... Oh. Oh, dear. He's not a trumped-up merchant at all; he's a King.
Greta's eyes widen, and she hastily drops into an awkward curtsy. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness, I had no idea." The apology just falls out of her, like a reflex, even as part of her wonders why she's bothering. This isn't his Kingdom; he's as much out of place as she is. The worst thing he could do to her just amounts to waking her up.
But perhaps it's better this way. It's not easy, adjusting to all this, and she doesn't know him well enough to guess how he's respond to being told his title is meaningless. Maybe it would be better to just sort of... ease him into things. She straightens, but keeps her chin tucked down a little in subtle deference. It's just like riding a bike (or it would be, if she'd ever ridden one).
"And... what Kingdom would that be?" she asks. Goodness, what if she's actually heard of it?
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Greta's eyes widen, and she hastily drops into an awkward curtsy. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness, I had no idea." The apology just falls out of her, like a reflex, even as part of her wonders why she's bothering. This isn't his Kingdom; he's as much out of place as she is. The worst thing he could do to her just amounts to waking her up.
But perhaps it's better this way. It's not easy, adjusting to all this, and she doesn't know him well enough to guess how he's respond to being told his title is meaningless. Maybe it would be better to just sort of... ease him into things. She straightens, but keeps her chin tucked down a little in subtle deference. It's just like riding a bike (or it would be, if she'd ever ridden one).
"And... what Kingdom would that be?" she asks. Goodness, what if she's actually heard of it?