I present myself at the princess’s apartment that afternoon.
Jasmine opens the door, her expression cool. For a moment, I’m taken back to my very first visit to the royal wing, unsure why the princess would want me as an attendant at all.
“Amraeya?” Jasmine says, her eyes widening. She’s dressed impeccably in a flowing burgundy skirt and cream tunic, both heavily embroidered and beaded. She’s always been the most elegant of the princess’s attendants, tall and perfectly poised, her dark hair put up today in some inexplicable manner involving a pair of hair combs and various gems and pearls.
“Veria,” I say, and offer her a bow.
She coughs a laugh. “Bowing now? You can’t be serious—oh, this won’t do. I was planning to be welcoming to you!”
“It’s all right,” I assure her as the page gapes
