Another carriage ride, another uncomfortable nap that resulted in a knot clawing into her back that no amount of stretches relieved. But after another ten or so hours later, Rhosyn's feet finally touched ground and she nearly sank into it. She almost expected herself to float, or the floor to shift beneath her feet—she's been in a carriage too long, enough for a lifetime she'd argue.
"My Lady!" Elin ran over and caught her arm, aiding Rhosyn as they made their way inside. "I thought you'd stay—"
Caerwyn's sharp cough cut her off—not here.
Soon they were in the confinement of Rhosyn's chambers and the three of them could breathe freely.
"I'll ready you a bath," Elin said, already prepping the copper tub.
"I don't need a bath, I need this month's Ravelocke's finance ledger," Rhosyn declared, striding across the room and sinking into her small desk.
Her brain wouldn't switch off, though her body begged it to. Patterns refused to make sense and numbers didn't add up, which definitely meant something was amiss.
"Is it about the taxes going up a second time this year alone, or the fact that bread has all but doubled in price?" Elin asked, craning her neck around the room divider, ignoring Rhosyn's dismissal and still readying the bath.
She wasn't wrong. The kingdom's finances were atrocious, all cudgelled by the post-war taxes designed to refill coffers. But over ten years later and taxes had only risen despite peace, leading to everything else in the realm stagnating or rising just to afford the costs.
Though that wasn't what felt off here.
Rhosyn was only just noticing the water levels rising, for the holes in her region's proverbial ship were small but many. And if she didn't find the reason and plug them, she'd go down with the ship.
"Is that what you and the handsome prince have been working on for the past few days?" her maid's voice called from the obscure space, the sound of water sloshing and draining her out.
"No, Elin," Rhosyn shouted back as to be heard over the commotion Elin was making. "We were refuting another attempt from the north—"
"You were attacked again?" Elin ran into view, her face pale and voice trembling.
"No, not in the same manner as last time," Rhosyn waved off her concern. "With more paper, but nothing me and Edrien couldn't handle."
Her back ached, the knot buried in her bones at this point and she bit on a yelp of pain. Maybe a bath was what she needed. That, some food and a soft bed.
Sighing, Rhosyn stood and walked over to Elin who already saw how she relented for pampering. Caerwyn quietly disappeared out the door, leaving the women alone, and Elin began undressing her.
"So, that duke is beaten?"
"Edrien thinks so," Rhosyn answered.
"But you don't..." The maid narrowed her eyes looking for clues on Rhosyn's face she wouldn't find. But the woman knew Rhosyn enough to know that she'd guessed right.
"No," she replied, a twist of something anxious gripped at her stomach and Rhosyn wondered if she was hoping or just hungry.
With her clothes removed, Rhosyn eased into the hot water, the heat scorching and strangely comforting. She didn't know why, but Rhosyn loved the warmth, the heat, a complete contradiction to her being a winter baby. But maybe she suffered enough coldness that she longed for something warm.
"So, more working days with the prince?" Elin sounded a little too excited and Rhosyn knew the maid hinted at something, but was too tired to seek it out.
"Maybe..." She closed her eyes, letting the hot water blanket her and hummed in delight.
"Are you going to make me ask it outright?" Her maid huffed.
Rhosyn knew Elin was hinting at a hidden question that she'd normally instinctively answer as if it had been voiced. But a headache had settled in where normally she'd be so observant.
"Fine," Elin exclaimed, "are you going to tell me if the prince proposed yet?"
Rhosyn practically rolled her eyes, though they were closed. Her maid bought into the rumour that she and Edrien were a couple, probably already secretly engaged and would marry one day. It was the more respectful version of the 'Royal Couple' rumour.
"How many times do I have to tell you, I am for the prince, not for the prince?"
"You literally said the same thing twice there," Elin snapped back in her overly casual tone.
Rhosyn sat upright, feeling the chill press against her damp skin and regretting it. Elin began rubbing a cloth along her back, massaging and relieving the tight muscles there.
"I don't know if I even want to marry..." Rhosyn sighed again, feeling like it was pointless.
"Well, your 21st birthday is only six weeks away," Elin pointed out.
Yes, her birthday was coming fast now and with it, the fret of marriage. One of Aramor's oldest laws was that if a twenty-one year old noble lady was still unattached, the king would arrange for an appropriate engagement to be made. One that didn't lower the lady's standing nor station. So it was unlikely she'd be able to remain unattached and due to the title her husband would inherit when he marries her, she was sure even the most unlikely candidates would queue up for a chance at her hand.
The issue was, she'd never pictured that future. She'd always seen herself standing beside Edrien, but not entwined. Rhosyn always saw the prince with a foreign princess or someone who at least had royal blood flowing through their veins, someone lively and sweet—and that wasn't her.
Elin's smile turned wicked and gentle at once. "At this rate you'll marry the ledgers."
"Ledgers never try to kiss you at the top of a staircase," Rhosyn said, and then regretted the line because the picture it painted was too near and too bright.
She didn't know why her heart jumped when she thought of a puzzle to piece together or a challenge to sink her teeth into, but felt no desire nor passion when she thought of a lifelong companion. Maybe marriage was just a contract after all, and lust was reserved for more courageous acts—whether that was body or mind.
"If I marry someone, I hope he is kind to my people and intelligent enough to let me aid in the running of the region," Rhosyn turned tired eyes to her maid friend.
"And handsome—he has to be handsome," Elin interjected as if Rhosyn had forgotten to add it to her short overzealous list.
"I don't even expect him to be born within the same decade as me, Elin."
Which had the maid blanching, imagining the worst.
"Fine," Rhosyn conceded, watching her friend worry. "He has to be handsome at least."
Elin finally nodded, satisfied with Rhosyn's appeasement. "Then we'll write your future the same way the prince writes his letters; fancy lettering, big words and no lies."
He wasn't the only one who wrote letters like that—except maybe for the lies...
Rhosyn's mouth tilted. "You should run a council."
"I do," Elin said primly. "The kitchen council. We are more dangerous than the king's. We control knives."
They laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that rinsed grit from a day and left it almost clean. But the winter chill was already seeping into autumn and Rhosyn needed to keep her ears turned to the north. Because it'd be foolish to underestimate an enemy on your doorstep.