BURN

flowers

"Is... that your cat?" says Beatrix nervously. Agatha glances at her.

"Yeah. Why?"

"He was terrorising the lords in their meeting, yesterday."

Agatha looks at Reaper.

"Stick to mice, please."

He meows.

"I love your colour palette!" says Dot, reappearing with a dress. "Black, navy, dove grey, red-- it's ever so gothic." she lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Kinda matches your magic too, doesn't it?"

"Um, sure." mumbles Agatha, stepping into a high-necked navy gown with silver embellishments that she's never seen before in her life. It seems Camelot are far better at providing a wardrobe than Vanessa is.

"Is it a fashionable thing, in Gavaldon? Countess Jadis wears the same sort of style. I met her at dinner last night, she was with your guard. Captain Baumann? We had a nice chat!"

Agatha, who struggles to imagine Hester or Anadil having a nice chat with anyone, ever, makes a vaguely interested noise. They must want something from Dot. Probably want to make sure she wasn't plotting to murder Agatha, or anything

"Maybe. I think Anadil wears everything better than me, though."

"She's very elegant." says Dot diplomatically. "She's not as tall as you, though!"

Beatrix hands over Agatha's veil.

"You're choosing flowers, today. You get to do the fun bits: I hear Weatherford and your mother are handling the actual logistics of it all."

Agatha, who doesn't correlate the word fun with the phrase choosing flowers, frowns.

"What else do I have to do?"

"Let me see... choose bridesmaids, choose a cake, choose a colour palette, decide on the guest list, decide who sits where, choose your dress, fragrance, nails, jewellery, hair, and makeup, decide on the rings, learn to dance because Vanessa says you can't, get to grips with Camelot's wedding customs, decide on wedding gifts, choose what you want for the meal, learn the names of all the important guests attending, accept well-wishes from nobility and the gentry, an--"

She stops when she sees Agatha gawking at her.

----

Twenty minutes in, Agatha has decided she takes back what she said yesterday about her new life not being boring.

Wedding planning is inconceivably, brain-numbingly, boring.

"They look exactly the same as the ones you just showed us." Agatha says impatiently, staring at the pale pink roses being wafted in front of her face.

The weedy old man looks affronted.

"I assure you, Princess, they are not! These are Rosalind roses! They're semi-glossy, with distinctive medium green foliage--"

"Yes." Agatha says blandly. "Distinctive."

The florist seems to sense he's being made fun of, and opens his mouth--

"We'll have them." Interrupts Tedros quickly.

Agatha turns to stare at him. Tedros twists his gloved fingers awkwardly.

"Rosalind sounds nice."

"You're choosing them based on what they're called, are you?"

Tedros frowns.