The prospect of Duncan Deamone traipsing through the forest to put an end to her was as amusing as it was unlikely. However, when the branches parted and the figure revealed itself to the dim light of the moon it was not her uncle – but the same boy she’d sparred with from behind the safety of her cumbersome armor earlier in the morning. In spite of her embarrassment at being caught in such a position, she opted to wait and observe him as he took in the deceptively (if dark) innocuous looking lake. When he addressed her, she was sure – he didn’t recognize her, or perhaps couldn’t see her, though she’d have thought the gown would have been a dead give-away. Decorum demanded she make herself known, but having avoided doing so once already Alarice didn’t see the harm in continuing this little moment of informality for as long as she could. Anything to get her mind off the sweet words she’d had to shove out of her mouth for the benefit of her Uncle, his son and the general population of the school.
“Like much of life in Licia, they are frightfully complex and cumbersome, if – apparently – necessary evils…balls, that is.” Truly, she would have liked to have been able to slip into the easygoing banter of her youth. But just thinking back to those days was difficult and the finer intricacies of casual conversation were all but lost in the Lician court. Still, the Princess hoped her messy state might ease any of the tension her formality might create. “Given that the only alternatives I can think of would be a very awkward meal at a rather large and tense table or some rambunctious night on the town with a few hundred of our sure-to-be closest friends, I think I like this best. It’s much easier to sneak away from.” Then, in a passingly casual if thoroughly serious warning. “I would not recommend approaching that lake. They say a monster lives inside that can devour a man whole. And i’m afraid that for once ‘they’ may be saying something worth listening to.” Her blatant dislike of “them”, rule makers and starch shirt stiffnecks made clear, Alarice remembered herself and had the grace to blush for it. “Forgive me. I speak quite out of turn.”