A Woven Attachment
Chapter 12
Rap, rap, rap! A loud knocking resounded from the Golden Threads door. Emaline rarely received visitors, and especially rarely at the crack of dawn. Throwing her favorite paisley shawl around her thin shoulders, Emmy hustled from the loft where she slept to the door, all while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As her bare feet pitter pattered across the cold wooden floor, the door rapped three more times.
What is all this racket about?
“Coming, coming!” Emmy shouted before opening up the door.
She was met with a pale complexion, flowing raven hair, and crimson eyes. Her expressionless face mirrored that of a porcelain doll, though her stature surpassed Emmy’s. She tilted her head a fraction to the right, looked Emaline up and down and said in a dry tone, “I thought you were a seamstress?”
Emmy’s jaw dropped. Any onlooker would have been amused by the polar opposites before them. One stone faced, the other expressive to a fault. Aghast, Emmy clutched her shawl closer to her in a flustered attempt to cover her old nightgown. What did this high-and-mighty visitor expect? Even seamstresses enjoyed a cozy nightgown or two. Emmy eyed her suspiciously; she was certain they’d never met – or even seen each other before – yet she was already yapping like a farmer’s first-rate rooster.
What a very rude woman! And at my doorstep!
“What can I do for you, miss?” Emmy choked out, biting her lip in an effort to suppress the uncivil remarks she felt dancing around the tip of her tongue. The sun behind them began its ascent above the horizon, leaving its amber-hued rays to illuminate her visitor—giving her an altogether unearthly glow. Even Emmy had to admit that she was stunningly beautiful in all manners. Every aspect, from her shiny locks to her pointed scarlet boots, bespoke elegance.
“I see that my fool of a brother has failed to inform you of our appointment. How disappointing.”
Emmy gave her a bewildered stare. First of all, she didn’t know where this lady received her education from, but where she was from an “appointment” would imply a mutually agreed upon arrangement. Second, what was this nonsense about a brother?
I barely receive any customers at all, let alone men! Besides, most men in Falworth don’t give two hoots about their attire.
Utterly befuddled, she stubbornly gave up her mental gymnastics and asked, “Pardon, but who might that be?”
“Prince Yuki Clarion of Falworth; I believe you’re acquainted. I am Princess Celia Clarion. Please pardon the informal introduction” Her slender gloved hand delicately touched her chest. The lace on her gloves alone would cost the entire inventory of her shop.
In a second, Emmy’s squinty eyes grew to saucers as she took note of her fine attire and the two Royal Guards looking on from a stone’s throw away.
Jumping biscuits!
“Forgive me, please come in!” Emmy ushered the ice princess into her workshop.
As Princess Celia entered her humble workshop, Emmy frantically cleared some space by the window, where her two favorite sitting chairs were covered in mounds of cloth. Emmy wasn’t what one would call organized per-se, though she would fiercely declare that her chaos was an organized chaos. Yet, even Emmy knew that in the eyes of an imperial princess, surely her “organizational system” looked absurd. As Emmy furtively tidied around her, Celia remained frozen mere steps from the door, eyes slowly taking in the sights with an utterly neutral look on her face.
“It’s lovely,” Celia said.
Emmy whirled around, her hands full from carrying yesterday’s tea pot and toast to the sink. Did she just call my workshop lovely? Emmy inched forward, eyeing her with doubt.
In a seamless move, Celia retrieved a small mahogany box from, seemingly, thin air and held her outstretched arm toward Emmy. After squeaking out an “oh” Emmy hesitantly retrieved it from her. Celia was so expressionless, that it made Emmy feel quite uneasy. Upon Celia’s curt nod she apprehensively opened the box. As it creaked open, Emmy’s eyes glowed.
Jewels! So many delightful jewels!
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laid eyes on such a lovely lot of jewels, and with the inflation, she wasn’t sure when she’d see it again. The small box contained two pardots, five fire opals, a handful of amber, six rubies, and one enormous sapphire, all uncut—a Yarn Spinstress’ dream! The initial shock soon passed as Emaline remembered the giver.
“I can’t take these! I’m very grateful, but the gesture is too great.” She may be struggling, but this bounty was too much. Besides, they just met. She wasn't about to accept such a handsome gift before she’d so much as lifted a needle and thread.
Celia cocked her head without changing her expression. “Did you read the note?”
The note?
Tucked at the bottom of the dove silk-lined box was a small piece of paper folded carefully.
She dexterously opened it and read softly aloud, “Miss Emaline, please receive these as a token of my goodwill for our blooming friendship. My requests have doubtlessly depleted your supply. Please save these for a rainy day. Yours, Yuki Clarion.”
Yours? Realizing that she had read aloud his intimate letter, her face flushed and she quickly folded it and put it back in the container. She couldn’t let Celia get the wrong idea about them.
What crown prince would write such a familiar letter to a common town woman?
She let out an audible sigh. But if she was learning anything about the crown prince in question, it was how simultaneously thoughtful and extravagant he could be. It was almost as if he knew her plight.
“Don’t worry, I’d sigh in disgust too.” Celia’s voice snapped her back to reality, her candid words catching her off guard. Without thinking Emmy let out a nervous giggle, the absurdity of it all reducing her composure.
“Forgive me!” Emmy shouted, realizing how rude her sigh must appear. She quickly touched a finger to her lips, as if to silence them.
However, when she met Celia’s gaze, she saw something. Her face looked different than when she first arrived. In fact, the corner of her lips had tucked up into… A smile? It was the most dainty smile she’d ever seen, without a solitary tooth making an appearance, but a smile nonetheless. This microscopic change made Celia appear slightly softer and less intimidating than before.
Could she be… making a joke about her brother? Well, there’s only one way to find out.
“Your Highness, forgive me for making you listen to such a nonsensical letter. I assure you, your brother and I are merely business acquaintances.”
“I think he must like you very much,” she said flatly, causing Emmy’s cheeks to flush. “That, or you’ve discovered some terrible flaw of his and you’re holding it against him.”
Emmy blinked quickly and opened her mouth to defend herself, but no words came out.
But then the tiny corners of her mouth raised again.
Let the record state, the porcelain princess has made a joke! Perhaps the siblings aren’t so dissimilar after all.
Smiling heartily herself, she let loose a giggle. “Indeed!”
“That aside, the clothes you’ve fashioned for my brother are resplendent. I’d like to have a trousseau tailored to me. I can’t have my own brother usurping me when it comes to fashion.”
“Of course, what trait would you like me to imbue them with? Charm? Beauty?”
Celia flicked her hair off her shoulder and crossed her arms decisively.
“Wit.”
A great smile blossomed on Emmy’s face at Celia’s response. While few ladies had the coin for her elevated offerings, those who did all had the same request. Beauty. Young and old all sought to be more beautiful, more captivating, for a myriad of reasons. Celia’s bold declaration was like diving into a crystal clear lake on a summer’s day. It was utterly refreshing.
It was decided, they would be friends, royalty or not. Of course, her new friend’s muted countenance would take some getting used to.
“That wraps everything up for today,” Emmy said with pins in her mouth as she shook out Celia’s bottom hem. Over the past two weeks Celia arrived promptly at eight in the morning and stayed for one or two hours, watching Emmy work, updating her order, or occasionally filling in as a model for her.
Despite the early hour, Emmy was grateful for the company as her visitors were few and far between. If she desired human connection, she only needed to slip on her shoes and walk a few blocks to the town square. Nevertheless, there’s something about visitors that made her feel special, even though the two were near foils of the other.
Through the weeks, however, Emmy began to pick up on her subtle hints of emotion and was learning that, more than anything, Celia was always up for a battle of the wits. Emmy wondered what a conversion between the two siblings must look like. She doubted that Yuki was one to give up easily,
Who would be most likely to come out on top?
Lost in thought, Emmy’s stomach growled—loudly. Then Celia said the most wonderful words to her.
“How about lunch?”
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