For her part, Joan Percy was wandering through the hallways of the castle with no thoughts in her head so important as Frell's succession. She had been running an errand for the princess, but, not really desiring to return to her quarters for gossip and reading of the book of love poems she had collected. Oh, not that she didn't like the other ladies and the princess, but she needed more energy before she could continue with the giggling and the nitpicking, and alone in the corridor, Joan was as close to herself as she ever was -- proud, a little stoic, and plotting.
Potential husbands, rivals at court, whether or not the new dress she had bought was flattering to her figure... These thoughts were filtering through her mind when she was pulled out of her contemplation by a voice. Her head jerked (perhaps a bit indelicately) from its position straight in front, and she saw the prince standing beside her.
Oh, dear, the prince. She had not been prepared for this. If she were, she would have been wearing something a little flirtier, held herself a little less rigidly. For a moment, she struggled to push away all the wrongs and find something to say. "Prince Charles," she finally responded, the words coming with ease. "You flatter me, when I ought to be the one flattering you." Joan had not yet taught herself to blush on command, but she did tilt her head demurely downwards.