Princess Pirouette heard the news from her maid who heard it from Her Highness’ confessor, so it must be true. How the King’s only son had been killed in battle not more than three days prior to the arrival of the delegation from the capital. Pirouette felt certain that she knew why they had come. With the deaths of every conceivable heir to the throne, no one was left save the Princess. They’d come to take her away.
Pirouette knew that she must dress to impress, so she donned her best gown, a satin and silk affair embroidered with repeating shapes: circles, triangles and squares. When she swept into the room, she looked older than her twelve years. The delegates bowed low and she allowed her majordomo to lead her to a plain, straight-backed chair.