Sep 22, 2021
i may not have written in a year… but here’s something i have done -Fannyatrollop
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i may not have written in a year… but here’s something i have done -Fannyatrollop
lying on the moon (pearlet) - fannyatrollop
A/N: Hello! Here’s the companion piece to sunshine, and glory too that was not strictly asked for, but that I am presenting to the public. I like Pearlet a lot, and felt that that ship was lacking in the main fic. So I gave them their own little fic!
Anyway, here’s a little fluffy piece about Queen Violet and her mistress, Pearl.
When Violet went to her husband’s court, Pearl had the option of retiring to her own estate. Even if it wasn’t being let out to her sister at the time, she still chose to remain in her rooms at the palace rather than quitting it for her little retreat.
“I gave you the house so you wouldn’t have to be here all on your own,” Violet said, when she returned to her. “Not just so that your sister could use it as a love nest.”
“I know,” Pearl replied. “But you also gave me these very fine rooms, where I keep all my things. I can wait here just as well.”
It wasn’t horrible, staying at the palace. She knew where she could go if she wanted to see portraits of Violet, some from her childhood and a few more recent ones. There was some remodeling being done in the gardens, and Pearl enjoyed going out to see how that was coming along. Mostly, she kept to her sitting room and occupied herself with needlework. She bothered no one, and as she had proven herself to be no mastermind for intrigue, to have no interest in politics, and even less of a concern for furthering the ambitions of others, nobody disturbed her. If she had been a queen consort, she would have been lauded for her virtuous conduct. As it was, she was said to be the most boring royal mistress in recent history.
Pearl had been placed in the same rooms as Violet’s great grandfather’s beloved mistress. He had built the palace as it stood in the present, and had created a tunnel that connected the king’s quarters to his love. Violet’s father had given these rooms to his queen, and now Pearl had the privilege of using them. No matter the time of day, when the queen returned from a journey Pearl knew that she could expect her to arrive in her quarters within the hour, ready for bed. Her hair would be plaited for sleep, but Pearl always wanted it undone. Violet would sit perfectly still while she got it loose.
Violet would be so soft when she first came home. She complained that there was no conceivable way for a person to rest while travelling, so she was always dreadfully tired when she arrived at her destination. Pearl stroked her hair, her back, her sides, wherever her hands chose to go as she listened to this familiar refrain. She could feel her drifting off to sleep, and laid kisses on her temple to show how happy she was to have her in her bed grumbling about roads, about the inefficiency of travel in their world.
“I must commission someone to invent something better,” she said, her words heavily distorted by a yawning pause in the middle.
Pearl understood, though. She kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll remind you tomorrow.”
Pearl was a kind mistress. When the queen came to her within an inch of dreaming, it was best to coax her all the way to sleep. When she had her rest, and regained her strength, then they could play. But on those first nights, she would hang on until Violet went still, until her breathing evened out. Violet had told her that she never laid with the king like this, that she would retire to her own rooms when they were done conducting business, as she called it.
Having the most powerful woman in the kingdom clutching at her like a child’s comfort toy sent a giddy burst of butterflies right to the pit of her stomach. Having that woman be Violet only cemented how loved Pearl had been by sweet providence, how blessed her existence was.
***
Early in her reign, Violet liked to play a little trick on her ministers.
Many of the men charged with the nitty gritty business of running the kingdom had been employed thus since her father’s reign. Violet had seen no reason to give her cabinet a complete overhaul when she became queen. These men may be stuffy, and grumbled plenty about having to answer to a queen rather than a king for the first time in the history of their kingdom, but they were capable men.
Still, Violet heard how they moaned and groaned in anticipation of her accession to the throne for years. In the first year they spent together, Violet told Pearl about this, and confided in her that it had always made her angry. So, she used her capacity for speed against them.
If she moved with purpose, Violet could outpace just about anyone with her long legs. She would appear to float as she walked, even when she did so at a remarkably brisk pace. The queen could often be seen striding at top speed, not breaking the smallest sweat, with a minister huffing and puffing behind her. She was good at settling her scores that way; majestic even at the height of her pettiness.
In her public role, Violet would never cede authority. Why should she? She was queen by right. So long as she was in her own country, she was entitled to the final say in any major decision. If she had a taste for blood, Pearl shuddered to think of how the kingdom would be governed. Thankfully, Violet had a disdain for war ingrained in her at a young age, and was more interested in presiding over a cultural golden age than terrorizing the populace.
Violet’s forcefulness would be scary if she hadn’t been so gentle with Pearl from the start. Pearl had expected the crown princess to be haughty and remote before meeting her for the first time. That’s how she’d been described to her by her mother, who knew everything there was to know about the royal family from Lady Eleanor, an idle cousin of hers, who dedicated her life to observing them.
“She will hardly ever look at a person,” Lady Eleanor would say. “Always keeping to herself, and to her faerie. She walks around with her nose stuck in the air. Very pretty face and figure, but she acts like an ancient goddess.”
“I thought we let the royals stay in charge because the gods sent them down to rule over us,” Pearl’s mother drawled. “She might as well be that way—she’s the crown princess.”
Lady Eleanor then muttered, “Well, it isn’t very amiable of her.”
To Pearl’s surprise, Violet had looked right at her when they first spoke. She later claimed that she had stood right next to her for quite some time before she finally laid a hand on her shoulder, so that Pearl could face her. Pearl almost bumped her head against her when she bowed in respect of her presence, so mortified from not having noticed the crown princess that she did not remember to curtsy like a lady.
Violet had covered her mouth, to help stifle a laugh.
If Trixie hadn’t reappeared with two glasses of champagne, Violet would have taken her away from the grand hall so they could talk more easily. She wasn’t keen on making small talk with her sister. While she had Pearl to herself, though, Violet asked her questions and regarded her warmly as she spoke. She came across as interested and patient. Pearl would grow more and more certain that she must have talked nothing but nonsense looking back on it. Her mind had emptied itself of its contents the longer she had Violet’s eyes on her.
Perhaps Violet liked nonsense.
***
Pearl had always been gentle. She was not a fussy baby; it was said that Trixie cried twice as much on her behalf. They must have agreed on that while they were still in the womb. Trixie went quiet too as she grew up, but her presence was always very loud. Her moods were rolling thunder. Pearl never liked to be singled out, but for some reason she was the one who was noticed, while Trixie was ignored.
She almost thought it best to refuse Violet when she asked her to become her companion. It was easier to accept when she could smooth things over so that Trixie could come along too. Her conscience was more at ease that way.
They had been spending innocent nights together for weeks when Violet asked if she could kiss her.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Pearl said. Her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of her chest.
It was dark, and Pearl could not quite see how red Violet’s cheeks got.
“I only want to do it,” said the princess, haltingly. “If it would please you. And I’ve told you to call me Violet.”
Violet never stumbled over her words before in the time Pearl had known her. Pearl worried for her comfort, all the while thinking it precious to hear her like that.
“I wish you’d say my name.”
She said it so sweetly, Pearl couldn’t possibly deny her.
“Well, Violet,” she said. “You mustn’t hesitate, then. Kiss me.”
They were both girls back then, really.
Pearl believed Violet to be more learned about the world, having been groomed to rule while Pearl focused on accruing feminine accomplishments.
Violet understood how their country was governed, had the freedom to associate with whomever she pleased, as her father believed she ought to grow accustomed to having the freedom to conduct her life as she pleased, and felt comfortable telling rather than asking for the most part. Pearl knew how to run a household in theory, and was discouraged from making friends outside of her mother’s circle of acquaintances. Violet’s father took her to survey their domains every other time he found reason to leave the capital. Pearl always considered it an event when she was permitted to go somewhere that wasn’t the village near her house, and even then she was taught that she had no need to show her face around those parts, because she was a lady.
Still, Violet didn’t kiss her without asking. After getting her consent, Violet shut her eyes and slowly let them drift onto Pearl’s, light as a feather.
Pearl pulled her in closer.
***
Pearl wasn’t sure she had much of a personality until she actively sought to develop a sense of it. When she finally had the space to get to know herself, she began to take inventory of her own thoughts. She kept mental lists of the things she truly liked, of what she really thought of the world around her. She’d grown up thinking her head was perfectly hollow, and sought to correct that.
The crown princess loved her by then, and would get sad if Pearl said anything disparaging about herself in her presence.
Trixie came into her own when she fell in love, suffered heartbreak, and had to build herself back up from that experience. She regained that love in due time, but she once told Pearl that she was certain of having gained her individuality because of that journey. Pearl would argue that Trixie had always been the more individual of the two of them, but she did grow into a less sullen, bitter woman than she might have otherwise. Pearl thanked the gods for that.
Pearl liked working with her hands. This was usually in the form of needlework. She embroidered handkerchiefs, and used her skill when she needed to alter clothing. She was never a dressmaker, but she took pride in what she could do. When she was young, she only had Trixie to gift her work to, and she had always wanted to have more friends she could think of when she worked. Violet received a lot of her work over the years, and the more people she grew to like, the more gifts she could give. When she was settled as the queen’s mistress, she thought she might enjoy the challenge of weaving tapestries.
She had a good ear for music, and enjoyed listening to others play. She had decent skill on the pianoforte, but had left mastery of musical instruments for Trixie to find her niche in. Trixie was always quicker with them anyway. Violet liked to bring her to concerts, and to have her be present when musicians petitioned her for patronage. Violet valued her opinion when it came to these things.
Quiet moments were more to Pearl’s taste. Violet would moderate her pace in consideration to her preference if they went on walks together. Pearl liked to enjoy life at a slow pace, and as she grew older, she only became firmer in her mission to trod along like a tortoise as much as she could. She did not need excitement.
She gladly received gifts from Trixie, who travelled the world with her beloved Katya and their dragon, from the comfort of her apartments in the royal palace. Pearl liked reading her letters, but she saw no point in making any long trips without someone to share them with. At most, she accepted invitations from friends to their country homes. Once, Violet took her to a house she was given by her husband, on his ancestral lands by the sea. It was the farthest she’d travelled since Violet’s days at the Royal Academy.
Pearl had more freedom to mingle with other people than ever, but while she did occasionally enjoy making a new acquaintance from time to time, she found that she liked to keep her inner circle small. She only cared about minding her business, and enjoying her queen’s company. Anyone who thought her pitiful for it could shove it.
She loved Violet when she snuck winks at her after making a public speech. She liked it when she was able to sway Violet’s opinion about a concert or play they saw together, but she loved it when Violet would be so impressed that she would stand up and loudly applaud the performance unprompted. She loved Violet in her full regalia, and the comfort she felt in her own authority.
She loved how Violet came apart in her bed. She was like a doll; Pearl undid her hair so that it tumbled down her back, just the way she liked it. She’d lift her arms so Pearl could get her nightshift off. She was soft, pliant. At first, in the rooms Violet had been provided with at the Academy, neither of them knew what to do with a lover’s body. It was always slow, hesitant, patient but tender. It mostly stayed that way, in that it was still slow, but more deliberate. Pearl never knew she liked being in charge before they met, but she came to learn that she did, if only when it meant having Violet trembling under her. She liked making her ball her hands up into fists and hold them above her head while she had her way with her. They knew Pearl could just tie her wrists together, but she enjoyed making her hold them still herself.
Pearl loved that Violet trusted her enough to let her have all the control. She loved kissing her gently, telling her how good she was for her.
She loved hearing Violet’s small, sleepy voice saying that she loved her.
***
Queens did not die in childbirth, not when they had faeries by their side. They may fall to sudden illness, but the birthing bed would never have them.
Even so, Pearl could feel her teeth clenching when Violet delivered her first daughter. Fame knelt at Violet’s side, holding her hand as she screamed, and Pearl wished she could be there in her place. She knew Fame had to be there, that it would help Violet survive, but it was all she could do not to rush to her side. She focused on not fainting until it was over, and the little princess was taken away so she could be made presentable to her royal mother.
“Well done,” she said, when she was finally allowed near the queen.
“Don’t cry,” Violet said, her voice hoarse. “I’ll be just fine.”
Pearl hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
Violet chose Alice for her first daughter’s name. The second, born a mere three years after her sister, was called Mary. There would be no more children after the two princesses; Violet was adamant that she had only promised her husband two children.
“There is no law forbidding girls from inheriting his throne,” she reasoned. “And I would not be where I am if mine was limited thus.”
Violet was the quintessential royal mother. Her lifestyle was not altered much to accommodate children. Their upkeep was mostly left to their faeries and the various attendants every royal child was entitled to. Violet attended to her queenly duties, found solace in Pearl, and when she had a moment, liked to visit her girls if only to make sure they remembered that they had a mother.
Violet once told Pearl that she couldn’t hold her daughters without being afraid of dropping them.
“It’s different with you,” she said. “You’re the one keeping me from falling.”
Princess Alice would sometimes ask her faerie to visit Pearl. The faerie, a prim-looking, dark haired woman, would grandly inform her that Alice wished to have her over for tea.
“The princess,” she’d say. “Would like to know if you are getting on well with your work, and if you should be ready to show it to her, wishes for you to bring it so that she might see it. She wants you to know that she should one day like to use the needle as well as you do.”
Alice would sometimes forget that Pearl needed to curtsy first when they crossed paths. She called her “Lady Duchess”, and Pearl had to stifle a laugh every time she said it. She was fair haired, but her eyes were Violet’s, and it was strange to see them on her chubby little face.
Because she would likely be Violet’s heir, Alice was encouraged to occasionally address the public. Small speeches would be written for her in advance, and she would ask Pearl to listen to her practice. She’d tell her that she only wanted her Mama to hear her when she got it right. On the day she’d have to deliver them, Violet would stand off to the side, and hold her arms open so that Alice could run into them when she was finished.
“When she’s older, that won’t do at all,” Violet would say, later in the evening, her head nestled on Pearl’s chest. Pearl rubbed tiny circles at the base of her neck.
“I hope she will be good,” Violet sighed. “She’s not like me. I’m not sure if I’m teaching her how I should.”
Pearl assured her that Alice would be just fine.
“She will be loved.”
Mary would fix her big, green eyes on Pearl when they crossed path, and silently wait until she curtsied before slowly extending her hand so Pearl could take it. She never made a single move until Pearl paid her the respects due to her as the queen’s daughter. She acted like this with everyone, save for her parents and her faerie.
While Alice was open and affectionate, Mary was quiet and reserved. There was something unknowable about her. Violet made an effort to give Alice the hugs she requested, but Mary would squirm until she was released if anyone tried to hold her after a certain age. When she learned to walk on her own, she would shriek if she was not permitted to waddle along on her own two feet.
Mary found her life’s great love in horseback riding. She had a habit of speeding past her attendants on horseback, sparking an intense chase. The young princess would blithely revel in feeling the wind blowing through her hair with her terrified entourage at her heel. Mary had no concept of how horrifying it would be for the queen’s youngest daughter to perish in a riding accident on her servants’ watch.
When Violet was asked to step in, she obliged. But she couldn’t help finding her daughter’s daredevil antics strangely amusing.
“She’s exactly like you,” Pearl breathed, when she spoke of it with Violet.
Violet laughed. “Not at all. I was never so daring.”
The king grew to feel affection towards his little daughters, but they were still reared on Violet’s lands for the most part. As children, they had no way of truly understanding how Pearl fit into their mother’s life. Pearl took care to learn how each princess preferred to be doted upon, and thus gained their esteem.
Pearl never regretted pursuing a life that would deny her the opportunity to have children of her own. Stil, she had been there when Violet’s came into the world both times. She thought that was why they were so interesting to her, why she delighted in watching them grow.
One day, Mary motioned for Pearl to lower herself so she could whisper into her ear.
“I love you,” she said. “Because Mama loves you.”
Pearl had to remember that Princess Mary did not like to be scooped into big hugs. Instead, she gave her hand a little squeeze.
***
When Pearl was first established in the palace, Fame took her on a tour of the armoury. There, among all the instruments of war available to the kingdom, she cheerfully informed her that none of those things could truly injure any of her people.
“I can assure you, though,” Fame said, smiling benignly all the while. “That I need no arms to be dangerous.”
Pearl felt a creeping fear seeping from her core. She returned Fame’s smile with a tight-lipped one of her own.
“I can only be grateful that Her Majesty has you to protect her.”
Pearl wondered, later on, if Fame had said something similar to the king.
Violet once told Pearl that she’d initially thought her lack of connections made her an ideal companion.
“You do not come with any complications,” she explained. “Nobody truly knows you, so you don’t bring a tangled web of intrigue with you. Only an impertinent mother and a troublesome sister. Nothing I cannot handle.”
When Pearl held her in her arms, naked and flushed from their lovemaking, Violet told her that she was been the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. That she hadn’t known what to do with herself when she’d first spotted her.
“I thought you were an angel.”
Pearl laughed, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.
“I’ll try to be an angel if you want me to be,” she said.
Violet raised herself so that their noses touched. Hers was the most perfect face Pearl knew, and no matter how many years went by them, she never stopped thinking that.
“You needn’t try to be anything. I already love you.”
side by side in orbit (kimlet) - fannyatrollop
A/N: what’s a worse time than late to submit a rarepair for the fic challenge? never.
tho tbh it’s gonna be a while before i get the rest of part one done. but i figured i could throw a prologue out there.
the idea is for this to be… kim and violet as high school gal pals turned maybe lovers in the future. set in canada. the high school portion will feature the two of them with a parade of ocs, but familiar faces might crop up when we jump into the future. i’m sure the real brooke lynn would be glad not to be included in a part of the story that is set in winnipeg, manitoba. (i spent my teenage years trying to get outta there myself… tho i do hear that the royal winnipeg ballet is a venerable institution.) idk if she’ll show up later either. i will roll in the irony of setting a fic in canada without her if she doesn’t.
anyway… we shall see how it tuns out when i’m done writing. but here’s a teensy-weensy sneaky peekaroo!
Kimberly Chi was a late transfer. She showed up in Grade 9, two years after most other girls at St. Mary’s Academy. When she first arrived, she had the misfortune of being a fat girl with a lisp and a tragic bowl cut. She seldom spoke, but try as she might to disappear into the background, she couldn’t help sticking out a little. She was the tallest girl in their year, next to Violet. The two of them never really stopped towering over all the other girls, but while Violet got into the habit of holding herself up high, Kim was always examining the ground below.
As a teenager, Violet Chachki kept pretty bad company. She knew it then, too, but hadn’t realized she could do without them just yet. In Grade 9, she was still faking her confidence. Hanging out with the mean girls gave her a daily shot of power strong enough to make her put up with the likes of Bailey Button. Violet had been Bailey’s sidekick pretty much all her life. Their mothers had maintained an illusion of friendship well into adulthood. They were raising their girls in their image, right down to the secret undercurrent of resentment that came with their matching BFF charm bracelets.
Violet was not a better person than Bailey. She can’t lie to herself about it, and she never got in the habit of trying. Some of the cruelest remarks their little group sent out into the world came from her. She had always been a cocky little thing in her own right, and even though she had little respect for her friends, she couldn’t think of a better crowd to fall in with. Bailey was only in charge because she was aggressive about it, because being the leader was so important to her that she jammed the crown on her own head and declared herself Queen. Violet couldn’t be bothered to stop her.
Kim didn’t really have that kind of history with anyone, not in Canada at least. She’d only lived in Winnipeg for almost two years before transferring into St. Mary’s. Her parents reluctantly let her sojourn in the public school system when they first arrived, since she had just missed the first round of admissions at St. Mary’s and the secular all-girls school was located in a rough part of town. As much as they wanted their daughter to study in an environment where she wouldn’t be beset by the impure attentions of boys, where the quality of education was known to be high, where she could devote all her time to studying in peace, they weren’t about to send her into a troubled area in Winnipeg’s inner city.
The irony of all this was that Kim knew damn well that boys weren’t a problem for her. At the time, she just chalked it up to being undesirable. The only thing she had going for her, looks-wise, was clear skin. There was nothing tempting about her.
One day, she’d come to terms with the fact that even if she had been beautiful, she wouldn’t have cared for boys anyway. What her parents had done, in the end, was surround her with the true objects of her interest.
Kim didn’t like boys. She liked girls. Most of all, she liked girls who were way out of her league, the very sight of whom sent her walking in the opposite direction. Girls like Violet.
Kim would never have made a move, not if her life depended on it. If it had been up to her, she would have resigned herself to pining from afar, all the while telling herself that it wasn’t what she was doing. She used to think Violet would tear her to shreds if she so much as made eye contact.
Looking back, Violet will wonder what they could have been if she’d approached her sooner.
as the sun dies (trixie x violet) - chapter 1 - fannyatrollop
A/N: This is a mad piece of historical fiction. Poor Trixie is Marie Antoinette, doomed Queen of France. Violet is her sister-in-law. Katya has a role I made up out of whole cloth, achieved by reviving dead historical figures so they would be around at the time, and pretending an unhappy royal couple could have given birth to a daughter at the right time for her to exist. The story is about them doing their best to be princesses in the palace of Versailles, while time floats slowly on to the French Revolution. Vixie are the beating heart of this fic, but Trixya will also exist in some form.
I have spent a lot of my free time reading royal histories, and though I mess with things severely to bring you this fic, I still stress a little about accuracy. Because the Hanover dynasty of Britain is one of my favourites, I decided that Trixie would be a British princess. The king in charge of her life at the time had a moment of OOC behaviour to make this possible. Maria Theresa of Austria found steaming mad. At least in this universe, the real Marie Antoinette had a chance to end up somewhere nice.
Also really wanna mention that the actual irl Comtesse de Provence as a hot, stinking mess when she got to France. I expected Violet to somehow be born with elegance and the ability to quickly figure out how to be the most fashionable lady in court. Also, because princesses often underwent name changes when they married into foreign courts… I call her Violette.
Trixie’s wedding would have taken place on 16 May 1770. Violet would show up at some point in the next year, so I’ll give you all of their ages as of September 1771 for reference: Trixie, 19; Violet, 18; Katya, 24. I try to keep track of when a significant time jump happens in the narrative, and hope it’s not too confusing. I’ll blab about titles and such next chapter.
CHAPTER ONE: Royal Parcels
Princess Caroline Beatrice of Great Britain, aged eighteen, has barely recovered from seasickness when she enters her new home. She’s never liked admitting to weakness, so rather than explaining her nausea as a symptom of nerves, she prefers to think she’s still carrying the effects of that horrible voyage inside of her. If she has it her way, she will never again set foot on a ship, not even if her life depends on it.
She knows that when a princess leaves her home country, she’s unlikely to return unless she is an unfit wife. When she was informed of her upcoming nuptials, she had promised herself to succeed on that front come hell or high water. Her marriage will be a success, even if it kills her. If she ever does end up on a boat home, she will be a failure, and if it’s like that she might as well leap off and let the sea have her. She doubts she’d be sent to the stocks for returning home a spurned woman, but she doesn’t want that to be the outcome of her life. Something about her marriage feels like a grand, cosmic test, and it’s in her nature to want to do well.
Trixie has no mind for politics. She can ride a horse. She can grow her own flowers, and keep a small garden alive tolerably well. She is a gifted musician, which is something she takes immense pride in. From the day she was born, her entire world has been confined to the house she was raised in, and the occasional sojourn to another royal residence for holidays. She’s incredibly green, but even so she is aware that hers is an unusual match. Her marriage is meant to crown the end to a long war with France—wedding bells to ring in a deeper friendship between the two nations. She would have expected to be shipped off to one of the German states instead, somewhere nice and Protestant, where her bridegroom might turn out to be a close relative. Her sisters had been established through alliances where at least one of these things was true.
For Trixie, marriage has simply been one of the three possible outcomes for her future, the other two being a tragic, early death, or spinsterhood. It doesn't bother her to be marrying the Dauphin of France, and though it surprises her, there’s no point in questioning the situation. When a princess is told she is to be married, she seldom has room to object. She still feels rather queasy about the whole thing, but she’s tried very hard to quell that feeling with positive affirmations.
One day, I will be the Queen of France. There are worse fates, and it was never my choice where I wound up in life.
This cheerful mantra led her through her seasickness, through her dressing and undressing only moments after stepping foot on dry land, through the awkwardness of meeting her husband for the first time, not to mention her meeting with the King, and the first meal she shared with her new family. It has been with her as she feels the weight of history settling on her shoulders, the responsibility of finding her place in a new court when she scarcely has previous experience at her native court, and her knowledge that she’s not quite ready.
Admittedly, Trixie is a touch too sensitive, though she has learned to conceal it. Perhaps her mind has perceived more hostility in the people she has encountered thus far than she should have. Much of her energy has been expended in the service of performing as best as she can, while her lingering seasickness and compulsion to worry conspires against her. What she does know is that judging from their brief encounter, the Dauphin was not at all charmed by her. He could hardly meet her eye, even as he kissed her hand.
He’ll have to put up with her, nonetheless.
She breathes deeply, through her nose for greater discretion, as soon as she can make out the looming splendor of Versailles. She remembers that she was born to leave home and never return, that her most beloved sister bore it well enough when it was her time, and that another young woman was plucked from her home no less than seven years ago, to be her brother’s queen. Princess Caroline Beatrice, affectionately known as Trixie, has ceased to be; the girl in the carriage, desperately denying her fears, is the Dauphine of France. She should start referring to herself as such in her mind, and cast aside her childhood nickname. She won’t, but she will tell herself she ought to.
There is plenty of light, and nothing particularly foreboding about Versailles by design. Still, she feels a deep chill as she passes through its doors for the first time.
She toys with the ring on her finger, a gift from her mother. She’s not meant to have it anymore, had to hide it behind her teeth as she was stripped and outfitted with the trappings of a French princess, but she’s trying to derive as much comfort as possible from her little keepsake. Inscribed on the inside of the ring are words she believes were intended as a charm, one which she hopes will work: Bring me happiness.
***
Caroline Beatrice was born on August 23, 1751, approximately five months after the death of her father.
Whatever his faults as a person, and he was definitely seen almost exclusively through that lens by his own royal parents, Frederick, Prince of Wales was a caring, attentive father. He brought a liveliness to his household that contrasted starkly with the confinement in which the princess was brought up. As unfortunate as it was that she never knew him, for they would have likely gotten along rather well, it’s a small mercy that she was not able to compare the relatively bleak world she grew to know with brighter times.
The most crucial result of her isolated childhood was that when it came time for her to marry, her experience of life at court was minimal. Versailles, with all its formalities, would prove overwhelming for a sheltered girl who saw more of her native land on her way out of it than she had in all her life. The princess’ eldest brother, known to history as George III, had misgivings about the French marriage. He thought his sister unprepared for the challenge, yet it proceeded with his approval. Had he placed more faith in his gut feeling, things may have turned out differently.
George, though, had made a very aggressive push to broker a peace for a war that was bringing victory after victory to his country, engaging in political maneuvers that he found distasteful to put an end to a conflict that he saw as little more than a bloody drain on his coffers. How would it look if he made a fuss about garnishing that peace with a marriage, when both nations had suitable candidates on hand? His sister was of age, it was not unreasonable to assume she ought to marry; though she could be settled better elsewhere, with talks of marriage already underway and a hard-won end to a wasteful conflict it did not seem wise to imply that there were better potential matches for her.
He could not, at the time, have foreseen what would come of this marriage. No one could.
As it was, Caroline Beatrice was born in good health on a late summer’s day. She was named in honour of her grandmother, and would be said to resemble her physically later in life. It is probable that her resemblance to Queen Caroline helped to convince Louis XV of her suitability as a marriage candidate for his grandson: in her day, Queen Caroline was said to have the finest bosom in Europe, and Louis XV was a bosom enthusiast. The young princess’ portrait, coupled with a careful choice of words from an interested party, would have been enough to sway him…
***
In her defense, Trixie can say that the Dauphin was no more eager to fulfill his duties as a husband on their wedding night than she was. Sure, she was too busy agonizing over her performance at the official wedding ceremony to be of any assistance, but it’s not entirely her fault that nothing happened.
Her wedding gown had been an opulent confection made with cloth of silver, and covered in diamonds. The panniers on the hips added a significant amount of horizontal width to her silhouette, enough that she imagined she could comfortably seat a child on each hip with plenty of room to spare. She had very little experience with moving about in this sort of gown, and she could not easily overcome the fact that she’d noticeably stumbled the second she entered the cathedral. She wishes there was a way to go back and prevent that display from being the first impression some members of her court would surely have of her.
Even if she’d moved like an angel floating on a cloud, it would not make up for the fact that the bodice had been made far too small. There was no helping this by the time it was discovered, and she had to make do with a dress that gave the world a cheeky peek at her undergarments in the back.
Trixie and her husband were a match made in heaven on the dance floor. Trixie was technically competent in the art of dance, but contending with a gown that somehow managed to swallow her whole even as it was unable to fasten onto her body fully, she gave off the appearance of a badly conducted marionette. The Dauphin fared no better, and the young couple provided the court with an unintentionally comic first dance. Their bumbling performance in their first dance as man and wife likely acted as foreshadowing to their handling of the marriage bed.
A Dauphine has only one way to fully cement her position, and that is by providing her husband with an heir. If she can produce two, all the better. By the morning after Trixie’s wedding, her ability to achieve this simple task is cast into doubt. Shortly after her marriage, her brother’s queen gives birth to his seventh child. She dutifully writes a letter to congratulate him, all the while telling herself that she has no reason to be angry about it. If she tells herself that she will soon receive a similar letter, perhaps the universe will listen and make it so.
Despite her hopes, the situation remains dire for so long that a marriage for the Dauphin’s younger brother, the Comte de Provence, becomes paramount. In accordance to a long tradition of intermarriage between the royal families of France and Savoy, a Savoyard princess is sent for to be the new Comtesse de Provence. And so, less than a year from the time of her own marriage, Trixie gains some competition in the form of a sister in law.
***
Every day, Trixie must suffer the ritual of getting dressed in front of the whole world. It’s one of many daily tasks the Dauphine of France must undertake with an audience. She doubts she’ll ever get used to it.
Without a soul to confide in at court, she writes the contents of her mind to one of her sisters. She vents to Louisa, settled in Denmark, about the nonsense she dealt with every day of her life, and how she would not be surprised if it was suddenly decreed that she was not permitted to take a shit without being gawked at. Why, it would become the highest of privileges to wipe her ass for her after!
“I am certain,” she writes. “That there is scarcely a lady in this palace that has not had the privilege of seeing me in my most natural state. I sincerely hope it pleases them.”
The handing over of the chemise is a jealously guarded privilege that belongs to the highest ranking lady at the Dauphine’s dressing ceremony. This lady is apparently not obligated to arrive in time so that she may be present from the start of the ceremony onwards. What sometimes happens, then, is that as the social makeup of the room changes, the ceremony must adapt. If a parade of ladies, each grander than the one before, choose to drag their feet on the way to Trixie’s rooms, even if she’s caught with her arms outstretched, mere seconds from receiving her chemise, she must let it be passed about until the correct lady is able to hand it to her. It’s utterly ridiculous.
Initially, she gives the Comtesse the benefit of the doubt. She’s freshly arrived, so perhaps she wouldn’t know when it was time to assemble for her dressing. It may have also been news to her that, with them being so closely related, she could easily outrank every lady present upon arrival. Trixie knows how difficult it is to adapt, so she is willing to forgive.
Until she gets a look at her face.
The Comtesse is beautiful, with small, delicate features. Her nose is pointed down a little, but that does little to detract from the pleasing whole of her face. She’s a dark kind of beauty, striking enough that Trixie almost gasps. As comely as she is, the way the Comtesse smirks and locks eyes with Trixie sends an unpleasant chill down her spine. She knows full well that Trixie is standing there, completely exposed, shivering in front of all the ladies present and God. Yet she removes her gloves at an agonizingly slow pace.
By the time she deigns to hand Trixie her chemise, the Comtesse has already soured her day. Later, Trixie’s blood boils when she hears about her going around claiming the gloves were just too tight for quick removal.
A likely story!
Because Trixie habitually prefers to resolve conflict by stewing in her bitter juices for time immemorial, she does nothing in retaliation. The worst part is that she had hoped they’d be friends.
***
Maria Viola Giuseppina of Savoy, rechristened Marie Violette upon becoming Comtesse de Provence, is quick and bright, with an unreasonable level of self-assurance. As a princess from a relatively minor house, shuffled off to marry the current spare to the French throne, there is no reason for her to act so grand. But, despite the fact that she hadn’t been raised to be this way, Violette makes her way through the world as if seas ought to part for her.
Her mother, the quintessence of Spanish piety, always disapproved. She was taught to expect that her future would be dictated to her, and she ought to submit with grace, but Violette is not submissive by nature. And she never cared to cultivate that trait. There’s always been a hunger in her, a hunger for more than what she has. She wants to be exalted among women. Hell, even men.
At the rate things are going, whatever her fate had originally prescribed for her, she just might become Queen of France.
Violette has no personal quarrel with the Dauphine. They’ve hardly spoken, after all. It didn’t take long, though, for her to realize that she’s so lacking, the King had to send for reinforcements. She may have wound up here in time, but in a way she owes her current position to the Dauphine, and if she is not able to prove herself competent she may even owe her a crown.
Nobody has to know that her husband, being so grotesquely obese that he can barely walk unaided, is no more helpful in bringing about this glorious destiny than the hapless Dauphin. Only the promise of future greatness bids her to attempt her wifely duties, and all in vain.
Though no more capable, her husband still sees fit to needle his brother with constant, inaccurate boasts about the amount of activity their marriage bed sees over the course of a single day. So, Violette thought it might be fun to lay a small prank of her own on the Dauphine. She has to admit the look of impotent rage on the other girl’s face as she used the court’s own etiquette to tease her made her smile.
An unexpected gift arrives in the wake of her little stunt, to put a damper on her fun. The King’s sister in law, a former grand duchess of Russia now known to the French court as Madame, has presented her with a gorgeously embroidered pair of gloves.
There’s a note accompanying them, written in neat cursive: “I hope you find these more comfortable.”
Though a widow, Madame has been permitted to maintain the rank she held while her husband lived. As she remains closer in proximity to the current king, she outranks Violette. It may be true that the Dauphine also outranks her, but she does not see any wisdom in snubbing Madame. She can’t refuse her gift, as much as it irritates her to receive it.
***
Trixie wakes up with dread at the thought of seeing her sister in law so early in the day again. In the aftershock of the small slight she suffered, she has written a plaintive letter to Louisa, and a more witty letter to another one of her sisters, Augusta, to help ease her growing loneliness. The isolation of being a known disappointment to her new family is a tough patch of darkness to escape, though, even with all the solace she can find in writing to her sisters. She sees no need to trouble George, because she can’t imagine him providing her with the kind of sympathy she craves.
When it’s time to attend her dressing, Trixie senses a change in the room. The cause of it is soon attributed to a relation she has yet to see at the ceremony making her first appearance.
Madame had been pointed out to her at her wedding as her husband’s favourite aunt, the King’s one and only sister in law, and the second lady at court after herself. Trixie’s arrival, she was told, had demoted Madame from being the first lady at court, a rank she had held after the Dauphin’s mother had passed away. Already mortified by her inability to excel instantly at being Dauphine, Trixie had almost been compelled to apologize to her for this. Even so, in all their brief meetings, Trixie has not encountered even the smallest hint of hostility from Madame.
When they have the time to converse, it will be Madame who apologizes to her about not having attended to her sooner. She had been occupied in supporting her youngest step daughter as she made the choice to take the veil, and had retreated to another married step-daughter’s country home for a brief spell before returning to receive the Comtesse. By then, Trixie feels like there is nothing this woman needs to do to beg her forgiveness.
The Comtesse drags her feet on her way to her rooms once again, but it doesn’t matter. As long as Madame is there, the Comtesse’s arrival will not disturb the ceremony.
Madame smiles tenderly, and Trixie thinks she catches her winking as she hands over her chemise. Trixie feels like she is in the presence of an angel.
yep. i’ve personally been wishing i could come up with a branjie fic, not out of love for the pairing but because i really want to feel that love. i don’t do it because... well, if it’s not in my heart it’s not going to turn out well. even if you just track an author you like down and send them a quick message it would probably just make their day. the only thing stopping me from straight up dropping my fics is the fact that people have left comments telling me the story matters to them.
^
Sunshine, and Glory Too (Trixya) - Chapter 6 - fannyatrollop
A/N: This fic is honestly so special to me, because unlike all five billion other ones I’m working on… the damn thing is finished. When I first completed it, I was in a bit of a daze for a little while because it was such a major thing for me. I hope to get to that point with my other work, it’s a great feeling. And I hope the ending still holds up.
Previously On: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
Trixie kept to her own bedroom, and the main room in Violet’s quarters as she grew accustomed to being left behind.
Outside, the sun was bright and cheerful. She could hear birdsong wafting through the windows. Ignoring her pitiful requests for the reverse, Kim insisted on keeping them open for her.
“If my lady refuses to take in the fresh air by her own volition,” she would say, with exasperation and concern in equal measures. “It’s my duty as a friend to bring the air to her.”
Trixie’s only desire was to sit in the feeling of missing Katya, to the point of silencing the part of her that otherwise would not hesitate to berate her about how utterly ridiculous it was to live like a ghost, refusing to speak to another living soul or enjoy nature in the full splendour of spring. She became devoted to wallowing in misery in a way she never had allowed herself before, wryly thinking that she may have been better off crying over her every unhappiness when it first arose so she could have more practice in it.
Valentina called on her one morning, more contrite in her demeanour than Trixie had thought possible for her. She requested to see her alone, and Trixie agreed to it. Valentina may have been nasty in the past, but Trixie felt like she could handle whatever she chose to throw at her in her present state of mind.
There was no need to handle much of anything, though; Valentina proved to be on her best behaviour. She apologized for her indelicate treatment since, now that Trixie had been left quite alone, it seemed as though she might not have posed as much of a threat as Katya’s own willfulness. In her opinion, Katya had delighted in captivating both her and her poor, poor brother (who was already looking through eligible princesses for a more suitable bride, having learned the folly in attempting to harness a wild creature) only to abandon them when it struck her fancy.
“Not all common girls are like that, of course,” she said, while an uninterested Trixie exerted herself enough to maintain polite eye contact as she spoke. “But I do believe the character of the girl needs to be taken into account before one tries to work a miracle. Some people were simply not made to be royalty, regardless of how much help they receive. It’s simply not that easy, and being born beautiful does not a princess make.”
Thankfully, Valentina hadn’t taken the trouble to visit just to share her views on the requirements of royalty, or to flatter Trixie by suggesting she would have made a better candidate for a royal marriage. She had come into possession of Katya’s miniature, as it had been rejected by the fugitive’s would-be groom, and wished to present it to her as a gesture of goodwill.
“After all,” she explained. “You loved her the most.”
Trixie accepted it gratefully, though upon opening its case she found that the artist had not captured her fully. She had nothing to remember Katya by otherwise, so this would have to do.
After some days, she received a visit from Adore. The time had come for her to return to the sea, and she was on a quick farewell tour. She refused to leave without first presenting her dearest friends with tokens of her affection, even if they insisted on becoming hermits.
Trixie had to receive her. There was no knowing if they would ever meet again, and Adore had been a bright enough presence in her life to deserve that much. She bid Trixie not to miss her too much, leaving her with a glittering seashell affixed to a chain. If she could hear the sea when she held the shell to her ear, she would know Adore was well. She may even hear her sing, but Adore wasn’t too well-versed with the full capabilities of Trixie’s new trinket. She asked her to try speaking into it once in a while, in case the sound of her voice could reach her. She asked this of every lady she gave this type of pendant to.
They shared a warm hug, and parted ways. Trixie hung the chain around her neck. She found pressing the charm to her ear soothing, and would listen into it for hours while she remained stuck in her doldrums.
***
Kim soon resumed her original role as the princess’ chief dressmaker. She did not need to travel, she had built strong enough relationships to know where she could have the materials she needed sent for by then, but she was required to get back into the business of outfitting Her Royal Highness. The warm months brought on a need for an entirely new wardrobe, and as kind as Violet had been in giving leave for Kim to attend to Trixie, she could not go without just because one of her ladies was struck down by a lingering fit of heartache.
Being a person who was truly devoted to her work, this suited Kim greatly. However much she loved Trixie, she itched to serve her true purpose in her princess’ entourage. Trixie had neither the right, nor the desire to object. She had always liked watching Kim work, and took to sitting with her to pass the time. Though she was no longer any help, Kim would say that it was a vast improvement from her fast-paced lifestyle as a sad creature who only left her bed to sit on a sofa, and could not be relied on to eat three square meals a day if left to her own devices.
She carried Katya’s picture with her wherever she went. It hurt to look at her, but she felt better if her picture was nearby.
Violet finalized her engagement, and threw a small party in her quarters to celebrate. By then, Trixie was beginning to grow tired of moping, so she dusted herself off and made an appearance. Pearl had resolved to put on a brave face, and to be grateful that she was not obliged to part with Violet if she did not wish to.
Her mood suited Trixie’s, and the two found solace in each other as the evening went on. They both found the future uncomfortable to contemplate, so they spoke only of fond memories they shared, allowing silence to settle between them if they ran out of positive thoughts to share.
In time, Pearl found her way back to Violet’s side. They spoke softly, hands clasped, heads together.
Fame filled the empty space Pearl had left beside her. She had been monitoring Trixie closely in her own way, to make sure she was surviving well enough. Trixie informed her that she was as well as she could be.
“I’m glad to see you among us,” said Fame. “You have been missed.”
Trixie smiled.
“I intend to spend more time among the living,” she replied. “Keeping myself company is getting dull, I don’t make very lively conversation nowadays. I fear I might be mistaken for a palace ghost.”
“I think I heard someone whisper about a jilted lady haunting the halls,” said Fame.
“Must be another lady, I only haunt these rooms.”
Fame had no news of Katya, could only confirm that she had been given up for lost by the administration. It seldom happened that a lady escaped their care like this, but the main concerns when it did occur was conveying their regret to any injured royal parties and ensuring that the situation was framed as the actions of one foolish girl. The Academy as an entity would only concern itself with its own image. Katya mostly took her own belongings, and though Ginger was employed by the Academy, everyone knows that it is a fae’s prerogative to act as a free agent if she sees fit. A horse went missing from the stables, but replacing it was a simple matter. There was no danger of the fugitives being hunted by the Academy in the end.
Trixie nodded, and told Fame that she was glad to hear any information she was able to provide. In truth, she did not feel much better, but she appreciated the gesture.
She asked Fame if it was within a fae’s power to magically put her heart back together, just to ease her curiosity. Fame replied that it was doable, but not advisable.
“Emotions have a strong self-preservation instinct,” she said. “They would surely return, more devastating than when you last parted.”
She was advised to let her feelings run their course. There was nothing else she could do.
***
Trixie grew accustomed to the dull ache inside of her. She remembered what a loyal friend solitude had been throughout her life, and was resolved to be as good to it as it had been to her going forward. She had no hope of finding the kind of companionship she had lost again in her life. She had to get used to that, let her skin turn to steel.
She started helping Kim with her sewing again, jokingly offering her services as a permanent assistant if she was truly desperate. She hadn’t expected Kim to respond that she would be welcome to assume such a role if she pleased, but did not take it seriously enough to give a solid answer.
She picked up her instruments for the first time after weeks and weeks of depression. It was like getting reacquainted with an old friend, and she soon felt some cheer creep back into her life.
Wandering the halls aimlessly also became a favourite pastime. It was decent exercise, and if Trixie walked briskly enough she could forget her troubles for a moment. When she ventured outdoors, she avoided the lake, and found a new favourite place in the East Woods. They tended to be less crowded than the West Woods, for there was no remarkable beauty to be found in them unless one squinted. Sometimes, Pearl would join her and they would walk together, arm in arm.
Lately, their conversation had been focused on how odd it was that they had heard nothing from their mother since about Midwinter. She was not a prolific correspondent, but she had regularly sent small updates on the house, the surrounding village, how proud she was of Pearl, and her own well-being.
Trixie paid little attention to the content of these missives, as she was seldom addressed directly. Being caught up in love, and the loss thereof, had taken up too much of her attention to notice that letters had stopped coming. Thus, Pearl was the only one out of the pair of them who could find it in her heart to worry. She speculated aloud about the reason for this loss of communication, while Trixie listened. There was an appropriateness to discussing their family affairs in the middle of the woods, where a passing squirrel might be entertained by their little domestic drama.
“If Papa died, our cousin may have established himself at home and sent Mama away somewhere,” Pearl said, with a hushed voice and furrowed brows.
Trixie frowned. “Cousin Edward? Was that his name?”
“I believe it was Edwin,” said Pearl. “Or Edgar. In any case, if Mama’s silence means she has been put out of the house, we are effectively homeless.”
“You mean I am effectively homeless,” Trixie insisted. “You have little to worry about. Your place at court is secure, I can’t be so certain of mine.”
Pearl distracted herself for a moment by watching a small bird hop about from branch to branch above them.
“You are not the least bit concerned about Mama, are you?”
Trixie sighed. “I have very few feelings left altogether.”
“I guess you have always been a little heartless,” Pearl muttered.
She blanched, then, eyes wide.
“I don’t mean it in an insulting way,” she added, hastily. “I can imagine how you came to be so. Gosh, I must have sounded awful. What I meant to say is that no matter how tender your heart is, you have never been very open about it—”
Trixie waved her hand.
“Pearl, don’t worry,” she said. “I am heartless in regards to our mother. But the situation is truly concerning.”
“Even if Cousin Edbert has established himself as master of our house, he must be well-bred enough to send us a note about it. Just so that we know,” said Pearl.
Trixie snorted. “I wouldn’t say so, our family breeds terrible men.”
“But it breeds good women,” said Pearl. “If anything has happened, I will make sure you are taken care of. No matter what I have to do, my dear little sister will not be homeless.”
Trixie stopped them for a while so she could face her, and tenderly brush a lock of hair from her face. She let any cutting words about how they were twins, and that she was hardly little, die before they could make it out of her mouth. It was not the time for sass.
***
It did not take long for Trixie and Pearl to receive news from home, and though it was not as dire as they had imagined, all was not well. Their father had taken the time to write to them, confirming that he had not passed, but according to his account their mother had been ill for quite some time. She had not wanted to disturb them, much less Her Royal Highness, but her condition was not improving with time, as they had hoped it would.
The house was falling into disarray, as Papa was struggling with the demands of running a household while maintaining his rakish lifestyle. He wished for at least one of his daughters to return home, and to help tend to their mother. The servants needed direction, and only a woman could concern herself with domestic matters.
Of course, he wrote, your Mama would be glad to see her darling Pearl again if HRH Princess Violet can spare her, but as far as I am concerned you would both be capable of assuming this duty, so it makes no difference to me if Beatrice wishes to return in her stead.
There was no question of Pearl leaving Violet’s side, not when she was still in need of a companion abroad. She had been the one Violet had wanted to begin with, there was no reason Trixie should be left behind when Pearl’s company was more precious to her. Pearl had her own sort of chivalry, though, and the two of them nearly ended up in a screaming match over which of them would be forced to leave.
“Mama has never treated you as she ought to,” cried Pearl, in her valiant attempt to spare Trixie of what she thought was too horrible an ordeal for her to bear. “I do not wish to see you abused.”
“What could a sick woman possibly do to hurt me?” Trixie replied.
She excused herself to take the air before Pearl could be compelled to raise her voice, making sure to look Violet in the eye and proclaiming that Pearl would not be going home, before leaving. She was resolute, could not be convinced of a more logical course than to be the one to care for her mother whether the woman could find it in her to be grateful or not.
It was time for Trixie to mentally prepare herself to leave the Academy, a feat more difficult than she had thought. Her heart no longer had an anchor there, but it was still a place where she had found happiness, brief as it had been. At the very least she would have to say goodbye to as much of it as she could reach, like Adore had when she felt her departure approaching.
Trixie would have less time to do that than her friend had before her. News of their mother had reached the castle with their morning post, and it was scarcely high noon before her wanderings were cut short by Fame’s sudden appearance. Though she normally favoured lavender hues, Fame had come to her dressed head-to-toe in black.
“Her Majesty the Queen requires your presence,” she said, holding out her hand for Trixie to take.
***
Violet greeted her small household with the bearing of a queen, and a slight, but unmistakable redness around her eyes. Her voice never wavered as she informed them that it was time for all of them to go home. The throne was waiting for her.
Trixie lingered long enough after the address to catch sight of their new queen falling into Pearl’s arms before going to pack her things.
The king’s death effectively settled the argument of which sister would return to their mother. As far as anyone had known, the king had been in perfect health before he was carried off by a sudden bout of illness overnight. Violet needed her closest friends as she adjusted to her role sooner than she had expected, and she needed Pearl more than ever. As much personal power as she had gained in her father’s passing, Violet had loved him. As the queen’s woman, Pearl could not leave her.
Farewell messages were dispatched to the ladies that could not be left without a word, and the royal party was soon on their way home. Trixie recalled the journey to the Academy taking several days, yet their return was somehow a matter of hours. Fame had not given them the choice to remain awake this time around, requesting that they all let her induce them to sleep. Perhaps that had something to do with the speed of their progress.
Trixie was given a room at the palace to stay in for a couple of nights. She wrote home to advise that she would be arriving soon. She allowed herself some days to be available to Pearl, who would seek her out for a daily chat. She would update her on Violet’s condition, and how proud she was of the way she held herself up at every meeting she was required to attend, every audience she was obligated to give despite wanting nothing more than to be in Pearl’s arms for the whole day.
Violet summoned Trixie to offer her the choice of returning to court as a musician, when the situation at home had passed. She only requested that she take care not to embark on any more torrid love affairs, for the sake of her own sanity, though she said this with a wink. Trixie responded by telling her that she aspired to be an old maid, so there would be no more love affairs, torrid or otherwise.
“If that is what you want, I hope you will be comfortable enough imposing on our hospitality,” Violet said. “You will have to play for us, though. If you could be so kind as to become a renowned musician known across the land and outside of it, that would be much appreciated. We may regret our kindness otherwise.”
She suffered the most stilted embrace of her life in Violet’s arms, but was able to leave the interaction with some certainty of her sovereign’s favour.
Pearl held her in a much warmer, more lingering embrace upon her departure. As her carriage pulled away, she kept her eyes on the shrinking form of her sister, standing at the palace entrance until she was truly gone. When she lost sight of her, Trixie turned her gaze homeward.
***
Trixie was briefly received by her father upon her return home. It took her some time to recognize him as the man who had once stumbled into the nursery and picked her up for a drunken dance, while Pearl frantically reached to pull her back down, afraid of the strange man with the funny smell. He cleaned up pretty nicely, might even pass for someone worthy of a noble title, but he struggled to muster anything beyond the most basic pleasantries for his own daughter.
Predictably, her mother gamely tried to conceal her disappointment upon seeing her, but she did approve of the decision to leave Pearl with the queen.
“She must be so loved, that the queen couldn’t possibly spare her,” said her mother, hanging on to the faintest spark of joy she could get out of having to suffer Trixie’s care. “We may soon be truly respectable again, despite your father’s best efforts.”
Trixie did not tell her the depth of the queen’s love for her favoured daughter.
***
There were news of a dragon making a public appearance in some faraway land. Trixie heard them from a kitchen maid, who heard it somewhere in the village. One of the greatest mysteries of the world is how such giant creatures were so seldom seen, so whenever anyone so much as imagined catching sight of a dragon, it was a matter of public interest the world over. No details were to be had on what it looked like, where it had manifested, and if anything had gone up in flames as a result of it being there. Trixie imagined that if anything had been burned by dragon fire, it would be widely known. This one must have been on its best behaviour.
It was a testament to the magnificence of the event that Violet’s coronation was still spoken of at all, even with a dragon on the loose. Kim had sent copies of the sketches for Violet’s gown in the mail, so that Trixie could appreciate her friend’s work through them, and she could only just about hear the gasps of onlookers as she rode through the crowds in the capital. Pearl had been noted for her great beauty as she was spotted riding in a carriage with Fame behind the one that conveyed the queen.
She wrote with great amusement of how she had received at least three offers of marriage after that, but did not wish to consider them unless she was in dire need of a husband. She didn’t have any observable examples of a husband leading to greater happiness than what she could find with the love of a queen, and as long as it could maintain her she saw no need to fix herself to one. It delighted her that the clearer her position as the queen’s favourite became, the more people sought her favour, as she did not think there was anything about herself that merited such treatment.
With the imposed mourning period for the late king at an end, and the new queen’s coronation done with, it was time to set a date for the royal wedding.
Pearl had written to Trixie with promises of procuring an invitation for her, and seeing if their mother could be brought along. Perhaps, she mused, an official invitation to such a grand event would be just the thing to raise her from her bed.
Their mother clung to life so stubbornly that whatever was ailing her did not worsen, nor did it improve. Her symptoms were limited to a simple refusal to engage with the wider world in any way, as if all the bitterness in her heart had finally robbed her of her mobility. Whatever was keeping her shackled to her mortal coil was likely doing so in spite of her wishes.
If Trixie had ever formed a close bond with her, it may have been in her power to alleviate her condition. The best she could do was to keep the house running and let her mother retreat into herself, for she knew not where she could find adequate treatment for her. Sometimes she woke up in a sweat, having dreamt of taking her breakfast to her only to find herself lying in that bed instead.
She kept her mother’s windows open to let in the air, like Kim had done for her once. She dutifully sat by her side when she wanted company, and even played a song or two if she was asked. She had her meals sent to her on time, which was a small thing her father was not able to do when he had his hands on the reins. Her mother never praised her, but she never complained either.
Keeping up with news of her friends became the most important thing to her, as a way of keeping herself tethered to the world. She had almost succumbed to her sorrows once, and her fighter’s spirit would not allow that to be her eventual fate.
Valentina had written to Violet with news of her once-spurned brother receiving a peculiar visit on the eve of his wedding. She had been vague in her description of the visitor, but did say that it was a mutual acquaintance, and that dear Lady Beatrice might like to know of this strange happening. Pearl had included the news in the postscript of one of her more recent letters.
Trixie did not dare to hope, but there was only one person she cared about who might have business with Valentina’s brother, and it did bring her joy to hear that she was well. Ever since she received Pearl’s letter, she would catch herself entertaining the thought that Katya might still find her and take her away. It did her no harm to lift her spirits with the occasional daydream as long as the chickens were fed, and the house was still standing.
Sometimes, she tried to picture herself as a married woman, but only as far as having a household of her own to run, one that would not be so surely taken away from her in due time. She could not picture her husband for the life of her, nor could she fully see Katya in that role. The life she had imagined with Katya had been different than that of a country wife, though she did think she would have liked keeping a comfortable home for her if she had wanted it. Perhaps if they ever got old and weary of travelling, they could have settled down some place where they could have a pretty view to look at from their sitting room window.
She kept Katya’s picture on her bedside table, propped up in its case so she could see it with a quick glance. Sometimes she would sit on her bed and play her lute, and she would imagine Katya there in the place of the picture. She missed the light she brought everywhere she went, she missed her laugh, and her touch, and the way she would look at her like she was a precious gift from the gods.
It was a small mercy that she could now look back on her time with Katya without pain, and it comforted her when she wanted to remember what it was like to be so happy.
***
The invitations to the royal wedding arrived one sunny morning, nestled alongside a letter from Pearl. Trixie let her mother know that she was welcome to attend, but she only shook her head at the notion, insisting that a frumpy old woman like her had no business at the court of a fashionable young queen.
“It’s up to you, and you alone, to quit wasting time,” she told her. “Pearl is so valuable to the queen that she’s been made a duchess, but the gods alone know where you will end up if you keep on refusing to apply yourself. You have all the tools you need. I’m determined to die soon, and your father can’t possibly live forever. That would be too cruel.”
Trixie left her to natter on if she wished, choosing instead to occupy her thoughts with pleasant ways she could spend the day. She decided to take a walk. There was a little copse nearby, where she could read her letter and think of how she might respond to it under the light of the sun. When she returned, she might play a little outside if the weather didn’t turn gloomy. The summer skies could be unpredictable.
She ended up on an aimless ramble, leaving the letter at home, letting her thoughts wander freely.
For a brief moment, the skies went dark, and Trixie heard a strange whoosh overhead, too alien to be the sound of thunder. Though startling, this was not followed by the coming of rain or the end of times, and clear sky was all that could be seen after the period of darkness.
Even so, she was compelled to hurry home in case there were more potential heart attacks in store for her. In doing that, she inadvertently ran headlong into the greatest of them all.
A dragon was stood on the grass near the front of her house. It was gray in colour, with small black spots and black hair growing in a mane along its neck. There was something rather horse-like about it, but it resembled the creatures she’d seen in books enough that it had to be some species of dragon. It had spared her flowers, and paid no mind to the servants crowded around the window to gaze at it in awe, as it was engrossed in covering an increasingly irate Ginger in smoke from its nostrils for what could only be its own amusement.
Katya was perched on its back, as high as she could to see as much as possible, and to be easily spotted by Trixie as she crept up the path home. She quickly dismounted when she saw her, cautiously approaching her where she stood.
Trixie stood stock still, waiting for the sight before her to vanish. She kept her eyes fixed on Katya, who only looked more solid and real the closer she got. She would have to catch up to the fact of her wildest dreams having come true when she came to be within touching distance.
Soon, Trixie would find out what Katya had been up to in the time leading up to that moment, accept her apologies for the way she had left her, and agree that they should never be parted again, at least not without sufficient notice. They would map out the life they would share together over tea, after she had introduced her guests to the household staff and worked out the best way to care for their needs, particularly those of the largest, most exotic of the group.
At that moment, though, all Trixie could do was gather her Katya into her arms.
to the scyvie anon asking about character voices - in my personal opinion, there’s always a lil bit of wiggle room when it comes to writing the queens’ characters. we’ll never really get it exactly right, and a lot of what we write has more to do with our interpretation of them than what they’re like. so i think you can go outside the lines quite a bit!
^^^
Sunshine, and Glory Too (Trixya) - Chapter 1 - fannyatrollop
AN: This is technically my first time posting here… not counting the collab fic with Grey-Darling because that Earth angel posts it up for both of us. I’m an independent woman this go around. On AO3, I have a nasty habit of going in and picking at my work constantly, so my writing gets a lot of post-production edits that way. It’s why I don’t sleep much. I don’t think I’d be able to do that here, so AQ will forever get my fics after they’ve been finished/edited to death and back.
So here I am, bearing a quality-controlled sort-of Princess fic. xoxo, Gossip Nya.
The night before the twins were born, their mother dreamt that one of her daughters would accomplish something truly wonderful. She always said that the moment Pearl was born, she got the feeling it would be her.
Unfortunately, Trixie was the one she pushed out after she had filled her quota for love. This sad fact was even reflected in her naming choices: Pearl the precious gem, and Beatrice, after a dead grandmother. Her words and behaviour to her daughters as they grew would only prove the point further; as far as the Baroness Liaison-Mattel was concerned, her daughter Trixie was an afterthought.
Trixie consoled herself by thinking that all her mother’s waffle about Pearl being born special was just the way she justified her blatant favouritism, and for her part, Pearl thought so too. She thought it was absolutely hilarious that she, out of the two of them, was supposed to be the special one.
“She tells people I’m quiet because I’m thoughtful, not because I can barely speak my own native tongue,” Pearl would say, on those odd nights when they would share a bed like they did when they were little girls. “Seriously, Trix, I’m the family idiot. You’re the one I’d be watching if I was her.”
“But you’re the pretty one,” Trixie would respond, gently poking the tip of her sister’s nose.
Poor Pearl never wanted to be exalted above her. She always seemed to be apologizing for her existence, and though Trixie secretly thought it was the least she could do, Pearl had always been a wonderful sister and friend to her. When Pearl brought herself down to cheer her up, Trixie would naturally build her back up.
They had lived that way all their lives. Having no one else, the sisters could not afford to be rivals. Something like real love existed between them, bravely making cracks in the resentment their mother’s treatment would naturally create.
Trixie was no angel. She was capable of feeling jealousy towards Pearl. But in the end, when nobody else cared to, it was Pearl who held her hand, and that mattered a great deal.
***
For all her talk about being an idiot, Pearl had accomplished at least one important thing in their short lives. If it wasn’t for her, they probably wouldn’t be the crown princess’ ladies in waiting.
It wouldn’t have been possible at all without their mother’s aggressive push to involve her daughters in high society. Though the Liaison-Mattels were only rich in status nowadays, the baroness had the tenacity of someone who never did take well to the loss of her husband’s fortune, which she spoke of as if it was simply misplaced under a cushion rather than gambled away through a vice passed down his noble line for generations. Wherever the money had gone, they were still landed aristocrats and there was no reason to behave lower than their rank allowed. Besides, until the girls’ father actually landed himself in debtor’s prison it really wasn’t all that bad. They could show themselves among their kind of people.
By this logic, Pearl and Trixie were perfectly worthy of being presented as companions to Princess Violet, heiress apparent to the throne, on the occasion of her heading off to the Royal Academy for Royal Ladies. Her Royal Highness had decreed that she wished to mingle with the nobility, so that she might get to meet other young ladies, and choose her companions according to her own taste. Naturally, a grand ball at the royal palace was in order.
There was some fun involved in preparing for the ball. The girls were both well-versed in breathing life into old gowns, for it was not always within their means to commission new ones for the season’s big events. Pearl carefully restored their mother’s old debutante gown, and Trixie, once she had recovered from nearly suffocating on the dust she had disturbed by producing it for her use, went to work on one of her namesake grandmother’s party dresses.
Beatrice the Elder had, reportedly, been very fashionable in her time, but the aggressive pastel ruffles that threatened to swallow the dress whole were no longer au currant. Even so, Trixie did not have the heart to get rid of them, not completely. She liked the way the dress made her look like a cloud, as light as she could possibly claim to be. Her body was not shown to advantage in the sleek styles favoured by the fashionable crowd, anyhow.
Neither of them expected anything to come out of being presented to the princess. For Pearl and Trixie, the evening’s excitement was based solely on the simple fact that they would be going somewhere. They did not foresee that their family would be contacted with the news that Pearl had been selected as Princess Violet’s new lady-in-waiting.
It puzzled Pearl, for she had only exchanged some brief words with the princess, about music. Her cheeks got pink when she recalled this brief conversation to Trixie, who had left her alone to go on a quest for refreshments when the interaction had taken place.
Being a small kingdom, news traveled fast, and they eventually came to know that it was only Pearl who had been selected as the princess’ companion. Violet was known to be decisive, to know exactly what she wanted and what she wouldn’t abide by, so as soon as she expressed her inclination that was that. Though she had every right to be like this, her actions still created a buzz among the privileged. The princess was, after all, entitled to having as many ladies as she pleased. It was strange for her to only come away from the evening with one. There were whispers about the princess being confused, behaving like a prince choosing a bride.
If that really was the case, it wouldn’t be surprising. Violet had been brought up like a prince in many ways, with full knowledge that she would rule on her own right when the time came. Many a frustrated adviser to the king had expressed worries about the day their first queen regnant would ascend to the throne, as she was already proving rather inclined to getting her own way.
The Baroness Liaison-Mattel, in her infinite wisdom as a well brought-up lady, and one who was acquainted with the gossip about the princess’ character, had the gall to insist on her second daughter tagging along into service as a condition for taking on her precious Pearl.
“They’re twins,” she said, coolly staring the royal envoy in the face as a torrent of sweat sprouted from his brow. “Surely I’m not expected to have them separated, am I?”
The princess delivered another sizable shock by taking them both without much of a fuss. Trixie was sure she could thank Pearl whispering into her ear on her behalf for the opportunity, rather than her mother’s impertinence. She felt more comfortable thanking the sister she liked for her good fortune, rather than the mother she resented. Her assumption was confirmed upon her first meeting with Violet.
“I hear you’re clever,” she said, addressing her words to the wall rather than to Trixie. “And that you’re an accomplished musician.”
Trixie nodded, and then remembered that Violet was not glancing in her direction. Trixie wondered if she held all of her conversations this way, or if she only did this with people she felt were beneath her.
“I have been said to be those things,” she said.
Violet took a lengthy pause.
“I should like to hear you someday,” she said, finally, giving her a quick glance. “I do like music.”
***
The Academy was located at what may as well have been the very end of the Earth, especially to a lady as unaccustomed to travel as Trixie. A carriage led to a ship, which led to yet another carriage on a journey requiring frequent stops. Pearl slept through most of the ordeal, often slumped against Her Royal Highness herself. Violet would venture to run a tender finger through her hair when she didn’t think Trixie was looking, or when she was too weary to care that she saw.
Trixie was only able to rest when her body could not physically maintain its refusal to sleep without the basic comforts she was used to, a common ground she shared with Violet. The two of them would share insomniac silences while Pearl slept and Violet’s fae companion, Fame, had drifted off to attend to business neither of them were privy to. Sometimes they attempted conversation, but they mostly gazed out of their respective windows and waited for another member of their party to take charge of brightening the air. When she chose to be among them, Fame proved to be the most eager to step up to that challenge.
At approximately five hundred years of age, Fame was apparently considered a tad young to be part of a royal entourage by the judgment of her people. She normally looked and behaved as if she was of age with the rest of the group, though she had known Violet since she was an infant and sometimes shared stories about her childhood antics. According to Violet, Fame looked exactly as she did then when she was small. She would carry her in her arms to soothe her if she hurt herself, and rock her to sleep while singing lullabies in the fae tongue. Even though she was told not to coddle her, Fame persisted in her gentle ways with the young princess. As her presence was more of a boon to the king than it was to Fame, disciplining her for ignoring his wishes was not really an option.
Trixie had never met a faerie, nor had she shared any contact with magical beings before entering royal service, so she couldn’t really say she had any expectations about Fame. She hadn’t been certain she’d get to meet her at all.
Her knowledge of the fae folk implied that they would only bother to interact with humans if an effort was made to attract them. Trixie wouldn’t have been surprised if Fame had refused to appear before her, but appear she did. She would speak to Trixie when Pearl and Violet were too caught up in the camaraderie they had fallen into ever since they met, and, having noted her discomfort, offered to put her to sleep at various points. She swore her magic was perfectly safe, and that she was skilled enough not to accidentally put her in an eternal sleep, but Trixie would always decline and then regret her choice, vowing to accept the next time Fame offered her help.
Fame told Trixie all she knew about the Academy, to help her pass the time.
Essentially, Trixie learned, it had been established as a place to allow princesses from a remarkably large geographical reach to mingle. Princesses generally receive plenty of education at home, so there would have to be something more in it for royal families to send their daughters abroad in such large numbers. A place where a sisterhood of princesses could emerge, it was assumed, would make diplomacy an easier task, and create alliances that would otherwise be impossible. It was known that women were the relationship builders of the world.
The founder was rumoured to be some sort of fae. Fame was certain they were, for they were able to produce fae companions for exceptionally beautiful girls of low birth and essentially transform them into marriageable princesses. There was no way these special cases could be so blessed without the help of a benevolent fae. Even someone like Trixie, gifted with rank though not with gold, would never have been able to attract one with her family’s resources.
“Which is a shame, really,” Fame had said, toying with one of Trixie’s curls. “I’m certain you and your sister are more than worthy on your own merits. Alas, my kind are far too fond of gold and other shiny things. Precious few would be wise enough to know what a pleasure it would have been to help raise such charming girls as the two of you.”
Trixie hadn’t known how to respond to that, had simply nodded and thanked her. The look in Fame’s eyes betrayed her true age. It was a bit overwhelming to be under Fame’s gaze. To Trixie, it felt like her mother might look at her like that if she ever decided to love her.
***
The Academy’s grounds were a whole universe unto themselves, with a grand palace as its centerpiece. Upon entry, the palace would prove to be larger on the inside than the already mammoth structure they beheld as they approached. Pearl grasped Trixie’s hands in hers as they pulled in, gasping at the sprawling campus.
If there were stories of lonesome ladies simply disappearing in its halls, or somewhere in the surrounding wilderness, it would be reasonable to assume that they were true. Though she was one of Violet’s official companions, Trixie was more or less left to fend for herself from early on. She was told that she had all the freedom in the world to carry on with her days how she pleased, and that she would be sent for if her presence was required. As she was seldom needed, she had plenty of time to risk being swallowed up by her temporary home.
Pearl settled into her role as the princess’ companion with far more fervour than Trixie did. Perhaps that was to be expected. Violet liked to keep her close, and the longer they were all together the clearer it became that Pearl liked it too. She started sleeping in Violet’s chamber a few days after their arrival, and seemed rather pleased to do so. The space in her and Trixie’s shared bedroom became a sore sight with how lonesome it was. Trixie tolerated it, though, as there was no challenge to her in growing accustomed to a state of affairs that had been clear from the beginning. She was no stranger to being unwanted, to the point where it was almost a comfortable feeling.
Still, Pearl had been Trixie’s constant companion since birth, and she missed the way it was when they only had each other. Trixie missed being a sister. She wished her twin had not been taken away from her.
When she thought of it that way, though, she would be struck with guilt. All things considered, Violet had been rather gracious in her treatment of her. It would benefit their family if the future queen decided Pearl was her favourite, and Trixie prayed their mother wouldn’t spoil that with her personality.
Not long after their arrival, a new member was added to Violet’s entourage, easing Trixie’s loneliness a little.
Kim was the most promising young seamstress in their kingdom, and had been selected to take charge of the crown princess’ wardrobe. Violet had a keen interest in fashion. Her wardrobe was enormous, and would only continue to grow. As part of her duties, Kim would sit with the princess and create new designs for gowns, with her creative input. She would often be sent to gather materials, and spent a large portion of her time sewing, though she was mercifully allowed to procure an assistant or two for particularly difficult projects. Kim was a true prodigy, quite adept at going it alone most times, but even someone with golden hands like hers sometimes needed a little help.
Trixie would offer her services when Kim required them, and sometimes even when she did not, so they could spend more time together. Kim had a room set aside for her use, but when she was not abroad with the freedom to chase rumours of some wonderful new type of fabric and a bottomless budget, she would share a bed with Trixie. It was almost like being a child again, sharing secrets with her sister until the sun rose back up, or until they both nodded off.
“If I had my way,” Kim said, on a particularly silly night. “My eyes would cover half my face.”
Trixie had laughed out loud at that.
“You could ask Fame to make it so. I might do it too, then.”
As her presence was only specifically requested when her princess wished to hear her play, it didn’t take long for Trixie to start feeling like a useless charge. Even so, she was determined not to fall into an eternal sulk. It was not because she valued cheerfulness, or had a particular wish to be agreeable to the people around her. Trixie had always had a contrary streak. If the world insisted on putting her in a situation where it mattered little if she lived or died, letting that get her down would be akin to losing, and she was not going to stand for that. She may have been a fearsome general in another life, or a very stubborn mule.
So she devoted more time to her lute, and her harp, than she ever had at home. She had free rein of the library, and had as much paper as she desired at her disposal to write if she so chose, even if she wasn’t a great poet or thinker. She laid in the sun and let freckles bloom on her skin, enjoying the lack of a shrill voice telling her it made her look too low class. Sometimes, she joined Violet and Pearl in their amusements, and made the most out of having Kim nearby when she did. She focused more on her freedom, and less on her desire for someone to share it with.
***
Written into the code of conduct at the Academy was a truly noble attempt to create a semblance of equality among its many residents. This was mostly meant to benefit the special cases, those girls who had been so charitably plucked from obscurity in order to keep royal bloodlines fresh and inspire the dreams of the downtrodden. To discourage divisions over rank, every young lady within the walls of the academy, whoever they may be, should be referred to as one would a noble lady. Violet and Trixie, different as they were in rank, would be known as Lady Violet and Lady Beatrice to those outside their circle.
This didn’t change the reality of the situation; some ladies were destined to wield more power than others, and this was not hidden in the least. The size of a lady’s entourage played a great part in distinguishing those born with a golden crown in their future from those who could only weave them out of wildflowers and dream if not blessed with divine intervention. Violet was an unusual case in that her personal household was rather small, for she did not wish to be responsible for too many souls when there was no need. Bringing a personal pastry chef, for instance, was permitted to her, but it would be a display of status rather than a real necessity. Equipping their daughters with all the luxuries they did not need was a show of strength, a kingdom’s assertion that they had riches enough to waste on their precious princesses.
Violet preferred to show strength through her own regal bearing and lack of concern with proving herself, but the same could not be said of all her peers. She became fast friends with a Lady Valentina, who boasted one of the most extravagant entourages at the Academy. Her court away from home included a full band, three dressmakers, and one individual whose occupation was to provide fresh roses for her suites every other day. She had five identically-dressed noble ladies whose sole purpose was to follow her silently wherever she roamed. They were called The Five Lady Marias, because even their names matched.
Lady Valentina had a personal pleasure barge, complete with a rower. She was gracious enough to allow Violet, along with both Trixie and Pearl, aboard for a sunny afternoon on the campus lake. The water was uncommonly pretty and clear. Trixie liked watching the fish go about their business as the barge moved over the water with the speed and urgency of a tortoise. There was no possible destination available to them, but the lake was large enough that it was difficult to see the opposite end from shore, so they had room to float lazily.
From their position, they could see Valentina’s ladies waiting at shore, content to fan themselves and play cards on a blanket laid out for them to sit on. Trixie had spotted the Lady Adore taking her daily swim; a mermaid princess, she found it taxing to keep a human form for as long as she would need to if she ventured a full day on land. She once said that she longed for the sea like nothing else, but as long as she was in water once a day she could make do. Sometimes she could even be found there twice in one day. She would search for and wave cheerfully at the boating party whenever she rose from the depths, the patches of scales that were always visible on her skin gleaming in the sunlight.
That day, Lady Adore was joined by another lady, one Trixie was not acquainted with. Trixie watched the girl jump into the water with a whoop and a giant splash, while her fae companion conjured up a plush chair to sit in. Like Fame, this faerie chose a human form, appearing as a heavy set woman with shocking orange hair. She shouted as her charge splashed some water her way, but they seemed to be friendly.
Trixie strained to get as good a look at the girl as she could, oddly intrigued by the stranger. She did this until it felt too silly to continue, too silly and a little mortifying. She guided herself back to her company, which she had parted with momentarily to shove her nose into the affairs of others. They had been discussing music while her mind was away.
“I am still at a loss as to why you haven’t brought your own musicians from home, my dear,” Lady Valentina said, the air sweetened by the musical stylings of her country’s best lute player. “You’re a curious creature. You have such a great opportunity to show off your people’s talents, and yet you leave them at home.”
“You could always visit,” Violet said, with her customary inability to make eye contact with the person she is speaking with. Granted, Valentina often fell into that habit as well.
“Lady Beatrice is very talented.”
Trixie sat in shocked silence. She remained so while Pearl murmured her confirmation that Trixie was, indeed, musically gifted, and rattled off the instruments she had learned in her efforts to while away her childhood. She wasn’t used to being singled out by Violet, much less complimented.
Valentina fixed her eyes on Trixie, along with the wide smile she always wore, one that never quite reached her eyes.
“Lady Beatrice, could you please play for us?” she asked, gently.
Trixie felt Pearl squeeze her hand, and caught Violet looking at her with a small smile on her face. She gulped, but nodded her agreement, and quickly found herself holding the lute Valentina’s court musician had been playing, which had been directed her way with a wordless gesture from his mistress.
Though her hands shook at first, Trixie loved music dearly, and when she concentrated on the song she wanted to play she was able to shed her nerves. She chose a traditional song, one that had always calmed and comforted her when she heard it before learning to play herself.
When she finished, she was met with Valentina’s enthusiastic applause, and a surprising spark of life in her normally cold eyes.
“Brava, Lady Beatrice!” she shouted, without tiring from the applause. “Could you play another? Lady Violet, did you know she was so accomplished when you took her on?”
“I had a reliable source,” replied Violet, with a fond glance at Pearl.
Trixie hoped she wasn’t blushing. She agreed to play again, had to admit she enjoyed the attention.
“Aja!” Valentina called out, until the most original looking girl manifested in a shimmer next to her. “Could you please make the sound of Lady Beatrice’s music carry better? I’d like it if my ladies could hear it too.”
Trixie chose a song she knew to be Violet’s favourite. She let herself be absorbed into her playing, in the sound of the music and the way her hands felt like they were gently guided by a supernatural force. She wondered if she truly was talented, or if she had a guardian she could not see showing her the way.
She felt a hand settle firmly on her shoulder to shake her from her trance. Pearl motioned to the water, where Adore was peeking up at them.
“Hullo,” she said. “Got a message for Lady Beatrice.”
“Go on,” Trixie said, smiling back at her. There was something about Adore’s easy manner that just made her smile.
“Lady Katya, the one waving at us over there, well, she just wanted you to know she really liked your music,” said Adore. “Wouldn’t rest until I came all the way here to tell you.”
Trixie watched the girl on the shore as she waved with both arms back at her, and cupped her mouth with her hands to cheer at her. She must have looked awfully stupid, for she eventually felt a splash of cool water hit her face. Adore must have put her back into it.
“I’ll tell her thank you, yeah?” Adore offered, sticking her tongue out at Trixie.
Trixie nodded her assent.