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As Batian sat, the Boy stood, moving to stand behind me as was technically protocol for him and all the Catalysts. Sure enough, Batian’s Catalyst was already standing there, her back plastered against the wall. Heights must not be her thing. She looked a little green.
“I didn’t believe them when they said you were fully dressed for dinner at eight in the morning, yet here you are.” He looked me up and down his smile fading to a glare at the smudges on my lap. “You know, the fabric of that dress is worth a fortune in Turin. Can you keep anything clean?”
He ran his gloved fingers over the smudges and sighed, I batted him away and resisted the urge to shove him, something that was probably too dangerous considering how high up and precariously perched we were.
“You sound like Mother. But, don’t worry, I have no intention of wearing this dress again, so I could care less. Besides, didn’t you just seat your royal bottom on hundred year old dirt? You’re one to talk.” I smirked at him and popped another blueberry in my mouth, taking extra time to run my smudged fingers over the fabric that time. I didn’t look away from him for a second as I did it.
“You’re a child.” He said it like a scold, but I didn’t miss the laugh in his voice.
“No, I’m a princess, can’t you tell?” I gestured toward my dress and gave him a grin; sure I had blueberry skins on my teeth. “Don’t worry about the dress, they can sell it and turn it into handkerchiefs if the fabric is that expensive. Perhaps if you say it belonged to the sickly princess, it’ll fetch more.”
I picked at the embroidering near the waist. It was pretty. I truly had no idea how much it truly cost. I had been locked up in my tower long enough that I didn’t truly know the value of things, anyway.
Maybe, if I did run away I could have sold it and bought a farm or something.
Me on a farm. Something about that thought blossomed in my chest. I had spent so often in the gardens that being on a farm, without walls everywhere seemed like bliss. Open air, growing things. Perhaps I could learn to ride a horse.
I pushed the thought away.
“No one will buy handkerchiefs that look like they are covered in blood.”
“There is more than enough fabric to avoid that, even if it did look like blood, and it doesn’t. No blood looks purple.”
“Some blood does.” He spoke so low I barely heard him, the tone darker than I was used to from him.
“Whose blood is purple?” I didn’t want to know, especially not with how he was staring at it. The color was so deep. Maybe blood did dry that way. I really had no way of knowing, injuries do not happen often with wooden swords, and though I have my monthly bleed I had never seen any stains left behind.
“Fae blood,” he said after a moment, gloved fingers still hovering over the stains.
“How do you know what Fae blood looks like? They’ve been extinct for hundreds of years.” His eyes grew wide at my question, his blonde hair swooping over his forehead as he shook his head.
“You’re right, they have,” he sighed, pulling his fingers back to rest against the ledge of our seat. “What are you doing dressed like this anyway?”
I looked at him, I hadn’t missed the sudden change of subject. I would try to pull him back, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore, he was looking out over the city, his eyes pinching together as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud.
“I was going to go make a good impression,” I smoothed the dress out a bit, suddenly regretting the supposed blood stained skirt. “Show Mother how perfect I can be so she will get her head out of her ass about me attending your wedding.”
“Did you just say the Queen should get her head out of her ass?” He was chuckling again, the sound rich as I heard both his Catalyst and the Boy snicker.
“I did. Because she should.” She should do a lot of things.
“True or not, you are making my job to convince her to let you accompany us to my wedding harder when you do things like this.” He gestured toward the dress.
“Do things like dress the way she wants me to?” Good grief, was there no winning? Don’t wear my work dresses, don’t wear your Princess dresses…
“You are dressed like you are going to dinner.”
“What does that mean? Are there special clothes for dinner?” I laughed, but Batian blinked.
I guess there were special clothes for dinner. I had been barred from court for too long. I supposed, in some twisted way, Mother was right; I would embarrass them.
I sighed loudly and laid down on the walkway, legs still swinging over the edge of the turret.
“I’ll never impress her.” Batian said nothing, no calm reassurance or pat on my knee. He sat there, which wasn’t really reassuring. “How much did I upset her?”
Batian exhaled and ran his hand through his hair, his usual tell for bad news. Great. This was going to be disastrous.
“What exactly did you do this morning? She was… quite upset.” I guess my well thought out plan to impress her and get the invite to Batian’s wedding had spectacularly backfired.
