While all this was transpiring Mibbet was in hell (no not literally you silly goose). It had been determined by her recently acquired father that Madame Primnpropa had not being a sufficiently demanding deportment and etiquette teacher, so they had dredged the dreadful depths of court, and from them had unleashed Mz Melchitt.

Mz Melchitt was to say the least a very particular teacher, in that she analysed every particle of your being for even the slightest hint of wrongdoing. (Wrongdoing in this case included truly heinous crimes like choosing the wrong fork at dinner, actually putting your pinkie up drinking tea, which apparently contrary to popular belief is not good manners, but purely reserved for people taking the mickey out of deportment and etiquette teachers, and worst of all *gasp* sitting wrongly.)

So far her lessons had lasted for ages, and it seemed to her sitting correctly was in a constantly fluctuating state, that seemed to change exactly the moment you felt yourself starting to get the hang of it. Cutlery was far simpler, but it made Mibbet long for simpler times when all she had to worry about was what kind of fly to hunt today (don’t eat the yellow and black stripey ones unless you really like spicy food, oh and the dark brown ones taste like.... well the hint is in the tendency to hang round horses.)

Mercifully the clock was ticking down. Just five more minutes and they were free.

“Concentrate” Rosalind cautioned her. “Slip up often enough she has the power to extend the lessons.”

That made Mibbet sit up straight, and correct her posture once more. Just before Mz Melchitt’s baleful gaze fell upon her once more.

“So you can learn” she snipped, (Mz Melchitt could weaponize her tongue at a range that would make the greatest archer in the land lay down their bow and beg for her tutelage, but she reserved this skill for wayward students, and due to the fact she practised her manners pretty much 24/7 365 even if you told anybody who had not had the misfortune to be her student they would never believe you.) “Very well, if you can last until the bell rings then you shall be excused.”

Mibbet desperately held her pose in one of the worst games of musical statues since somebody invited Medusa to the party. Trying valiantly to ignore that everything on her body had chosen this exact moment to itch, and that included her nose. She stoically bore with it, with Rosalind’s support, but she was so itchy.

She watched the clock, trying to ignore the dreadful irregular tick, as time passed her by. It felt like glaciers moved, mountains formed, and entire kingdoms rose and collapsed (not that that was uncommon, looking at the history books that particular feature seemed as regular and unpredictable as the weather.) Before finally the silence was broken by the arrival of Sir Humphrey.

Mibbet held her pose, as Mz Melchitt to both Mibbet’s Rosalinds shock and horror simpered at his arrival.

“Well if it isn’t our dashing captain of the guard.” (Ignoring the fact a few short days ago he had been literally a dashing captain, in the high velocity running sense nobody had ever described him in such a manner before, at least not for many years.)

“You flatter me Miss, I am just here to collect my student for training with the guard.”

Mz Melchitt eyed him for a moment, debating between handsome knight, or duty to somehow hammer proper etiquette into her royal highness’s skull (with a real hammer if she felt it necessary.) But as she weighed up her options, distracted by the presence of a gentleman caller the bell rang. Time was up, and the Princess was in as close a semblance of proper form as Mz Melchitt could imagine her ever being in.

Mibbet meanwhile had retreated into the space she learned for staying still until flies got close enough. At the sound of the bell she had to fight off the urge to stick out her tongue to catch whatever approached. She did her best to stay still as Mz Melchitt dismissed her then dove from the chair dashing towards the door before she could change her mind the Princess shaped blur was already gone.

Sir Humphrey watched her go with a chuckle, it was impressive that she had somehow managed to pull her axe from somewhere in that awful outfit as she sprinted off.

“If you’ll excuse me ma’am I really must go after her, duty calls and all that.”

“I quite understand, we can’t have our students haring off and causing havoc, though I do so admire a man with a proper sense of duty, it’s most admirable.

If it was possible for Sir Humphrey to somehow turn redder than his default rosy flush this would have done the trick. Again he pondered asking her out to dinner, but a proper lady like Mz Melchitt and a mere guard? He dismissed the notion quickly as an old mans foolishness. (This wasn’t chickening out of course, it’s only chickening out if you can’t think of an acceptable excuse to back out.) So with a few polite, and ultimately pointless words they parted, albeit reluctantly, as Sir Humphrey turned his thoughts once more to work, and started off towards the knight’s training arena, before Princess Rosalind could cause any damage.

With a sigh Mz Melchitt took a seat once again, just five more minutes, or one little slip and the Princesses lesson would have extended for another hour. A whole hour, with Sir Humphrey at her side? A lot can happen in that time. She sighed and reached into her desk drawers, pulling out a tattered, and clearly much read romance novel. So near, and yet so far away. She read for a moment before noticing the evidence, as she swiftly shoved the packaging the large pack of itching powder had come in back into the drawer. Well there was always next time.