A week had passed since I rode with the king, but I couldn’t get the moment out of my head. We spoke so freely, only for him to go cold and leave so quickly. It was a mistake on my part, I should’ve kept my guard up. He could’ve grown suspicious and…. 

Lying low was the only solution – waiting, and hoping he’d forget it altogether. The only issue is that it’s one thing after another.

“Morning, Your Highness,” Buckley said as she pulled the curtains to my bedroom open. Morning light peeked over the treeline, warming my room in perfect fashion. Heightened by the breakfast Buckley carried on a silver tray. 

She laid it beside me on the bed. Then stood there, swaying her feet, hands tucked behind her. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked. 

“I tried to get you out of it, My Lady, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She handed me a small pink letter, wax sealed with the initials F.W. - I ripped it open. The parchment smelled faintly of pine and the writing was perfect cursive. Decorating the devastating news: Lady Fabienne expected me for tea in an hour.

I fell back onto my pillows: Cleaning the castle banisters seemed more appealing than playing royal with her.

“Find me a dress, Buckley. Nothing too frilly.” 

“Yes.” 

Apparently I should’ve given more instructions than just ‘no frills.’ Nothing more than two layers. No high necks either. Still, she spent forever trying hats on me before deciding I looked better without one. In the end, she insisted on a daffodil colored dress with short sleeves. 

Then shoved me along the halls until we reached Fabienne’s sanctuary. A tight-knit gazebo, wrapped in twisting vines and flowers, with only five seats set around a stone table.

“Your Highness,” Fabienne exclaimed as she saw me. “Please, come sit.” 

Her dark skin glowed against her pink, gold-trimmed dress. Her curls fell elegantly down her back, and in proper fashion she wore a flowered tea hat. 

I took my seat beside her, and Buckley took her place behind me. Each woman had a servant stationed at her back, ready to pour tea or fetch whatever was needed. 

“Allow me to introduce my friends. This is Evelyn Ducart.” 

Evelyn’s gaze was as sharp as a raven’s, made even harsher by her pointed, silver-dipped glasses. “May I ask, what inspired you to wear such a gown? Is it the fashion of your kingdom?”

“Don’t mind her. She’s endlessly curious – no insult intended.” 

“I understand,” I said. “Where I’m from, it’s quite popular.”

“I’m sure anything you wear would be,” Fabienne laughed lightly. Tossing Evelyn a sugar-coated glare before gesturing to the next woman. “Ruby Wiplet. Her  great-grandmother designed almost every building you’ll see here.” 

“That’s quite impressive.” 

Lady Wiplet’s hair was woven into an array of braids. Though her gaze was focused on the bumbling of bees nearby. 

“And this is Sophie Sanhell,” Fabienne continued. “She joined our teas a few months ago, after the last ball. I saw her standing all alone without a single friend – it broke my heart. I simply had to take her under my wing.”

“How kind of you.”

Sophie had simple brown hair and a plain white dress. She sat stiffly, clutching onto her teacup like she’d stop breathing without it. 

“They’re holding another one,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry?” I said, leaning in.

Fabienne waved a hand. “A coming ball. I do hope you’ll attend – you’ll be expected, of course. I could introduce you to all the right circles.”

I simply nodded. Thankful that the tea was finally brought out. A pot for each servant and personal cup. 

“I’ve had a special blend made just for today, cinnamon and jasmine. But tell me, what’s your favorite tea? I’ll have it ready for next time.”

“Oh, I prefer fruitier blends.”

That wasn’t true. At least for Vivian, she loved anything disgustingly bitter. Yet, I wasn’t going to suffer that much. 

“Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll love this one just the same.” 

I blinked, and time couldn’t pass quick enough. Fabienne carried most of the conversation; they bounced between the latest gossip, achievements, rumours, fashion, and exploits. It was nothing like the chatter in the servants quarters.

Words always held weight – no matter who said them, yet here they carried power. Meaning beyond subtle. Hints I couldn’t read, only nod along to. 

I kept my mouth filled with cake and tea, hoping to keep my words to simple “yes,” and “no.” 

Buckley was always fast to refill my cup. But when Evelyn drew on about her freshly made parchments for Fabienne – ones she promised to make for me as well – I reached for the pot. Only to collide with Buckley’s hands as she reached for it too.

It crashed onto its side. 

Tea spilled across the table, soaking into mine and Fabienne’s lap. Her servants rushed to her side, dabbing and mopping up what they could. While the other women recoiled as if the tea might end them.

“I’m so sorry!” Buckley said, grabbing a cloth, frantically drying my dress. 

 Fabienne rose abruptly, pushing away her servants. “Do you know how long it took to make this dress? And you ruined it in an instant!”

She struck Buckley across the face.

Collins’s voice shouted in my mind. Telling me to stay quiet; to survive I couldn’t risk making enemies. The less attention the better, the safer. But as Buckley stumbled back, cradling her cheek as it reddened beneath her palm, her eyes filling with tears, something louder rose to meet it.

The late nights in Lionel’s castle. Where I – Winslet – the lowly castle servant took blame and punishment over miscooking a dinner or missing a speck of dust. Forced to lower my head and watch as other servants got similar treatment.

Only now, I was Princess Vivian Darnel of the Eastern Kingdom. And no one disciplines my servants but me.

I stood, and slapped Fabienne across the face.

“You have no right to strike my people. Their punishments are handled by me, and me alone. If you dare insult me again, I will take the matter directly to the king.”

“Your Highness, Lady Fabienne, please calm down,” Evelyn said. “It was all an accident. I'm sure we can enjoy the rest of our time together once the mess is cleaned. Isn’t that right, Sophie? Ruby?” 

Sophie shrank into her chair, lips pressed tight, while Ruby sat frozen in shock.

Evelyn’s shoulders fell, and she resigned to her seat. 

“I tried to be civil with you,” Fabienne said, her expression hardening, “I invited you into our circle, but clearly our tastes differ more than our preferences for tea.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with.”

“Then maybe your time would be better spent in the backrooms with the servants.” 

“Then perhaps the stables would suit you better!” 

I turned, taking Buckley’s hand, and led her away – out through the garden and back along the castle’s stone paths. Muttering unpleasant wishes upon the lady as I put distance between us. 

“I’m sorry, My Lady,” Buckley said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I told you how awful they can be, and I ruined everything. They’ll all hate you now because of me.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “No. No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have reached for the pot. It was your responsibility, and I….”

I stopped, gently wiping the tears from her cheek.

“Look at me,” I said softly. “Whatever those women do is their own choice. You did nothing wrong. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s get something cool on your face.”

“Okay…”