“Intended?”
Robert asks, “Intended what?”
“Bride,”
the women replies bluntly, “And then Queen, someday.”
“What?”
Robert almost spits the word, such is his shock. “How did that
happen?”
“Same
way as the Queen is always chosen,” the woman tells him, “With a
courting ball.”
“A
what?”
“Courting
Ball,” she stresses in reply, before realising Robert's face is
blank. “Oh sorry, I forgot, you're new. Long and the short of it
is this: when the prince reaches his maturity, his mother – the
current queen – must throw him a grand ball, to which all the
eligible ladies are invited.”
“So that
girl,” Robert points once more at Fiona's picture, “She was
invited?”
“No, she
just showed up, stole his heart and left him her shoes.”
