Page 29 of The Cornish Princess
“You did not?”
“I did not,” the maid confessed.
“What about these?” Gwendolyn added, cupping her own two breasts, her cheeks burning hot. “I do not relish the thought of walking about with false breasts, but neither will I like it if the material collapses and Prince Locrinus sees me.” Her cheeks burned hotter yet.
“Fret not,” said Demelza, pulling harder at the cloth. “You are perfectly endowed, my child. Your bosom was made for your body. And no matter—I vow this material will soften and mold itself to your form as though it were made for you.”
Gwendolyn lifted a brow, considering her modest breasts. “Small as they are,” she lamented.
“Nonsense,” the maid argued. “I should not say it, but your mother is overly endowed. ’Tis hardly common to bear such large breasts with such a tiny waist. And there is naught wrong with your form, Gwendolyn. I have heard many a man claim that any more than a handful is a terrible waste, and you have a handful, or perhaps two.”
“Not two,” said Gwendolyn, and her cheeks burned hotter still.
In fact, she had a little more than a handful, but her hands were fairly small. She dropped them at her sides as Demelza continued fussing with the gown.
“The sleeves will be stretched at the first opportunity,” she said, pinching at the material, unfazed by her own frank speech. “In the meantime, I will endeavor to convince your mother to allow the use of the breastplates—today,” she added. “I shall go remind her how much your father admired the way she looked when she wore this… at first.”
“At first?”
“Well, he did. To begin with. But she came to him a wildling herself, full of her own self-importance.”
Gwendolyn pursed her lips. In so many ways, her mother wasstilllike that. Not much had changed. And yet she daren’t impugn her own mother, so she said, “Is that so?”
“Oh, yes. She carried a poniard to bed for a fortnight, fearing she might be slain.”
The maid pulled aside the collar of her gown and revealed a small scar at the small juncture between her neck and shoulder. The look she gave, with both lifted brows, left Gwendolyn aghast. “I made the mistake of waking her too early.”
Gwendolyn laughed, though she was horrified. “Did she believe she would be slain by my father?”
“Oh, no, child! Your mother speaks true. Your father worshipped the ground she walked upon, yet this was not something your mother seemed to comprehend until she found her place in your father’s court. Eventually, she put her instruction to use with thedawnsio, and traded her dagger for a scepter.”
Gwendolyn lifted her brows. She would have liked to have known her then. TheoldQueen Eseld was far more intriguing.
Demelza winked then. “She’ll give you the breastplates today. As you know, she would deny you naught.”
Of course not. Her mother would never say no to something like this. Appearances were everything to her. “Thank you,” said Gwendolyn, sorely hoping the breastplate would conceal her bosom. And then she was suddenly excited to see what the vestment would look like altogether—a Prydein princess? How thrilling to represent her mother’s people! How magnificent to have a small connection to her grandparents, even despite that she’d never met them. Someday she would, she vowed.
Someday.
ChapterNine
Gwendolyn felt magnificent as she made her way through her father’s halls into the courtyard. It wasn’t only the stunning gown she’d been honored to wear, but in some part, her mother’s attention and approval this morning as well. At long last, if only for a moment, Queen Eseld had gazed upon her only daughter with few misgivings, taking pleasure in her company. It was as close to a true mother-daughter connection as they’d ever had, and as fleeting as it was, it set loose a burst of joy from Gwendolyn’s heart that swept into her face and tugged a permanent grin on her lips. And regardless, something about wearing this dress really made her feel “beautiful.” Today, coupled with the success of last night’s introduction, she could easily imagine herself capable of fulfilling her destiny, and the anticipation of it filled her with glee.
Lady Ruan passed by, smiling with unvarnished approval. Whatever disappointment she’d felt toward Gwendolyn yesterday, it was no longer perceptible in her countenance.
“Exquisite,” she said. “Simply exquisite!” And she clapped her hands fondly, then kissed Gwendolyn quickly on the cheek.
Alderman Crwys bowed as he passed, the light of respect shining in his old eyes. And then Alderman Morgelyn as well—the youngest of her father’s aldermen. He gave Gwendolyn a wink, and she blushed.
Even Bryn’s father, the Mester of Arms, looked twice as she emerged into the courtyard near the Mester’s Pavilion. And if he was still angry with her for Bryn’s demotion, he didn’t show it. But neither did he smile. The man was not given to many.
Only for show—because, of course, they were at peace—Gwendolyn wore the finely hewn arming sword her father gave her on her fifteenth Name Day. Made of good Loegrian steel, it rested in the bejeweled and furred scabbard that hung about her waist, gems winking brilliantly against the bright morning sun.
But also, because she never left home without it, she’d tucked another small poniard into the sheath at her boot. This one she mostly used to dine with, but it too was finely made, with the emblem of her father’s house carved into the hilt—the ancient guardian of Dumnonia, the fiery-winged drake with the thorny head and barbed tongue.
Having come by the Endless Sea, Loegria’s capitol flew a standard with the wingless sea serpent and speared tail.
Once joined, it was said they would become invincible.
