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,thankthem for waiting on you. Donottell them you wereshopping,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 theivy 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’rethe 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 wasexpected 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.
