Chapter Twenty-Five: Hard Women

Previously: Veritas

 

The Queen granted the Princesses a lavish suite of rooms and eight maids in addition to their own. Aurélien also sent Mireille and Edith to attend them, while he and Thibault retired to his private sitting room for drinks.

 

"I can't do it," the Crown Prince said, head hanging down.

 

"Of course you can," Thibault assured him, pouring them both goblets of wine and filling them to the brim. "They're just convent girls. I know. My wife was a convent girl."

 

Aurélien shot him a look. "Your wife is a great beauty." 

 

"And so shall yours be," Thibault calmly insisted. "My cousin can work miracles. She did with Marguerite."

 

The Prince was skeptical. "You're saying Marguerite looks the way she does because of Mireille?"

 

"I'm saying... my wife was covered in dust and had straw in her hair when we met," Thibault said. He was exaggerating, of course, but he needed to. "Her hands were raw from scrubbing floors and working in the garden. Convent girls don't live the same lives we do, Your Highness. They rise before dawn and work hard until dusk. And on top of that, Wellenish girls train with weapons."

 

"But they're so thin," Aurélien mumbled, shuddering.

 

Thibault smiled. "A few weeks of Valeronnese cuisine and they'll be sure to fatten up."

 

***

 

"Your Highnesses," Mireille greeted, bowing low. "I am Viscountess Mireille du Maurier, and this is my companion, Edith of Ravensbridge. His Highness has sent us to tend to you."

 

Agnete's eyes lit up but Margrete remained cynical. "The Prince sent a Viscountess?" she chortled. "To do what?"

 

Mireille and Edith exchanged looks.

 

"Let's just say... I hope you got your rest last night," Mireille told them. "It's going to be a long day."

 

First, she had the maids bathe the Princesses from head to toe with hot water and lavender soap. The maids undid their braids and combed their hair. Then, Mireille took Edith's advice and had them scrubbed with sea salt and jasmine oil, just like at the spas of Auremer. The maids massaged their hands and feet with warm beeswax balm, then wrapped them in heated linen.  Lastly, Mireille had the Princesses soak in warm goat's milk while the maids applied clay to their faces and plucked their eyebrows.

 

The Princesses were disturbed. "This is enough milk for all the children in our old village," Margrete bit out, glaring at Mireille.

 

Agnete nodded in agreement. "And that salt was enough to last a butcher shop through the week."

 

Mireille smiled. She liked these women. She hoped whichever one became Queen would stay exactly as she was now. 

 

"You are both convent girls, are you not?" she asked, deftly side-stepping their observations.

 

Margrete eyed her warily. "What of it?"

 

"Oh, nothing," Mireille replied casually. "My cousin's wife was a convent girl. I admired her so much from the moment we met. I was raised at home, of course, but I like to think I would have done well in a convent."

 

Margrete looked her up and down. "I doubt that," she snorted.

 

Agnete glanced at her, then back at Mireille. "It's a lot of hard work," she added.

 

"Hard work makes hard women," Edith piped up, "which our kingdoms desperately need."

 

After the Princesses were cleaned and dried, Mireille and Edith personally dressed and adorned them.

"You are tall and dark-haired like my cousin's wife, the Duchess of Orvienne," Mireille said to Margrete. "I think you would wear her color well. Dark green for her," she told a maid.

 

"Winter colors would favor you, Highness," Edith suggested to Agnete. She held up a dress of blue-gray velvet embroidered in white and silver.

 

When the Princesses were dressed, Mireille opened a large wooden box in front of them. Their eyes widened, and they exchanged a fleeting glance, but they said nothing.

 

"Pearls are the official gems of my house," Mireille told them. "I was also recently in Orsyna, where I procured several diamonds. Diamonds are all the rage up there."

 

Margrete hesitated before admitting, "I always wanted to visit Orsyna." After a beat she added, "Is it true it always snows up there?"

 

Mireille shrugged. "Only about half the year."

 

When the Princesses were finally done, Mireille and Edith examined their handiwork. And it was perfectly good, except that underneath all the Valeronnese, they were still... them.

 

Stiff. Awkward. Uncomfortable.

 

"You will grow accustomed to our fashions," Mireille said, though she wasn't sure if she was talking to them or simply reassuring herself.

 

"You're both lovely," Edith told them. "Perhaps a brief walk in the gardens will help you get more comfortable in your new clothes."

 

The Princesses exchanged uncertain looks, but complied, following the Viscountess and her companion out to the royal gardens.

 

*** 

 

The Prince, Thibault, and a handful of other nobles were out walking in the early winter's cold. Everyone stopped talking when the Princesses emerged. Those with lesser ranks bowed, including Thibault.

 

"Join us for a walk, Highnesses?" he offered. He could feel Aurélien's whole body tighten beside him, but the Crown Prince said nothing, merely gesturing for the ladies to walk with him. Mireille and Edith trailed behind them like dutiful chaperones.

 

"I've never been to the Wellen Isles," Thibault was saying. "But I have done business with traders from Wellenmark."

 

"Our largest and most central island," Margrete said in her deep, strong voice, nodding briskly. "Our family seat is there."

 

"Is that where you grew up?" Aurélien asked her, but only after Thibault lightly elbowed him.

 

"We grew up on the isle of Valkenholm," Agnete said, "far in the snowy north, where the rye fields grow vast. It's the only island where they use rye flour to bake lebkuchen for the winter solstice." She had the lighter voice of the two, and an almost dreamy, whimsical manner of speech.

 

She's a poet, Mireille guessed, smiling.

 

"I don't believe I've ever had lebkuchen," Aurélien said simply, then looked at Thibault as though asking him to take over the conversation.

 

Agnete's eyes lit up. "I can bake it for you if you like," she said. Margrete shot her a look.

 

Aurélien can't choose Agnete, Mireille realized suddenly. He will ruin her. Margrete seems the tougher of the two.

 

"Do you also bake, Highness?" Edith asked Margrete.

 

The tall Princess scoffed at the thought. "I'm better with a spear."

 

Aurélien didn't seem to like that at all, which made Mireille relax.

 

"It's time for the midday meal," the Crown Prince said stiffly. "We should return inside."

 

***

  

"Are the two of you sisters?" King Renaud asked the Princesses. He had a hoarse, gravelly voice.

 

Margrete spoke first. "I am the daughter of Princess Irmeltrud."

 

"And I am the daughter of Princess Herlinde," Agnete said.

 

Both Princesses stared at their plates awkwardly. Margrete scowled slightly, gingerly cutting up her roasted swan.

 

"Our food may seem strange," Queen Geneviève said quickly, "but you will grow to like it, as my foremother did. As you may know," she added coyly, "my grandmother was Sieglinde of Stormwald."

 

"Sieglinde was said to be a great warrior," Margrete said, nodding.

 

"And sailor," Agnete added, smiling. "The legends say she sank the Valeronnese fleet with only a handful of ships." She caught herself just as her cousin shot her warning look.

 

The King and Queen both laughed awkwardly, while the Crown Prince glumly pushed his food around his plate.

 

"I can have the kitchens prepare some cabbage stew, if you prefer," Geneviève offered.

 

"No need," Margrete said tightly. "This is fine." She forced herself to take a bite, chew, and swallow.

 

"Is it true Wellenish royals don't usually marry?" Edith asked suddenly.

 

A hush fell over the dining table before Margrete answered, "The men do. They marry into foreign houses to build alliances. The women stay behind to take consorts to sire children, as all property is passed down through the maternal line."

 

Mireille's eyes widened. That is awesome!

 

Aurélien finally spoke, his voice very quiet. "You'll find things are quite different in Valeronne."

 

Margrete's voice came out even tighter than before. "So we've been told."