Page 28 of The Cornish Princess
And now she realized why it must be paired with her hosen, because any movement at all would expose her limbs. Alas, though she and her mother were approximately the same size overall, her mother was taller and leaner than Gwendolyn; therefore, the buckskin squeezed her upper arms and, if the bosom hadn’t been fashioned to accommodate a woman’s breasts, it would have flattened her as well, because the girth was too tight.
Additionally, because her mother’s breasts were considerably larger than hers, she found the cups entirely too generous.
Testing the bodice, Gwendolyn frowned as the material, stiff with age, collapsed and remained concave. With a gasp, Demelza rushed forward to fill the space between the dress and her flesh with a round of cloth, and Gwendolyn tugged it back out, horrified by the prospect, refusing to make herself look buxom. She tossed it on the floor.
Gods.How embarrassing!
Her mother had returned, Gwendolyn realized. Now she stood in the doorway, watching as Demelza flitted about, attempting to dress Gwendolyn to some satisfaction. Her gaze shifted to the cloth Gwendolyn had refused.
“I meant to keep it a surprise. However, for your dowry chest, I also mean to gift you the breastplates and shoulder plates designed to accompany that gown.” A wistful smile tugged at her lips. “After all, Gwendolyn, I am aware of how I have failed you. If there’s only one thing I wish to remedy before you leave, it is to prepare you fully for your role as Pretania’s queen.”
Surprised by her mother’s admission, Gwendolyn met her doleful gaze. “I—” she began, intending to offer absolution, but her mother pressed a finger to her lips, and said, “Beginning at once, just as soon as our guests have departed, I expect you to train daily with Málik Danann.”
Again, Málik?
Gods.
Gwendolyn longed to protest, but her mother’s expression forbade it.
Hot tears threatened, but she blinked them away. This was no happy gift! It was the worst thing her mother could have said to her!
“There is so little time, Gwendolyn. Though I can plainly see the Prince is already besotted with you, your future is yet to be written. Your father is right, dear one—you must be prepared.”
Besotted?
Gwendolyn’s emotions swung again.Was it so apparent?
“You must face your role as queen, not merely with the grace of a lady, but with the strength of a warrior, and I must confess I regret I forsook my own education. I allowed my instruction to fall by the wayside, but I would have you do better, Daughter.”
How swiftly the mood had changed.
Gwendolyn longed to argue that Bryn’s tutelage was good enough for her. She didn’t want to study with Málik. But so stunned as she was to spy the sudden welling of tears in her mother’s eyes, it rendered her speechless.
Gwendolyn nodded dumbly, and her mother tossed up a hand, turning her back to swipe a finger beneath her eye. “I am away,” she chirped. “Demelza will see to it you are properly dressed, and the Prince awaits his lovely princess.”
Again.
Lovely?
“Oh, yes!” Queen Eseld returned to the threshold, hand raised, as though just remembering something. But this time, when she met Gwendolyn’s gaze, all traces of her tears had gone. “King Brutus and your father have yet to formalize your bride price, but considering the success of last eventide, you may consider it done!”
She tilted her head, smiling with ill-concealed pride—and yet what this pride was for, Gwendolyn couldn’t rightly say. “Enjoy your day,” the Queen said. “Go wheresoever you please, do as you please, only be in attendance this evening for the Promise Ceremony!”
Tonight, it would be done.
“Yes, Mother,” said Gwendolyn.
And then she was gone, vanished with a spin of fine skirts. And with her sudden departure, Gwendolyn felt… again… inexplicably melancholy.
But nay, not precisely.
Rather, bereft. It was… an odd, but terrible void, as though she’d been gifted something of such exceptional value, but only for an instant. Then it was wrenched away.
This was the first time in her memory that her mother had confided in her so directly, and she had a terrible sense it might be the last—particularly considering the short time she had remaining in Trevena.
Gwendolyn swallowed with difficulty, but with her mother departed, she felt more comfortable complaining to Demelza about the state of her dress. “I adore it,” she said. “I do! But can naught be done for these sleeves?”
Demelza tugged at the stiff material, sighing. “It should have been oiled, and then stretched,” she said. “If only I’d known she’d meant to do this so soon.”
