He offered her his hand. Rising, Gabria rounded the end of the bed and accepted it. This time, when their fingers touched, she was very aware of his masculinity. Not just his arousal, but the strength beneath his gentleness. He escorted her into the front room, where she saw a small table being loaded with covered, rune-etched dishes fetched from a wheeled cart by a trio of servants.
Gabria hung back at that. “Devin,” she whispered, tugging on his hand so that he leaned over, bringing his ear close to her lips. “
How
did they know we were ready for breakfast?”
He shrugged blithely. “They were probably listening at the door.”
This is
not
my culture,
she thought, dismayed by his acceptance of such a lack of privacy. Settling herself at the breakfast table, she found herself further disturbed by the approach of Master Souder. Today, he was clad in shades of green and gold, his long brown hair plaited into three braids, which were in turn twined together.
“Good morning, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” he saluted them, bowing to each in turn. The servants quietly removed the covers of the dishes and poured fruit juice into their goblets, deftly working around him. “Today’s schedule allows for an hour of exercise in the salle with the Royal Armsmaster, two hours in the baths to help correct Her Highness’ skin problems, a double
palanquin
ride down to the eastern shore, and a leisurely lunch on the beach.”
“Excuse me?” Gabria interrupted, brows rising. “
Skin problems?
My skin is
quite
clear, and I haven’t suffered from spots since I was a child!”
Souder bowed. “I refer not to any oiliness of your complexion, Your Highness, which is as clear as the sky, but rather to the dryness of it. The maids will be careful not to disturb your hair, of course, but you will need several herbal scrubs and a good soak in milk baths for at least a week. We didn’t bother with pumicing away the calluses on your hands and feet yesterday, being somewhat pressed for time, nor did we do anything about the dreadfully short state of your nails, but today—”
“—I think
not
,” Gabria countered firmly. His brows lifted, then lowered again when she met and held his gaze. She lifted her hands. “These calluses are a part of me. They are proof that I am a real person. That I make an honest wage with honest work. That I am
not
some ... some pampered palace pet! Furthermore, I bathe to be
clean
. Not to ‘fix’ some imaginary problem with my face. I trim my nails so they will not snag nor get in my way. I dress so that I can move freely and be comfortable.
Not
to be gilded like a ... a sculpture, or a painting! And I
will not
waste two hours of my life wrinkling my body in a puddle of milk! If milk is to do my body any good, it will do so when I
drink
it!”
The two men in the purple-edged robes of the palace staff eyed each other, then unctuously flowed into action. One fetched a pitcher and a fresh glass from the cart, the other plucked her juice-filled cup from the table. Within seconds, she had a crystal goblet bearing fresh white liquid in its place.
Gabria bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it. And it didn’t help that from the gleam of humor in his brown eyes, Devin was also struggling against the urge to laugh. Still, they meant well, and she did like milk. Nodding her head politely, she said, “Thank you. I’m sure it will taste lovely.”
A glance at Souder found him smiling, a rather odd reaction to her tirade. Not that she went off on a tirade very often, but this was such a strange culture, and her presence in it still such a shock, the only thing she could think to do about it was establish certain boundaries. If nothing else, for her own comfort while she adjusted to all these changes in her life.
“What would
you
like to do today?” Devin asked her before the Master of the Royal Retreat could speak.
“Well ... I wouldn’t mind exploring the palace,” Gabria admitted. “All the carvings and the inlay work, and the paintings ... they’re incredibly beautiful. And I wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens, and maybe some of the countryside, too.” She glanced at Souder, who was back to looking like he didn’t enjoy having his schedule disrupted. “Though that lunch on the beach does sound lovely.”
“Then we’ll explore the countryside, have lunch on the beach, then retire to roam through the shade of the palace as the afternoon heat rises,” Devin stated, picking up his utensils. “Souder, please instruct Captain Ellett to prepare an escort, and the stables to ready my horse—do you ride?”
Gabria lifted her brows. “A real horse? No. I never learned. The only kind I know how to ride is a motorhorse, but I doubt you have any of those here.”
“Then you’ll ride with me. Behind me,” he added, looking briefly but pointedly at the flowers in her hair. He started to cut into his food, then eyed her in curiosity. “... What exactly is a ‘motorhorse’ anyway?”
Chuckling, Gabria sipped from her goblet of milk—which was indeed tasty—and launched into an enthusiastic, if simplified, explanation of Guildaran-style transportation.
“
I
really am sorry about that,” Devin apologized for what had to be the fourth time. He followed her into the dressing room of their suite. “It was just supposed to be a simple dinner with my brother and his family, but these pirates keep attacking our ships, and ...”
“It’s alright, truly,” Gabria reassured him, smiling wryly. She twisted around and started unknotting the sash holding the open folds of her floor-length jackets in place. “I
do
understand. My best friend is the Consul-in-Chief, back home. We’ve had more than one meal interrupted by kingdom business. And I can’t blame your ... what did you call her? Her title?”
“Admiral, and it’s a rank. Like Captain, only higher, and pertaining to the sea instead of the land,” Devin explained, seating himself on the silk-padded bench in the center of the dressing room. Servants entered the room, trailing in their wake.
“I can’t blame your Admiral Arrevi for wanting some sort of prognostication on how to deal with them in the near future—no, thank you,” Gabria added as the maidservants started to remove her sash for her. “
No
, thank you,” she repeated as they pulled on the sash anyway. “I am quite capable of undressing myself—you can fold my things up neatly, if you must have something to do. I can tell you have some special sort of way for folding all these lovely clothes, and I haven’t a clue where to begin. Devin, you say these pirates are mostly based in some city among the islands?”
“Jetta Freeport, on the largest of the Jenodan Isles. It’s a fortified city, but a barbaric one—they’ve refused to be claimed by any of the kingdoms surrounding the sea, yet they also refuse to turn civilized and gain a Patron Deity,” he told her, standing so that his menservants could remove a few layers of his own sashed garments.
“I’m not ready to retire yet,” Gabria murmured. “Could I have a riding jacket to wear, like the short one I wore earlier?”
“It’s called an
eta
, Highness,” one of the maids replied, giving her a soft smile. “The long-coat is an
etama
, the long-coat with the sash of nobility is an
etamana
. The
eta
... it is a commoner garment. It is only worn by the nobility for riding because the long hemline is awkward for riding, and the longer sleeves can sometimes startle the horses.”
“Well, then that will suit me just fine.” She waited for an
eta
to be fetched from the shelves, since while her corset and trousers were decent enough, there were other men in the room, still.
The woman blinked, her smile faltering. “But ... you are a princess. You must appear as your station requires.”
After a lengthy afternoon tour of the palace, replete with impromptu history lessons, Gabria was beginning to learn that visual presentation was important to these people. Glancing at her husband showed him being eased into a plain, golden silk
etama
with sleeves that ... yes ... still reached below his knees, even if they didn’t wrap a fancy sash several times around his chest. He did have a short, simple one that knotted in place around his waist, but that was it.
“Look ... your Patron is the God of Vision, right? And His Eyes see everything? Well, then, I am quite sure His Eyes can see way down into my soul, and thus He—and by extension, everyone else—does not need to see me, in the privacy of my own chambers, prancing around like a princess.” They didn’t
feel
like her chambers yet, but they were as close as she was going to get, and Gabria didn’t want to endlessly argue the semantics. “Short
eta
jacket, please.”
The two maids attending her exchanged looks, then the older one rolled her eyes and fetched a jacket from the shelves. A short, thigh-length jacket with thigh-length sleeve pockets, in the same golden-dyed shade of silk as Devin’s garment. She let them help her into it, then took the short sash and knotted it with her own hands. To her relief, Devin fluttered his fingers, silently dismissing the women as well as his own menservants.
He also looked mildly amused as he stepped around the bench.
“You will send my people into fits of offense, if you keep insisting upon your foreign ideals and foreign ways.” One of his fingers stopped her defensive protest before she could start. “You do have a right to be yourself to an extent, but try to remember that my people are not from a brand-new kingdom, struggling hard to throw off the old customs of the old land. Our ways have been fully developed by now, and we like them this way.”
Stepping back, she bumped into the shelves holding her goods, but it did free her lips. “Well, I wouldn’t want to offend out in the rest of the palace, and I’ll try to comply, but
here
, this is supposed to be a private place. At least, by my standards and my culture. Try to understand that
my
ways are not
your
ways, and that to ignore and trample over them is equally disrespectful. Which is what I suspect those so-called pirates are feeling.”
Devin blinked and frowned. “What do you mean?”
Leaning back against the shelves, Gabria folded her arms over her chest. She half tangled them on the sleeves as she did so, before managing to get them pushed up so that the position was comfortable. “I mean, I listened to Admiral Arrevi when she kindly explained to me the previous attacks on the other Aurulan merchant ships. They claimed to have had a free-merchant ship boarded and stripped—
robbed
—and when they brought their complaints to the nearest Aurulan port authority, those complaints were ignored.
“Simply because their ways and methods are foreign, you treat them like those ways and methods are worthless. Simply because my values and customs are different does
not
mean they are worthless. Just because I am a commoner by birth does not mean I have no value. I
do
have value,” she asserted, touching her chest, then flicking her hand out as she continued. “And just because these so-called pirates have no Patron Deity does not mean they have no rights. They
do
. Arrevi said the city’s been an unaffiliated freeport for over four hundred years—do you realize that’s almost as long as Aurul has been a kingdom? If they’ve managed to last
that
long as a cohesive identity, the Freeport of Jetta, then clearly they have a system that works, and works very well. For
them
.
“It is
valid
. For
them.
And if you wish to gain their attention and find a way to stop them from retaliating against your ships, then you need to respect
them
. Open your eyes to
more
than just what you see on the surface,” she added quietly, if tartly. “It is said that the Gods can see into the hearts of mortal men. Not just look at their faces. My ways are different, but they have value, and they work for
me
. I may think the length of your sleeves is a bit ridiculous by my standards—for all that I think the fabric is lovely—but I won’t deny you the right to wear them. Because they work for
you
. More than that, I will not disrespect you if you choose to wear these
etamana
garments, or something else.
You
are the person I respect. Not your clothes.”
He studied her with a thoughtful look, his brow softly pinched. “I think I finally see what Ruul Sees in you. A certain ... common,” he teased softly, lingering on the word, “sense reminiscent of my late grandmother. May she rest in the arms of the Gods.”
“May she rest, indeed,” Gabria murmured in reply. At least that much of their two nations’ customs was similar. “Look, if you want to make progress in your dealings with these free-merchants, try treating them as if they were citizens of a nation.”
“But they don’t have a Patron Deity!” he reminded her, spreading his arms. He glanced down quickly to either side, then sighed roughly. He lowered his arms to his sides. “... Now you have me wondering if I look silly when I do something like that.”
“You look graceful, but then you’re used to the way those things move.” Gabria lifted her own arms and flapped them. “
I
feel like a molting chicken, and probably look like one, too.”
He chuckled and leaned in close enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “A prettier molting chicken has never been seen.”
The playful compliment made her blush. He pulled back before the kiss became anything more and changed the subject. Lifting his chin at the shelves of her Guildaran goods, he asked, “So, are any of these ... things ... some of the objects you told me about, this morning?”
Pushing away from the shelves, she turned to face them. Right in front of her sat her crankman, its steely spiral and curved handle making her blush. Clearing her throat, she moved to the side and picked up one of her less volatile belongings, a bucket-shaped object with an inner metal bin and a handle of its own at the top. “This is an iced-cream maker. It was one of my projects as an apprentice engineer. Hydraulics concerns the movement of fluids, and that included writing a paper on churning sweetened, flavored cream as it freezes.