Heavy the head which wears the crown. Heavier still the corset laced improperly.
Valeria had practiced for this. There had been fittings and rehearsals and an entire day getting used to the weight of the crown for this ceremony. She’d be knighting all day. And, for proper pomp and circumstance, all formalities had to be observed.
Including the ritual underwear.
Valeria, as royal crown of Eass, was not permitted to dress herself and, owing to the complexities of the full royal regalia, she could not feed herself, either.
She stood, arms akimbo, while three maids fussed with the petticoats and undershirts and lacings, while a fourth fed her intermittent mouthfuls of breakfast and made certain nothing spilled. She was not even permitted to rearrange her generous breasts herself.
Which inevitably lead to disaster.
Her usual body-servant had a cold, and her junior was unpracticed, and worse, only had little green apples herself whilst Valeria was ‘blessed’ with prize-winning melons. The naive little creature saw no reason to adjust Valeria’s person and went straight on with the lacing.
And every time she opened her mouth, her breakfaster fed her.
And a Queen could not speak with her mouth full.
They got all the way to the ceremonial ruff before something vital went 'ping’ and the entire left side of the edifice of her ceremonial robes slumped visibly.
“Oops,” said the apple-breasted lesser idiot.
The Duchess of the Wardrobe sighed as she entered. “Undo the lot and start again. I’ll inform our knights to be that they shall wait on your majesty’s pleasure and you–” she pointed out the young maid, “–make certain that everything heavy is supported.”
Well. This made everything an hour longer than it had to be.
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