It was done. Her father was even more abrupt, but he sometimes talked about philosophy, so you could sit there an hour or two while he grilled you for your perspective on things. Seraphel sat in the dressing room as servants cleared up. It was only after a while that one of them, the very same Beacle from earlier, glanced up.
He didn’t like the idea of that. Or at least, fighting that. A thousand armored enemies wielding artifacts sounded like a really unfair time. But Cortese assured the other people they had nothing to worry about. Beacle stepped back in, issuing huge apologies, and relief finally arrived in the form of a tonic. It was, ironically, brown.
A laugh escaped Seraphel’s mouth despite herself. She looked around, and Beacle was waiting, along with some very apologetic Thronebearers who had been alerted to the—distressing incident.
And yet…Seraphel saw her own servant, Beacle, helping dress Aielef. And she saw, just for a second, a flicker of something. Scorn? Or perhaps…? Aielef bowed to Ser Solstice apologetically.
Perhaps it was reflected in Beacle’s gaze or even some of the Thronebearers. Beyond the adoration for their [Princesses], more than love of nation. A bit of respect for someone chasing that dream.
Mind you, it wasn’t five. That was just how it felt. There were people on the street bowing to Seraphel and asking for autographs—and probably no less than two dozen Thronebearers and servants, including Beacle, but Cortese and Seraphel barely noticed them.
They could not use dirt because the endless rainfall would turn it to mud. She had fallen twice already, and one of her Thronebearers had used up her supply of [Restore Appearance]. Seraphel’s new, best servant, the Bringer of Toilet Paper as Rabbiteater had dubbed her, Beacle, had at least two cuts on her arm and leg Seraphel looked incredibly guilty about.
[I Bear My Mistress’ Stains] included minor cuts and bruises. Rabbiteater kept staring at Beacle, which was why Seraphel had resorted to the unseemly walking stick.
