Fit.
2164 Words
She was not particularly tall—merely of modest stature, befitting the average woman. Her hair, silvered by age, gleamed in the moonlight, with faint streaks of blonde still visible among the grey.
Time had drawn its lines across her face, yet there remained a quiet dignity in her countenance. Her court gown, grand and finely embroidered, swept the floor with every graceful step she took.
As she approached, a gentle smile played upon her lips. She came to a halt before the King and Princess Lillian, and with practiced poise, offered a low curtsy.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted with warmth.
“Ah, Lady Howard!” the King replied with cheer. “Come, allow me to make introductions.”
He turned toward the young princess. “Lillian, may I present Lady Claire Howard—the first and only woman ever to hold a seat in Everia’s House of Lords. She was a dear companion of my grandmother's. Should you wish to know more about grandmama, Lady Howard is the one to ask.”
Lady Howard inclined her head once more, her smile deepening as she addressed Lillian. “Your Highness.”
“Well, I shall leave you ladies to your talk.” The King added, giving a nod before turning and striding briskly toward the palace.
Lady Howard watched him go, her gaze lingering briefly on his retreating figure. When she turned again to Lillian, her green eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight, her expression soft and knowing.
“I trust your journey was a pleasant one?” she asked kindly.
“It was, thank you,” Lillian replied, her tone gracious. She stepped forward, studying the elder woman. “Tell me, Lady Howard, all you can about Catherine of Calonia. I find myself deeply intrigued by her.”
Lady Howard’s smile widened. “Your Highness, the morrow marks your wedding day. Rest now. We shall begin the tale of Catherine once the vows are said.” Though her reply was gentle, it was yet firm.
Lillian’s eyes widened slightly at the courteous refusal. “Of course, you are right,” she conceded, inclining her head. “I shall take my leave.”
She turned and began to walk back toward the palace, Lady Howard’s footsteps echoing softly behind her.
By the time Lillian returned to the great hall, the guests were beginning to depart. Some offered her no more than a passing glance—or perhaps they saw her and simply withheld their attention. Yet a few watched her with quiet curiosity.
She did not shrink from their stares; on the contrary, she welcomed them. Their attention—whether admiration or intrigue—was a balm, filling her with quiet pride.
Gracefully, she ascended the grand staircase, her footsteps light upon the polished floors. She traversed the halls until she reached the fourth floor, left wing—her chambers.
But upon entering, she found him there.
David stood at the centre of the room, still clad in the garments he had worn to the evening’s banquet and ball. She paused in the doorway, her eyes narrowing in displeasure.
He met her gaze and offered a smile. As the door closed behind her, she advanced with fury in her stride.
“David, I am in no mood for your rebukes this night,” Lillian said curtly, brushing past him with a sweep of her gown. Her steps led her to Claudia, whose presence she had only just noticed.
As Lillian came to stand before her, the young handmaiden, as though reading her mistress’s mind, began quietly removing the jewelry from Lillian’s neck, wrists, and ears.
David’s voice softened. “I have not come to burden you further than I already have.” He said, turning back to face his sister. “I came only to tell you how proud I am of you… and how proud our father is as well.”
“And yet,” Lillian murmured, “he is not here to witness my wedding.”
“He was... preoccupied,” David replied gently.
A deep sigh escaped Lillian’s lips.
David stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between them. When he reached her, he took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes.
“He loves you, Lillian. As do I. We are your family, and you bring us great pride. Never forget what Lady Gracia has taught you. Tomorrow, you shall become queen of one of the most powerful realms in the world. Make it count.”
Lillian lifted her head, her blue eyes locking with his—so like her own. Her voice rang with calm resolve.
“I am Princess Lillian Diane Margaret of the Brimwhick Dynasty, of Ravenland. I shall always give you cause to be proud.”
***
When her eyes fluttered open to the stillness of her chamber, Lillian turned her gaze toward the bell resting on the bedside table. With a soft sigh, she sat upright and stretched out her hand. Grasping the small silver bell, she gave it a gentle ring.
The moment the chime echoed through the room, the chamber doors opened with practiced precision. A line of maids entered swiftly, led by Claudia at the fore.
One maid crossed to the tall windows and drew back the heavy curtains, allowing golden sunlight to pour into the chamber in soft beams.
Rising from her bed, Lillian moved to stand in the center of the room. As was customary, the maids gathered around her. In graceful coordination, they removed her light silk nightdress, leaving her bare to the cool morning air.
Without modesty or hesitation, she stepped into the adjoining bath chamber, her retinue following closely behind. The morning ritual was well known to them—buckets of chilled water were poured over her as she sat upright in the marble tub, her body shivering with the bite of the cold. It was her chosen routine—an austere practice to keep the skin firm and youth preserved.
Once the final pail had been emptied and the water drained, she stood, and a maid dropped to her knees beside the tub, ready to assist.
After the full ritual was complete, Lillian and her train of maids returned to the main chamber. She once more positioned herself at the room’s center.
A maid came forward with warm towels, another with small glass bottles of scented oils, and yet another with freshly laundered undergarments. Each moved with silent efficiency, tending to her with the reverence due a soon-to-be queen.
As the last ribbon was tied on her corset and her undergown’s hem adjusted, Claudia clapped twice—sharp, commanding.
At once, the chamber doors opened again. Madame Dubois entered with a radiant smile, followed by her attendants. As she stepped fully into the room, the bathing maids curtsied and departed quietly, their part in the morning rite complete.
"What is this? Sebastian has my gown." Lillian said, her brows knitting as her puzzled gaze fell upon Claudia.
"The King has requested Madame Dubois to dress you once again today, Your Highness." Claudia replied gently.
Lillian’s expression hardened. "No. I do not wish for her assistance. I have brought my gown—one enriched with the Ravenian culture. It is with my dressmaker. Fetch him, at once."
The firmness in her tone rang clear, regal and unyielding. Claudia curtsied low and swiftly exited the chamber, leaving Lillian alone with Madame Dubois, whose ever-present smile remained frozen in place. The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension.
It was not long before the door opened again. Claudia returned, followed closely by a young man. He entered with quiet grace, his posture poised, his steps light.
His dark hair curled neatly atop his head, his beard finely groomed. With pale green eyes shaded in melancholy and lashes that framed them like feathers, he bore the beauty of a portrait. A sharp nose and modest lips completed his delicate features—he was a pretty man, no doubt.
The moment Lillian saw him, a breath escaped her lips, soft and content. Her face broke into a smile, then a light giggle, and finally, a full laugh of delight.
"Your Highness." The man said, bowing deeply once he stood ten paces away.
"There you are, Sebastian." Lillian said, her voice warm with familiarity. "Have you brought my gown?"
In answer, Sebastian raised his arms and presented the folded dress he held with care. She lit up instantly.
"Show Madame the beauty you have crafted." Lillian commanded with pride.
Without hesitation, Sebastian began to unfold the gown, revealing an opulent garment of deep purple velvet. The sleeves, slender and elegant, extended to the wrists.
Golden embroidery adorned the bodice, with strings of pearls cascading from the bust to the waist. Etched into the fabric was the emblem of Ravenland—a sparrow poised upon an olive branch, finely stitched with reverence and precision.
Lillian drew in a breath, her eyes widening with awe. She was silent for a moment, entranced by the gown’s craftsmanship.
A small, satisfied smirk danced upon Sebastian’s lips as he cast a sideways glance at Madame Dubois, whose smile, though unchanged, now bore a quiet tension beneath its surface.
"Look, Madame. Is she not a vision?" Lillian turned to the older woman, a proud smile lighting her face.
Madame Dubois inclined her head ever so slightly, her signature smile still fixed in place—though now, it was beginning to irk the princess.
"Indeed, Your Highness." the Madame replied smoothly. "A true Ravenian marvel—graceful, dignified, and steeped in the richness of your homeland’s heritage."
But then, her tone shifted ever so subtly. “However, Your Highness.” she continued, stepping forward. “Permit me to present what I humbly call The Merge."
With two sharp snaps of her fingers, two young attendants stepped forward, each bearing a mound of folded fabric. As Madame Dubois approached them, the other girls moved swiftly to assist. In seconds, the garments were unveiled before Lillian’s eyes.
The first—an extravagant ball gown—was far grander than Sebastian’s creation. Its voluminous skirt billowed even while folded, its sleeves long and tapered into sharp, elegant flays.
The ruffs were towering, framing where a neck would sit with opulence, and the corset shimmered with intricate gold embroidery.
It was finely boned, clearly designed to cinch the waist into near impossibility. The shade was a striking crimson—bright, bold, and utterly commanding.
The second was a cloak like none Lillian had ever seen—long enough to stretch from her chamber door to the bathroom’s threshold.
Crafted in the same rich red, it bore the combined symbols of Ravenland and Everia: a sparrow perched upon an olive branch, and two steeds standing sentinel beside a shield engraved with a cross.
The hem was trimmed with immaculate white fur, a final flourish of majesty.
“I understand your desire to honour your Ravenian roots.” Madame Dubois said with reverence.
“But I have sought to elevate it. This—” she gestured toward the ensemble, “—is not merely a gown, but a union. A harmonious merging of two kingdoms, two legacies. This dress does not just speak of culture; it sings of alliance, strength, and sovereignty.”
"Very well, then. I shall wear this," Lillian declared suddenly, her gaze fixed on the gown Madame Dubois had presented.
The older woman dipped into a low curtsy, a triumphant smile playing at her lips. "As you wish, Your Highness." she said smoothly.
The chamber immediately stirred with quiet purpose as the attendants sprang into motion.
Moments later, Lillian stood before her full-length mirror, adorned in the grand crimson gown. It fit her as though it had been stitched upon her skin—flawless and regal.
Her hair was swept into an elegant bun, a few soft strands curled at her temples, and her face bore only the lightest touch of rouge and powder.
She was still admiring her reflection when a sharp knock echoed through the chamber, followed by the slow creak of the door. Lillian turned, and her eyes landed on the figure entering—her brother.
David stood tall at the threshold, clad entirely in rich forest green. Green hose, breeches, and a ruffled shirt were matched with a flowing green cape.
Even his shoes bore the same hue. For a moment, he simply stood and looked at her, pride softening his features.
Then, with a slow and graceful stride, he approached. When he reached her, he took both her hands in his and kissed the back of one, eliciting a gentle giggle from Lillian.
“It’s your wedding day." He said softly.
“It is, my lord.” she replied, smiling, and together they laughed.
He extended his arm. “Come, your carriage awaits.”
With grace befitting a princess, she looped her arm through his, and together, they walked out of the chamber.
- Writer
