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“He seemed to notice Walther’s baldrick across my chest for the first time—along with its royal crest. “You’re the—” “Yes.” He paled, blustering with apologies and began to drop to one knee, “Your Highness—” I stopped him, pushing him to his feet again by the tip of my sword. “It shouldn’t matter if I am a tavern maid or a princess. When I see you treating others with respect without regard to their station—or anatomy—then your apology will mean something.” I turned and walked away as he still blustered, weary that this was a battle I had to fight over and over again.” — Mary E. Pearson

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He seemed to notice Walther’s baldrick across my chest for the first time—along with its royal crest. “You’re the—” “Yes.” He paled, blustering with apologies and began to drop to one knee, “Your Highness—” I stopped him, pushing him to his feet again by the tip of my sword. “It shouldn’t matter if I am a tavern maid or a princess. When I see you treating others with respect without regard to their station—or anatomy—then your apology will mean something.” I turned and walked away as he still blustered, weary that this was a battle I had to fight over and over again.
— Mary E. Pearson