Faith -Part 5-

She  no longer had to clean the page's rooms, she'd been told. Instead, she was to wait upon the foreign princess, for whom it was arranged to marry the young prince. Cartha had said it like it was an honor. "Some honor," Iliane muttered. "Waitin'on a finicky, 'elpless noblewoman. And prob'ly a savage too, if'n she's from those lands up north." Still, she had to obey orders, so Iliane dressed in the new dress and overdress given to her. They were in the colors of the foreign princess, whose name she did not know. Trotting behind Cartha, she was lead to the chambers set for visiting nobility, and she waited as the head of the female servants knocked, then stepped back.

The door opened to reveal a woman, scarcely older than Iliane's own 15 years. "Hello?" she said in a harshly accented voice. It was obvious that this language, Ronalian, was no her first.

From one of the adjoining rooms a woman called, "You're not supposed to answer the door yourself, princess."

Princess? Iliane thought as Cartha swept into a curtsy and elbowed her to do the same.

"She's to be yer body servant, Princess," Cartha said, and left. Iliane thought this was rude, but then, foreigners were highly looked down upon in Ronalier, and females even more so. The woman who'd called from the back of the suite also left, curtsying as she did so.

Iliane, still low in her own awkward cursty, was beginning to wobble. The princess spoke, sounding both shy and slightly stiff, "You are mine new, mine only servant?" she asked.

"Yes'm...I mean m'lady....grace....'ighness?" Iliane stumbled with the words, and rose to stare rather rudely at the older girl.

She judged her to be about seventeen,  willowy and graceful. She looked as though she would be proud, were she not in such hostile, unfamiliar circumstances. Her hair was a shade of white-blond that no Ronalian possesed, her eyes a coldly beautiful gray. The princesses figure was beautiful, and her facial features nearly perfect. Her skin was the ivory of one who was born in a cold land, a land with far less sun than Iliane's home.

The girl spoke, "I am Corinthia, third-tier princess of the kingdom of Rinerlandt." Her accent flowed in a way that Iliane had never heard before, graceful despite it's harshness, and she spoke slowly, as it seemed her mastery of the language was slightly shaky.

She curtsied again. "I'm Iliane," she stated, shortly. Within, she thought, Third tier? She knew from the servant's gossip that even a third-tier princess from the wealthy, powerful kindom of Rinerlandt was a good sign, a sign that an alliance between the lands would hold strong for at least a generation. She'd also heard that Ronalier couldn't afford a large war with Corinthia's land, so that was good.

"Iliane, come, please," Corinthia said. "I 'ill show you to your quarters, and tell you what you must do for me."

Please? Iliane wondered. What sort of princess said 'please' to a servant? And a girl servant at that.