“I know you don’t want to be married to me.”
He says nothing at first, and her stomach knots.
“Your dress is...nice,” he eventually says, but his face contorts in thinly veiled disgust. At least he’s trying, even if his sincerity is questionable.
Arisanna straightens to her full height. “I hate it.”
His eyes snap to hers again. “Then why wear it?”
She shrugs. “My mother.”
He nods as if he can understand that, and perhaps he can. That’s why he’s doing this himself, isn’t it? For his mother?
“Does it have to be so...enormous?” He gestures to the skirt, and Arisanna almost laughs.
“It’s all the petticoats and hoops underneath.” She switches to Nunian when the word for petticoats escapes her.
“And these are...necessary?” he asks in Nunian, following her lead.
“I suppose it depends on who you ask. The train buttons up, though.”
His brows furrow. “You’re wearing a locomotive?”
That does elicit a laugh from her. “Not a locomotive. The trailing skirt. Here, I’ll demonstrate.”
She feels very self-conscious as he watches, but he’s not scowling at her at the moment, and that seems worth the potential embarrassment.
Plus, they’re married now, so there’s that.
She reaches for the loops sewn into the train and then searches for the buttons on her skirt. Prince Cerian watches with a look of appalled curiosity.
Of course, with her stays, she can’t bend enough to locate the buttons. “I suppose it will have to wait. I can’t manage it by myself.”
She drops the train and suppresses a huff of frustration. She can barely maneuver in this monstrosity.
“Would you...like help?”
Arisanna looks at Prince Cerian in surprise. “Do you mind? It’s just a few loops of thread that fit over some buttons.”
His expression remains neutral, and he only hesitates for a moment before finding the loops again. Arisanna stands awkwardly as he hovers behind her. Her multitudes of petticoats hide all but the faintest pressure as he fumbles with her train, but soon, he steps back, and she can move again.
“It’s still enormous,” he says.
“Yes, but at least I can walk without getting twisted up in it. Thank you, Prince Cerian.”
“Cerian.”
“What?” She meets his eyes again.
“Just Cerian.”
“All right. Cerian.”
He nods and turns toward the small window at the side of the room. It seems he’s done talking.
Until the heartbinding takes place, that is.
Hopefully, Rominy is managing all right. Queen Nestraya is overseeing his and Princess Elowyn’s binding ceremony first.
