Her face falls slightly. “Are you…are you sure? Is nothing I brought to your liking? Because if it’s not I can—”
“No, they’re wonderful,” I interject. I hadn’t meant to offend her. “Let’s see…” I step down to run my hands over the fabrics, settling on one as light as air. “This one, whatever color you think is best, but this one.”
“Oh, fae-spun silk.” She practically purrs as she runs her fingers over it. “You have good taste, Your Majesty.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I laugh. But a thought crosses my mind at the mention of something being fae made. “I hear the fae are good craftsmen.”
“The fae are skilled at their looms, yes. But the elves are the best craftsmen in the land.” She preens.
“Oh, of course. On my side of the Fade there is nothing more valuable than elf-made goods.” I smile and she continues to relish in my praise. I’m hoping I have her enough off guard to seize another opportunity. “I’ve heard a good deal about the things fae can make…especially things for celebrations.”
“Like faerie mead?”
“And more, I’ve heard.” I’m not sure how to approach this casually and can already tell I’m overplaying my hand.
A shadow crosses her face, but she brightens it with a forced smile almost immediately. “You honor us all that you’re taking an active interest in all the inhabitants of Midscape.”
“It is my role as Human Queen.” Just when I’m about to give up on learning anything more about glimmer, she surprises me.
“I’m not sure what you heard, Your Majesty…” The seamstress keeps her head down, writing notes in a ledger she brought. “But I…”
“You?”
“It’s not my place.” Her pen pauses.
“Please, tell me,” I encourage. “This is still a new land to me. I have much to learn.” Not a lie in the slightest.
“I would suspect you might have heard something of the like from the young prince Harrow.” I don’t need to confirm the fact; my silence is enough to prompt her to continue. “Please be careful, Your Majesty. Those of us in the cities have seen the prince’s recent…dalliances. Especially since the arrival of the fae delegation.”
“Such as?”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forgive me, Majesty. Please, if you might…if in your immense kindness you spare mentioning I said anything to the king?”
“I assure you I won’t,” I say hastily, trying to put her at ease. “But I do need to know as I am living in the same castle as Harrow. Please, tell me if there’s anything I should be aware of?”
“I don’t know anything more.” She shakes her head and I leave the matter be. If she does know something, she’s too nervous to say.
We finish up shortly after and I excuse myself from her salon. The moment I step out I’m face to face with Harrow, Jalic, Sirro, and Aria.
“Your Majesty.” Jalic is the first to notice me and he bows his head. The others follow suit. Even the begrudging etiquette is a significant improvement over the first time and I wonder if my interactions with Harrow have had anything to do with their change in tone.
Hook bounds past me. He circles Aria twice, growling low. Aria steps closer to Harrow, grabbing his arms.
“This beast is getting snot on my skirts.” Aria swats lightly at Hook’s nose as he buries it into the layers of fabric. “Shoo, shoo!”
“Hook, come,” I command. Hook looks between me and Aria and lets out a frustrated huff, but obliges. However, his focus remains intently on the woman. It’s amusing to watch Aria fight an open scowl. “Good afternoon, you four. Where are you headed?” I ask.
“Why? Would you like to come? Have a bit more fun with us?” Jalic shoves his hands into his pockets and gives me a casual grin.
“Not particularly.”
“Is that any way to speak to a queen?” Rinni asks and Jalic glances askance.
“I’m going to see the seamstress,” Aria announces, puffing her chest slightly. “It’s such an honor to be dressed by the same woman who dresses the queen.” She pets Harrow’s arm lightly. There’s no question as to who brought this “honor” about.
“Good, the seamstress seems very talented,” I say mildly, and find a small delight in watching Aria’s expression tilt toward disappointment at my lack of ire toward her being dressed by the same person as me. “In fact, I think you should all get your clothes for the coronation made by her.”
“I’m not getting something for the coronation.” The way Aria stretches her neck, as if she’s trying to compete against my height, is evocative of how I imagine a territorial swan to look. “I’m getting something for the Troupe of Masks.”