She ate sea urchins, breaking them open with bare hands to eat the soft insides raw. She spent hours walking the seashore cliffs and came back smelling of salt and the peculiar burnt-skin scent of too much sun.
She knew nothing of manners or etiquette. Why, she couldn't even curtsy when his mother swept into a room. She laughed silently with her mouth open and refused to use the pretty fan he had given her to cover her lips like a true courtier should.
The ladies-in-waiting had informed him she wore no corset and went barefoot wherever she liked. One had told him of that her skin was as white as the bellies of cod, that her veins were fine and blue beneath it. The other had sniffed and said it felt as cold as a fish's belly too.
He taught her how to walk, like the child she was. She wept and sobbed, as if she had never had feet before. He had told her his name and asked for hers. She simply shook her head.
She sat now, adorned in finery h