The Fitting

What was Donncahd's reason for arranging the meeting in the first place?

That's what she kept thinking about.

She rested her chin in one hand, staring down at the book she held in front of her face.

"A book of poems?" A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. "How fitting for a princess."

Rache turned her head to look at the speaker, raising an eyebrow.

Prince Donncahd stood beside her lounge, his eyes gazing at the book she held in her hands.

She lifted her hand, as if to turn a page, and then simply closed the book, setting it down.

"Not poetry." She informed him.

"No? What then?"

"The story of Aurania." She answered, honestly. "I'm trying to...Remind myself of home."

The truth was, she just needed to know more about Aurania, because if it ever came up, there was no way she could excuse the princess of Aurania not knowing...anything about it.

She knew exceptionally little about Aurania before Donncahd's destruction of it, even now.

Her gaze flickered back to the book then.

"Another book I read said that the country of Sidera has never known the kindness of sunlight."

Donncahd's expression hardened into something between skepticism and annoyance, and he crossed his arms.

"How do you imagine Sidera grows its crops without sunlight?"

She tapped her finger on her cheek thoughtfully. "With magic?"

It was a real enough question, because she'd never read anything that explained that detail.

She didn't know anything about this world.

About Sidera, other than what was in the book, and what little she'd gathered by observation during her trip here.

She didn't have time to research agriculture methods on top of trying to escape, and also learn things that the actual princess of Aurania would have learned.

Magic was a big part of the world of Auberon's Edge, though, so she saw no reason why it couldn't be magic.

Sidera seemed like the kind of nation that would very much brute force that kind of crop growth.

Donncahd shook his head.

It was less denial than disgust.

He turned away from her then, and started toward the door.

"Tomorrow you are to be fitted for your wedding dress. Try not to collapse. Else the hands of a cursed savage will have to drag your pathetic frame back to your feet."

She curled her fingers tightly into her skirt as he swept out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

According to the book, she was in no danger until after the marriage.

By all logic, that would maintain as long as he believed her to be Princess Airie.

But that cold anger she'd glimpsed in his eyes before he'd turned away...

Made her want to escape even more urgently.

***

The following morning, Rache found herself in a room surrounded by various sorts of cloths - lace and chiffon and velvet - among others.

She was greeted by a flurry of people. They brought out dozens of patterns and colors, each claiming how much it suited the delicate pale beauty of the princess of Aurania.

None of them listened to her as they flitted around her like moths around a flame. They insisted on inspecting her body's proportions and shape, poking and prodding at her gently enough, though without a care to her comfort or opinion on their suggestions.

There were seamstresses, tailors, and merchants aplenty, all doing their best to sway Rache's decision.

One held up a pale yellow silk, proclaiming the fabric's fineness - woven by spiders that lived on the tips of the tallest mountains - as if Rache wasn't currently staying in those same mountains, and as if she wanted anything to do with spiders anywhere near her.

Another had a gauzy veil that whispered across Rache's skin when it touched her - fabric that had been blessed by the local temple. It made her skin prickle uncomfortably, so she shied away from that one immediately.

"No, no, none of these are quite right..." A matronly older woman muttered, waving off a girl who approached with yet another length of cloth. "Princess, let me fetch something special."

Special, in this context, proved to be a rich, heavy fabric - thick velvet embroidered with flowers and birds in shades of red, orange, pink and purple.

It had a shimmer to it, like the sunrise caught on water. It looked soft, and it rippled against her skin when she ran her fingertips over the fabric.

"This one is too colorful." One of the tailors clicked his tongue, waving his hand. "She'll look even more washed out in this."

"You're a colorblind fool." The woman retorted. "Putting something pale on this poor girl will turn her into a ghost standing alongside our striking prince. This will give her form!"

The argument devolved into a fight between the two.

Rache watched, numbly, as they bickered, and then escalated their battle by rolling up portions of the cloth and smacking each other with them.

It wasn't long before the entire room had dissolved into chaos as they argued amongst themselves, leaving Rache to stand idly by.

Was she really...

Witnessing a fist-fight - and fabric bolt fight - between tailors?

In the middle of a palace?

A voice cut through the din like a clap of thunder. An explosion that drowned out the noise so completely that it might have been silence, and yet was not a shout.

"Is there a problem here?"

Donncahd.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Everyone's head snapped toward him, and he was immediately bowed and groveled to by all of those who had moments ago been enthusiastically beating one another.

Donncahd tilted his head, eyes slowly scanning over the room.

His gaze settled on her.

She was...

Halfway buried in several different bolts of cloth, all with clashing colors and designs.

For a long moment, silence stretched across the room.

One of the tailors suddenly sprung forward and reached for the cloth strewn across her. "I apologize I-"

"Silence." Donncahd's voice cut through the air like a knife, quieting the tailor immediately.

The man shifted, awkwardly, his eyes darting toward the prince but otherwise remaining silent.

"One of you will explain what has caused this disgraceful delay, and if any of you speak over the other I'll have you all executed." Donncahd stared around the room.

His red gaze made his words feel more like a promise than a threat.

A shiver rolled down Rache's spine, but she forced herself not to show any reaction, lest she draw more of his attention.

No one responded.

For a long moment, Donncahd remained silent.

When he moved, the entire room flinched.

"Answer." He commanded.

It was almost a growl, but somehow lacked any of the implied fury it should have contained.

"It was a dispute."

She startled herself. That was her own voice.

Donncahd's eyes fixed on hers.

...But. She was the only one who could risk speaking. The prince wouldn't execute her over something that frivolous.

She clenched her fists under the fabric that lay over her lap.

"A dispute?" His voice was cool. Quiet. Dangerous.

The tailors looked pale, watching her with as much fear as they did Donncahd.

As if she had power over this man to cause them harm.

"The..." She pressed her lips together a moment, before continuing. "The union of Sidera and Aurania is momentous. The princess should look flawless. Don't you think?"

She didn't have any desire to cause these servants harm.

So it was easier to imply she was the source of the trouble.

He stared at her for a moment, as if considering.

Finally he shook his head. "Dress her in yellow. She likes the sunlight."

And then he left.

She blinked, staring at the door where he'd been standing.

Was that...

An insult?

Or...?

Or a joke?

She frowned, deeply.

...Did Donncahd have a sense of humor?

Probably. But it was likely far darker than that.

So it was an insult.

A dig at her about Sidera's lack of sunlight that she'd mentioned earlier.

Despite that, the tailors around her took his comment deadly serious. They rushed her, grabbing her arms and legs, practically leaping at her as if in a frenzy.

Before she could protest or say anything else, her world became a whirlwind of color and shapes as she was stripped naked.

Several yards of pale yellow fabric were draped across her form, and pins were shoved into them, stinging her skin as they did.

A needle was poked through the fabric - she barely felt a prick - and then-

Pulled up-

Thrust through-

A tug on the thread.

Another.

And another.

A flurry of motion.

And then, her body was uncovered - the skirt of the dress falling down and sweeping from side to side with the motion.

And-

She looked...

Lovely.

It wasn't the complete, finished dress, of course.

She could tell that because she understood the process of making a dress was far longer and more involved than that, even if she'd never had a fitting like this before.

But the...

Prototype dress?

She didn't know the word for it.

What they put on her to measure her and determine the style they would use, it already looked lovely to her.

They swirled the excess around her body - tying it at her waist with a wide sash - and pinned the loose bits in place.

From a distance, it looked like she was wearing a cloud of soft, shining silk.

And she looked beautiful in it.

More importantly, the color.

The soft, sunshiny yellow.

It made her skin look paler than usual, but her cheeks seemed rosy, and her hair appeared glossy.

It made her feel warm, like sunlight was really touching her skin.

It reminded her of Aurania.

Perhaps Donncahd was making a cruel joke at her expense when he chose the color yellow, but...

She actually did like it.