Dawn came suddenly, crashing into the room with a violence that Alethea was not accustomed to, having grown up in a south-facing bedroom. Light blazed through the curtains, which in everyone’s haste to sleep had been left open the night before. She blinked against it, bewildered. When her eyes finally adjusted, she sat up slowly and surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings.
The room looked different in the daylight. Rugs covering the stone floor and tapestries on the walls took on more vivid colors; the furniture gleamed red-brown from recent polishing; every texture and shape was brought into high relief. The space was larger than she had thought, and would seem to grow even more, she knew, once they had dealt with the clutter. There were trunks everywhere – her mother had over-packed, as usual, and Alethea wasn’t about to have her maidservant organizing the horde all night. That would have to be done this afternoon, after she’d met with the King.
The King. Alethea supposed she should be nervous. But she wasn’t.
Leto shifted in the bed beside her, nosed sleepily into the crook of her arm. Alethea passed a hand through her fur, perpetually marveling at the range of colors there, from umber and ochre to charcoal and white. She had drawn the wolf hundreds of times, but still had never managed to capture that beautiful pelt. Maybe with practice. Her legs slid out from beneath the coverlets, and she padded softly to the window, looked out. It was a beautiful, sun-washed view. A gift, she thought, from the royal family, this glass over the world. Kind of them, to have such gardens. Her hands were drifting absently to where her pockets should have been, before she remembered that she was still in her nightgown, and her supplies were all still packed away. She hopped down off the window ledge.
The trunk she was looking for was smaller – she had packed it, herself. Mostly with things that her mother considered totally superfluous, and Alethea treasured most highly: books with once-blank pages now covered in drawings and notes, pencils and paints and charcoal and ink, jars of specimens, queer stones, field guides, magnifying glasses. And one brand-new sketchbook, that she had procured for recording this new chapter of her life. She pulled at the latches noisily and rummaged through the trunk’s contents, finally waking her familiar. The wolf stretched languidly, yawning.
It’s very early, girl.
“I couldn’t sleep anymore. And the view is very beautiful. You should look.” Leto looked at her, instead. Alethea located her book and withdrew a pencil. “You can go back to sleep, if you like. I am going to draw for a while before getting ready. I’m sorry for waking you.” She climbed back into the window ledge, resting the open book on her lap. The wolf was there moments later, with her fore-paws on the sill. They remained like this for some time – the girl drawing in her book, the wolf in turns raised up beside her or seated peacefully on the floor nearby. The sun was high when Alethea stopped to scrutinize her work, and was interrupted by the entrance of her maidservant, come to dress her charge for the royal introductions. Alethea didn’t care much about clothes, so she didn’t argue as she was cinched and laced into an elaborate brocade affair, her hair done up in careful braids. Braids were safest, because leaving her mane untethered nearly always resulted in disaster, from a style perspective.
The girl looked at herself in the mirror, perplexed as usual by the vision of a body that seemed to be changing by the hour. The blue dress emphasized curves that were mere suggestions in the flesh, but had a modest collar to disguise a chest that by all rights belonged on an older person. She declined the offered jewelry, already feeling overdone, and followed her small entourage out the door.
One of the royal guard escorted her and her own protector from the East wing to the West. Alethea was all eyes and ears and nose as they walked, taking in as much as she could from her glimpses through open doors and windows, snippets of conversations echoing in the halls. She had never been so far from home before, and was too excited to be afraid or homesick. Leto padded close at her heels, more focused on the task at hand. Anticipation radiated between them. At last the little parade came to a halt before a wooden door. The guard knocked gently.
“Your Grace. The Lady Alethea, to see you.”
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