Tattered

Chapter 2

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, rolling my eyes. The vomit green dress Ingrid held out to me was too frilly for its own good and clearly much too small. Sometimes I wondered why she even bothered trying.

"Oh, hush," She said with a flippant wave of her hand. She pushed the dress into my arms and ushered me behind the screen to change. "Just do it. And no complaining!" I huffed in exasperation, blowing a few strands of unruly hair out of my eyes, but dutifully began to change into my dress. The gods knew I couldn't say no to her when she was set on getting what she wanted.

"I'm trying it on for you, but I won't wear it tonight," I called as I shucked off my leather jerkin and sword belt. They fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

"Bryn," Her muffled voice scolded me. By the sounds of rustling fabric, she was changing into a dress as well. "You don't show up to meet Halfdan the Valiant in sweaty armor."

"Hey, I like my sweaty armor." It certainly beat the horrible dress I was currently struggling to pull over my head. "It makes me look dashing."

"Exactly." With a snap, Ingrid pushed aside the screen. At seeing my losing battle with the dress, she sighed heavily and moved to help me put it on properly. "Princesses aren't supposed to look dashing."

"Easy for you to say," I murmured too softly for her to hear, then pointed out in a louder voice, "I wore armor to the banquet when Erik Bloodaxe called."

"Yes, and Breca says that's why the Ylfings haven't come to call again since."

"Breca?" I whirled on her, leaving the back of my dress only half laced. "When have you been talking to Breca?"

Ingrid's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and a self-satisfied expression replaced the pout on her face. "I often see him at court," She said with a shrug. "Why shouldn't I talk to him?"

I groaned, which only prompted her to put her hands on her hips and furrow her brow.

"Just because you despise him doesn't mean I can't spend any time in his company if I wish."

"Doesn't it bother you that he's only pursuing you to get father's title?" I retaliated. "Or that his own father kicked him out? Or his arrogance?"

Ingrid gave another delicate shrug and flounced over to the armoire to brush her long, cornsilk hair. The pastel blue dress she had changed into suited her pale skin beautifully. She looked like a fairy dressed up in flower petals.

"Not really," She replied, unconcerned. "He's still nice." I began to walk towards her and saw her lips curl up into a smirk in the mirror.

"Uh-huh." I stood behind her, crossing my arms, and gave her the most skeptical look I could muster. "So what's nice about him exactly- his strapping arms or that chiseled jaw?"

Ingrid turned to face me and raised a brow suggestively. "Well, those certainly help," She allowed, nodding sagely as if this was a wise observation. "But I was thinking more along the lines of those washboard abs of his." She winked at me and went back to brushing through her hair.

"Ingrid," I protested despite the fact that I knew I couldn't make a dent in her resolve. Ingrid was not one to be swayed easily from something she wanted. "Don't you want to look a little deeper than his appearance before you get too involved with him?"

"Bryn, I know you're trying to do the whole protective big sister thing, but don't," She told me sharply. "It's not anything serious. Besides, even you can't deny he's handsome, and what's a person without their good looks, hm?"

The hand holding her hair stopped mid brush and her expression froze in place. I was used to Ingrid's careless frivolity by now. It's just who she was, and I couldn't blame her for that. But the words stung regardless. And judging by her reaction, she realized it too. I willed myself not to do it, but I couldn't stop myself; unbidden, my eyes rose to look into the mirror.