Drops of spring dew fell from the leaves of the almond tree. They splashed against Prim's eyes closed in prayer and she smiled, looking up at the branches as they shook in the gentle morning wind. That sort of thing happened often during this time of year and Prim always took them to be her mother's kisses. She pressed her fingers on the bark of the tree, leaning her forehead against the smooth wood, marked only by ceremonial runes. Her straight, wispy hair, so blonde it was nearly white, strayed from its immaculate coiffe and fell by the side of her face in a fringe. "Oh mother..." she whispered. "What will become of us?" 

The family crypts lay behind them on the southern side of the castle courtyard but her mother's wishes were to be buried after the fashion of her homeland in the North, mixed in with the sapling of a sacred tree. Primrose was grateful for that. Whenever she missed her, she did not need to turn to the cold stone of the crypts but could always return to this warm, gentle wood. Leaning down again, knees settling into the grassy floor under her cotton skirts, she began to more formally enter into the morning prayers. First, the exaltations of the Father and Mother and gratitudes for their constant protection of the land they had fashioned out of the void, for the kingship they had rightfully established in Helathe and lastly, supplication for its continuance to the end of the age. That last section was something she had memorised rote as a child and said without thinking too deeply about but it began to take on much more significance over the past few months. Prim had been content to not think too much about the larger political situation but the near defeat at Emry coast and the night-time massacre by the lake hit close to home. And everything had begun to take on the look and feel of imminent doom. There was no more fresh butter and cream in the pantries after the Northland villages stopped their supply of yaks milk in protest of the massacre. Even the supply of the ceremonial jasmine-oil she needed to anoint the tree was running short. Those guards and servants still left alive were beginning to look at them funny: her father, the steward, the bishop and even her. But not Jane. 

Prim smiled at first, thinking of her new handmaiden, how the ringlets of brown hair danced all around her face when she tended to Prim's room, how soft her hands felt on Prim's back when she laced up her corset, the twinkle of her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the curve of her neck, the delicate dimples just underneath her collarbones Prim was strangely desperate to know what would feel like if she could place her tongue there. Realising where her mind had taken her, Primrose gasped, shaking her head and bowing back down in prayer. "Oh Father and Mother, forgive my impurities and transgressions and cast these thoughts away from me. Replace them only with thoughts of you and your sweet and sanctified order for the world. Help me find and stay true to the man you have already chosen to be my husband and think no other thoughts, that I may stay pure for him and pure for your order for the world." She continued with the litany,  forcing her mind to stray clear of wayward thoughts.

And she would have mostly been successful, had it not been for the musical voice from behind her, replete with that eastern lilt Prim had grown to love over the past two months. "Princess, I'm so sorry to interrupt..." 

Prim turned her head around, lips stretching into a barely suppressed smile. "That's alright, Jane. What is it?" Her handmaiden looked like she was huffing from a long run. Her short brown hair was windswept across her freckled face in a way that made her look quite dashing in her light blue cloak. 

"A couple of things, Princess. First, look what I found." She held up a little glass vial of a clear liquid. "The potion-maker at Crestbottom still had some. Charged a right majestic penny for it, cor, but I said who I was comin' from and that set him straight." 

With an excited gasp, Primrose got up and reached for the vial. The smell instantly revealed what it was and she turned her head up to look at her much taller handmaiden with open admiration. "Oh Jane, you didn't!" Prim had pretty much given up hope of being able to anoint the tree till things calmed down. 

Jane shrugged with a shy smile. "Don't worry about it Princess, you go ahead and finish your prayers with that. Because after that, there's an important guest your lord father wants you to meet." 

"Well, what does he look like?" Prim asked. This would probably have been the seventh suitor she'd been made to see over the past few months and she rejected all of the ones so far. With rumours of dissent rumbling through most of the vassalages, most of those interested in her father's call for suitors were fringe lords from the duchies: either too old, too young or worst of all too godless. Prim's heart used to beat in anticipation for the handsome lordlings arriving to ask for her hand in marriage but successive disappointments dulled that in its entirety. And besides, Prim's heart was still beating quite fast, but for another reason entirely. Shoulders exposed with just her corset tied cinched around her waist, Prim's bust was in full relief. It wasn't nearly as full as Jane's, but she could see her handmaiden's eyes flit down to the cleft between her breasts and then back up to meet her own in the looking glass. Jane's fingers brushed against her back every so often as she braided Prim's pale locks, each little moment of contact making her throat dry with nervous giddiness. 

"I don't know, princess. Haven't seen him, have I?" Jane stuck her tongue out in concentration as she pinned the braids up in an elegant Southern style, a few loose strands framing Prim's petite features. "Some lord from the Isles. He'd probably be pretty enough, if that's the sort of thing you're after." 

Before Prim could ask her what exactly she meant by that, Jane spun her chair around, bringing Prim face to face with the older girl, her face inches away from hers. "Hold still now..." she whispered, and Prim could feel her breath against her chin. Gulping, she nodded as her handmaiden pressed a thin layer of lily-root powder mixed with rosewater over her face, covering a few of the spots Prim was often insecure about. Mixing in a little bit of rouge, Jane rubbed it against her cheekbones, creating an artificial pink hue entirely unnecessary for the moment as Prim was already blushing quite red from the sensation of Jane caressing her face. Prim could see every little freckle up close over Jane's button nose, the little chipped tooth just under the corner of her small, full lips. She found she was actually fighting the irresistible urge to reach forward and press her lips against hers. "There," Jane muttered, her voice so soft in that Eastern lilt. "Pretty as a picture." 

"Th-thank you Jane!" Primrose almost squealed. Jane did not move her head back, head held forward still inches away from their faces becoming one. 

"You're welcome Princess. What about it though?" 

"What about what?" 

"Are you into that sort of thing?" Jane reached her hand out to delicately take a strand of Prim's hair and swipe it behind her ear. "Or are you into something else?" 

Prim could feel her heart hammering under her corset and she felt like she would collapse from being unable to breathe. Every voice in her head screamed YES except for the very loud quarter which reminded her of her prayers and the will of the Father and Mother in her life, which kissing another girl was obviously a transgression of. Prim would've almost succumbed had it not been for two loud bangs on the doors to her bedchamber and the raspy voice of her aunt Celine. 

"Primrose Vothlyn are you quite ready? Your father wishes to see you immediately!"