"That sounds delightful, mother," Gwyn said, forming the syllables to de-light-ful with a toothy grin as she took her mother's hand. Then she bit her lip, and her grin disappeared as it if were never there to begin with. "The dressmaker can make all the dresses for me and Genna in time for the feast, can't she? What if they're not ready when all the lords come to court? I would never want the southron ladies to think us too simple to dress ourselves like real princesses. They might not like us."
Maids and errandboys dashed by as they made their way down the hall, their footsteps soft and ladylike against the marble floors even as everyone else scurried about to finish the last rounds of preparations for the feast. "What will you wear to the feast, mother? Surely you must be more radiant and beautiful than all the other women. You're the queen!"