Page 4 of The Ostler's Boy

I t was hard to ignore that every random inch of Rothingham was more vibrant than any square foot of Oreia, especially when compared to the gray halls of my home. I had been raised within the confines of ice and iron in King’s Land. I was shaped by the castle’s dark, gloomy academia. Even my skin was pale, and porcelain, a ghastly sight written straight from some gothic tale, but Chalke and its residents thrived upon color and color within everything.

Wide archways and deliberate right angles boasted of life. Flowers bloomed on every stem, and so early in the year. The people walked with a confident purpose. They were equally delightful and energetic, proving an overall sense of joy. I even felt happy just existing among them in the street, and it was no surprise that the grand structure my betrothed called his palace was as impressive as the city’s design.

It wasn’t built into a mountain like mine was. It wasn’t a fortress. It was a lively and long chateau that sprawled out over a large green pasture; it was filthy with trees. The carriage passed over the river, the same river that had snaked its way through our route a mile back, and the Palace gate– the gate was open . For a moment, I was jealous that Father had spent so many years visiting Chalke without a single word of its radiance and without extending an invitation toward me.

There was another row of evergreens, and I thought about the lord I’d met. I wondered where his manor was back home. I wondered if it was close to the Capitol or if he’d been a Southern man. I wasn’t as familiar with the South.

“Svana?” Elías asked.

He startled me. “I, I did not expect it to be so ... hot,” I found. “Gosh, it’s quite hot, Ser.”

He handed me his handkerchief. I used it to dab my face.

He said, “When we arrive, address the King as somebody would your father. Address me as Ser Elías. Never Eli or, God forbid, Gregory. Do not touch his hand; that is an Oreian gesture. Here, it’s only women that touch.”

“They touch women?”

“No, women touch each other. Hands. Each other’s hands.”

“Oh.”

“You’re royalty, but I would not skip the curtsy. It’s best to include it, if anything, out of respect to the Empire and the Prince. Use your full title and your full name, and stand up straight. Don’t talk too much, and don't apologize for the delay; instead, thank them for waiting on you. Do not tell them you were shopping, and smile, but do not laugh and diminish the offense.”

“That is a lot to remember,” I said. “Can I write it down?”

“You’ll be fine.”

He patted my knee, and as soon as the wagon came to a stop, he was the first one out. Followed by Ser Willoughby and Miss Jocelyn, and then myself. Josie joined our chauffeur and went to handle my effects. A line of servants welcomed us near the door, and one led us through the entrance, where a decorative man appeared. It was as grand as I expected, but one very large window was propped open permanently, as determined by the ivy growing on its trellis. The plant had woven itself into the interior wall.

“Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Svana Eisson, of the Oreian Empire,” the herald announced.

Perhaps an entire half-minute of silence passed as I stuttered in complete and awful anticipation. His Majesty made a face, and I met his eyes with mine.

“Uhm, Hi,” I said, offering my hand.

“Princess,” Ser Elías whispered.

I choked out a laugh, desperately forcing myself to lower all of my parts into a butchered curtsy.

“I’m so sorry,” I went on. “I’m not laughing,” I lied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Er, Your Majesty, sir. King Sameer Azarii III, sir.”

As I came up, he wore a strange look on his face.

“Apologies. You’re the Princess?” he asked. “King Nikolai’s daughter?”

I stopped myself from reaching for his hand a second time and then plastered my fingers to my side awkwardly.

“Yes. Hello,” I said. “My father is King Nikolai, and I am his daughter, and he does send his regards. He said he wrote you. That I would be here.”

“He did,” the King replied.

“Then, to answer more clearly, I, yes, I am the Princess.” For whatever reason, I sucked in a concerning amount of air, sick. “Your Majesty.”

His Majesty’s eyes went straight to the braided crown and then back. “I see that,” he said in a muted but obvious concern. “You’re later than I had been told. Did you travel well?”

A servant arrived beside me, swiftly urging us into an area referred to as the Grand Hall, and everyone continued to talk on the move. He identified himself as the King’s valet and shepherded me after his monarch, then pointed to a chair I was expected to take. He introduced me to an array of individuals who sat at various points of an oblong table. One of the men was known only as Yosif. It was ten minutes into the already progressing meeting before I discovered that he was the Archbishop and that I sat between him and the King’s advisor, Mr. Adeline.

Thankfully, things picked up, and after some discussion on commerce, two footmen opened the doors on the other end of the chamber to reveal a crowd of citizens that I had kept with my arrival.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” I had the presence of mind to say.

“Of course,” the King replied, but he followed it with a question. “Are Oreian women required to wear their hair in a braid? Or is it a style?”

Internally, I thanked the tree lord for his foresight.

“We wear braids until we’re married,” I explained. “I’m told it’s the opposite here.”

“Are they all on top?” he asked.

“On top? Oh. No. The crown is a northern fashion. You’ll see my maid wears it often.”

“I see.”

“Yes. I’m sure it’s a bit confusing,” I said. “I’m not married.”

“Of course, you’re not married,” he said.

“Right. You should know, in Oreia, the braid marks the preservation of a lady’s virtue. It comes apart once she has taken a husband. For that reason, I did not waver from the knot.”

“I see,” he said.

“Then you are virtuous?” Yosif asked, his voice veiled in curiosity.

“What a thing to ask,“ Mr. Adeline cut in. “Pray. Would you ask her father that question?”

The King waved them off.

Yosif said, “My apologies, Your Highness. Though, I do wonder what the Prince will think of your hair. As you stated, it is quite unusual.”

“The Prince?” I asked. I hadn’t considered his reception of my hair. “Are you suggesting it will offend him?”

“It’s very strange to see, is all,” Yosif said.

“Is he here?” Mr. Adeline asked.

I leaned into him. “Is he?”

Adeline shook his head.

The King said, “His Royal Highness is preoccupied today.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“Yes,” Yosif said knowingly. “A hunt this morning took them east. I’m sure those two have found themselves in town by now.”

“If the Prince was in town, I didn’t see him,” I said.

“You were in town?” Yosif asked. “I thought a bent wheel kept you?”

“What?” I asked. “Who told you that?”

“Your knight.” He gestured toward Ser Willoughby’s place at the wall. “Did he misspeak?”

“Oh,” I lied. “No. Yes. We… We did have a wheel issue, I think.”

The first question for the committee arrived in front of us.

“Sorry, sir. I forgot. I don’t handle carriage maintenance.”

“Ah. I see.”

Mr. Adeline addressed the petitioner.