In Which Mona Cannot Inconvenience

December 19, 1178

The carriage was comfortable enough as a temporary living space for two people--benches, a meat safe, two beds sectioned off by a curtain and a wall segment--but the only entertainment the Carvalli had provided was a bookshelf. The smart thing to do would have been to take a cue from Anna and read, but Mona was too restless for overlong bouts with a book. She wanted to be moving. If only she could have gone for a ride, or even just a walk during one of the not-infrequent stops.

Of course, that would have required leaving the carriage and likely being seen by one of the guards, and it wasn't as if that would go over well. Damn Carvalli superstitions. It would only get worse when she got married, wouldn't it? And there was probably a whole Bible of baby-related stigmas she'd have to keep in mind whenever the children came along. She wouldn't even be allowed to step on the tile grout, would she? So much for thinking no life could be more restrictive than one with her parents.

"You have to get me out of this."

Anna peeked up from her book to shoot her a quizzical look. Sure, maybe it was an unusual thing to ask of a lady's maid, but that was what happened when she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone else. "Hmm?"

"You heard. You're smart. Maybe we can think of a way to escape."

Her maid said nothing. Mona scowled. "You're not very sympathetic to my plight, are you?"

Anna turned her page with a lick of her finger and sighed. "It's not that, your majesty. I realize that this is unfair to you; there's just nothing I can do about it. And even if there was, it wouldn't be practical to do so."

"Practical?" That hardly sounded hopeful.

"Well... Naroni needs the ports, and Carvallon needs a queen and heirs and a buffer zone between them and Dovia. Any plans we make would inconvenience too many people. I'm sorry."

Bah. She was probably right. Not that it helped at all. "You know how I said I wished my life was different?" Anna nodded. Mona slumped, arms crossed, shoes scraping with little mind for the floor. Why should she mind it? This might be the last floor on which she ever tread lightly. "This isn't it. It'll be more of the same, only worse."

"You don't know that." The other girl bit her lip as she shut the book and set it down beside her. "He could be kind. You might like him."

Indeed, she might. She might even love him. But did it really make much of a difference?

"It's not him I'm worried about. It's all of it."

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