Windsor, England
February 2013

That ice is slowly melting

Had I known quite where Persis stables her horses, I might not have been so quick to say yes to accompanying her.

I went with her unsuspectingly, joining her on the backseat of a PPO-driven car as they picked me up in Oxford at midday. Apparently, she makes the journey down from her college in Hartpury every weekend and as Oxford is on her route anyway, she assured me that it wouldn't be a problem to collect me. Seeing as my last time using the English railway system didn't inspire an overwhelming desire to repeat the experience, I was only too happy to accept the offer.

I was blithely unaware where we were going for the majority of the one hour-drive, mostly concentrated on thinking up trifling things to chat about to a generally quiet Persis, until the driver rounded a corner and I realised with a jolt where I was.

Windsor.

The name itself, of course, is iconic, and the castle possibly even more so. Even now, with my back to it, it looms large behind me, a never to be forgotten presence. It's not oppressive in the strictest sense of the word, but it's certainly very real in a way it wasn't before.

The only silver lining is that we turned right before reaching the castle itself, into what Persis termed "the Royal Mews". I'd take this to be royal speak for 'stable', except that the term doesn't really do it justice. It's not as grand as a castle (and certainly not as grand as this castle), but… it's certainly something.

Where I know stables to be either purpose-built wooden blocks or housed in these big, almost hangar-like metal structures, these are brick and stone buildings and they are clearly old. They're ornate, too, in the way it doesn't make sense for stables, with added bits on the roofs and swirls on the side and gold-painted accents. There's an especially large building – possibly the riding school – that looks like its own medieval fortress and most of the courtyards (plural!) are framed by colonnades, some of which, inexplicably, have glass roofs. It's also spotlessly clean unlike any stable I've seen before.

It's mostly just the presence of the horses that identifies these as stables at all and it's only when I follow Persis into one of the buildings that the still-familiar smell of horse and hay creeps into my nose.

"These are the carriage horses," explains Persis as we enter, pointing at the row of boxes where a few white and brown heads have appeared. "We have Windsor Greys, though I suppose their official breed is Irish Draught. We've been breeding them since the 1800s,. The others are Cleveland Bays. They're both rare breeds, considered to be endangered now."

I nod, hoping it looks intelligent, and reach out to stroke a grey nose that hovers near my right shoulder. Looking up, I see curiously pricked ears and gentle dark eyes.

"That's Paul Temple, by the by. And this young lady here is Steve," introduces Persis, herself scratching the throat of a grey horse that closes its eyes in bliss and inclines its head for better access. "My father has a detective theme going for all the carriage horses. My mother gets to name the thoroughbreds we keep for horse racing and they all have operatic names."

Huh?

"Originally, the mews were meant to hold just the carriage horses, but with all our riding horses added in, it's becoming a bit of a tight fit," adds Persis from the other side of Steve's (Steve's?) outstretched head.

"Do you have other stables?" I ask, mostly to keep her taking, and move my hand to rub 'my' horse's – Paul Temple's – forehead. He seems to like it, lowering his head slightly and letting the lower lip hang.

Persis nods briskly. "We have more carriage horses and a few riding horses at the mews at Buck House. And we're turning an older stable complex over in the Great Park into a proper training facility. I've got my two championship horses with me at Hartpury at the moment, but we're hoping to move them there when I graduate in the summer. That's also when my youngster will leave here, as will most of the other riding horses. Though I don't think we've decided about the polo ponies yet."

"Polo," I repeat slowly. "That's sportsball but with horses, correct?"

It's a pretty weak joke, but it still makes Persis smile. She's generally much more relaxed now that we're on her home turf. Back when she and Teddy visited us, I had pegged her as being simply not talkative, but it turns out she only needed the right subject. Horses seem to do the trick.

"Yes, it's a ball game played on horseback," she confirms. "My father, Ken and I play it. In fact…" She pauses, seeming to think something over. "In fact, let me show you something."

She gives Steve a parting pat on the nose and points me to another set of doors at the end of the stable. I farewell Paul Temple (whoever is Paul Temple?) and follow her to what turns out to be yet another courtyard. This one has box stalls leading out directly into the yard, with windows that allow the horses to look outside. Persis leads me straight towards one of them, knocking lightly on the stable door to gain the attention of its inhabitant.

Seconds later, a chestnut head manifests, ears moving alertly. The head is covered in a bright white blaze and I notice to my surprise that one eye appears to be brown and the other blue.

"This is Jack," introduces Persis. "Jack, say hello." She makes a small gesture with her hand and, on cue, the horse whinnies, proudly throwing his head upwards.

"Hello Jack," I greet him, smiling, and offer my hand for him to sniff at.

"He's Ken's," elaborates Persis. "Mostly, we share polo ponies, but Ken rides Jack exclusively in games. It's a bit mean, because he's the best polo pony we have. He really gets it. I think he knows the rules better than most referees do."

Jack considers us with a bright, intelligent gaze. Having obviously deemed me trustworthy, he lowers his head slightly and starts nibbling at my hand. Persis produces a treat from her pocket and passes it to me. When I offer it to Jack, it's gone in the blink of an eye.

"He's a real charmer. His full name is Jack of Hearts," adds Persis, nodding at the sign next to the window. "Like the playing card, you know? Though I think Ken once said he got it from a song."

"Dylan," I reply with a smile.

Persis blinks at me. "Who?"

"Bob Dylan. He wrote a song called Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts," I explain.

A frown passes over Persis's face, before she shrugs it off. "Sure. That might be it." Obviously, her brother's interest in music didn't rub off on her.

Instead, she points me to the row of windows to Jack's left. "These are the other polo ponies. They're all called Ed."

They're… what?

Persis points at the different windows in turn. "We have Ed, Edwina, Edna, Eddy, Ed the Younger, Old Ed, Big Ed, Short Ed… oh, and that's Zuleikha there at the end. She was my first polo pony." She indicates a disgruntled-looking grey mare at the end of the row who's currently snapping at the light bay horse (Short Ed?) next to her.

I'm too flabbergasted by the collection of Eds to come up with an intelligent reply. Persis offers Jack another treat, which he devours as quickly as the first one, before moving along the boxes to his right. I hurry to follow her.

"This is Rusalka," she relates, stopping at a window two boxes over. "She's Mum's horse and the best dressage horse I've ever seen. When Mum rides her, it looks like they're not even touching ground."

Peering inside the window, I see a tall, slender horse with a coat so jet-black as it's rarely seen outside picture books and animated movies. She looks like the dream horse of twelve-year-olds the world over has suddenly manifested before us.

"She's beautiful," I comment, holding out a hand towards the mare. She, however, just eyes us for a moment before lowering her muzzle back into a pile of sweet-smelling hay.

"She is," agrees Persis. "She's the most sensitive horse imaginable though. We have a groom, Jill, whom she tolerates, but the only person who can really ride her is Mum."

She steps back from Rusalka's stable and motions for me to continue walking. "These here are my youngsters. I have my best horses, Tommy and Alix – or, really, Cullinan and The Sea King's Daughter – with me at Hartpury to train them. You aren't allowed more than two horses though, so my novices stay here."

We stop at another window. "Tomato!" Persis calls out and moments later, the head of a dark bay horse appears. It's not exactly the colour I'd expect of a horse named tomato, to be honest, and I just want to ask about it when my eye fall on the sign to the left of the horse's head. Queen Mary, it says there.

So this is… a pun?

"And here, we have Lizzie," continues Persis, moving along to the next stable. I fully expect a sign introducing this horse – a light bay – as Queen Elizabeth or even the Virgin Queen or something, but instead, it says Winter Queen and I'm confused again. I don't think this was one of the many nicknames of Queen Bess, was it?

Not that I get a chance to ask though, because Persis leads me past a very tall chestnut gelding named Longshanks according to the sign and Scotty according to his owner, and a dark grey horse named alternatively Saint Edward or Blue, towards a bay one whose sign introduces him as Charles I.

"This is Roman," Persis tells me and honestly? I'm not even trying anymore.

"Hello Roman," I dutifully greet the horse and pat its neck.

"He's young, but very easy-going. He doesn't spook or bolt and he's generally very eager to please. Some horses test their riders, but Roman wouldn't dream of doing something like that. I thought he might be a good fit for you?" She hesitates, then suddenly looks uncomfortable. "Of course, I didn't mean to imply…" she adds, stuttering, before breaking off completely.

I laugh. "Easy-going and eager to please sounds like a great fit for me. I haven't sat on a horse in years and even then, I wasn't a very talented rider. I'm sure Roman and I will be great friends, won't we, boy?"

Roman nuzzles his nose against my hand, which I take for agreement.

Persis breathes a sigh of relief and offers a tentative smile. "Great. Shall we go and get you changed then?"

Not having ridden in years, I obviously don't own any riding breeches, but Persis promised to procure some for me. To this end, she leads me back into one of the stable buildings, past a pen holding two pinto Shetland ponies macabrely named The Princes in the Tower and introduced to me by Persis as Pemby and Shrewie, and to a tack room. As we walk, we pass a few people that I take to be grooms, who all greet us politely but don't linger. (Though they do look after us curiously, I can't help noticing.)

Having reached the tack room, Persis hands me a pair of navy breeches. "These are my Mum's. She's a bit taller than you, but they should fit you better than mine." With which words she pulls the door shut, leaving me behind in the tack room with the Queen's riding breeches, praying to whichever God will listen to please, please, please not let them rip or unravel or otherwise be destroyed.

I pull them on without any damage being done, which makes me tentatively hopeful, though still objectively terrified at wearing something belonging to her Her Majesty. At least the riding boots turn out to be a spare pair of Persis's. It means they're a bit wide in the leg, but it's nothing an extra pair of woollen socks doesn't balance out.

Thus kitted out, I move on to getting Roman readied for riding as well, while Persis grooms and saddles up Lizzie-not-Elizabeth. Incredibly, I even remember most of the steps to groom a horse, though Persis has to assist with the tack. Once everything is in place, she passes me a riding helmet that I dearly hope doesn't also belong to her mother, before leading Lizzie, Roman and me towards the large medieval-looking building that does, indeed, turn out to be the riding school.

Persis is sitting atop Lizzie before I have even time to blink, but she mercifully points me to a podium-like structure that makes it much easier – or, maybe just plan possible – for me to climb on Roman's back. Once up there, I shift in the saddle until I've found a position that feels mostly stable and gingerly pick up the reins.

"How does it feel?" asks Persis, riding circles around me.

How does it feel?

"A little weird," I admit. "Not wholly unfamiliar though."

"They do say it's like riding a bike," Persis remarks thoughtfully, before moving Lizzie to Roman's side. "Do you want to try walking?"

I take a deep breath, then cautiously press my legs against Roman's sides. Obediently, he falls into a rhythmic, swaying walk. As we start riding laps around the arena, Persis keeps Lizzie by our side, much to the mare's displeasure, and gives me some carefully-worded advice that I'm only too grateful to take.

"So, do you like him?" she asks after a few minutes.

Daring to take my eyes off Roman's neck, I look over to her. She looks curious and hopeful and even a little… anxious? Almost as if… as if she's afraid I will tell her I don't like the horse she so graciously let me ride (if we even want to call it 'riding').

"He's lovely. And he has a lot of patience with me," I assure her, smiling to put her at ease. After a moment, she returns the smile and I can see her shoulders relax. (She wasn't really afraid I'd say something unkind about her horse, was she?)

As it happens, I do like Roman and I absolutely think he's being very patient with me. I'm beginning to feel more at ease in the saddle, but I'm aware that I'm very certainly doing a dozen or more things utterly wrong.

"He is very patient," Persis confirms. "I put Teddy on him once last year and he was very good about it."

"Doesn't Teddy ride?" I ask, surprised. Given what she said earlier, I assumed the entire family does.

Persis shakes her head. "No. He can hold himself atop a horse, but he doesn't really enjoy it. He's…"

"More of an indoor type?" I suggest when she hesitates.

She considers that for a moment. "Yes, that's a good way to describe him."

Lizzie choses that moment to shake her head and attempt to jump sideways, but Persis brings her back under control with gentle but firm movements. She's really in her element around these horses.

I check on Roman, but he's still walking peacefully on loose reins, so I turn back to Persis. "And yet, despite him being an indoor type and you being an outdoor person, you two are very close, aren't you?"

She shrugs, then nods. "He's only fifteen months older. In many ways, we grew up more like twins than siblings. It's not that I love Ken less, but he wasn't around much. Teddy was always there, but Ken left for boarding school when I was just two. I don't remember a time when he really lived with us full-time, you know?"

Yes, I do know. I also know it's a sticky subject with Ken and one he dislikes having to talk about.

"He was always good about protecting us though. Ken, I mean. I think he thinks it's his job to look out for us." Pausing, Persis seems to ponder something, before adding, "That's why you and he work so well. He doesn't need to protect you. You're strong on your own."

Does she really think that?

Persis is still talking, looking down at Lizzie's mane and thus missing my utter befuddlement at her statement. "I sometimes think about how difficult it would have been for me to do what you did. Move here, start anew, with the entire press watching. I mean, the press likes you, but even so, I don't think I could have done it."

Still feeling far too confused to make sense of everything she's saying, I latch on to the one thing I know for a fact to be wrong. "Trust me, the press definitely does not like me."

Persis looks up, seemingly surprised at my words. "Oh, but they do. Or at least, they haven't found anything to really dislike you for."

"They've found plenty," I mutter darkly, glaring down at the neck of an innocent Roman.

Persis, however, is still undeterred. "They don't have anything of substance. If they keep snarking about you being Canadian, which is not something you can exactly help, or about the way you eat your bacon roll, it just means there's nothing worse they can print."

Hm… I haven't looked at it from that angle yet, to be honest.

"Do you think so?" I ask her, not yet convinced.

Persis shrugs, before looking back down at her hands that are absent-mindedly combing through Lizzie's mane. "I know. I know how nasty they can get if they truly want to be."

"Do you mean…?" I break off, unsure of how to respond.

"I'm not their idea of a princess," Persis states plainly, though still keeping her eyes averted. "You look the part, but I don't. Too short, too chubby. It was fine when I was younger, but by the time I was in sixth form, the press never truly let me forget it, nor did some of my classmates. I tried to… fit their image and it didn't work out well."

She swallows heavily and I am at a complete loss for words.

"I took a gap year to get better," Persis continues, her hand clenching in Lizzie's mane. "Ken wasn't allowed one and Teddy spent his travelling to see buildings he found interesting, but I just got better. It was Ken's idea that I should study equestrian sciences afterwards. Hartpury isn't a place where many reporters like camping out for any amount of time and, well… horses don't care what you look like."

No, I guess they don't.

I know I should probably respond with something kind and reassuring, but I can't think of a single thing to say. Somehow, her unexpected honesty has rendered me completely speechless.

Persis seems to notice, too, because she throws me a quick look. Then she sighs. "I overshared again, didn't I?" she asks, sounding defeated.

I'm still grappling for something to say. "No. No, it's… it's totally fine. Really."

Not that she believes it. Her eyes once more fixed on the horse below, she shakes her head, looking resigned. "I always do that. I don't dare talk to people at all and when I do, I tell them too much too soon. It's like… word diarrhoea. I just don't know when to stop. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for!" At least those words come easily. "I feel honoured that you trust me with this, especially…" I break off.

I meant to say 'especially given that we hardly know each other', but on reflection, that sounds terribly unkind, somehow.

Luckily, Persis doesn't dwell on it or ask what I meant to say. Instead, she moves her gazes to look at Roman, which is not quite me, but at least the right direction. "Ken trusts you," she tells me, raising her shoulders in what is the suggestion of a shrug. "I'm rubbish at deciding who to trust, but everyone knows how wary Ken is when it comes to trusting newcomers."

She hesitates, then suddenly looks horrified. "Not that I'm suggesting that you are… you know…" She leaves the sentence hanging, clearly helpless at how to finish it.

I shake my head, trying to soothe her. "I know what you meant. It's okay."

I'm not part of the set of posh, titled people they grew up with, is what she's trying to say. Pointing that out to me is hardly going to make me feel insulted. For one, it is true. For another, after meeting Vera, Hilda and Dizzy and Egg, I'm quite certain I wouldn't even have wanted to grow up as part of that set, no matter how nice Tatty, Katie and Persis herself are. Sometimes, being a mere commoner has its advantages.

Absent-mindedly patting Roman's neck, I watch as Lizzie, clearly bored with walking slowly, starts prancing, raising her head and swishing her tail. Persis shortens the reins and applies pressure with her calves, talking very softly to try and placate the mare. It takes a few moments, but finally, Lizzie settles down again.

Only then does Persis turn back to me. "Thank you for being understanding." There's sincerity in her eyes and not for the first time, it strikes me how uncertain she is. Maybe it's because I know Ken so well, but I expected his sister – a princess – to be more… confident.

"Anytime." I smile at her. "And just let me say that whatever those nasty rags wrote, they were wrong. You aren't chubby. You're not so very tall, maybe, but you're fit. I'm skinny, but I'm also a wimp. What's betting my muscles will kill me tomorrow?"

It is, on second thought, a very forward thing to say. As for her reaction, it really could go either way, so I'm relieved when Persis offers a tentative smile. "Your muscles will kill you tomorrow," she confirms.

Yeah. I thought as much.

"In that case, I'll make it count," I announce, trying to appear my most upbeat and encouraging in hopes of cheering her up. "Show me how to trot?"

Persis, seems to be quite glad to cease the talking for now and get back to being more active. She nods briskly, back in her element now that she can give me an impromptu riding lesson. "Roman is a quite comfortable to sit even when trotting, but you want to start with rising trot anyway," she tells me. "Do you remember how to do it?"

"I think so," I confirm, though I do feel a little apprehensive. Frowning in concentration, I shorten the reins and cautiously ask Roman to trot by applying pressure with my calves. He, being a good horse, does as he's told and falls into a trot that feels fast to me but probably isn't.

I seem to do reasonably well with the rising trot, because after watching us with a critical eye for a short while, Persis apparently deems my attempt at riding satisfactorily and starts working with Lizzie as well. Naturally, it looks much more professional than anything Roman and I are doing, but so far, I haven't fallen off, so I shall count this day as a success regardless.

Thankfully, whichever God deigned to look over me keeps me astride the horse for another ten minutes, by which point my muscles are screaming for me to stop and get off.

"I think I'm done for today," I call out to Persis, who slows Lizzie from a canter right back into a walk, not bothering with the detour of trot.

"Don't you want to canter?" she asks, steering Lizzie over to where Roman and I stand.

"It's tempting, but I'd probably slide right off," I predict with a laugh. "Better leave that for next time."

Persis nods, looking somehow pleased. "Sure, next time." She points down at Lizzie. "I still need to work her a little longer. Do you mind?"

I shake my head. "Not at all. Should I go and unsaddle Roman?"

"Yes, you do that" decides Persis. "No reason for him to keep standing here. You can ask one of the grooms to help you, if there's any need."

Nodding my agreement, I just want to dismount – hoping that it won't be this final exercise that will have me flat on my back after all – when I hear a new voice behind me.

"Can I offer my assistance?"

It's a voice, so oddly, terrifyingly familiar, that I feel myself freeze. Oh boy!


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Here Comes the Sun' (written by George Harrison, released by The Beatles in 1969).


To Mammu:
I actually considered cutting last chapter's beginning for being not strictly necessary to the narrative. I decided against it because I felt they were due a bit of light banter. I put them through a bit of a troubling stretch before and it's been a while since they were just relaxed and joking around each other, so the scene stayed. I'm glad you enjoyed it, because it meant I was right to keep it ;).
I intentionally switched up Persis's character a bit in this story. Previously, I've written her in what seems to be the accepted fandom version, as someone who's confident and outgoing and interested in fashion. That's a perfectly valid reading of her, but it's really only based on one line in AoI about her sticking out her tongue at Gilbert. So I started thinking, what if this Persis is different? What if she started out as the girl sticking out her tongue, but then life happened and now she isn't that girl anymore? So I mulled on it for quite some time and the result is the version of Persis you see. As she's had more time to introduce herself now, what do you think of her at this point?
Don't worry about not having another word to describe Teddy. 'Nice' is the perfect adjective for him. Teddy
is nice, first and foremost. Later, someone who should know will call Teddy the kindest of the three siblings and they won't be wrong.
As for the wedding, I suppose Rilla and Ken attending together will draw attention to them, but by then, they'll be dating almost three years, so it would be kind of odd not to invite him. Also, Nan's not at all interested in the press attention and she counts on her friends and family to know that this is her day, so I reckon it should be okay :).
For the purposes of this story, Rilla was born in July 1989 and Ken in November 1984, making her 23 at this point and him 28. I have full family trees worked out for everyone, but figured I wouldn't inflict it on readers ;). If you're unsure about any other characters, feel free to ask though!

To JoAnna:
Oh, you definitely should check out
The Royal Correspondent! It's a delight! McFishie and Alinya are also very generous about giving me final say about what information goes into their articles, so you can be sure that there won't be incorrect facts, not will there be spoilers of any substance. It's just a lot of fun and a great honour for me and my story.
Persis definitely is a bit shy and also less open than Teddy. For being royals, they're both reasonably grounded and yes, I like to think they're nice ;). I hope that now that we've come to get to know Persis a little better, her behaviour is more easily understandable in context. What do you think of her after this chapter? Still nice, I hope? :)