Chapter 8 - Idynn

Soon, it was time for me to be fitted for the wedding dress.

Navhëlm custom states that the couple must be fitted for their wedding garments together, but there were several reasons why no one wanted the Prince and I in the same room: I was still unused to the ways of royalty, so the less I interacted with the Prince, the better, and… no one knew exactly how the Prince would react to me.

To be safe but still stick to tradition, King Odern commanded that the fitting occur in the same room but with screens set up so the Prince would not have the chance to speak to me, nor I to him.

Relief washed over me when I heard the news. Getting fitted for a dress while pretending to be a princess would be much easier without the distraction that the Prince posed. Right?

Wrong.

Tailors and seamstresses bustled around me, holding up colourful bolts of cloth and lengths of thick, luxurious fur, each more expensive than the last. I was in a shift and the fireplace was on the far end of the room, so in between trying on different styles, I was freezing cold.

I was poked and prodded and pinched. Twice, a sewing pin stabbed straight through the cloth and into my skin, and I nearly fell off the raised platform I was teetering on more times than I could count.

Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to the Prince. Was he also struggling like me? Did that stony expression ever crack when a pin jabbed into his side? I imagined being one of the seamstresses making a mistake like that.

He would probably behead me.

Mirea was in the opposite wing, far away from the prince as her father demanded. So, all I had for company was Safine Wen, one of her other maids.

Safine lounged on a comfortable chair, feet propped up on a stool and hands wrapped tight around a warm mug, all while watching me get examined and fitted like a prize calf. Where I was lanky and clumsy, Safine was graceful and poised like the noblewoman she was raised to be, with thick brown hair, high cheekbones, and a tilt to her chin that always made it seem like she was looking down on you, even if she was a full head shorter than me.

But she was a lowly maid, just as I was.

'Wen,' I moaned, resisting the urge to jab my elbow into the face of a particularly handsy tailor, 'get me out of here.'

She shot me a smug smile. 'You might have avoided this if you and the Princess had been punctual to the welcome, Bruilde.'

'OW!' I yelped as a seamstress all but ripped a length of fur from around my neck. 'It is not my fault! How could I—'

Remembering that the Prince was just a few flimsy screens away, I lowered my voice. 'It was by the Princess's command! Just—urgh!—just get me out of here.'

She tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear, unconvinced.

Safine's parent came from Yihe and settled in Navhëlm. She was no on speaking terms with them, especially after she came to work at the castle. I'd always suspected that she was envious of the closeness between the Princess and I.

'Wen, please!'

She exhaled heavily, satisfied at last with my grovelling. 'Fine.'

Safine snapped a series of instructions to the floundering staff. They had paused their poking to argue over some discarded fur, but once they heard Safine, they stood at attention. The chaos neatened itself and quietened as the seamstresses and tailors jumped into action.

Now that it was less noisy, I strained to see if I could hear any sounds from the Prince's side, but there was nothing.

Slowly, my dress took shape—black and blue wool in Navhëlm colours, edged with silver thread and lined with white fur. The same fur I'd seen on the Princess's dress that fateful morning. Silver buttercups and oak leaves bloomed along the long sleeves and up the neckline.

It was incomplete but the idea was very much there. I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was still undone and my face bare, but the girl in the dress who stared back… she fell short of Princess, but at least she didn't look like an anxious maid anymore.

It was beautiful.

Safine circled me. After a long, tormenting few seconds, she nodded.

Just like that, it was complete. I quickly stripped and thanked her. She rolled her eyes, but I caught the satisfied quirk of her lips.

Finished. I still couldn't hear anything from the Prince's side, so now I needed to leave. I poked my head out from between the screens, hoping that I could make it before he—

A shout and the sound of glass shattering pierced the air.

Startled, I jumped back. The screen in front of me fell.

Prince Adenos pushed several of his own screens aside, sending them clattering to the floor. He strode out partially clothed, his jacket clenched in his fist. He was only wearing a pair of dark trousers and an undershirt.

And holding a sheathed sword.

There was a thunderous look on his face. I shrank back subconsciously.

A Navhëlm tailor followed, an elderly man with grey hair. On his heels was a guard wearing a Soneran uniform.

'Your Highness, if you would—'

Prince Adenos spun on his heel. His sword spun in a bright arc as he drew and pointed it at the tailor.

'Y-your Highness!' The tailor raised his hands, trembling.

'Stay where you are. I will not go through with this.'

For a dizzying second, I thought he was talking about the marriage. Then my hopes were crushed when he continued.

'Alter a set of clothes that I brought. You have the measurements.'

The room was silent. The staff tending to me watched, eyes wide, at the scene unfolding before them.

The elderly tailor wrung his shaking hands. 'But, but it is—'

Prince Adenos snarled, 'I do not care. Use these or I will commission a suit made from your skin instead.'

The tailor gulped, trembling. The Prince stepped closer as if to threaten him again.

'Stop.'

The Prince's gaze shot to me.

I squeaked. I hadn't meant to say that aloud and not addressed to him! I wanted to calm my nerves, but before I knew it, the word had burst from my lips.

The sword was still in the Prince's hand, the bright blade reflecting the firelight. My mouth went dry as I felt his gaze on me.

When he raised his hand, I flinched. But all he did was fling the jacket at the elderly tailor and sheathe his sword in a single smooth motion.

As he turned on his heel to leave, his eyes met mine one more time. I froze and clutched the edge of my dress. Something flickered in his expression. Then it was gone, and he swept out of the room, his Soneran guard following without a second glance.

I had to force myself to breathe.

Safine came up behind me to rest her chin on my shoulder. 'Well,' she whispered, 'what a lovely husband.'