As we finish with our picnic, Cerulean takes us back inside and we plan to separate. I will go off to find my father and take him to the shop, Cerulean will go see the queen. As we reach the corner of the hall, a well dressed woman steps into our path.
“Princess Marilla?”
“Good day to you both,” she says softly. Her eyes are dark and unfocused, her long slender yellow dress hangs soullessly from her shoulders and straight to her white flats.
“What is it? Why are you here and not with the Duke?” Cerulean asks. He holds an arm over me to keep me from approaching her, like she has some sort of disease.
I don’t want to approach her anymore than he doesn’t want me to.
I feel a bit bad for her.
“She’s here with me,” calls the Queen in a sing-song voice. She walks around her and links their arms.
Cerulean frowns. “Is this a joke? What would you need with her?”