Aster looks over at Seraphina when she remains silent. Maybe she was seeing wrong, but Seraphina seemed to look a tiny bit… regretful? “Please ignore what I just said, my lady. I misspoke.”

Aster keeps up with her stare, tilting her head to the side slightly for added effect. “No, no, please elaborate.”

Seraphina manages to meet her gaze for all of five seconds, before averting her eyes once more. “My lady, if I may say as much…”

“Yes?”

“… the dresses that you brought from home…”

“Mhmm?”

“…they’re rather out of season.” Seraphina looks up in surprise when Aster starts to laugh. “My lady?”

“Sorry, sorry, you were so hesitant that I thought you were going to say something much more serious. But you’re probably right,” Aster says, still smiling. “Gosh, I really do have much to learn, and not just about fashion.” 

Forget being crown princess material. The way Aster is now, she’s certain that she barely amounts to even a quarter of the lady she’s supposed to be.

They step into another hallway, this one warmer and significantly busier than the previous ones they’d passed. A server bearing a silver tray walks swiftly past them before disappearing past a set of dark double doors.

“Are you interested in fashion, Seraphina?” Aster asks, as they approach the entrance to the dining room.

“Somewhat, my lady.”

“That’s great!” Aster claps her hands together gleefully. “In that case, would you like to help me have a look at the rest of the dresses that Her Majesty prepared for me? I didn’t have the time to do so yesterday, and honestly, I don’t think I’d be able to tell which would be the best pick for me.”

Seraphina breaks into a slight smile. “I would be honoured to help you, my lady.”

As they come to a stop in front of the dining room, the slow realisation of what waits behind the gleaming wooden doors begins to numb Aster’s earlier glee.

The rest of the royal family.

Florian.

What face should she make once she sees him? How well could she pretend? These thoughts rattle around Aster’s skull as she draws in a quiet breath.

The sooner she gets this over with, the better.

She flashes Seraphina a quick smile. “See you later, Fina.”

Seraphina nods slightly. “Of course, my lady.”

Steeling herself, Aster faces forwards and pushes open the doors.

Winter sunlight filters through the wide windows, showering the dining room in soft white light. At the head of a long table sits the king, a man with curly brown hair and a furrow in his brow as he surveys a document. The queen is seated on his right, a porcelain teacup cupped in her hands as she sips from it daintily. In the seat beside her sits a young girl with golden hair, her hands reaching out for a bowl of fruit on the dining table. 

She must be the princess.

The darling angel of Lucrenz, or so her maids would claim. Faced with the real deal now, Aster thinks she can understand the reason for all their poetic waxing. Between the shimmering gold of the princess’ flaxen hair and her gleaming amber eyes, she’s the epitome of angelic. Like she’s been lifted straight out of the pages of a fairy tale, or right from the lovingly painted mosaics you can find on the sides of the handful of spirit shrines dotting the towns.

Aster stifles a smile as she watches Lucrenz’s darling angel wrinkle her nose at something in her bowl, before sneaking the offending berry onto her mother’s plate.

And Prince Florian… is nowhere to be seen at the dining table. Aster doesn’t know if she should be relieved or miffed.

“Aster.” The queen greets her warmly when she notices her, smile somehow making the room brighter than it already was. “Good morning. Did you have a good rest?”

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Aster says, dropping into a curtsy. “I did, thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I hope your room was to your liking.”

“It was. The flowers were especially lovely.”

The queen claps her hands together in delight. “Did we get them right? Solomon wrote to your father to ask for your preferences, so I suppose we couldn’t have gotten much wrong. But it’s still a relief to hear that.”

Aster can’t help sneaking a surprised glance at the king. His Majesty personally wrote to her father just to ask about that?

The king catches her in the act, a smile warming his features as he sets down his papers to regard her. “I’m glad they were to your liking,” he says. “Your father was rather extensive in his list.”

“Oh.” Aster can’t help the wave of second-hand embarrassment that washes over her. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Please, don’t be,” he rebuffs easily. “It just goes to show how much your father truly cares for you. Besides, I was the one who insisted to know.”

Her heart twinges at the mention of her father. It was difficult to feel touched about her father’s act of kindness, especially when things were still so… complicated, between them.

“Then you have my gratitude, Your Majesty,” Aster says.

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Aster. Please, join us for breakfast,” the king says.

A server pulls out the second chair to the king’s left; the first likely reserved for Florian. Aster takes the seat with a murmur of thanks.

She barely tastes her food as she eats. It’s a crying shame. Her first breakfast in the royal palace, and she’s too preoccupied with her stomach twisting itself into knots for her to even notice what’s on her plate.

A wooden creak floats through the room, Aster belatedly recognising it to be the sound of the doors to the dining room as they open. Her stomach lodges itself in her throat.

She doesn’t want to look.

But she has to.

Aster looks towards the entry, and wonders if she’s going to be sick.