Rosalie

The princess leaned back in her chair as the seamstresses moved about the chamber with their rolls of material. She lifted an eyebrow at the colour of the gown being made and took a sip of her wine. Clarice shifted uncomfortably. "My lady, this is highly inappropriate," she said, lifting her head as one of the seamstresses measured from her chin to her navel.

"You worry too much," the princess replied.

"I must worry when you do not!"

"The orders were a wedding gown must be fitted. There was no mention that it had to be I who was being measured. Besides, you look quite the blushing bride."

Her lady frowned but said nothing. The head seamstress had attempted to protest when the princess first commanded that it would be Clarice being fitted for the gown, but had conceded to her will and was now pinning layers together to form the body of the gown that had been commissioned for the wedding. The colours amused the princess. The main body of the gown was grey with the decoration in dark blue, while the trimming was gold. She knew they were planning on a high neckline with the collar being gold to contrast the grey and she wondered whether the Queen truly believed she would ever put the gown on and say the vows that would bind her to Prince Christian.

He had not returned since he had stormed out of her chamber and she was relieved that she didn't have to see his face or be in his presence. In fact, she hadn't left her chamber since then on the Queen's orders, and after the return of Clarice, she found that she did not mind.

She finished her goblet and sat forward as a seamstress pinned a sash about Clarice's waist. "You look better in these colours," she said. "You're too fair for dark colours."

"I am in mourning, my lady. I'm not supposed to wear anything bright or extravagant."

"Such a silly tradition. Why should you not wear silver? Your father died, you did not."

"My lady!"

She huffed and leaned on the arm of her chair. Every now and then the head seamstress asked her opinion and each time she took her time to maul over the gown before giving them a dismissive one. It amused her to know that she and Clarice were not the same measurement so once the gown had been pinned and completed, they would have to resize it if they ever wanted her to wear it.

They had just laid out four pieces of trimming when the doors opened and the Queen entered the room. Straight away the seamstresses curtsied and when Clarice went to they fussed about where her hands could hold. The princess didn't even move.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Queen asked, looking from Clarice to the princess.

"Did you not order that a wedding gown be fitted?" the princess said.

"Fitted for you, not your lady."

The princess shrugged and took a sip of her wine. "I did not feel inclined to rise. What good is a lady if she cannot stand in my place? I think she looks rather splendid."

"It does not matter whether she looks splendid. It is you who shall be wearing that to wed Prince Christian."

"Surely she could not go in my place?"

The Queen gave her a hard look. "Whether you like it or not, you will wed Christian. If you think to disobey me, rest assured there is a proxy should you prove too difficult on the day."

After a few moments she left, sweeping out of the chamber in annoyance. When the doors closed the princess leaned forward, one hand grasping the arm of her chair hard. "What does she mean?" she demanded.

"She'll marry you by proxy. It means you don't have to be present for the ceremony. Another girl will take your place, binding you to Prince Christian, and it does not matter whether you consent," Clarice explained.

"Can she do that?"

"Proxy marriages aren't all that uncommon, my lady. Many a time do royal children marry by proxy when they are young and only fulfil it once they have grown. Betrothals mean little now and many break them before they can be fulfilled."

The princess finished her goblet and gestured for it to be filled. "I am certain she'd marry him if she could."

"Regardless of who stands at the altar, you shall be the one to attend the feast and be put to bed with him."

"He says he will never force me so it shall remain unconsummated," the princess said dismissively.

Clarice bowed her head before having to raise it as a seamstress pinned the collar. "It is highly unlikely for a royal marriage to remain unconsummated, my lady," she said.

The princess swirled her wine about the goblet before taking a large mouthful. "I will never lay with him."

Her lady had nothing to respond and a silence fell that was broken only by the commands of the seamstresses to Clarice or whenever they got her to pick a trimming. It grew increasingly irritating to be involved in the making of the gown and yet the head seamstress would not allow her to flounder in her role, insisting that she must give her opinion or they would be required to fetch the Queen. That had enraged her but she remained in her seat, spitefully criticising their actions each time she gave them her choice. The gown was far too extravagant for her taste.

Once it had been assembled the princess reluctantly stood so they could take her measurements before they took apart the gown and laid the pieces in three different chests. As they were preparing to leave her new steward approached. "Her Majesty, Queen Mary of Tharthen, requests admittance," he said.

"I do not know her," the princess replied, looking to her lady. "If I turn her away will she be forced upon me later?"

"I believe so, my lady."

She turned back to her steward. "Send her in, if you must."

The seamstresses had taken their leave by the time the woman entered, sweeping into the chamber followed by two ladies who looked about the room as if inspecting it. Clarice curtsied before them while the princess simply bowed her head slightly. "Forgive me if I do not rise," she said drily. "I am feeling faint and fear my legs shall collapse should I attempt to."

The woman, a queen of some importance, looked at her critically. "It is a joy to see the princess who has bewitched my son," she said.

"You're Prince Christian's mother?" the princess asked, taking a long mouthful of wine.

"He wrote to me so that I may attend the wedding. I have always had a soft spot for my Christian and found that I could not refuse, not when I could meet the girl who has stolen his heart."

She snorted and looked at her lady who had hidden her own smile. "I am sure I do not hold his heart."

"He speaks so earnestly of you. Princess Rosalie, whom he rescued from despair, the very girl who he has not stopped talking about whenever he returned home." The woman was inspecting her as she spoke, her eyes lingering on the goblet she held possessively in her grip.

"I'm sure he loves to remember why I loathe him so," she said sardonically.

Clarice stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm. "My lady," she said lowly, "please use caution."

The woman gestured one of her ladies to fetch her a seat before she sat next to the princess. "My dear, you do not loathe him. He spoke of the illicit encounter with your guard, and while he may be my son, I cannot deny that there are times when a person who we cannot or must not love might catch our eye. I do not fault you for that; you are young, surrounded by far more men than you are accustomed to."

She finished her goblet and held it out for it to be refilled. "An illicit encounter that demands said guard's head. If I did not loathe him before I certainly would now."

"You must realise the importance of your reputation. It would be imprudent and potentially damaging should the Queen not seek his head."

"I'm sure I could despoil myself and your son would not bat an eyelid," she snapped.

The woman looked shocked and glanced between the princess and her lady. "You speak far too freely," she reprimanded.

"I see no reason why your son should not know my true feelings. He is adamant I be his bride so it is only fitting he knows his bride's feelings."

"You speak of this to Christian?"

The princess smiled and gave a laugh. "This is truly delightful. I would advise you speak to your darling son."

No sooner had she said that did Prince Christian discover that upon his mother's arrival she had been escorted straight to see the princess. He was also told that she requested that he join her, so he left his cousin and made his way to the princess's chamber, being admitted straight away and seeing his mother sat in a chair while the princess was on her feet, goblet in hand and a scowl on her face. He approached his mother and bowed. "You are well? The journey was pleasant?" he asked.

"It was all pleasant, my son," she replied, reaching out and patting his cheek. "I have been becoming acquainted with your betrothed."

"I don't see why - it will surely be a proxy at the altar," the princess snapped.

"But it will be you being bedded."

"He will not force me so it shall remain unconsummated."

Prince Christian intervened. "I am pleased to see Your Highness is well."

She finished her goblet and snapped her fingers for a refill. "You just missed the most exquisite thing, Clarice was being fitted for my wedding gown. Truly stunning," she said mockingly.

"You did not get fitted?"

"I don't suppose I'll ever wear the gown so there is really no need."

His mother rose to her feet and looked between her son and the princess. "Now I understand your father's desire to break this betrothal," she said simply.

"Oh!" the princess exclaimed, moving her goblet away from her lips. "He does not want this marriage? I find I like your father even better now."

"Honestly, Christian. This is not the girl you spoke of in your letters."

"Now I'm fond of your mother!" She laughed, throwing her head back in glee. "Perhaps it would be best to listen, or do you require the Queen to tell you also?"

Prince Christian looked between the two and rubbed his forehead, pacing towards one of the windows. "Father would prefer a chaste, demure bride of our own kingdom," he said, shaking his head. "We are isolated and James confesses that we lack everything a flourishing kingdom requires."

That had the woman frown. "You spoke with your brother?" she said sharply. "Never the mind, this is not the place."

"I wish to wed the Princess Rosalie because I rescued her, yes, but also through conference with James."

"I am not a reward you can seek," the princess snapped, pushing Clarice away when she attempted to remind her once more to be cautious. "Rescue implies that it was wanted and surely you are not that ignorant to believe that after all this time."

"Forgive her, Mother; she was thought to have been cured."

That made the princess enraged and she threw her goblet towards him. "Get out!" she shouted, pointing towards both Prince Christian and his mother. "Get out, you insufferable being! Do you wish to have more than mere scratches this time? Get out!"

Alarmed Prince Christian ushered his mother to his feet and tried to guide her out only for the woman to stop and stare at the princess. "How you masquerade as a princess, I do not know," she retorted.

"I do not invade someone's home and destroy their life - that is entirely your son," the princess snapped. "I do not take one from their home despite their insistence that they cannot leave - that is your son. I certainly did not raise a child to be as arrogant and cold as he is - that is entirely you."

Then insult had the desired effect and she swept out of the chamber, Prince Christian following close at her heels. No doubt to tell the Queen of what just occurred, the princess thought bitterly. She turned to her lady and frowned at the expression that was on her face. "Scold me, I do not care," she said simply.

"My lady, that was Queen Mary. You ought to have not said what you did," Clarice said.

"They ought to have left me be." She sighed and snapped her fingers for another goblet of wine. "I suppose you shall be confiscated once more, though I refuse to dress without you by my side. I do not regret my words or actions and I suppose that soon enough you shall understand why."

Clarice went over to the goblet that lay near the fire and picked it up, holding it tightly between her hands. "It is different to say those words to a queen, you do not know how detrimental the consequences could be."

"I would say them to his father too but thankfully I don't see that wretched man."

"Please, my lady, I do not wish to be dismissed again. My mother is at court and I fear being in her presence."

The princess inspected her intently as she moved from the fire and towards a table. "Even I am aware of the reason behind her presence. Fear not, if you are dismissed and subsequently are deemed treasonous for being her daughter, I too shall become a traitor."

That made the lady gasp and she dropped the goblet in shock. "My lady!" she exclaimed.

"If the Queen should think she can dismiss my lady then she can make do with a traitor for a daughter."

"I could not ask such a thing."

She laughed bitterly. "You ask nothing of me. I believe you are the only one I would do such a thing for. I'm very fond of you."

"You could not do such a thing!"

"It is treason to speak ill of the Queen, is it not?" she snapped. "How easy it is to be treasonous. Should she not listen to my words, I can write and ensure that the fool receives a declaration of my treason too - as would his mother and father."

Clarice placed a hand in her stomach before bending to pick the goblet up once more. "I do not know how you are able to speak of treason so leisurely," she said weakly.

"My fears are not the same as yours." The princess swept about the room and over to the fire, arms over her chest as she held her elbows. "I have no fear of what might occur when one is guilty of treason. Perhaps that is why you came into my service, to be the one to soothe my dismissive nature."

"My lady, please do not talk of this."

She looked at her lady sharply and dropped her arms. "Stop. That ghastly title is enough to make me wish to be deaf. Who am I but a prisoner in this place, with a title forced upon my head that I resent entirely? Only those who shall be my enemy can use it, and for once I do not want your worry to be vocalised. Whether you use my name or not is of little concern to me, but you must cease in the title. Swear it, now."

Clarice stumbled, unsure of what to say. "We are at court!" she blustered, clutching the goblet tighter. "I could not--"

The princess cut her off. "You must. You must swear or I cannot allow a differentiation to occur," she said firmly, standing closer to the fire. "I am overly fond of you and yet that does not render you safe. I could shield you with my body and that too would not keep you safe; no, it must be done through your words."

"I do not understand--"

"Swear that you shall never use the title, the one forced upon me by those who tore me from my home. Swear it, before this hearth, or I cannot promise you protection."

There was a look in her eye as she spoke that had Clarice's words fail. She could not be certain was the look was of - perhaps pain, sorrow and even a little hope? - but the ferocity of the words drew forth a warning that though she could not understand the why behind it, knew enough to take it seriously. It was a warning that chilled her bones and for a moment she had the idea of death, a fleeting glimpse of a scene to come, but that faded as she cautiously approached the princess, the goblet now discarded on the floor. "I cannot use your name but I swear that I shall not use your title, or any of the other manners of address that fall beneath that title. As your faithful lady, I swear to never use them," she promised, her voice small thanks to the fear that had touched her.

A smile graced the princess. "Then you shall be protected," she said before the look faded and her knees buckled and Clarice was able to see that her hand had been thrust into the flames, and as the princess lay sprawled far too close to the dancing fire, she could see the blisters created a pattern, a binding promise that she knew nothing of as she crouched over the unconscious girl, calling out for help as she tried to rouse her.