A Princess In Need

It hasn't been a good week for you. Princess and heir to the throne of the second largest country in the world, pampered and protected for all your nineteen years, tutored in every subject of importance and beautiful besides. Yet none of that has helped one bit. The man you were betrothed to for over a decade is now dead and gone, lost in a terrible bridge collapse on his way to meet you.

Count Lucas Illenda seemed to be quite nice, but he spent so little time in the capital that most of your impression of him was built up through letters. You've spent most of your life in the royal palace on the eastern edge of the capital and he may as well have been allergic to the city. The two of you spent so little time together that your mother, Queen Antonia Arinel, insisted that he come and stay with you for a season under an engagement before she would allow the marriage to proceed. Instead you've been cut adrift and are now the most eligible woman in the world. Within a month - at the outside - you'll surely be engaged to someone. Likely the choice will be made long before then, but announced only once you've had time to mourn a man you hardly knew.

There wouldn't be nearly such a push for you to marry if your father, King Maxim Arinel of Orannar had not passed away during the winter. Obviously your mother sits on the throne and you would take her place if the worst were to happen - but even the chance that your grasping and divisive aunt and uncle could end up on the throne is enough to worry everyone from peasants to foreign businesses. With the power of the royal seal and the wealth of the treasury in hand they would cause a civil war in a year or less.

At the moment your more immediate problem is a difference of opinion. You thought that wearing black would be enough - but your tutor, Madame Zelande, thought otherwise. It's a remembrance dinner, not even the funeral, which will come later when Count Illenda's mother, the Duchess Evelyn, arrives. A few lines of pearls along your shoulders is too much ornamentation? Feh!

It's going to be difficult wearing black for the next month. It doesn't complement your appearance. Your skin looks too pale even when you wear lighter colors, but in this? You're tempted to carry around a book or a drawing pad just so you can prove your skin isn't as white as parchment. And yes, black is slimming, but you're so slender it makes you look like a twig. More than once you've noticed someone behaving more carefully near you, like they're worried that bumping into you might snap you in half. Not to mention, worst of all, black dresses take attention away from your chest. Unless they're cut quite a bit lower and lacier than you're comfortable with.

But despite the setback, despite the fact that Madame Zelande could well have mentioned something long before now, you don't storm back to your room. You take your time and walk there gracefully. At least you have a relatively plain black scarf you can use to hide your shoulders - no need to try and find a maid to help you into another dress.

In your room you find more than just the scarf. A thin, tall thing, wrapped in thick layers of cloth, has been placed by the door. There's a small card tied to the front, sealed with the insignia of the Arcono family, the nobles of the island of Hessara - a fantastically wealthy little nation off Orannar's coast. You assume this is one of the many gifts you will continue to receive as various nobles express their condolences for your loss. Looked at more cynically each wants to ensure you look on their interests or their marriage candidate more favorably.

Among the condolences the card indicates that this mirror was forged by the silversmiths and glassblowers of Hessara in the old style, said to bring truth and beauty to light. 'Wait, a mirror?' you think to yourself. The biggest mirror in your room is just two feet across and two tall - and that's considered quite large. This mirror must be enormous. You have to see it. You reach for the knot in the corded ropes that hold the layers of cloth in place. But just as you're about to tug on the cord you feel a pang of guilt. Your mother likely had this placed here after you left your rooms for dinner so you wouldn't see it beforehand. Would it be considered appropriate to accept gifts even before the remembrance dinner?