In the paintings I’ve seen of the royal family, they’re often in light colored, full-coverage gowns. Maybe the opposite is exactly what Carys wants. I jot down a few notes, my penmanship somewhat careless in my haste.
I wish I could send a letter to Osheen, but he has always refused to let me teach him how to read or write.
It isn’t necessary for my survival, he’s always said.
It turns out it just might be necessary for mine.
The evening creeps in as I sit at the window, gazing into the gathering darkness. I can’t get my thoughts off Taig. The guilt is predatory, eating away at my conscience. At some point, I change into a flowy nightgown, but I have to keep my mind busy to keep the tears at bay. I light all the candles I can find until the desk is lit up like the starry sky. Then I get back to revising my dress design for the princess.
I’m not sure how much time passes before something touches my shoulder. I recoil so hard that the tip of the pen tears a hole in the paper, the ink bleeding right through part of the design. My heart tries to figure out how to beat normally again as Princess Carys stares down at me with raised brows.
I shove my chair back and push myself out of it, dropping into a curtsy. “Apologies, Your Highness.” My words come out in a single, rushed exhalation. “I was a little too focused on…” I stare down at the paper. It’s ruined.
I sigh as Carys lifts the paper and peers at it. “Is this my dress?” Her focus briefly flicks to me before returning to the torn, ink-stained paper, her fingers tapping along the back of the parchment.
I nod. “It’s just a rough idea for now. I have to take your measurements and get more specifics on what you want.”
“Looks like you actually do know what you’re doing.”
I shrug. Part of me wants to play the fool card in hopes I get sent back home sooner, but doing this job well is the smarter option. “Since you’re here, may I take your measurements now?”
“Of course.” She analyzes the sketch again.
I open one of the desk drawers and rummage through it for the tape measure. “I’ll need your height, waist, bust?—”
“I’m aware of how measurements go,” she says, impatience hardening her features as she sets my design down and reaches over her shoulder, struggling with the buttons on the back of her dress.
“Right. Apologies.”
“Stop apologizing.”
I nod as she continues to struggle. “Would you like… help with that?”
She casts me an exasperated glower and I somehow manage to hold my ground. “Would you rather gawk at me while I struggle?”
Before I can think of a response, she turns her narrow back to me. I make quick work of her buttons, praying she doesn’t say anything of importance while her back is to me. Mercifully, she’s down to her silky shift in no time, her corset tossed aside. When she faces me again, she’s restless, idly spinning the sun-shaped amulet of her necklace between her fingers. I take a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer and grab my measuring tape before stepping behind her again.
She remains stationary as I take her height, but as I move on to her waist, her hand taps against the side of her thigh. She’s fidgeting with her underdress as I take her bust measurement. By the time I’m done, she’s heaved about a dozen sighs, and I’m honestly surprised she didn’t walk off whenever I paused to jot down the numbers.
“There,” I say with a grimace of a smile as I roll up the tape measure and set it aside.
Her perfectly arched brows rise with surprise, even as she fiddles with her necklace again. “You’re finished?”
I nod.
“That was quick.”
I’ve only ever measured Taig, and that is quite a feat. Her impatient fidgeting can hardly compare, but it’s also… curious. “What color would you like your dress to be?” I ask, trying to keep my mind on the present.
She purses her lips for a moment. “Not ivory or any other shade of white,” she says after a while. “I also have substantial amounts of green and blue in my wardrobe, so something other than those would be great.”
I nod.
The princess glances at my sketch again. “I want the neckline to be a little less …”
The last word I don’t quite make out and my pulse jumps at the fear that she’ll discover my communication challenges.
“Less what?” I ask.
