A Questionable Quest

Chapter 2... in which I eat food and absolutely do not see a dragon

Dinner was... stifling. At this time of year, so close to Midsummer, my sisters had returned from their respective kingdoms to celebrate with us -- not that we did much celebrating. Our "royal Midsummer" consisted of dressing in bright, summery colors, posing for an artist who would send our portrait to every noble across the kingdom, and eating apple pie after dinner.

And then, at night, I would stand on the balcony in the Rose Sitting Room, and watch the festival lights dance from the village below.

Now they celebrated Midsummer. The music, the dancing, the apple-throwing competitions...

One of these days, I thought as I stuffed more dessert into my mouth and tuned out Harrietta who droned on and oooon about the latest fashion in her kingdom, I would love to test out my own apple-throwing skills. At Harrietta. In the middle of dinner.

It was times like these that I had to remind myself I loved my sisters. Because I did. But sometimes they were a little... floofy?

Floofy. Yeah, that was a good word.

I snorted slightly into my plate of corn-and-spice pudding. The queen flashed me a disapproving look. My spine straightened and I schooled my expression into one of polite interest.

I wanted to tell my mother that a dead chicken would be more interested in this conversation than I was.

I didn't. I ate my pudding, and 'mhm'ed and nodded in all the right spots. In fact, I didn't say a word all dinner, until my eldest sister Tiffany finally turned to me. My insides turned. "Ariabelle, how have you been?"

The same as when you asked me yesterday at dinner. And the day before that. Tiffany had been here for nearly three days, and all she could ever think to ask was "how have you been".

At least Harrietta and June didn't even try to feign interest.

I'm about to ship off to a foreign kingdom to sign a betrothal contract to a man I don't know a white about and, hey, did I mention my future-seeing mentor thinks I'll need magical armour while I'm over there?

"I'm well, thank you," I replied, in the polite-est voice I could muster.

Tiffany nodded, and leaned forward, as if she found this (entirely not-new) piece of information very fascinating indeed. "And how," she continued, with a laughing glint in her eyes, "is your auto-proclamation coming along?"

That was a brand new topic -- and one I had no interest in discussing. Harrietta and June both turned to face me, their attention sufficiently grabbed. Nannadora tried (unsuccessfully) to hide her snicker behind her napkin. Mother shot her a stern look.

A vision of my waste bin, spilling with half-charred paper and parchment ashes, flashed through my head. I frowned and wrinkled my nose in a rather unladylike manner. "It's not." I shrugged. "Coming along, I mean. It's not coming along."

The auto-proclamation was a widely spread tradition recognised by almost every country across the known globe. Every time a princess -- or prince, but that was rather less common -- visited another country in hopes of signing an engagement contract, she was expected to introduce herself to her suitor (or suitors). An official proclamation of personality, per se.

In other words, I had been given forty-eight hours to summarize my entire being onto four inches of parchment. Then, when we arrived in Portsburring, I would present it to their king and queen, who would present it to their son. My proposed betrothed.

Proposed betrothed... was that a rhyme? I think-

Tiffany cleared her throat. I looked up, my tangent officially severed. "I have no idea what to write," I said, simply. I waited for her to shrug and return to conversation with the queen.