The boy was not the only one feeling nervous, being in the company of the opposite sex. But Alethea was not accustomed to feeling nervous – she’d been looked at all her life, and generally felt more uncomfortable when young men (and, sometimes, old ones) didn’t notice her. Torram was unexpected, in multiple ways.
“Oh no, it was my mistake,” she smiled at his apology, “I was distracted, and terribly rude. I tend to be...lost in thought, when I’m indoors. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand automatically, but it was arrested mid-motion when he reached out to pull the twig from her hair. The little lady blanched. From the comfortable, if startling, distance of a few feet, Torram had been pleasant-looking...but up close, he was very pleasant-looking. And here she was, dewy with sweat and horse spittle and probably Leto’s drool, smelling of rich earth and wind and summer grass, and evidently covered in shrubbery. The unexpected contact drew all of her nerves to sudden, acute attention; the embarrassment of having been caught wearing tree-bits made her blue eyes widen, dilated.
“A – a princess?” she squeaked, glancing compulsively down at herself. Alethea did not think she looked like a princess, but then again, who knew what princesses looked like in other lands? Perhaps, where Torram was from, ladies ran about in the woods on the regular, collecting forest flotsam and tracking in mud. “Erm, no. I’m not a member of the royal family. I’m more of a...lady.” She blushed furiously, cleared her throat. “Technically speaking, I mean. Why in the world wouldn’t it be okay for you to be in a library?” Her hand found its way to the table where it splayed, supporting her weight. Leto, there is a boy in here... she whispered telepathically, willing her familiar to come after her.
I was getting that impression. Why are we whispering?
Because...because. Will you come?
No sooner had she made this request than the wolf nosed open the door and trotted in, looking very out of place amidst the fine polished wood and hand-woven carpets. Her golden eyes lifted to her fairy’s, then turned and settled on Torram. She tilted her head, curious.
“Ah, Torram, this is Leto, my familiar. She’s a bit shy,” Alethea offered, running her free hand over the wolf’s pate. Leto snickered. Projecting?
Shush. “Where did you live, before coming to the castle?”
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