In the palace of Hyderlore, a lonely girl stood as foreign dignitaries all around congratulated her, even as they silently dug at her for royal details. Where is your kingdom? Who was your father? Who was your mother? She had spent half the night fending off their questions painfully, claiming partial descent  from almost every line of royalty, peerage, what have you. 

They'd hate me if they knew I was once a peasant, she thought to herself, unsure of whether to laugh or to weep, exactly. 

The ice prince, as she called him, had kept a careful distance from her. Careful was the wrong word actually. Dangerous. Didn't he know that the others were beginning to gossip? 

It would be easier if you pretended that we had some choice in the matter, Reenah thought to herself angrily as she looked at the back of his princely head. A touch of regret, sadly, lined her thoughts. Why? Why can't you at least try to know me? Maybe we could be happy if you just swallowed your pride. But you can't, because your blood is too stinking blue to even consider that a peasant is going to be your Queen someday.

How was she a true princess? She had always had sensitive skin (the kind that she had been mocked for back when mucking out stalls was her main function in society), but that was hardly a real indicator. Too bad. She was going to be Queen....and she liked the sound of that word. Velvety and smooth as the lined interior of a crown, the plush seating of a throne. Queen of Hyderlore. Her Majesty Queen Reenah. 

I will be a good Queen, she promises. She's seen how self-absorbed her prince seems in his perpetual and confusing melancholy. They need a public ruler, someone to think of as their family, almost. They need a mother as well as a Queen, a mother of the people. And that will be Reenah, one day. 

Suddenly, hearing footsteps, she steels her exhaustion and turns to meet the next dignitary. Her eyes light up as she reconizes someone from the mirror.