This is the Roxanne referred to in SOTL, although I have taken enormous liberties with her background, personality and appearance. I invented the Cythera connection. If you recognise it, that's because I've been posting it on the Dove.

When she had been told she was to go to Corus, Roxanne had allowed herself to be caught up in her younger sister's dreams of the capital. Cythera had described tale after tale of handsome knights bowing and asking if she'd walk with them, dance with them, marry them… But that was Cythera all over, really; sweetly naïve and reluctant to face up to the harsh realities of life. Roxanne had tried her best, but always seemed to reduce her sister to tears rather than achieving the intended effect of saving her from her fantasies. So, instead, Roxanne had tried to see it from her sister's perspective; the elegantly swirling dresses, the fluttering fans, the flirting. She had succeeded – perhaps a little too well – and had been in for a shattering disappointment.

The Prince was shorter than her.

Oh, she'd known he was slightly younger, and had been informed by her mother that he would probably still need to grow into his looks, but she hadn't known how many inches he'd require. Really. He was also a little too plump – perhaps he wasn't getting enough exercise on the practice yards? she wondered. Perhaps the rest of the boys were too shy to beat their soon-to-be King. It couldn't be very far away, the day Jonathan took over, seeing as King Roald looked as if he'd lain in his grave for three months already.

Cythera had prepared Roxanne for the possibility of her not liking the Prince (the possibility of him not liking her being an unspeakable one, of course). In that instance, she was to choose one of his high-profile friends.

Not likely.

One of them looked as though he'd be better suited to a career as a lumberjack than a knight, and she was sure that red on his cheeks was down to ladies' rouge. He also appeared incapable of normal speech, or even finishing a sentence in Roxanne's presence (though this may be down to a few scathing remarks from the latter).

Another friend didn't even attend balls, but he had the appearance and mannerisms of a five-year-old. A very temperamental, short five-year-old, that was. Roxanne hadn't cared to introduce herself, but he seemed to be a little known country noble. Perhaps he had some hidden talent, or did the Prince's homework for him, or something.

All in all, Gareth of Naxen was the only one whose acquaintance was really worth making, and that was only because his father was brother to the Queen, and a great diplomat. And Prime Minister. And King's Champion. And training master. Roxanne did wonder where he got the time to fit all these positions in, especially given the pathetic speed with which he walked, but nevertheless, his progeny was likely to be admirable too.

Roxanne told her sister as much in her letters. Letters, as she saw it, didn't need to stay close to truth. Besides, if she told the truth, her family would know that no man dared come near her, lest she unleash her tongue. So Cythera read enviously of Roxanne's daring escapades, of stolen kisses, of lingering glances and of evenings spent doing nothing but flirting. For Gareth the Younger was quite infatuated with her sister, if, that is, Cythera believed the letters. Which she did, in wide-eyed, innocent idolatry of her eldest sibling.

In truth, Roxanne was almost coming to believe them. It served to pass the time between sleeping and balls. She was alone for both activities, no matter what her family were led to believe.

Had Gareth realised what Roxanne was saying about him, he might have felt some semblance of sympathy for her. As it was, he misconstrued the flitting glances and the chance meetings as Roxanne's attempts to find something to criticise. He met sharp retort with sharp retort, the Naxen squire being as infamous for his quick words as Roxanne was becoming.

After one particularly bruising match, Roxanne decided she'd had enough. It was time to break up with Gareth of Naxen.

She put quill to parchment, and began.

Dearest Cythera,

I write with the most awful news. Gareth has

She paused, nib hovering over the page. What could he have done that was so awful even Cythera would insist on their breaking up?

found somebody else. I simply cannot bear to elaborate – the pain is much too fresh. Please accept my apologies for the length of this letter. I assure you another will follow.

She signed it with a flourish. Yes, that would do.