It occurred to her, probably a couple of years too late, that she’d had a good amount of freedom at that age. Oh, her father had insisted on a good education - to her teachers in giving it, and to her in working for it - but she hadn’t been cloistered in a palace. She’d mixed with people. Commoners and lords, farmers and soldiers. Particularly soldiers, since part of what she’d had to learn was how to fight. She’d had to prove herself, since there had been a good amount of chauvinism about females being fighters, but once her challengers had gotten beaten in horse riding contests or got an arrow or bullet to the knee a few times, the jeers had stopped.
Whereas her precious daughter Tiǎomín, the Royal Princess Guāngmíng, who even now was striding purposefully toward her, had never done any such mixing. She’d lived in the palace for all of her admittedly brief life, and was surrounded by scholars, bureaucrats, and nobles, none of whom she’d had to prove herself to. She was, after all, the heir to the throne, and everyone had to bow to her; who else but her mother was there to prove herself to?
The princess approached, trailed by the hem of her purple robe and by her penguin Balder, who waddled awkwardly after her. Coming to a stop, her arms folded, she began, "Mama-"
The Queen held up a finger, and raised an eyebrow. Her daughter sighed, composed herself, and bowed formally. "Qiángshàn," she began again, in a rather more restrained tone, "I really don’t see-"
"You will, child," the Queen replied, "when it is all over and done with."
"But," the princess said, struggling to keep her composure, "when I said that life in the palace was stifling, I didn’t mean-"
"No," the Queen said. Her face was impassive, but the princess got the distinct feeling that she was enjoying this. "No, I suppose you didn't mean that you wanted to leave it. But it is the obvious conclusion to that train of thought, is it not, that if palace life does not suit you, you should live in a manner more amenable to your tastes." A very, very faint smile crossed her face. "I talked with you before on the subject of speaking your mind."
"Yes," the princess replied sullenly.
"And?"
The princess sighed theatrically. "You said that I should think about my own thoughts, and know their sources and consequences; and, having done so, to say only those things I wish known."
"And when you made your comment to us," the Queen replied mildly, "you did neither. We're not really sure what you expected to happen that would lighten your terrible burden. A wave of the hand, a nod of the head, and suddenly living in the palace could be made an interesting, vibrant experience? No, we think not. Life, alas, does not work that way. But it is entirely within our power to place you in new circumstances."
"But-"
The Queen held up a hand. "This is not a punishment, Tiǎomín," her voice going quiet and soft. "You are not banished from the palace, nor from my presence; you will simply be living out in the city. Your quarters will not be what you are accustomed to, but should be comfortable enough. You will get to see the sights, to talk to new people. And - most important - you will get to see what everyday existence is like beyond the palace walls. If you are to be Queen one day, you must know something of your subjects, and there is much that cannot be found in books and studies."
The princess looked disappointed, but subdued. She had her share of spirit, the Queen thought, but she was neither stupid nor recklessly disobedient. She saw the point her mother was trying to make.
At last, she said, "I can at least take Balder with me, can't I?"
"Squawk," the penguin agreed.
"Of course." The Queen rested her chin in her hand. "I hardly thought it possible to separate him from you. Mind that you don't keep him outside for too long now that it's getting warm."
The princess' face lit up with relief. "Thanks, ma- that is, qiá-"
The Queen waved a hand. "'Mama' will do this time. Now go and pack, please. And remember not to take your whole wardrobe, there's only so much room in most peoples' closets."
The princess scurried out, followed by her penguin. The Queen shook her head; too fast. She was growing up too fast. In another few years, she'd have to bring up the whole subject of lichdom with her, before she went and got old on her mother.
She made a mental note to speak with the Minister of Rites about decanting other children. She would have responded rather poorly to any suggestion of sentimentality or 'empty nest syndrome'; there were any number of practical reasons for having multiple potential heirs.
Getting to watch two or three other children grow up as well would be merely a… benefit.
