A few days later

Emma was long used to being woken by servants poking about in her rooms, but none of them had ever actually shaken her awake before.

"I'm sorry miss, but you need to be ready for the coach." her maid, Winnie said gently.

"Winnie," Emma yawned, slightly annoyed, "that coach will wait all day if I don't feel like getting in it. This trip is about me, they aren't going to leave without me."

"I know miss, but your father was most adamant that you dine with him this morning."

That got Emma out of bed; she was flying across the room to her closet before Winnie had finished folding back her bed sheets. She dressed quickly and haphazardly, annoyed that a breakfast with her father meant that she would have to get dressed again later. She simply tugged on a simple sundress and a light sweater before grabbing her ballet flats that she shoved on her feet as she ran down the hall. When she got to the dining room, her father was already at the head of the table, waiting for her, and half finished with his meal. He took one look at her and said, "You might have brushed your hair, Emma, darling."

"Yes well, the servants have already packed my hairbrush." Emma retorted as she sat down and began to help herself to the breakfast spread. It included all of her favorites, which she assumed was her mother's subtle way of trying to put her in a good mood.

"You're a cheeky one, do you know?" her father chuckled back. "But in all seriousness, Emma, we need to talk about something."

Emma sighed, and stopped eating her banana nut muffin. "Here it goes –"

"You are expected to behave yourself on this trip. That includes from the time we get into that coach until two months from now when we return here. There will be no more escape attempts, rifling through people's private papers, and you will be warm and hospitable to everyone who merits it, regardless of your personal whims, is that clear?"

Her father's tone had turned rather stern, and his comment about the private papers had caused her to blush and look down at her plate in shame. There had been quite a row the other day when he had noticed her hair pin on the floor of his office, and had surmised (correctly) the rest. She was solemn when she replied, "Yes, sir."

Her father saw this supplication, and felt a pang for what he had to say next, for it would probably cause her more pain. It seemed that more and more frequently he was being torn between his political obligations and his desire for his only daughter's happiness.

"Emma, when we arrive in Belleterra, you will be entering a different world. Here, your political obligations have been minimal, but at Belleterra, your rank is much higher. When you marry, you will be second in line for the throne, assuming that your Uncle doesn't miraculously produce an heir. People know that you are betrothed to Elijah, but they also know that you have shown yourself adverse to that alliance. There will undoubtedly be a number of young men scheming for your attentions, but I must implore you to ignore them. If you truly do not wish to marry Elijah, it might be possible to work out an alternative, but we must officially terminate the betrothal contract and find an alternate for Elijah before you could safely court another. You must remember that when one is royalty, every action, every comment, every gesture, has political ramifications."

"I know, Dad."

"Good girl." he said, relieved to be done with his speech. "Now eat up, you'll have to dress before Elijah arrives with the coach."

"Elijah is coming in the coach with us?!"

"Of course, darling, did you think he was going to walk?"

"No, I thought he would meet us there, you know, just teleport or something."

"It's not proper etiquette to arrive in that fashion for an official visit."
"What on earth are we going to do in a coach with him for 2 days?"

"You could try talking to him."

"I have nothing to say to him."
"Then I assume you'll get an excellent survey of the scenery en route. Now run along and dress properly."

Back in her room, Emma was somewhere between fuming and panic, and could hardly compose herself to put on the dark red boatneck top and nice jeans that Winnie had laid out for her. At her father's suggestion, she pulled her hair back into a messy but cute half ponytail, and was very soon out of things to do in her bedroom. Sighing, she made her way out into the courtyard, bracing herself for a very long day.