when a heavy knock sounds at my chamber door. “Ah!” she says. “That should be your escort, come to take you to the banquet hall.”
Immediately, a host of tiny butterflies springs to life in my stomach.
Which is ridiculous, I know, but I can’t seem to help it.
Who’s to say my new acquaintance wasn’t assigned to escort me this evening?
I don’t know if the prospect pleases or embarrasses me more, but either way, the butterflies are dancing.
I stand on my toes, trying to peer over Philippa’s shoulder as she moves to open the door, eager to see who stands in the passage beyond.
The gloomy face of Captain Norlan appears, framed in the doorway. The scintil glow illuminates his bloodshot eyes. “Is the princess ready?” he asks in a dolorous voice.
One by one, my butterflies crumble to dust.