As he lifts his head to gaze at the rest of his kin, it becomes clear that this car is relegated to the royal families. It’s fairly empty, and everyone else seems to be finding seats elsewhere.
Whistling wind. So much for not having to carry on a conversation with the princess. He chances a glance her way to find her studying him. What must she be thinking? Is she wishing she could bind with Tharios instead? The expression of dismay on her face earlier was telling.
It probably doesn’t help that he keeps glaring at everyone and everything.
“You speak Nunian very well,” Princess Arisanna says in Elvish, much to Cerian’s surprise. Her accent is strong, but at least he can understand her words, unlike the drivel that poured from her brother’s and father’s mouths earlier.
“You speak Elvish.”
“I do. I’ve been practicing with tutors for most of my life.”
“Preparing to become the next Queen of Lostariel?” The words leave Cerian’s mouth before he can stop them, but a screeching whistle from the train muffles his voice. He’d glower at the deafening noise if he weren’t so grateful that the princess didn’t hear his venom. None of this is her fault.
“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,” she says with a timid smile as the train lurches forward.
Cerian braces himself against the movement while his eyes dart around the cabin.
“Prince Cerian?”
He looks back at the princess. “Sorry. I have never experienced your trains before.”
“They’re a bit unrefined, are they not? No amount of velvet and brocade can hide the noise and smell.” She scrunches up her nose before smiling again.
“I admit I prefer my horse.”
The princess glances around before meeting Cerian’s eyes again. “Will I be permitted to bring my own horse to Lostariel? My parents told me it would be up to you. Well, to my...to my...”
Cerian stares at her. She’s asking his permission to bring her horse?
Her brow wrinkles at Cerian’s lack of response. “Perhaps I’ve misstepped? Or gotten the translation wrong?”
Cerian shakes his head. “Of course you may bring your horse. You don’t need my permission for that.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Cerian nods.
“I also have trunks,” she says hesitantly.
“Trunks?”
They came on horseback. How are they supposed to transport trunks all the way to Darlei, let alone Celesta?
“Full of my belongings. Mostly my...gowns.” Her cheeks turn pink, and Cerian looks away.
“I can provide you with clothing.”
“I assumed as much. My mother”—the princess glances at the human queen—“thought it would be poor form not to send me off with a...I’m not sure what the Elvish word is. A whole new set of clothing for a bride.”
“You replaced all your clothes just because you and I are...?” Cerian doesn’t finish the thought.
“It seems quite wasteful, doesn’t it? Perhaps I should leave it all for your sister. She looks near my size. I’m sure the seamstresses can alter it to fit.”
Cerian snorts at that. Elowyn would be thrilled.
“Unless you think that’s a bad idea?” Princess Arisanna sends him a look full of uncertainty.
“I think it’s an acceptable idea. Unless you’re attached to any of it,” he adds. Not that he has a way to transport trunks back to Lostariel.
