The Finfolk Servant

Chapter 8

Princess Darya kept rereading the note, unsure why she was so happy over so few and so professional of words. She kept it in the wooden box with the pearls, folded small underneath so her mother wouldn't find it. The Shifter has kept his distance from her ever since and Darya has noticed. She would only ever see him brief passing: turning a corner down a hall, a glimpse from a window, a small movement in the kitchen. Whether this was on purpose or accidental, she didn't know. She did know she wanted to see him again; she thought that in a different world that they could be friends. 

Darya didn't have many friends growing up, as she was royalty, the heir to the Brinen Kingdom, and none ever met her mothers expectations of quality and refinement. Mostly, Darya suspected that her mother didn't like that they did not come from royal or noble blood, and all the royals and nobility didn't have children her age that she could play with. 

She smiled to herself as the folded the note up again for the countless time. She strode over to her wardrobe and selected a blue dress for the day, reminding her of the servant who could have possibly been her friend. (It also helped that she ran out of normal gowns to wear because of how clumsy she has been for the past few days.) 

Glancing in the mirror, her hair brushed her hands almost roughly as she fluffed it in the mirror, leaving it down and wavy for the day, framing her face. Darya was famed for her almost otherworldly appearance, with her flowing hair thats texture was just the slightest bit out of place from what the hairdressers have seen before, her eyes that were shaped just a little different than anyone elses. They say it only enhanced her beauty, but Darya didn't think herself beautiful. She was too humble to think that of herself. 

The Princess grabbed her leather satchel and a pouch of coins and headed to the front of the castle. She was going into the town today for the market.

Whoever recognized her in the market would first stare, and then realize what they were doing and dip quickly into a curtsy or a bow to show their respect. Darya wished they wouldn't, wished that she was in their place looking awe-struck at a royal who decided to venture out into the market instead of sending one of the Finfolk. But Darya thought that sending the Finfolk was cruel, as the prejudice against them would sometimes lead to verbal violence towards them. The townspeople could not resort to physical, though it sometimes happened, as they were technically property of the crown. No, Darya would much rather make her personal purchases herself. 

Actually, her mother gave her the money so Darya could buy herself some new paints to paint a picture that would impress her betrothed, and even though it's purpose upset Darya, she would not refuse new paint and maybe a paintbrush or two.

The clacking of her heels on the cobblestone followed her to the stall she knew by heart, the one with the paints, with the charcoals, with the pencils and the canvas. The man behind the table smiled at her as she approached, pulling out a small box from under the table. 

"Ah, I thought I would be seeing you soon!" exclaimed the man with a hearty voice. 

Darya laughed. "Then what have you been saving for me?" she bantered as she saw the box.

"Only the finest watercolors that I handpicked from the batch!"

"What are the pigments?" She questioned, she was picky about them as the saturation and graininess of the watercolors depended on the pigment most of the time. 

"This," he pointed to a deep brown red, "came from the valley between the mountains that border the town. The rock a softer one, so it should be smoother than usual."

Darya nodded, happy with that one.

"And this one," he continued. "This one came all the way from the neighboring kingdom. It is very rich to paint with, or so I've been told." He winked. The shopkeeper wasn't one much for painting, but his wife was well known for her paintings.

The man continued in much the same manner, and Darya carefully selected a few of the watercolors, and shook the gold coins into her hand, the coldness almost shocking against the heat from the summer. "Have you any new paintbrushes?" She questioned. One of hers needed replacing.

"What a coincidence! I just got some new ones this very morning!" He pulled out another box and carefully selected a long handled one. "This one has bristles made from the finest fur in the region, very nice for holding onto paint and not clumping it. The wood is also very durable, a beech from the forests of Arythnia." 

Darya was delighted, and shook out a couple more gold coins than were necessary to pay and took the brush, waving off the shopkeeper as he tried to hand her change. "Keep it, I have more than I need and you provide the best supplies I have had the pleasure of using!" 

The shopkeeper thanked her profusely, and she turned to make her way to the palace.

As she turned, hearing a commotion, she stopped and saw the one person who she hasn't had contact with in days. 

The blue-haired Finfolk.

Or, "The Finfolk Servant" as he called himself in his note.