Thread of Frost

Ch. 21: How to Master Tea with a Princess

Nothing had prepared Isolde for this.

She peeked across the table. Princess Penelope Delafort was calmly buttering a scone; her red hair was damp from the bath, and she smelled of lilac soap. She was also wearing one of Isolde's gowns — a pale champagne dress — that was too small in the bust, and too long in the ankles. Not that Penelope seemed to mind.

She kept buttering her scone.

Isolde swallowed.

Sunshine spilled in through the glass roof, reflecting off fuzzy white throw cushions, a silver tray of tea cakes and scones, and a stag's antlers that were mounted above the fireplace. Poor stag, Isolde thought; how terrible to be inhaling smoke for eternity.

"I trust your journey was pleasant," Isolde said.

"Well," Penelope said, "I was forcibly removed from my childhood home after my mother, brother, and several of my friends were slaughtered. Then I was crammed in the belly of a boat for several weeks." She nibbled on the scone. "So not really."

"Don't forget the sea monster," Grayson added.

The young blond man was standing by a potted plant, examining the spiky leaves with interest. Isolde caught the flash of a tattoo. Waves? Birds? She couldn't tell from this distance. Penelope clicked her fingers.

"Ah, yes." She lowered her scone. "Are you familiar with Loxian sea monsters?"

Isolde picked up a knife. "No, Your Highness."

"Neither was I," Penelope said. "Then one tried to eat me."

The Delafort princess added jam to the scone. Isolde cut into a lemon tart and tried not to think about how strange this whole thing was. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing. She was barred from most etiquette classes at the convent, and the few that she'd attended had been called things like "The Art of Crochet" and "How to Master Napkin Arrangement."

Not exactly helpful.

She needed "How to Master Tea With a Princess" or "How To Eat a Lemon Tart in A Way That People Deem Socially Acceptable."

Most pressingly, Isolde thought, what on earth was one meant to say when a royal tells you she was almost devoured by a sea monster? Sorry? I hope you're alright? Ah yes, we had meant to feed Nessie on the weekend but forgot?

"How unfortunate," Isolde ventured.

"Yes, I rather thought so," Penelope agreed. "The creature's breath was terrible." She took a bite of scone, then wiped the crumbs from her mouth with a napkin. "Why did you call me that?"

Isolde blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your Highness," Penelope clarified. "You don't need to, you know. We're equals."

Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest. Equals. Sure. Penelope had probably grown up choosing which crown to wear to breakfast; Isolde grew up cleaning ash out of fireplaces. She had no idea how to host a foreign princess. She'd sent for Julian several times, but he was off somewhere. Earlier, he'd raced out of the garden like his arse was on fire, so whatever it was, it was important.

Bugger.

"What shall I call you, then?" Isolde asked.

The princess smiled. "Penny. And you?"

"Isolde."

Penny studied her. "You're younger than I thought you'd be."

Isolde bit into the lemon tart. "The same age as you."

"Does it hurt?" Penny's eyes flickered to her forehead. "Your mark?"

Isolde examined the lemon tart. She'd definitely eaten it wrong. She had no idea how, she just knew. "No."