Keladry + gown (please and thank you)
inspired by this quote from tamora pierce: “Sir and Lady Knight are titles granted to individuals by the crown and aren’t passed on. Alanna prefers “Sir” because she was making a point. Kel prefers “Lady Knight” because she’s making a different point. Jon just throws up his hands and tells the Master of Ceremonies to ask the ladies for their preference.”
Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan smoothed her hands over the fine silk of her skirts for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. The grays and blues of the gown matched Mindelan colors perfectly, while its carefully planned silhouette left plenty of room for movement and a space for a belt and sword at her waist. Only Lalasa could have made a gown that looked so beautiful and fit so perfectly while still creating a garment suited for a knight, rather than a court beauty. After three years in the north, commanding a fort where a tunic without mud constituted formal wear, the fine fabrics, styled hair, and light face paint, carefully applied by Shinko and Yuki with the help of their maids in her rooms that afternoon, felt foreign.
Sir Nealan of Queenscove laughed at her fidgeting from somewhere behind her. “Nervous?” he asked, putting on his most insufferably superior drawl. He knew just as well as she did that she’d squirmed every inch of the ride south from New Hope that fall, terrified both of the court pageantry she’d been able to avoid since she was a squire and of her first reception at court since she’d technically committed light treason.
Kel was preparing to turn, a biting retort on the tip of her tongue, but she could hear Yuki, moving faster than lightning to smack her husband on the shoulder with a fan. “As if you hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes preening in the mirror like a parakeet,” she chastised him. After three long years of sharing a home with her best friends, who quarreled as an expression of love, she could see clearly in her mind’s eye Yuki smoothing the tunic over the shoulder she’d just tapped, using her other hand to push some stray lock of hair back into place.
The doors in front of her seemed to grow as she stood, trying to make herself stone, timing her breaths against the sounds of her pounding heart in an attempt to control both. She could hear the sounds on the other side, the roar of noble guests socializing, the twang of strings from the musicians in the corner nearest the door, even the clatter as some poor page dropped a tray. On the first night of Midwinter, she’d have given anything to be celebrating quietly in her rooms with their party from New Hope, her family, and her friends among Third Company, who, by some miracle of scheduling–or by some kindness of Raoul, were stationed at the palace for the winter. Her only comfort was that Raoul, who would have given more gold than she possessed to host just that party, was on the other side of the doors she faced, no doubt desperately wishing to hide behind some curtain while Buri kept a firm grip on his arm to keep him beside her.
“Truly, it will be fine,” said a soft voice over by her left ear. Kel started–in her preoccupation with the doors, she hadn’t noticed Yuki’s quiet movement to her side. “Three minutes, a bow you’ve been practicing since you were ten, and then you’re free.”
“Free to exchange empty chatter in more finery than I’ve seen in half a decade,” Kel retorted, a touch of Fanche’s wry cynicism working its way into her voice.
“Free to discuss border protection strategy with Lord Raoul in a corner while you both spy on the newest female pages,” Yuki retorted.
