BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  Oh, okay then.

  "I am going," Thorlief says, rising to stand, shakily, next to Akele.

  The prince walks over and slaps the huge guard's shoulder.

  "I too am joining this, ah, quest."

  "You don't need to go, Akele," I sigh, walking to the middle of the room. "I can handle this myself."

  "How many times has he carried us?" Aheahe shouts. "Will we abandon him in his time of need? Is that how you will remember this day? When you let your friend face danger alone?"

  Izzy walks over. "In."

  Cheesy Caulfield is next. "In," he agrees.

  "Please leave," the bartender pleads.

  The Knight walks over and pumps his foam lance in the air.

  Suddenly I'm surrounded by hands slapping my shoulders and back.

  "Together we are stronger," Akele declares. "We need cars, boats, helicopters, whatever we need to get to… how are we doing this again?"

  "I am having a private airplane," Prince Konstantin says. "It will holding all the people. We must go now!"

  "All right!" Akele roars, "Everybody get in the van! We're breaking up a wedding!"

  I turn to Thorlief and Konstantin.

  "You can get us on the island?"

  Konstantin grins. "For Ana? I can move the world."

  That hole in my chest begins to fill with something swelling up inside, a fire that burns through my veins.

  "Let's go," I bellow. "We've got work to do!"

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ana

  I had not expected to set foot here for a long time. It no longer feels real. My bed is broad enough for me to lie across it with room to spare. My rooms are huge, as big as a house all by themselves. I am surrounded by opulence and history, ensconced in an ancient castle with all the modern creature comforts and luxuries that would make a rich man gasp.

  I was born in this room. Literally; my mother gave birth on this bed, surrounded by doctors and midwives and attendants. My entire childhood was spent here. This is my place, where I began. It should be a comfort to sit here again in this room I know so well, with the distant sea and its lush crashing sound echoing through my open window as the cool, damp air washes over me.

  I want to go home.

  Less than seven hours ago, I was standing in my room at my house in Newark, and I was screaming. When I saw The Royal Exposé, it was like a spear thrust through my heart, like a terrible iron fist smashed through my ribs, grabbed it, and ripped it free, still beating.

  Now there is only a dull, raw ache, like an open wound in my soul. Nothing feels real anymore. Nothing matters. I am wearing the same clothes I was, sitting here on this different bed so far from the place where I left my soul behind. I vaguely remember tearing the paper crown to pieces in my anguished rage.

  I gave him everything. All of me. How could he do this? Not only sleep with another woman, but sleep with her, that repulsive harridan that hounded me from when I first set foot on campus. The betrayal is crushing, but the insult is salt on the wounds, and these wounds run deep.

  They will never heal, only scab over. My skin is unbroken, but my soul is bleeding to death, and soon there will be nothing but a bitter shell, an echo of the person I always wished I was. I am my own grave.

  I hate him.

  That is what I repeat to myself, over and over and over. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I try to make it true. Hate would be sweet now, like a bitter draught to cleanse the palate after a heavy meal that turned greasy and cold in my mouth.

  I cannot make myself hate him. I can think only of his love and tenderness and gentleness and joy in me and wonder, is all such love a lie? Can there be any truth to any of it anywhere? If something so sweet can be so false, what hope is there in happiness?

  Not for the first time since I arrived, I lean my hands on the worn rail of the parapet and think of vaulting over it to throw myself onto the jagged rocks below and let the sea lap up my broken body. How can I survive this, being alive and yet dead in my soul?

  I begin to weep, and my door opens.

  Jason

  Two weeks ago, if you told me I'd be standing on an airport tarmac surrounded by a football team, cheerleading squad, marching band, and a guy in a foam-rubber knight suit, I'd believe everything but the airport part.

  When Prince Konstantin said he had a plane, I sort of facetiously pictured the kind of little prop plane Reggie Macintosh flies as part of his skywriting business. This thing is a jet, big enough to hold all of us with room to spare.

  "How are we going to get into the country?"

  "I'm invited to the wedding," Konstantin says. "I'll get us in."

  He shifts on his feet and sighs. "Mother has commanded Anastasia to marry Mortimer Andrew Karl Victor de Kupp and take him as her prince consort when she ascends to the crown."

  I stare at him. Akele and Aheahe stare at him. Dee checks her phone.

  "Wow, Grandolf has her relationship status marked 'it's complicated' on Facebook."

  Everyone turns to her.

  "What?" I say.

  "Nothing. Guess she got in trouble for trying to step out on her hubby. Poor guy."

  "Really," I groan.

  "When we are arriving," Prince Konstantin says, sharply, "I will be doing the talking. We cannot all of you just walk into the castle."

  "Has anyone ever told you that you talk like the Swedish Chef?" Izzy says.

  Akele elbows him, which almost knocks him on his ass.

  Konstantin gives this all a blank look. "Moving on. We will be sneaking in."

  "Sneaking. Sneaking into a castle." I sigh, hard, and pinch my nose.

  "Yes. Am I saying the English wrong?"

  "No, I understand. You want to sneak all of these people into a castle."

  He looks around. "Bringing them was not my idea."

  "It's a great idea," Akele says, clapping Konstantin on the shoulder. The slender prince's knees buckle from the impact.

  He looks at Akele's ham-hand and smiles awkwardly, then gently lifts it away. Or tries to, anyway.

  "Hurry," the prince orders. "Following me."

  He jogs up the stairs, and I follow. The plane is fueling up while everyone else gets on board. All of the seats are big, like first-class. After I sit down, the rest of the team clambers on board, filling up the seats. Aheahe and Akele wedge themselves into the set of seats behind mine, and Izzy drops in beside me.

  "Is there going to be a movie?" Aheahe says. "In-flight snack? I need a snack."

  Dee sits next to Konstantin.

  "This is actually happening," she says.

  "Yeah," I agree.

  The fuel truck disconnects and rolls away. The flight attendant closes the door, and I wonder if that's the right term, flight attendant.

  Thorlief steps up and looks at Izzy.

  "Switch seats."

  "Hey man—" Izzy starts.

  Thorlief folds his giant arms over his chest and flexes them. He's abandoned his usual suit coat and his massive muscles bulge in his dress shirt, bunching up the seams.

  "Now."

  "Okay," Izzy squeaks.

  After Izzy climbs over me, Thorlief grabs the overhead bins and levers himself into the seat.

  "Uh, hi."

  He glances at me and leans back in the seat. "The princess loves you."

  "Yeah," I say in a thick voice. "I know. She deserves better."

  He gives me a side-eyed glance but says nothing.

  "You're supposed to argue with me."

  "I'm not going to. She does, but she chose you."

  "Uh. Thanks."

  His huge shoulders shrug. "I believe you did not sleep with the woman professor."

  "Thanks again."

  "If you do ever hurt Princess Anastasia, I will rip your spine out and fuck you with it."

  "Okay, duly noted."

  "She is like a daughter to me."

  "Yeah, I gathered that."

  As the plane taxis along, Konstantin glances at us but
says nothing.

  The air feels a little empty. I try to fill it. Inanely.

  "So, uh, you and the queen?"

  "No."

  "Oh. But—"

  "I was twenty when I was taken into the royal service and appointed her bodyguard. She was sixteen years old. She was a child. I looked at her as a child. Then she grew up and I began to look at her as a woman."

  "She must be hot. I mean she's Ana's mom. Wow this is awkward."

  "No. She is cold as ice."

  "Oh. So what—?"

  "She was warm once, but there was a boy like you who broke her heart."

  I swallow, hard. "Uh, yeah. Okay. I'm not going to do anything to Ana. Well, I am, but not bad things. I mean I will if she asks me, but—"

  "Dude, shut up," Akele says.

  I grip the sides of the seat as the plane starts to speed up.

  Have I mentioned I hate flying?

  Thorlief gives me an amused look. "Afraid of planes?"

  "No, afraid of crashing."

  He laughs. It sounds like a mountain crashing into another, slightly larger mountain.

  "Who isn't?"

  There's a pause, and then he says, "I'm not."

  I white-knuckle my way through the takeoff and finally start to feel my heart slow when the plane levels out. I don't dare look out the window. I don't like heights much, either.

  If I had to sit on the nose of the plane, I would. Anything for Ana.

  "So you, ah," I start, half-mumbling, "you had a thing for the queen."

  "Have."

  "Oh. Must be tough. You were around her a lot?"

  "Until I became Anastasia's bodyguard. Before that I was in her presence at all times except when she was alone in her apartments in the castle, when I stood guard outside the door. I was only apart from her then, and when I was asleep."

  "Wow. What's she like? Ana's mom."

  "Cold. Severe. Stern. Focused. Her country is everything to her. Her legacy is everything to her. Ana is everything to her."

  "Really? Ana never talked about her."

  "There is a rift between them. The queen does not wish to see Anastasia repeat her mistakes."

  I chew on that for a while. "What do you wish?"

  "I wish to see her happy."

  "So when you see the queen—"

  He shifts in his seat. "I have not seen her in almost three years, since Anastasia came to the United States. I have seen her in pictures. Spoken to her, but she speaks to me as she would any of her servants. I am nothing to her."

  "That ain't right, man. You're totally carrying a torch."

  "Yes. Others look at her and see only the hardness on the surface. The glacier. I see what lies beneath but was once on the surface. The softness beneath the armor."

  "So why don't you tell her?"

  "Me? I am no one. A queen is above my station."

  "I'm pretty sure a princess is above my station."

  "You do not actually have a station."

  "Whatever, the point is—"

  "I see the point. It means nothing."

  "You should tell her how you feel."

  He shifts in the seat again and folds his huge hands in his lap. Good, I was getting a little crowded even in the big first-class seats.

  "I can't."

  "Why?"

  "I can't."

  "That's not a reason. You just repeated yourself."

  He growls. Literally growls, a deep rumble from inside his chest.

  I shrug. "You don't actually have a reason, do you?"

  "It doesn't matter. It's too late."

  "Is it? It's not too late until you die, dude. The only shot you know you'll miss is the one you don't take."

  "That is easy for you to say."

  "Yeah, it is. I bagged a princess."

  He turns to me with a sharp look. "If you use that word again—"

  "Sorry. Look, all I'm trying to say is that you need to take a chance, man. How do you know she doesn't feel the same way about you?"

  "She doesn't."

  "What if she does?"

  "Why would she?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Does anyone understand women?"

  "No," Konstantin breaks in, laughing.

  I hear some scoffs and snorts from farther back on the plane.

  The cheerleading squad heard that too.

  "Smooth, guys," Akele says.

  "You should talk," Dee sighs.

  Aheahe snorts loudly.

  This is going to be a long flight.

  Ana

  Mother enters dressed in a simple black gown. Black has ever been her color since father died; she never cast off her mourning clothes. The gown makes a stark contrast against her pale face and snowy hair that hangs loose to her back, bound only by the simple circlet she wears tucked in her hair when she is not required to wear the ceremonial crown that rests in a vault below the castle.

  "Step away from there."

  I tremble in place, gripping the old stone. How many princesses before me have done the same, I wonder? Is it such a terrible thing, to be royalty? To utterly belong to your people?

  Truly it is terrible. I am not sure I can survive it.

  "Anastasia, step away from there and come inside. Sit on the bed."

  Even now, I dare not prompt her to command me a third time.

  I walk to the bed sullen and sit down. Mother strides over and seats herself beside me, smoothing her dress over her legs. We look so much alike, we could be twins but for the crow’s feet around her eyes, and the sadness that stains them like blood on water.

  A gasp strikes me as she rests her hand on my back, tenderly.

  "Anastasia," she sighs, "I so wished to spare you this. I wish I had never sent you to America at all."

  I look down at my feet and say nothing for a while.

  "That is an awful thing to say."

  "Why, daughter?"

  "Then I never would have met him. I was happy for a time. Happier than I have ever been. I have never been happy. Only lost and lonely. He made me feel what a human being feels. I thought I was turning into a star."

  The words fall out of me and shatter on the floor, like a glass slipping from a drunkard's hand.

  The sobs comes a moment later.

  Mother does something she has never done before in my entire life. She puts her arms around me and pulls my head to her chest.

  "Cry," she says. "Cry, child. I'm here."

  I want to push her away, but I can't. I need the embrace, I need the softness of her to weep into bitterly. I hug her as though I never have before—in truth, I never really have—and tighten my arms, holding on to the only thing that is still solid in my life.

  Despite all that she is, she is still my mother. She pats my head and strokes my hair, and hugs me back.

  "I've failed you," she says with a deep, withering sigh. "I never wanted this to happen. I wanted us to be closer, but there was so much. Always so much."

  "I don't want to be queen," I moan.

  "I once told my father the same," she says. "In much the same circumstances. When I was to be wed to your father. There was—"

  "A man. In America. Did you sleep with him?"

  She sighs. "Yes. I did. He took my virginity, and I gave him my heart. He was the world to me. He was kind and good and made me feel like no one else ever had. He made me feel like I mattered. The person, not the title. Not the crown. It was a magical feeling. It made me feel invincible, perfect. I thought of all the changes I would make with him by my side, how I would be the one to change the tradition."

  I push her away and sit up.

  "Now you want me to marry a man I loathe for 'reasons of state.'" I throw her own words over the phone back at her.

  "I want you to be queen. It's a hard lesson, and yet you still clearly needed to learn it. You don't have a life, Ana. You have a crown. You have no right to shirk your responsibilities—"

  "What does my love life have to do with my responsibilities?" I shout, risi
ng to my feet. "What does it matter, tell me? Can I not approve a budget or write a law if I am taking the wrong cock in the bedroom? I already know what your life is like. Hours and hours and hours every day of matters of state from the small hours of the morning until nighttime, and then what? An empty bed filled with the memory of a man you despised? I know you, Mother! You can wear mourning blacks until you die, but I know you never shed a single tear for my father."

  "Neither did you," she hisses.

  "Why should I? I barely knew him. He was nothing more than a stud to you. I never played with him or danced with him or listened to a story from him, and I never did any of those things with you. People who have known me for a few months know me better than my own mother. What is my favorite color? My favorite food? Book? Film? What is my boyfriend's name that you hate so much?"

  "His name is irrelevant," she snaps. "He's common. He's nothing."

  "You don't believe that, you fucking hypocrite. Your man wasn't nothing. Thorlief deserves better than you. I can't believe he told me he's in love with you."

  She blinks. "What?"

  "My guardian, Thorlief. You know him—"

  "Of course I know him. He guarded me when I was a girl too. He—"

  "He loves you," I throw at her, clenching my fists. "You threw him away like trash and ruined him, and why? Over something I did. I wasn't tricked, Mother, I wasn't seduced or confused or whatever other excuse you want to feed yourself. I fell in love with a man! I slept with him! I did things with him!"

  My voice echoes off the ceiling. My screams tear at my throat.

  "He loved me more in a week than you have in your entire life. I'm just a tool to you. A legacy. All you care about is that I take care of your damned country."

  "Because it's all I have," she shrieks, rising to her feet, looming over me. Even now, she still tops me by several inches. "They took everything else away from me."

  "Now you're doing the same thing."

  "He betrayed you," she screams. "He fucked another woman while he was sleeping with you. I saw the evidence myself. That bitch professor in the article described his damned body. Do you think I wanted that for you? I did everything I could to protect you from some pig with more cock than brains, and look what happened when you defied me. He ruined you. You're soiled."

  My mouth falls open.