So Snow began her tale again. Despite the fact that she had just had the exact same conversation less than an hour ago, it felt completely different. Here, outside on the lawn and surrounded by light and life it felt, freeing, to talk so openly, as opposed to the deep-seated apprehension that had plagued her inside the house. It could not have hurt that Grenarin was a far better listener than Navormal, often interjecting with cries of "really!" or "what!" or an interested "oh?".
It was so enjoyable that after the tale was told Snow found herself circling back around to add in more details. He received them all with obvious interest, and she found herself giving more and more small details until she began to wonder if they were even relevant. She realized that she liked it when his eyes lit up in fascination. She was detailing the clothes her mother had been wearing at the time, down to the embroidery on her hood and the material of her petticoats, when she realized that she was only embarrassing herself further and needed to stop talking.
She broke off in the middle of her sentence and quickly finished, " . . .But that wasn't really out of the ordinary, so it probably doesn't matter."
Though Snow had intended to stem the flood of extraneous information with that simple phrase, Grenarin did not seem to realize and pounced on it with a level of curiosity that made his interest of a few moments ago look like boredom by comparison. His eyes sparkled as he bombarded her with questions.
"Your mother often wore fine clothes?"
"Yes?"
"Why?"
"Well, it was sort of expected of her . . ."
"Why? Was she rich? Was she famous? Was she noble?"
"Oh!" and Snow remembered the one detail she had somehow forgotten, since it was such a part of her life she could not imagine anyone not knowing it, "Yes, she was noble, she was the queen, actually."
Looking at Grenarin's expression, Snow was sure she could not have surprised him more if she had suddenly announced that everything she had just told him was a lie and in truth her father was the court jester and her mother was a whore.
After the moment of shock, Grenarin's face clouded over. He looked disturbed. There was a tense moment of silence, and Snow could feel the atmosphere of good cheer and general enjoyment slipping away to go join some other gathering.
"Would that make you the princess, then?" He asked with a calm that sounded forced even to her.
Snow blinked. That was his hangup? "Well, yes, except I'm not really welcome there anymore, so . . ."
He nodded. "Would 'there' be the kingdom to the south of the woods?"
Snow paused. If she was remembering correctly, there was actually woodland on two sides of the country, though one of them was the north. While not certain where exactly she was, it seemed reasonable that the answer was yes, as the palace was closer to the woods on the north than the east. "Yes."
Grenarin nodded again. "I see. Perhaps next time, start with that, eh?" He raised his eybrows and smiled good naturedly at her, and Snow felt the atmosphere lighten considerably.
"Shall we break for the midday meal while I decide where to start?" Grenarin still smiled, his eyes sparkling, and Snow agreed without hesitation. Together they walked back into the house.