“Thank you,” said Marry. “For the gloves.”
???
The rest of the royal court had made it upstairs by the time the sisters returned to the drawing room. They entered to find the Queen already settled among a few of her ladies, but Adeline’s father, Silas, caught sight of them and beckoned both girls to his side, subtle but quietly urgent. Mareda’s father stood on his other side, glaring into a mostly empty tumbler of whiskey. Edward glanced up as the girls approached, still frowning; that was just his natural brow, furrowed even as he offered a gruff smile to his daughter, and to Adeline.
“Your mother has been asking after you,” Silas said quietly. “The court have been told to settle in until your return.”
“We were putting Izzy to bed,” said Adeline.
They looked around, and several pairs of eyes flitted away as they turned.
“Bollocks, what is it now?” She muttered.
Edward harumphed, and Mareda whipped at her skirts reproachfully. But Silas gave her a grim smile, turning his head enough that only she could hear him.
“Whatever it is, she requires an audience–I’d suggest you find yourself a cup of wine.”
Adeline murmured in agreement, then quickly kissed his cheek.
“Merry New Winter, Papa.”
“Merry New Winter, Mischief.”
Adeline followed Mareda to their usual settee, and courtiers parted for them, eyeing them with open interest. From the few whispers she could catch, they had indeed been told to wait for the princesses, and nobody seemed to know why.
Adeline had the fleeting idea that perhaps it had to do with her run in at the tavern; with what the Captain had told her mother. But a public scene was not the Queen’s style; if she was to face any consequences for stopping the arrest, they would be doled out in private.
Mareda nervously twirled a golden lock of hair between her fingers.
“Have you done something, Ade?” said a sweet, bemused voice.
Lady Imogen came up behind the settee, bearing a smirk and three crystal goblets carefully balanced between two hands, each steaming with curling fumes of fragrant wine. Adeline gladly accepted a glass.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” she said. “I’ve been on my best behaviour all night, haven’t I Marry?”
She turned to her sister, but Mareda had somehow slipped away past a gaggle of courtiers in the split second since Imogen arrived.
It was… not the first time.
Imogen smiled thinly. “Something I said, perhaps.”
“She’s just –”
Adeline cast about for some excuse.
Until rather recently, Imogen had been more Mareda’s friend than her own. Whatever rift had come between them, Adeline wasn’t privvy to the details. Mareda didn’t want to talk about it, and her friendship with Imogen was new enough that she wasn’t yet sure if it was her place to ask. She was glad when Imogen waved her off.
“Overwhelmed by my very presence, I’m sure.”
Adeline grinned. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, even for Mareda. Adeline had certainly been intimidated by her when they were children, the prettiest and sharpest of her older sister’s friends. Even all these years later, Imogen was still a darling of the court; a talented Wielder, and the Queen’s favourite dressmaker. She took up the space that others didn’t bother to fill - sometimes literally. Her dress tonight was so outrageously huge, Adeline wasn’t sure how she’d remained upright. Cascading layers of white silk lay in bright snowy contrast to her dark skin, and her skirts billowed out like the petals of a gigantic rose. The bodice was wreathed in a delicate web of ice spun from Imogen’s own magic-Wielding hands, shimmering wherever she caught the light.
Adeline gestured at the dress.
“You’re a masterpiece,” she said.
Imogen set the spare cup of wine down on a side table, and shrugged a dainty ice-laced shoulder.
“Aren’t I always? Can’t sit down though, which is quite literally a pain in the –”
