“Emily! There you are! I was worried when you didn’t come calling yesterday. I feared you had been hurt.” The crinkle of satin being forcefully crushed by an impact punctuated the exclamation as Genovef swooped in and pulled Emily into a fierce hug. As quickly as Genovef had appeared, she removed herself from the sapper, smoothing her skirts and bodice back into order. Always, she was a study in motion, never remaining entirely still. Her hair trailed loose and free down her back, kinked slightly from the severe braids it had been tugged into for the morning’s audiences in court, while the slight adjustments she made to her stance caused her dress to rustle as though she were a tree caressed by the wind. As soon as her dress was neatened, she set to rubbing her temples, wincing at how tender they yet were from being pulled so forcefully by the tight plaits her father had deemed appropriate.

She smiled up at Emily. “They pull the braids so tightly, my handmaidens do. I think you ought to teach them the plaiting of hair. You must be masterful at it; you walk around with all your hair in that huge plait every day and I never see you in pain from it.”

A short, barking laugh finally escaped Emily at that. “You have no idea how long it takes to get used to that much weight tugging at your forehead. Listen to your maids; they have the right of it when they loop your hair around your head. With a good, tight plait so the hair stays in place, you rip hair out from the weight sometimes.” She laughed harder when Genovef’s eyes widened in horror at the end of her speech. Knowing the young Prinzessin, she would not complain so much anymore about the braids she was bade to wear to court. It would be a mercy for all involved. As beloved as the girl was, she could be astonishingly childish sometimes.