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Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed. It was pinned back and rolled down past her shoulders in a cascade of silver. The style put her ears on display. They were the one aspect of her new body that Cera felt unsure about. She'd always thought that pointed ears gave the elves a certain charm, but on herself, she thought they looked ungainly and would have rather hidden them within her hair.
"How will you address your lord?"
Cera inwardly sighed. It was one of the rare questions that required her participation.
"I will call him my lord, or Lord Isael, but never by his given name."
She wondered what Maewyn would think if she knew that Isael had given her permission to address him with familiarity almost as soon as they'd met.
"Good. But you shouldn't have cause or the means to address him directly. You'll be sitting at the end of the table with me. Remember—"
"I am to be seen, but not heard," Cera smoothly interjected. "Gazed upon, but to keep my gaze down. Comport myself as if I am above the trifles of others, while carrying myself so as to be beneath their notice."
They were the words the queen mother had hammered into Cera whenever she was to be invited to a dinner, or on the rare occasions she would leave the grounds of the castle. The recitation clearly threw Maewyn off of whatever script she'd been rehearsing. After a brief scramble for words, she quickly recovered.
"Yes, well, that would be ideal, but you must know that you will not be beneath the notice of anyone. Being the high lord's new concubine would be enough to draw attention, but it has been a long time since the court has seen an Ishvalindic woman. Not that you are one. Blue eyes and silver hair are not proxies for millennia of culture and tradition. You must not let their attention inflate your ego."
It would mean nothing new for Cera. Her whole life she'd been a curiosity to outsiders, like the white bear in her father's menagerie. Once they realized she was no different than the brown and black bears that filled the forests, they would lose interest.
Maewyn circled her for a final time, and then muttered something to herself. She left Cera to regard herself for another moment, and then returned with something in her hands.
"This is not a crown," she said, before placing it on Cera's head.
It wasn't a crown, but a diadem. It was silver and adorned with diamond stones that had been expertly carved to tiny flower buds.
"Mountain drops?" Cera asked, reaching up to touch one of the flower buds.
"Fyristle," Maewyn corrected, brushing her hand aside as she righted the diadem. "It's the flower of Ishvalier. As if you needed even more attention."
Cera cocked her head, eliciting a disapproving grunt from Maewyn.
"Is this from Lord Isael?"
Ignoring the question, Maewyn again said, "This is not a crown. It conveys no authority. Nor does your title as his concubine. Unless you bear him a child, your position will remain fixed at a level above only the servants."
"If I bear him a child, I'll have higher status in the court?"
Maewyn gave her look that said it was a very dumb question. But for Cera, it was not so obvious. Her mother had given her father many children, but she'd been held in lower regard than the royal hounds.
"If you bear him a child, you will gain a great deal of status. You would be mother to the heir of Ishvalier, and therefore a propersolina, or minor lady."
"One of the servants called me a 'solina' today, at breakfast."
Her remark was merely an outward musing, but it had an incendiary effect on Maewyn. A deep scowl scrunched her face, the color of which had reddened considerably.
"He should not have done that. Did the high lord censure him?"
"Perhaps they exchanged some words in their native tongue," Cera said, making herself appropriately doe eyed. "I don't imagine the high lord would permit such an offense against decorum."
In fact, Isael had not batted an eye at the servant's faux pas.
"Of course, he must have," Maewyn said, sounding as if she were reassuring herself more than Cera. "But you must take the initiative in the future. It's improper to accept a title that is not due to you."
"What are the proper titles in your language?"
"The high lord isIsael Aesolin," she said, the title rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. "And if you give the lord an heir, you would be referred to asCera Solina."
"I see," Cera said, before making comical attempts at pronouncing both titles. She hid her mirth behind a façade of eagerness, prompting Maewyn to correct her pronunciation multiple times before giving up.
