Cerian doesn’t respond.
“She went with King Gerault to check on Elowyn and Prince Rominy,” King Lorial continues. “When you feel up to it, we’ll join them. We should give them some space, Yalisa.”
That seems to be low on Mother’s list of priorities, but she lets the elf king lead her from the room.
Once they’re alone, Cerian doesn’t speak, and neither does Arisanna. She doesn’t bother trying to move, either.
Before long, Cerian’s face appears in the air above her, and he frowns. “Are you all right?”
“I seem to be trapped in a sea of skirts and stays.”
“Stays?”
Whelp. That was the wrong thing to say.
He is her husband, though.
“It’s an undergarment worn tightly around the torso to nip in the waist.”
His frown grows. “Why would you wear such a thing? Isn’t it uncomfortable?”
“Extremely. Beauty is apparently more important than comfort.”
“You don’t need these...stays...to be beautiful.”
As soon as he says it, his cheeks take on a rosy hue, and Arisanna’s own face heats.
“Th-thank you.”
He clears his throat. “Do you want my help?”
“I think I’m going to need it.”
To her shock, rather than offering her a hand, he slips his long fingers around her waist and lifts her from the floor, setting her on her feet.
“Your train has come loose again,” he says. “Are all these layers necessary? Couldn’t you leave some behind?”
Now there’s a thought, though she pushes away the awareness that he’s asking her to remove some of her clothing.
She could remove half the layers she’s wearing and still be more covered than she was in that dress on the train.
At the very least, she could abandon her hoops. Though what would Mother say?
“I’m not sure my mother would approve.”
He studies her for a moment before glancing at her skirts again.
Oh, blast it all.
“Turn around?” she says. “Unless you think you need to watch this.”
Disbelief crosses his face before he turns away from her, and she hurries to lift her full skirts out of the way.
After loosening the belt holding her hoop skirt at her waist, she lets it fall and steps out of it. The hem of her gown brushes the floor more than it should now, but Arisanna sighs in relief.
“That’s a lot better,” she says, and Cerian glances over his shoulder at her before turning back to face her.
“I agree. Let me fix your train before we go.”
