THE DARKENING (The Divided Realms: Book 2)

CHAPTER TWO

Willow tugged irritably on her bodice ties. On the way back to her bedchamber, she'd met up with Brand and Malvin, both of whom had blushed like a pair of bashful ten-year-olds at the sight of her naked legs and bare midriff. She loosened the ties a less-constricting inch. The fun of wearing silk and velvet princess gowns had worn off a long time ago. Now, she just wanted to be comfortable. Put on low-riders and a T-shirt if she felt like it or – like today – a pair of shorts and a tank top. But every time she did, there was always someone around who either turned beet red in embarrassment or acted prissy and offended.

Frowning, Willow stared at her reflection in the mirror. White muslin sleeves covered her arms, while an amber-colored skirt and bodice covered the rest of her. Obviously, no one here cared about getting a tan. She twisted her hair into a messy ponytail. Wearing the dress was one thing. She drew the line at having long hair sweeping over her shoulders as if she were a heroine in some romance novel.

A soft knock sounded outside her door. "Your Highness?" Another lady-in-waiting, Desma, curtsied and barged in, her arms overflowing with gowns and hats. Like Queen Aleria and Princess Diantha, Willow had her own pack of annoying, ever-present ladies-in-waiting. "There you are," Desma exhaled windily. "Your new riding dresses have arrived from the dress mage."

"But ..." Willow struggled with her temper. She'd asked Queen Aleria for riding pants, not riding dresses. Had even drawn a design for the dress mage.

"Are they not lovely colors," said Desma, holding up a russet jacket and pressing it to Willow's neck. "Like fall leaves. I warrant they will make a fiery sunset of your auburn hair." Desma dropped the jacket, her eyes widening as she noticed Willow's twisted bodice ties and feeble attempt at a hairdo. "Oh, Your Highness, do forgive me. I should have been here when you returned." She smiled as she began to retie Willow's bodice. "Your lacing skills, though, are beginning to improve."

Willow sighed and let Desma redo her bodice. Ladies-in-waiting, she'd discovered, were like pit bulls – once they had a hold of you, they never let go.

"Are you planning on staying here to rest?"

The question seemed harmless enough. "No," Willow answered.

Desma cocked her head. "Are you joining us in the queen's solarium?" She finished tying the laces and reached for a hairbrush. Willow glanced at her, realizing where this was heading.

"I'm not changing my clothes, Desma."

Willow was wearing the most casual outfit she could find that didn't raise eyebrows or blood pressure. The problem was that the muslin shift and cotton skirt resembled the dresses the servants wore.

"Good day to you, Your Highness. Lady Desma."

Relief swept through Willow. Gemma, her best friend and ally, stood in the doorway watching Desma like one of Queen Aleria's lapdogs eyeing Grisard the cat. She would rescue Willow from the fashion police.

"Fancy duds you got there, Lady Desma. Is there some new shindig in the works?"

Desma's eyes skimmed over Gemma – and Gemma's even plainer dress – with distaste. "Nay, Lady Gemma. There is no shindig as you so quaintly put it."

Willow's irritation heated to anger. Though the king himself had given Gemma a castle and a title, the ladies-in-waiting still thought of her as a commoner. Her plump figure, her preference for plain clothing, and her colloquial way of speaking ignited snickers and snide comments whenever she was among them. Willow hated it but was powerless to do anything.

That was another aspect that sucked about being a princess – constantly having to endure people you couldn't stand. Every lady-in-waiting had a father, an uncle, a brother, or a cousin who was a powerful ally of Willow's grandfather. She had been read the riot act from day one – she had a duty to kingdom, duty to family, and lastly duty to herself. So actually telling Lady Desma she was a spiteful cow was out of the question. Willow had to be more subtle.