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message 1: by [deleted user] (last edited Jun 05, 2020 12:05PM) (new)

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Two weeks have passed since Palentia, and my visit to “You-Know-Who,” as Frederick Montague so eloquently put it, is nearing. I honestly have no idea who they are, which perhaps is all for the best.
Elizabeth is now my official Maid in Waiting, which means that my lady’s maid, Anne, was transferred to some other noble. I felt sorry for her, seeing the disappointment of being demoted in her face, but there was not much that I could do. I cannot risk having an unknown factor in such private quarters as my bedroom, and I have even told the maids not to clean inside my closets. My parents disapprove, of course, but the fact that I have a Maid in Waiting will most likely keep them at bay for some time.
I have a rare day off today, and haven’t gotten up from bed yet. I am still dressed in my nightgown, something that Elizabeth is both quick to notice and quick to tease me about.
“Your breakfast, your Imperial Highness,” she says, setting down the tray on my bed, the corners of her lips twitching. I would’ve normally gone down to our breakfast table to eat, but a free day calls for breakfast in bed.
Elizabeth gives a low curtsy, like a common maidservant, and I can’t help but smile. And play along, of course. “You have given me my breakfast. Go now, girl,” I reply, imitating the pompous way my mother speaks to the servants. I turn my chin up and wave my hand at her.
And that’s when we both dissolve into laughter. We spend the rest of the morning talking, while I eat my breakfast. Or, more accurately, while I eat my breakfast and she steals pastries from me.
When all that’s left of my food are pie crusts and fruit seeds, she starts work on her designs, sketching summer day dresses. We both refuse to get out of bed, and Elizabeth has, rather scandalously, loosened her corset. I watch her as she works. Watching the light flooding through the windows catch on her hair, making it look like the fires of the deepest passions. Watching as her brush glides across the paper, somehow wholly confidant and completely unsure at the same time. Watching the twinkle in her eyes, making them look warm and comforting and as bright as the sun, despite the darkness of their color.
She is her happiest when she is designing and being able to do it freely has made her radiant. This palace, with its magnificent architecture and gold plating, pales in comparison to her.
Elizabeth looks up and catches me staring. I quickly avert my gaze, but not fast enough. She laughs, and it’s a wonderful sound, and I can’t help but laugh a little, too.
"What do you think—" she turns her sketchbook around to me "—about this one?"
I lean in closer and immediately fall in love with the dress. It's white with pale blue flowers, and soft yellow accents. Light and dainty, a breath of summer. "It’s beautiful," I breath.
"I thought you'd like it. It would be perfect for when you leave to go visit the ‘farmers,’" she says, waving air-quotes in the air.
"Is there going to be enough time to make it?"
"Oh, I'll have enough time. Leave that part to me, dear princess." She starts furiously scribbling down notes on materials and colors and whatnot.
I hesitate, unwilling to interrupt her work, but speak anyway, a thought tugging at my mind. “Elizabeth?”
“Hmm?” she says, not looking up from her work.
“I have a, ah, request for you.”
That catches her attention. She makes eye contact, eyebrows raised. “And what could the Crown Princess of Oriande request of her lowly Maid in Waiting, a mere baron’s daughter?”
"I'd like you to go with me. To visit the ‘farmers.’" I copy her air-quotes motion. “If you don't want to, that's fine," I add quickly.
She gives me a wide smile. "I'd love to. I think it sounds fun!"
I return the smile. “With you there, it couldn’t be anything else. I’m really glad you’re coming, Elizabeth, and saving me from my doom of loneliness.”
“Ah, the downfall of so many.”
We sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company. I listen to her write dimensions and see the sun shift through her hair.
"You don't have to call me Elizabeth, you know,” she says suddenly, before laughing to herself.
"What's so funny?"
"You're the only one who calls me Elizabeth. Your mother, the heartless queen of Oriande, calls me Eliza. Why don't you?"
I shrug. "I honestly don't know.” I pause, then continue. “I guess I just didn't want to act desperate. You are my favorite person I've ever met, but I have barely known you for two weeks. I didn't want to make you feel like I was trying to be your best friend. Unless you want me to be your best friend. If so, you will hear no complaints from me." Oh my god, I’m rambling. I shift in my seat, unfamiliar with being so honest with another person.
She senses my discomfort, and moves up closer to me, leaving her paints dangerously close to staining my coverlet. Her arms twitch as though she wants to give me a hug, but thinks better of it. I almost wish she had, irregardless of the rules of society. But her intense stare is enough to reassure me. “Eira, wanting a friend is not desperate. And, I do consider you to be my best friend. So never, ever, utter those kinds of words to me again. Understand?”
I smirk. “Yes, Miss Montague.”
She rolls her eyes. “Now, you mustn't call me Elizabeth anymore. It’s much too stuffy for me. Call me Eliza, Lizzy, Beth, whatever you want.”
"I think I'll go with Eliza. Say, Eliza, would you care to show me some more of your designs? They're all so pretty."
We move back to where she was sitting before, careful not to disturb the paints, and stay there for hours, taking our meals in my room. Looking at the pages in her sketchbook, thinking, and talking. So this is what it's like to have a friend, someone who understands, truly understands you, I think. I like it very much.
It is around one o'clock in the morning before we decide to call it a night. I would normally spend my free afternoons and evenings out in the palace grounds, but, with Eliza, I feel as though I have spent all of summer in this one day. Before she retires to her quarters, she pulls out a wooden box from under my bed.
It is simple and dusty, and barely large enough to hold my jewelry, but my intrigue is caught immediately by its large silver lock. Eliza sets it on my bedside table and gestures for me to open it. She hands me a key stowed away, again, rather scandalously, in her corset. “What?” she snaps, seeing my amused look. “It’s the safest place to hide things.”
I fit the key into the lock, and it clicks open. The wood creaks as I open it, and inside there is a set of three polished silver daggers. They are ornately carved, beautiful enough to be sculptures on their own. I pick one up, the leather grip fitting perfectly in my hand, and am surprised at the craftsmanship.
They are lighter than any of the daggers that I used when training, yet are balanced enough to give me complete control. It’s beautiful, and deadly. The kind of knife that would slip under armour and kill you before you take another breath.
I place the dagger back in the box, and that's when I notice the locket. It's hidden beneath one of the knives, and something in me begs to rip it open. As I go to pick it up, Eliza's smile falters. What could be inside this locket, I think to myself, that could make a girl made of sunshine stop smiling?
I open the dainty little heart and see a violet tablet inside. I know what it is. It's made from anaraberries, the most poisonous fruit in the country. Dead as soon as the juice touches your lips. Dead before you hit the ground.
"A safety precaution. In case something happens. I'm sorry," Eliza says softly.
"There's nothing to be sorry about. I understand," I reply, and I do. I understand it entirely.
"Let's just hope you'll never need it," Eliza rubs my shoulder, but drops her hand quickly, the first time I’ve been touched in a long time. She murmurs a farewell before going to her chamber through a connecting door. She usually goes home, but tonight she stays in preparation for our journey. Despite the fact that she’s in a separate room, I can feel her presence and am comforted by it.
After she leaves, I stow the box under a loose floorboard under my bed, and climb back in. I try to fall asleep, but my thoughts run wild. I will leave the palace in three days to go outside the gates. But I don't know what to expect, and that scares me. I've always been two steps ahead of everyone else, but now it seems like people are catching up to me. This is a new world, and I'm an outsider to it all.


Amanda Artist Cat (amandawholovesbooks) It's wonderfully written, Bea! It makes me wish I had a friend like Eliza *Dreamy eyes*


message 3: by [deleted user] (new)

Same. I love Miss Sunshine!


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