44: The Voyage

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The carriage bounces and jolts along the rutted cart-track through the forest that surrounds the Palace of Roses. Christelle is queasy, but Mireille breathlessly watches the landscape bounce by, despite the fact that the sun has not quite risen, making sight-seeing practically impossible, and in spite of her guards' repeated warnings to keep herself out of sight.

"Why bother?" she argues, gesturing to her hair and clothes. She and Christelle are both disguised as common servants, as are their guards. A servant Mireille has never met is in another carriage somewhere along this road, dressed as the Princess of Vyrunia and accompanied by additional guards who are actually dressed according to their station. A similar ploy has been carried out for King Christophe and his attendants. Only half a dozen carriages in total are making this royal progress—the smallest royal progress in Vyrunian history, according to Mireille's lessons in the history of the Vyrunian Royal Family. Each left the Palace of Roses separately, at different times and through different gates. All of the carriages will meet up in the town of Avren, which sits at the junction of the River Adrennes and the River Ansorik, not quite half a days' journey from the Palace of Roses. Given the early hour at which they departed, they should arrive in Avren by midmorning.

"What has you so enthralled, anyway?" one of the guards, Marcel, grumbles after telling Mireille for the umpteenth time to stop sitting so close to the window. "It's just a bunch of trees, with the occasional glimpse of the river and maybe a cottage or two."

"It is my country, and I am seeing it properly for the first time," Mireille counters. "Besides, I trust you and Edouard to protect us. That is, in fact, why you are here."

"You needn't make it more difficult than it has to be."

"What am I supposed to do on this journey, if not see my country and become acquainted with my people? Do you think I will consent to sit boxed up in a carriage with the curtains drawn, staring at velvet cushions, for the duration of our travels?"

"If so, you have no idea what you have signed up for in agreeing to be our guards," Christelle adds despite her obvious discomfort. Neither of the young women has ever ridden in a carriage before, and Christelle would do anything to be allowed to ride on horseback instead. Somehow, the open air and moving with the horse, instead of being jounced around in an enclosed space, is much more agreeable to her.

Edouard sighs mournfully. "You seemed such a lady yesterday, when you was interviewin' guards to recruit for your household. A true princess. Methinks Her Majesty, the Queen, wouldn't be much pleased by your current conduct," he chides.

"Her Majesty, the Queen, is celebrating the Holy Week of Meávée at the Palace of Roses and is blissfully unaware of my current conduct," Mireille retorts icily. Am I to have no respite from that infernal Etiquette? she wonders before taking a deep breath and putting on her best Princess manners. "Gentlemen, please. It is so dreadfully boring to be held to a standard of ladylike perfection at all times. I promise you that once we arrive and I am publicly in the village in my proper role, I will be every inch a proper lady. But for now, while I am in disguise and out of public view, will you not permit me some respite from the restrictions of my station?"

Her charm and honeyed tone have their desired effect on the guards, who find themselves unable to deny the Princess's request. She smiles to herself as she watches the morning sun rise over Vyrunia, grateful that her lady lessons have been good for something but mostly just overjoyed by her first taste of real freedom since returning to her country of origin.

As she watches the trees and cottages and glimpses of river pass by, the sun glints off the emerald ring on her left hand, and her thoughts dart suddenly to the Prince of Mordalce. Surely Christelle's courier has reached them by now, she muses. But will they be able to discern our intended message?

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