27
Allora
“I don’t look pretty enough.” Illia threw her dress to the floor. “I won’t look like a common girl walking in the procession of the Queen’s funeral.”
“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid curtsied and picked up the dress. “This is the one you requested we have made, and―”
“Make another!” Illia shouted.
“Princess,” Allora spoke gently, not moving from her seat in the corner, “the funeral begins in an hour. There isn’t time to make a new gown. Even if every seamstress in the palace worked, it couldn’t be done.”
“Should I walk through the cathedral n***d?” Tears streamed down Illia’s face. “Should I borrow rags from a beggar?”
“What’s wrong with the dress?” Allora stood and took the garment from the maid, who bobbed a curtsy and backed into the corner.
“It’s too plain. It’
