She doesn’t get very far before her legs threaten to give out. Her body is beyond exhausted, and she’s uncertain if she’ll make it to the princess’ wing of the palace. The prince calls for a rolling chair upon her request. Much to her relief, it’s exactly what it sounds like.

Unlike a proper wheelchair, the rolling chair resembles a dining chair on tiny wheels meant for slow, careful movement on perfectly smooth flooring. There’s a wooden bar for her feet to rest on, and a handle on the back for someone to grab.

Even though the guard pushing the back of the chair does so with little effort, she must be mindful of how she sits. It’s not a relaxing ride, but it’s better than nothing.

The sitting room the prince escorts her to is styled in various shades of soft pink and white lace. Two couches face each other with a low-sitting tea table in between them. On one of the couches, a girl stuffs her face with three different slices of cake with no care for the extravagant white dress she wears.

The girl takes one look at the prince and hurries to hide the plate of cakes under a pillow. Upon noticing the stranger in the rolling chair, she gasps, “Elli, who is this? Are you okay? Would you like some water? Maid! Bring some water!”

“Manners, Eve,” Prince Elliot says, sliding onto the couch opposite of the girl.

“Oh, yes! I am Princess Evelynne of Rothschild!” The girl introduces herself with a beaming smile. Her curly blonde hair may be tucked away in two buns and hidden under a hat, but the resemblance to her brother and father can’t be ignored.

“Greetings, princess,” she says as the guard pushes the chair close to the tea table. “I am Saintess Constance of Duhella. Your bother has asked me to come pray for you.”

She pretends not to notice the unsightly way the princess gapes with cake pieces stuck to her teeth, or how the prince covers his face in shame.

“And don’t worry, my legs got a little bit tired is all.” She nods in gratitude to the maid who hands her a glass teacup filled with water.

“It is good to meet you,” Princess Evelynne says shyly, poking her fingers together. “I have heard rumors of you, but I am afraid I know not much else.”

“She is a huge fan of yours,” Prince Elliot bluntly calls his sister out on her lie. “She likes to stare at your portrait in the palace because she thinks your beauty is unparalleled.”

“Don’t say such nonsense!” The princess blushes angrily, throwing the now cake-smeared pillow at her brother.

“Why thank you,” she says with a smile, desperately trying to come up with something inoffensive yet flattering, “Though I think you are far more beautiful.”

Prince Elliot shoots her a disgusted look as if the words have personally offended him, but the princess blushes under the praise.

“Really? I,” Princess Evelynne says, turning shy once more, “I think you are prettier.”

“She kind of is,” the prince agrees mockingly.

“Elliot!”

The shyness disappears as fast as it comes, and this time a smushed slice of cake goes flying, turning the sibling’s bickering into an all-out war. The guard pulls her out of the line of fire just in time to avoid a glass teacup.

The princess leaps at her brother with a closed folded fan, and he takes a fountain pen out of his pocket to defend himself. Their weapons of choice clash, and judging by the lack of reaction from the maids and the guard, such battle is a common occurrence

“Truce?” Princess Evelynne asks miserably once her hair has come undone from its neat buns.

“Truce,” Prince Elliot agrees, trying and failing to wipe frosting from his suit.

A small cart full of desserts and a steaming pot of tea is pushed forward by a maid. A clean vest and jacket hang over her arm, and a handful of bobby pins stick to her apron.

“If your highnesses care to remember our esteemed guest the Saintess of Duhella,” the maid says with an edge of sharpness. “I believe tea and biscuits were called for.”

“Sorry, Polly,” the children chant, looking thoroughly chastised.

“Apologies Saintess,” Polly pours the tea for her with a politely averted gaze. “This is a rose blend custom made for the princess. For desserts, we have shortbread and cherry tarts.” The maid glares at the prince and princess while saying, “Which are meant to be eaten instead of thrown.”

Despite the chilly words, Polly helps the prince change clothes and redoes the princess’ hair with a warm expression. The children fight to maintain the maid’s attention only to be exasperatedly scolded again. It’s clear the bond between the three of them is a close one.

She stares at her distorted reflection in her teacup and wonders what it feels like to be so loved. Her family had always been one in name only, and her friends only cared about exchanging favors.

“Saintess!” Princess Evelynne points to the silver butterflies now floating above her hair buns. “Look what Polly did! There is one for you too!” The princess shakes her head to show off the stunning hair pieces before pausing to say apologetically, “It does not fly though.”

“Your fanaticism is showing,” Prince Elliot teases but slides a small box across the table towards her. “A gift for entertaining us.”

She picks up the box to see it is a simple but beautiful butterfly made of silver. The ridged pin that clips it to the hair appears to be of the same material. She thinks it’s the best thing anyone’s ever given her.

“Thank you. I will treasure it,” she says, placing the box carefully in her lap.

She hasn’t forgotten what she came here to do. She clasps her hands together and bows her head. Closing her eyes, she says softly, “Dear Goddess, hear my prayer. Keep these two children safe, so their beautiful souls can shine over this land for many years to come.”

If there is such a goddess in this world, she hopes, more than any other, this will be the prayer that reaches her.