Page 27 of The Princess Knight
Sárait smiled. “Hello again.” Her voice was sweet and awake, despite how early it felt.
Clía didn’t know what to make of the Álainndoran tailor in front of her, with her familiar sheet of straight hair catching the reflection of her candle, her petite frame barely grazing Clía’s shoulder.
“How—why?”
“Apparently General Kordislaen was not thrilled with your request to train this year after you had declined your previous invitation. Chief Ó Connor needed a way to convince him to accept you, and it turns out Kordislaen needed another tailor. Ó Connor offered to send one, salary to be paid by Álainndore of course.” She shrugged. “I always wanted to travel, so I was quick to volunteer.”
Ó Connor arranged this.He must have known Clía would long to see a familiar face—he was still looking out for her.
Sárait scanned Clía from head to toe as she spoke; her nest of hair, rumpled nightgown, and eyes that were probably still red from crying the night before. The girl’s face softened, and that made Clía want to start crying all over again. She was supposed to be impressing Domhnall with her strength, and here she was, a mess to be pitied.
Thankfully, Sárait didn’t comment. Instead, she edged past Clía into the room. The commotion woke Murphy, and before Clía could stop him, he bounded over to Sárait. Clía reached to pull him away, but Sárait laughed, bending to greet the dobhar-chú.
“It’s nice to see you again too,” she said, petting him as he wiggled in excitement. Apparently Clía wasn’t Murphy’s only friend.
Clía smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
There was a glint in Sárait’s dark eyes as she stood. Murphy seemed disappointed that the attention was no longer on him and slunk back to his nest. “So am I. I know you’ll be busy. But if you ever have anything you need a hand with, or justwant company, come find me.” Her gaze traveled Clía’s face once more, and Clía could tell she was looking at the evidence of last night’s crying. “In fact, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I think I have something that may help...” She trailed off.
For the first time since Clía arrived at Caisleán Cósta, she felt the comforting sense of familiarity. Something she understood, and someone she knew, no matter how little. “I would love that.”
In Sárait’s absence, Clía quickly ran a comb through her long waves and covered her wrinkled nightgown with a silk robe fit for a princess. She fell into the routine of beauty with ease, allowing herself to cover her flaws and faults with pomade and silk.
But thoughts of her conversation with Domhnall took over.
Was his new betrothed smarter than her? Stronger?
Would they make a better ruler?
Vanity was something she could handle. If he told her his new betrothed was prettier, more eye-catching, that he had fallen in love at first sight, she would understand. A part of her would be hurt, but she could accept it. It wouldn’t have been her fault; she knew her beauty was worthy of songs.
It was what he’d said—that she was lacking internally—that cut her down.
“You’re looking more awake,” Sárait commented as she slipped back into the room, gesturing for Clía to sit on the bed. She did as she was told.
“I don’t know why I bothered. It’s not like it’s going to make any difference,” she muttered, her bitterness overtaking any mortification she felt at confessing such a thing to someone she barely knew.
Sárait rested a hand on Clía’s cheek, directing her to meet her gaze. “When everything seems to go wrong, you must remember to take time for yourself. And clearly something has fallen apart in your life.”
“So you heard, then?” Clía pulled back from the other woman’s gentle touch and stared at the ground, her guard rising once more.
“There have been rumors, as there always are.” Sárait lifted the jar she’d brought in with her and opened it to reveal a mud-colored cream. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know you—not really—and you don’t know me, but I do know we’re similar. And ignoring what I may or may not have heard, I can tell you’ve been hurt. Unless you expect me to believe the skin around your eyes is swelling because of something you ate yesterday?”
Clía considered the girl. Ó Connor had sent her—that had to speak to something about her character. And though their interactions had been limited, Clía had always liked her. “Prince Domhnall is marrying someone else. We had been friends for years, our betrothal was all but finalized, yet at the last second, he told me I wasn’t good enough. My parents—Ineed this marriage. The whole reason I came here was to win him back, but now he’s already arranged a new marriage with someone else.”
“He’s a fool, the poor soul.” Sárait shook her head pityingly as she applied the cream to Clía’s skin. The mixture was cold and smooth, but what stood out the most was how strange it felt to have someone taking care of her. “You, my dear, are absolutely gorgeous. No one just walks away from someone like you without a good reason.”
Her words were meant to comfort, but they made Clía flinch. “He said I was weak. That he needed more than ‘a pretty face,’” Clía said softly.
Sárait pondered that for a second before speaking again. “I don’t believe that to be true, not for a second. There must be another reason.”
“I’m sure the other reason is his beautiful new betrothed.”
“If you were friends and the betrothal had been in the works for so long, it’s not unreasonable to believe he genuinely saw a future with you. My guess? He got scared. Or maybe someone talked him out of it. Are they married yet?” She massaged the cream into Clía’s skin with expert fingers.
“No.”
“Then you have time. You can win him back.”
