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It was after Elena knocked her goblet over for the third time that she accepted the whole feast to be a failure on her end. Everyone was nice about it, assuring her it was no issue and dealing her only smiles as they chanced to refill her goblet once more. But she was the only one to have spilled anything all night, and their assurances quickly wore thin. Murky red stains now heartily blotted over her skirts, and Elena knew she had been a fool for thinking it would be any different.
She hardly let herself dwell on the incident of her entrance— supposed to be a wondrous reintroduction of King Godwyn’s heir to the highpeople of the neighboring kingdoms. Had she not stepped over her skirts and nearly broken her nose over the marble floors, Elena was sure it would have seemed quite grand, too. It was no fault of the gown, after all, that she could not handle a hemline even an inch close to her toes, nor that the seamstress had innocently thought to give this one a train and so much silk-lace trim the she felt half-woman and half-curtain. But despite it all, her own poor handle on hems and goblets had ruined it.
And what had they truly expected? Elena was Elena— no curse could replace that, nor would an audience of nobles possibly hope to be impressed by her.
Oh, she could hardly bring herself to look upon their guests, though her father brought her into his conversations frequently enough that it was fairly unavoidable. She did not dare look too directly across the table, especially, for fear that Princess Mithian would be looking back at her.
Mithian’s presence had been something of a surprise, both to Elena and her father. King Rodor had introduced her with his own grand arrival, announcing that, as their kingdoms had long been allies, it seemed fitting that their heiresses should at last acquaint themselves with each other. Mithian, standing at her father’s side, had curtsied so elegantly that Elena found herself entranced and entirely floored.
Elena’s Ladies-in-Waiting, less fazed, had cried out with joy and rushed to greet the princess, and for the sake of decorum, Elena shook herself from her stupor and curtsied politely back. Now at the feast, with her ladies seated a table away, there was no buffer between her foundering and Mithian’s judgement.
But though Elena did her best to avoid the other princess’ attention, it seemed that Mithian was even more devoted to talking with her.
“Your dress is quite fine, Princess Elena,” she said, voice rich and genuine. “I have admired the embroidery all evening. Did you do it yourself?”
Elena started at Mithian’s voice, and she cast a furtive glance away from her food to find the other princess’ bright, brown eyes fallen curiously upon her. She looked quickly back to her plate.
“Thank you, but it was not my own craft,” she said one hand instinctively coming to trace the floral patterns stitched into the pale satin of her sleeve. “Lady Mara made it for me as a thank-you gift for joining my company of handmaidens.”
“Well, she has a wonderful eye for color— the lilac suits you well,” Mithian told her. Elena could only mutter out more thanks, embarrassed and charmed all at once. She added, “Your ladies are all very kind. It must be nice, to have such fair company at court.”
“They are excited by your visit, My Lady,” Elena replied, despairing at how harsh her words sounded out of her mouth. “I am admittedly not much for their fine company.”
Really, that was inaccurate— her Ladies-in-Waiting had become quite close friends to her after the foundation of their ranks, and she knew they were the only reason she knew anything at all about noble comportment after her curse. But that did not mean the allure of a proper princess in the castle was any less enticing to them than Elena, who spilled over her own feet and talked too fast and seemed barely fit to inherit an entire kingdom.
Her father laughed at something King Rodor said, and Elena picked at the food on her plate, glad that he, at least, could find some joy in the evening. That he may be embarrassed by her was not a thought that concerned her until her curse was lifted but, but now the thought plagued her every blunder. Despite her fears, Godwyn never gave any indication of shame— only a pride most vexing to her.
“...now the season has begun to turn towards spring, I am sure Elena will be out on her horse more often,” her father said with a grin aimed at her in response to some comment Elena had not heard.
She nodded, turning her attention back to the table. “I do hope so.”
“Do you ride often, My Lady?” Mithian asked, leaning slightly over her plate as if entirely interested to hear about it.
Elena nodded, “It is a popular hobby among the ladies here, Princess.”
‘And you cannot trip over your own slippers on horseback,’ she added, just for herself. When another beast could perform her movements and she could get away with wearing more manageable skirts, Elena had found it far easier to compose herself.
“She has taken a special liking to it recently,” her father supplied, “and if you will trust the judgement of a parent, I will tell you she has attained quite masterful skill in the practice.”
He sounded pleased to say it, and that made Elena’s face heat up. All she could do was shrug under the agreeing sounds of the courtiers around her and Mithian’s curious gaze. “I… it is a fun pastime, is all. Do you ride as well, my lady?”
“Voraciously, yes!” Mithian nodded, her zeal eliciting some chuckles from those around them. “My father brought me hunting since I was but a girl, and I found a great love for journeys to and from the woods, almost more than the chase itself.
“I was gifted my horse by a visiting merchant-lord on my twelfth birthday— a lovely dun palfrey the merchant was hoping to sell to our stable-master for use by our knights. He seemed to deem me worthy of such a beast,” she explained, a fond smile tempting up the edges of her mouth. For reasons she could not place, Elena was horribly mesmerized by the sight, only belatedly remembering to nod and make some noise of proof that she was listening.
“What is his name?” she asked.
“Hengroen— Father suggested it, and I quite liked it; its a strong name, I think,” Mithian said. “He is reaching his older years now, but still lives up to the title quite valiantly. He is one of my longest and dearest of companions.”
“I did not have a horse of my own until very recently, so I would know little of such a bond,” Elena explained. “I was rather unfit on a saddle most of my life, and it seemed more... economical to let me borrow one of Father’s until I proved a more dedicated interest in the activity. The fine girl I have now suits me well, I think.”
“What is she called?” Mithian asked.
Before Elena could so far as open her mouth to reply, her father and his men erupted into laughter. Lord Gui, the advisor sitting to Elena’s left, clapped her shoulder as he chuckled around a gulp of wine. “The great wit of our time, this one!”
“No other names came to mind!” she snapped, to which Lord Gui only shook his head and continued to chuff his amusement into his goblet. Indeed, the well-worn retort was barely convincing.
She looked back to Mithian. The princess’s crystalline eyes cast their light about the men, amused and curious all at once, and Elena only flushed further. “I call her Hildie— it’s short for Grunhilda.”
The lords laughed again, and Elena ducked her head away from Mithian’s pleasantly confused look, explaining further. “My old nursemaid was called Grunhilda. She was… unpopular amongst the court.”
“Oh,” Mithian hummed, nodding with an even more intrigued gleam to her eye. “Well, I should like to meet your Hildie! Might I go riding with you tomorrow? My Hengroen would appreciate a trot about the grounds too, I am sure.”
“Oh! I-” Elena began, stuttering to a halt as the other princess’ words caught up to her. She wanted to ride with her?
Instinctively as she wished to say no— insist that Mithian's time was better spent with someone else. But... she could not deny the sincerity in Mithian's tone and her own, inexplicable excitement to take up more time under her sparkling attention. She could hardly say no.