Chapter Three

Idalia

Twelve Years Previous

My mother paces the corridors, mumbling prayers to the gods. Seven times she’s ordered Nurse Lydia to change my dress and is wholly unsatisfied with each choice. I love all the dresses, though the third option is my favorite. The bigger the skirt, the prettier I feel. And option three provides not only the big skirt but all the frills and lace I could ask for.

“What of this one, Queen Revna?” Nurse Lydia pleads, her voice wavering. She’s even more tired of dressing me than I am of being dressed. My corset squeezes my ribs and prevents me from taking deep breaths. My mother enters my chamber and begins flapping her hands.

“Twirl for me, darling,” she instructs and whirls her finger. I spin a few times and giggle as the fabric billows around me. I look like a loose flower petal floating through a light spring breeze. My mother peers at me and places a tired hand on her chin when I stop. Her eyes rove over my body, observing every inch of the dress that clings to it. Then she sighs. “It is hopeless! Have all our seamstresses caught the Gray!?”

Nurse Lydia raises her hand. “There is another option, Your Highness. Let me just take Idalia back into her room…”

“I do not need to see another wretched creation,” my mother frets. “They are giving me the most atrocious headache.”

Nurse Lydia nods then sends her a worried frown. “Shall it be this one then, Your Highness?” Her voice is timid, as if my mother is made of glass, and she’s afraid to crack her.

“I cannot concern myself with this for one moment longer,” my mother breathes in defeat. “Choose whichever garment you see fit. Perhaps my sweet Idalia’s charms will be enough to sell the Braders, or perhaps they will not mind that she looks like a cheap waif. Let us hope both, or may the gods save Verdana.” With that, she leaves.

I run to the door and watch until even her shadow disappears. My nurse releases a strained laugh; her cheeks are stained red.

I tug on her apron. “Do I look terrible in every dress? Is that why she’s so angry?”

“Of course not, dear!” She soothes. “Your mother just needs to ready herself for the journey. It’s a very important occasion, after all! Come, we’ll choose the rest of your attire and worry ourselves with the dress later.” She places a light hand on my shoulder. “How would you like a caramel tart and milk?”

Caramel tarts are my favorite treat in the world, and Nurse Lydia rarely lets me have them this late at night. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze in delight. I’ll miss her on our trip to Baelliles.