Corina's room, as expected, was barely a skeletal husk of the plain-but-lived-in space it was before. Whoever had been through it had stripped it down like locusts, removing the sheets, her knickknacks on the walls, and the clutter in the corners. Even the hangings of her four-poster had been removed from the room entirely. The walls and floors had been scrubbed - every last trace of Corina's life in the room had been erased with skill that Corina had never seen employed in the Tower.

       The gown on the bed, though. Inevitably drawing her eye, it was a thing of beauty and, well, majesty.  A swathe of mauve silk draped the bed, far longer than Corina was tall. She would have to pick up these skirts to move, and there would be a beautiful train of sheer silk behind her. A fancifully low cut bodice barely connected to "sleeves" that lay just off the shoulders and were of a length to flow to the floor as well. Corina muttered a prayer of thanks to the Essences that the foundational fabric of the bodice and skirt were made of an opaque brocade with gold threads running through it, and not something fragile and transparent. Still, there was a separate layer of sheer silk over the entire opulent dress, so light that the very thought of wind might cause it to stir. Along the neckline that cut across her chest and shoulders, someone had carefully sewn a line of brightly colored silk roses in celebratory colors. A pair of soft, leather-soled, velvet slippers were artfully placed together on the bed next to the gown that was carefully on display.

       Corina turned to James Porthland, crossing her arms. "I am not changing in front of you."

       “I wouldn't dream of asking to observe," the Duke retorted with a clap of his hands. As the sound rang out, a trio of women filed into the empty bedroom from behind the nobles, presenting themselves before Corina with nervous energy barely brimming over amongst them. The oldest, a woman with dark skin, and more gray in her hair than Corina remembered, spread her fingers in a subtle gesture of hello. Jenny still was in her retinue, it seemed, and this knowledge let Corina heave a long exhale of relief. Inwardly, of course.

       “Allow me to introduce Marchioness Samborn, your Mistress of Robes, and--”

       “I know Madam Samborn, thank you,” Corina interjected to James, already tired of the flowery way that the Duke spoke about everything.

       “A thousand apologies, Ma'am.”

       "You can leave now, Your Gra-," But the door shut between them before Corina could finish her sentence. She glowered at the door. It was one thing to attend to her every need, but speaking for her and cutting her off? This needed to be nipped in the bud, stopped before it became a habit, if Corina was going to get any respect. The princess was going to have to be more assertive, something she had spent a lifetime unlearning, to be amongst her classmates without incident.

       Corina yawned, a long drawn out action that made the room spin very slightly and Jenny grinned. "I see you are as well rested as ever, Your Royal Highness." Jenny gestured for the two younger women to attend to Corina, then sat down herself. Corina knew from experience that this sort of dressing up only needed the two assistants, but…

       "I see my father has not lost his obsession with threes," Corina remarked dryly. "And Jenny, you know you can call me by my name. I'd like to at least be treated like a human by my attachment, even if I can't convince anyone else." She met Jenny's eyes, then tilted her head sharply at the other women, who were gathering the dress from the bed and Jenny gave an equally sharp and immediate nod in return. As the two younger women returned with the gown and began undressing her, Corina said casually, "The same goes for you two, just so you know. Please call me Corina when in private - I don't want to force anyone into social faux pas in public society, but times like now, I truly am just Corina." She wiggled her toes when the blonde noblewoman removed her boots, much to the quiet amusement of her two assistants.

       "Ah, yes," Jenny said flippantly from her space on the bed, "Introductions, right, right." Jenny stood beside Corina, undoing her hair ties and for a moment it was like her chief Lady-in-Waiting had never left. Like Corina had never been forced to leave, like she'd never been sent away. "The dark haired young lady who is redoing the lacing of your underclothes is Lady Cecily Goldentree, and the blonde one giggling at your toes is Lady Elspeth Fischer. They have lately been training with me to help Her Majesty, your lady mother, Queen Jordana of Farleigh," Jenny rattled off the titles as if it were both unimportant and second nature to include them all, which it probably was. "They are good girls, but they can tell you about themselves."

       Silence fell across the quartet of women in an extremely pregnant pause before the blonde young woman spoke up, clearly measuring her words. “I am Elspeth, as Mistress Samborn said…” She looked to Jenny for encouragement. When the older woman gave an encouraging nod, Elspeth continued, tucking a wayward strand of hair back in the braid it had escaped from. She blushed, muttering to herself while she deftly finished re-lacing all the bits and bobs of Corina’s undergarments with Cecily. “I don’t know what you want to know, Your…Corina.” Cecily nodded her mute agreement.

       Corina spread her arms wide so that the two women could continue to dress her with less effort. “That’s a good question,” she said abruptly after a long silence. “I suppose I didn’t quite know what I was asking.” She stepped into the waist of the skirt held out to her by Cecily, musing over her response. “To put it very simply, I want to know that you both are also human, just as I am. Believe it or not, I am just as nervous as the both of you. Especially considering that there are more of you than there are of me. Tactically, I’m at a disadvantage.”

       Cecily let out a raucous snort of laughter, unable to daintily cover it up with her hands busy clothing Corina as they were. Corina cast a quick look over her shoulder, flashing a grin far more genuine than the Duke of Porthland had been privy to yet. “Thank the Gods, I thought my mother might have trained the life out of you before you came to me. I don’t have many memories of my mother’s retinue, but I do remember them being extremely polite and silent, unless spoken to. I cannot live that life, that lie, every hour of every day, and I doubt that anyone can. So please, when we are together like this, let this be a refuge from the world because I cannot live at court any other way. The stays have to come off every so often, yes?”

       Elspeth offered suddenly, “Could that be a code phrase?” She said it with such enthusiasm, Corina could not help but be impressed by the sheer amount of emotion behind that request. “So we all know when it is safe to, well, gossip, I guess. Like, I can ask you if you need help with your stays or your corsetry and if you say yes—“

       “If you say yes, then we can whisk you away to somewhere private where we can talk,” Cecily cut in with exactly as much gusto as her blonde counterpart, “And it should work the same the other way around too. You can tell us when you need help with your ol' whalebones and we can supply the aforementioned whisking away.” Cecily snorted again, “After all, if you do actually need help with your undergarments we really do need to remove you to a private space to help, so it works out even if it isn’t being used as a secret code phrase.” She meticulously guided Corina’s arms through the scant, flower-lined fabric that counted for sleeves on the mauve gown, while Elspeth remained at Corina’s back to nimbly finish cinching and lacing the gown to Corina’s exact body shape. Corina was suddenly grateful that she had spent the last fourteen years sprinting up and down the Staircase, with the way that the silk clung to her in a manner that revealed more than it kept secret.

       Elspeth and Cecily, their work on the gown done, guided Corina to the chair by her window, leaving the velvet shoes by her feet to slip on at her leisure. In tandem the two maid servants set about attacking Corina’s hair, twisting and pulling at her fierce, red, waves into a slicker, more presentable up-do. It was intense work, and by the end of it Cecily was panting, while Elspeth’s face held a certain amount of grim pride at the result of their labor.

       Corina beheld the woman in mauve in the mirror, unrecognizable to herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to gape at the perfectly respectable lady in the looking glass - after fourteen years of lumpy grape-colored smocks, this is what she looked like? Aloud she remarked, “I did not realize there was still a princess under all that wool. Thank you both. Truly. However, I regret to tell you,” Corina said, turning to examine her silhouette in the mirror, “that it is early spring and I cannot go outside wearing just this frippery.”

       Elspeth nodded knowingly, tapping her forefinger against her nose. “Oh, aye, that would be why we were told to furnish you with this as well.” Gesturing back to Jenny, the gray haired woman brought forth a thick wool coat that was scrupulously folded over one arm so as not to wrinkle it - though Corina doubted that fabric that thick could ever truly be rumpled.

       The coat was cut in a long a-line shape that just barely did not scuff the floor as the three women laid it across Corina’s shoulders. Heavily embroidered with gold, the sleeves were mere slits in the side of the coat, which really resembled a heavy cape more than it did a winter wrap. Still, Elspeth and Cecily fastened enough buttons down the front of the cape-coat, that surely no gusts of wind would ever reach Corina, let alone dare to chill her. Elspeth lifted the voluminous hood over Corina’s carefully styled hair, then all three of them gathered between Corina and the mirror to examine their handiwork with a critical eye.

       “Excellent work, ladies,” Jenny said, circling Corina approvingly. “I doubt anyone will remember what she used to look like once they see her now.” Corina opened her mouth to protest, but Jenny quieted her with a look. “You know what I mean, no need to get feisty. Besides, if you are going to be making a fresh debut at Court, it is best if no one recalls how you were growing up at school. A clean slate is what you need, trust me.” And Corina did trust Jenny.

       Whether it was the commanding presence, or the faint, fond, childhood memories of the woman that encouraged this trust, or whether it was wise to trust Jenny or not, Corina did not know. But it was the lot she had thrown in with and she would have to see how it would treat her.

       Corina turned around before the mirror one last time, then took an uncertain step towards the closed door, a heavier weight than the wool cloak settling on her shoulders. If this is what a re-entry to society felt like, Corina was not certain she was ready for the moment her parents inevitably set the crown of Princess Royal upon her head again. That much responsibility ought to crush a person.

       The thought that maybe she could ask her parents how they did it--how they managed the hopes and dreams of a populace who only knew an ideal of them, who only understood a sliver what it meant to be Sovereigns—crossed Corina’s mind but she quickly dismissed it, taking another, firmer step towards the door.

       If they wanted her to ask them their opinions, then perhaps they should have tried being family, should have let her stay with her sisters, instead of shuttling her off to a tower on the edge of nowhere to develop her nascent powers. There were mages at Court, she could have learned there.

       Still, Corina knew that bitterness and rancor towards her parents would get her nothing for her trouble, so she chose instead to stifle those feelings, to push them deep, deep down. As far as she could.

       In the end, Corina could still feel the heat of her anger buzzing under her skin, but it was a mild warmth that protected her against the chill of the day, more than anything hotly burning. Something to deal with later, she decided as she placed her hand on the door, undoing the latch.

       Pulling the door open, Corina greeted the waiting Duke of Porthland with a saccharine smile from under lowered lashes and an upright hood. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she murmured quietly, quickly stepping ahead of him to lead the way to the bottom of the Tower, where no doubt transportation was waiting for them. “First impressions are important, you understand.”

       “Why indeed, I do understand,” James said jovially, falling in step behind Corina - between the Princess and her retinue. “I certainly planned your return trip with more time between stops than I would need. And there are several—if not many—stops on this trip, just so Her Royal Highness is kept aware.” Corina rubbed at her cold nose rather than roll her eyes as the slimy smugness leaked out of the Duke as he proceeded to explain, “How the people receive you may make or break your reign, should you assume the mantle of Queen, one day. Therefore it is of utmost importance that we stop in every town with a name and you make yourself known. Kiss all the babies and whatnot.” The Duke stepped up to walk beside Corina as she picked up her skirts to make it down the worn stone steps of the mundane entrance to the Tower.

       Duke Porthland took Corina’s arm in a feather-light grip, ushering the Princess through the courtyard as if she was not capable of knowing the way herself. As if she might misunderstand which carriage in the train of vehicles waiting to receive her was actually hers. As if she might mistake the small, cramped, nondescript carriages her retinue filed into for hers when her carriage was standing before her.

       Her carriage, after all, was gaudy and gilded and meant to draw every eye to it. Her carriage announced her presence to every person who beheld it, with its filigree that had once began its life as an elegant design in its maker’s eye, but had grown into so much more than that. Someone, Corina thought, should inform this carriage wright that only so much gold was tasteful. After a certain point, all it was was an egregious show of gauche wealth. But maybe that was her old life of woolen stockings and tepid oatmeal talking. Perhaps society demanded such things of a person.

       Still the polished, aurum cherubs were a bit too much. Corina eyed them suspiciously as she stepped foot into the horrible carriage, her floating silk over skirt brushing briefly against the masterfully painted and varnished oil paintings of muscled, winged beasts of legend (and a few muscled men) that decorated what little of the exterior was not glinting with gold.

       The interior of the carriage was exactly zero percent less ostentatious. The back of the seat was lined in purple velvet and the cushion below was sewn out of meticulously embroidered brocade. The main thread color was gold, of course, on a background of heavy silk in a purple so deep that only the sun shining in through the windows revealed it to be anything but black. It was the ceiling of this lavish interior that was painted, a scene of the once again gilded sun peeking out from behind fluffy clouds and dangerous sky habitating beasts.

       Folding her skirt underneath her, Corina took a deep breath, about to let it out in a sigh of relief when the carriage door opened once more to let in the Duke. Corina froze, dull panic beginning to overtake her senses. Did he expect attentive conversation? For the whole trip? For all the days that that would take? She wouldn’t be able to sustain that, everyone would learn—

       “You have an excellent opportunity, Princess Corina, to practice your royal wave before we go,” the Duke said with a nod towards the door he’d just come through. “It seems some of the Mage Apprentices have come to see you off.”

       Corina pressed a hand to the window, interested to see who had come to see her off. She had been tolerably well-liked by the student body, but certainly not the most popular apprentice. The window had a seam and a small latch, which when released, let a small hinged pane of glass fall open to reveal a space just large enough for Corina to slip her whole arm through, but keep the cold and damp off her face.

       The wind whipped around the coastal Tower as it ever did, and immediately snatched Corina’s light, silken sleeve and pulled it outside to wave like a brilliant flag the color of deoxygenated blood. In the moments between the sleeve blocking her view, Corina could see that indeed, some--but by no means all-- of her classmates had assembled on the entryway’s steps, peering curiously at her very important carriage. Corina didn’t know what to say to them. They stared at her through the glass as though she were some strange artifact on display. Like she was a stranger they didn’t know anymore, if any of them had known her at all.

       Corina gave those assembled a slow, solemn wave. Pulling her arm and sleeve back into the vehicle, the Princess could see that Pasior the Solemn had arrived when she wasn’t looking, and only then, as the coachman clicked his tongue and snapped the reins of the horses to spur them into movement, did Corina find the words to say her goodbyes.

       “I will miss you all,” she called, with her face to the window, earning some smiles from the younger attendees. “Study hard, be kind to the staircase, learn every secret you can!” Her eyes met Pasior’s and she bit her lip to keep from tearing up. “I will not forget your kindness!” Before she could watch the tower disappear, Corina withdrew from the window, latching it shut and pulling the curtains over the window. Perhaps if she couldn’t see it all go away, it wouldn’t hurt quite so much.

       “Very nice, very...heartfelt,” James Porthland remarked, reaching across the carriage to retrieve a book wedged in the cushions next to Corina. It seemed that His Grace had ridden in her carriage on the trip to Pasior’s Tower. It made sense, Corina supposed, so they didn’t have to bring an extra vehicle all the way there, but his previous presence made the space around her feel cold and unfriendly all the same. “Well,” the Duke said after some silence between them, “I am to relay some messages to you.”

       Corina felt the urge to yawn once more, biting the inside of her cheek to fight it off. She did not want to sleep now, of all times. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance and rain began to patter on the window while the carriage rocked back and forth. It seemed Corina had been wrong about the fog burning off. “I look forward to hearing these messages,” Corina told him quietly, cautiously optimistic about what she might hear.

       “Of course. The first is from His Majesty, King Emery. He welcomes you home, joyfully, and looks forward to seeing the kind of young woman you have become.” Corina said nothing at that as they jostled along, so the Duke continued. “Second, of course, is the message from Her Majesty, Queen Jordana. She was quite...tearful and excited when it came to relaying this message, so forgive me if I do not quite live up to the source material.” Corina did not laugh, but waited patiently for the man to continue. The rocking carriage, the audible rainfall, and the Duke’s incessant droning were proving to be more than a match for Corina’s cheek-biting technique. She bit down harder, tasting blood, as he continued. “She insists that you come to her suite first thing upon arrival at Castle Couvell. She wishes me to relay that she has missed you, that a piece of her heart has been missing these fourteen years, and that she is so happy that you are coming home to her.”

       Corina nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Blinking, she opened her eyes to see Duke Porthland leaning towards her, concerned. Corina quickly straightened up from where she had been growing comfortable on the warm seat. “What is it, Your Grace?”

       “I--your--,” the formerly suave and implacable Duke struggled to describe the moment, and Corina immediately knew the issue. She’d fallen asleep for some indeterminate amount of time. Probably not long, by the sound of the rain and the angle of the sun. Still, long enough for the Duke to notice. She had tried so hard and yet…

       “Do not be concerned, Your Grace.” Corina’s tone was distant and she waved a hand dismissively. “This happens, sometimes.”

       “Are you quite well, Your Highness? Was the morning overly taxing? Is there ought I can do to assist? I have several more messages to relay.”

       Already Corina felt groggy again, and she struggled to wrangle words into sentences. “As I said, this...happens...sometimes.” Every syllable uttered was managed with herculean effort. “I need to sleep. We’ll talk...later.”

       “As you wish, Your Highness.” James Porthland inclined his head respectfully and Corina settled herself more comfortably in the carriage. Sleep was going to take her, willing participant or not, so she may as well partake in it without hurting her back. She lost consciousness almost immediately, thoughts on the convenience of royal authority and what it meant for her, leading her to dreams.