A trio of maids stood infront of Rikilda in her room. They wanted her to guess what the maid in middle had brought in the tray covered by a yellow cloth. The same girl in middle smiled at her, hoping the princess to be would crack a conversation with her. But Rikilda was fed up to see people who could not keep their teeth buried under lips. It looked as if not smiling while aquatinting royals was a punishable act.

Braden had also told her how uncomfortable he was with merry servants everywhere. Their lips were wide, but their eyes told a different tale.

Somehow Rikilda had found genuineness in this situation.

"You brought clothes for me?" asked Rikilda.

The maid removed the cloth from the tray and another woman displayed the blue dress to her.

"Aren't I too young for this dress?" Rikilda asked, noticing how open the dress was on the chest.

The maids wanted her to touch it, but she did not even bother looking at it twice. Let alone stroking it.

"It looks open but it will fit." One said, "Our tailor is an artist of needles and thread."

"I will have to try it before I wear this tomorrow. I don’t trust her art."

Door creaked, and the maids swiveled towards the entrance to see who had pushed it. Rikilda got a chance to sigh in boredom as one of them opened the door and rest watched who it was.

All of them cleared the way after opening the door. They would have bowed too if there was enough space for it. Rikilda saw Prince Tudor standing at the passage full of maids. Those girls blushed, hid their smiles beneath their palms and tip-toed out. She heard their chirping outside while she wondered the reason for the crown prince to be there.

Prince Tudor waved.

Rikilda waved back without making a sound. Nervousness had clutched her voice, not letting it loose at any cost. She feared to appear rude to not answer the prince – her future husband. Rikilda couldn’t land on right response to make.

Tudor could understand what was going on.

"Why don’t we stall around the castle?" Prince gave him his hand.

Rikilda stretched her trembling hand. The moment her hand got wrapped around by his fingers, nervousness plummeted to being non existing

"Sure." Thin voice flew free from Rikilda's lips.

She then walked along with Tudor, with her hand in the handsome prince's possession. Rikilda felt safe. And more than that, comfortable.

"Living in Western Ouskerus must have been a test of endurance for you." Tudor said in the silent archway.

Rikilda had to remember the rehearsed story, "Yes, it was dreadful."

"Braden also said so."

"Yes he –"

"He also used the word dreadful."

"Whose dreadfulness do you enjoy listening the most?" she smiled, diverting the flow of conversation.

"Of course yours." Tudor said, "Anything you say would be worth listening. I haven’t heard your voice much."

"I may never keep quiet."

Braden laughed, "Women never do."

"I knew you would say this."

"Pardon me. I am poor with choice of words."

"Doesn’t bother me." She smiled.

They walked further, creating chuckles among the guest women around.

"Mr. Bloudkast is a brave heart. Who else can become so wealthy despite of spending bigger half of his life in west." Tudor said.

"Indeed."

"At first my father was hesitant about this marriage. No guests from girl's side didn’t appeal him. Then I had to remind him whose wedding it is."

"Is he fine with this marriage?" she asked, stopping at base of the stairway.

"Very fine." He continued walking, and the girl followed.

They stopped at solitude of battlements – only place with no guards roaming. Rikilda leaned her hand on the low wall, observing movement and rush of people underneath.

"You may be new in Winstrova but you are a noble blood and belong to a wealthy family." Tudor removed strands of hair from her face and placed it behind her ear, "Those things fulfill demands my father's position forces him to put forward. As of me, I never had a demand."

Shyness blinded Rikilda once again. Not trembling, but the courage she had for entirety of the walk had vanished. She watched the chaos happening down them when Prince Tudor went towards flowers.

Her eyes fell on someone she thought she had seen before. She couldn’t tell who it was from that height, but the man was big and whitest of the group.

"What do you think of these flowers, Rikilda?" Tudor came with a flower.

She turned and smelled the yellow flower, "Good scent."

Prince was about to offer her the thing she had admired, but the girl went back to the wall.

"Anything wrong?" Tudor asked, with the flower between his fingers.

"Not at all." She breathed.