In Which Camaline Offers a Lesson

May 13, 1169

Watching Ietrin trying to impress Ellona had once been amusing, but this occurred so frequently that it was now a dull, dreaded, almost painful part of Camaline's daily routine. Ietrin would try some horrid line, Ellona would reply with a spiteful laugh, and he'd continue attempt to woo her for a few minutes before she'd resolve to get rid of him by smacking him across the face. The cycle would then repeat indefinitely, sometimes for hours on end; it was enough to make one suspect that the young lady-in-waiting got as much pleasure out of rejecting Camaline's brother as he did out of pursuing her.

"Do you want to go do something else?"

It was Ellona's younger sister, Catherelle. Camaline acknowledged her with the slightest tilt of the eyebrows. She didn't like Ellona, but at least the older girl was mildly interesting. Catherelle had all the personality of a dairy cow, if that. She might have been the type that was meant to be seen and not heard, if only she didn't insist on dressing like a novice nun and binding her hair in those ridiculous coils.

"Please," she insisted, her eyes looking anywhere and everywhere except for at the other two; as much as Ietrin fancied Ellona, Catherelle fancied Ietrin even more.

Camaline sighed. "Fine." She didn't much like the thought of being left to entertain Catherelle, but it didn't make much of a difference, she supposed. She was already bored. She was often bored. Most people were boring.

She pried herself from the couch's soft cushions as the younger girl shuffled into Leara's bedroom. Camaline couldn't be sure exactly why she would choose to go in there--Leara had left for Armion Keep half an hour prior--but perhaps the sheer lack of Ellona was paradise enough for Catherelle. Yawning, she toyed with the idea of running off elsewhere, but try as she might, she couldn't think of anything better to do. Anyone who could have possibly kept her interest was outside the castle walls; she had been abandoned to the mercy of a lovestruck, calf-eyed, simpering baby.

Gnawing at her own tongue, she followed the younger girl into the room and set herself down on the bed. "What do you want to do?"

There had been no need for the question; Catherelle had already taken to exploring Leara's dresser. Great--dress up. "Would Leara mind if I tried on some of her dresses?"

"Yes," Camaline lied, intent on changing the activity. However, she couldn't help but take pity on the girl when her shoulders fell, crestfallen; the last thing she wanted on her hands was a crybaby. "If you look in the bottom drawer, though, there are some old rags and costumes from yuletide plays and such; help yourself to any of those."

Catherelle pulled open the drawer and began to dig through the assorted old pieces. She took a few minutes to settle on an outfit she liked, then ducked behind the footboard in order to change modestly--as if she needed to bother. Stupid girl.

Finally, she kicked the old convent gown to the side and stood. "Is this a little revealing?" She wore a red skirt and chemise combination complete with several sashes around the waist. Aydelle had worn that when she'd played a slave on the Twelfth Night before last, and it had been her idea to shorten the chemise and reveal the midriff; Camaline's father had declared the play over the minute she'd made her entrance, but as far as Camaline was concerned, she'd simply dazzled.

But it was difficult to determine how Catherelle wore the garments--those damn coils just ruined everything. "I don't think so--especially if you consider that we're the only ones in the room."

Unconvinced, Catherelle planted herself in front of the mirror and examined her reflection. "It is a little revealing."

"Really, it's not," Camaline insisted. "If it bothers you so much, let your hair down; it might help cover up a bit."

Reluctant, the younger girl raised her hand and let one coil fall into a long, narrow braid. "This is most immodest."

"Catherelle, it isn't as if no one wears their hair long these days--I wear mine long, and I'm a princess." Camaline didn't like to remind people of her rank if she could help it--after all, her father always sounded like such an idiot when he did it--but every once in a while, it did actually have an effect on people.

Catherelle sighed, then released the other coil and picked at the braids. She quickly ran through her hair with Leara's brush and turned around, smiling shyly. "Is that better?"

Camaline had to blink--twice. Catherelle was stunning. Hidden in those tight coils had been a full head of silky, sensual golden tresses. Her bangs obscured one eye, but that only brought more emphasis to the previously unsung beauty of the other. And her skin! Alongside that lovely hair, it looked so soft, so touchable. As for the outfit, she was no Aydelle, but the clothes did flatter her figure; for an eleven-year-old, she was remarkably developed.

Unable to take her eyes off the girl, Camaline leapt from the bed and nodded. "Much. You should wear your hair down more often."

Unconvinced, Catherelle pinched a lock of her hair between her fingers and fiddled with the strands. "Oh, no. I don't have nice curls like Ellona."

Now that she'd spoken, it seemed that she wasn't any more interesting than she had been before. Oh well--at least she didn't look like some spinster living in an obscure wing of her brother's manor anymore. "No, but it is nice." Camaline stepped toward the lady-in-waiting and casually grazed a section of hair with the back of her hand; visibly flattered, Catherelle giggled.

"I never thought I'd ever be complimented by a princess," the girl swooned, a dreamy look in her amber eyes. "Do you think Ietrin would want to kiss me if I started wearing my hair like this?"

Camaline doubted it. She knew her brother had a strong preference for dark-haired women and would probably never give a blond like Catherelle a second glance. It was his loss, she supposed; he was limiting himself to half the market. Of course, she couldn't say that to Catherelle's face. "I'm sure he would."

A smile of sheer ecstasy broke out upon her pretty, yet simple face. "Oh, can you imagine? A kiss from a prince? Say... what's it even like, kissing a boy?"

A particular favorite memory flashing before her eyes, Camaline pondered the question. She'd had that lesson at Catherelle's age--younger, even. She didn't see any harm in it; surely it couldn't be such an issue?

"Well," she began, wrapping her arms around Catherelle's middle and resting her hands on the small of her exposed back, "he usually touches you before he kisses you..."

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