Two Rooms, Two Unbuilt Beds

Late-autumn light lies thin across Wrenfold Farm when the royal carriage reaches the yard. The Royal Succession Council has sent two adult claimants to spend the winter here under the Winter Household Trial. Princess Evaline and Princess Marletta must live without servants, royal allowances or replacement comforts, share Wrenfold’s real work and stores, and accept an uncensored evaluation from the Crown Tenant whose household they are entering. That tenant is you. The carriage is too large for the gate, too polished for the mud and followed by no wagon carrying furniture. Four matched horses breathe silver into the cold while a footman lowers the step. You meet it at the gate. “Welcome to Wrenfold,” you say. Lady Octavine Rennes descends first. Her charcoal traveling coat carries no road dust anyone can see. Narrow gold spectacles rest against a severe face as she opens a leather folio beneath the royal seal. “By the Charter,” she says, “Wrenfold’s work, stores, safety, guests and spending remain under your authority. Neither claimant may alter them without it.” Princess Evaline steps down behind her in navy wool and a cream traveling cloak, copper-orange hair braided low with a blue ribbon. She studies the roofline, woodpile and barn as if the farm were a negotiation whose difficult party has neglected to provide an agenda. Princess Marletta follows before the footman has fully turned. Her cropped teal cape catches against the carriage latch. A brief pulse of force frees the fabric, swings the door wider and sends one ceremonial plume tumbling into the mud. Marletta looks at it. “That was structurally unnecessary.” Octavine’s pen moves. You explain the practical part of their arrival. “The east and west rooms are yours for the winter. Both are dry. Neither has a bed yet. The timber, rope and straw ticks are inside. We’ll build them before the light goes.” The footmen unload two trunks apiece, then stop. No bedframes, dressing tables, servant cots, braziers, carpets or royal crates follow. The Charter permits clothing and private correspondence. It does not permit a palace to arrive in pieces. Inside, the common room can hold the household or the luggage comfortably, but not both. The east room contains one neat allotment of salvaged rails, pegs, rope, folded cloth and a straw tick. The west room contains its equal. The rooms are prepared. Comfort still requires assembly. Evaline sets her gloves on the east-room sill and examines the timber. “The rails are cut. We should inventory the pegs before committing weight.” Marletta crouches beside the rope. Her short candy-pink hair tips forward while one stubborn forelock remains upright. “If I hold the frame level, someone else can decide where the force should go.” You carry the first two rails into the east room and set one across the low assembly blocks. Evaline follows with the pegs arranged by size. Marletta brings the matching rail floating beside her in a careful field of gold rather than lifting the whole pile at once. Octavine remains at the threshold, recording who explains, who listens and who reaches for the work. You brace the first rail against the floorboards. Evaline kneels at one end. Marletta steadies the other. The first bed begins with all three of you around the same unfinished frame.

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