BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  "I am not soiled," I snarl. "I made love to a man who loves me. Perhaps you should try it sometime. It might make you less of a scheming, arrogant bitch."

  She slaps me, hard, across the face. I scowl at her.

  "Eventually you'll realize I'm right and you're wrong. He doesn't love you. He never did."

  "I'm not marrying that pig Mortimer. You can't make me."

  "Yes I can. I'll read your vows for you and shove the ring on your finger myself if need be. I tire of this idiotic defiance. You'll be a proper queen, and that is the end of that. I'm through with this. I came here to comfort you and all you do is throw your entire life in my face."

  "I don't want my life," I rage at her. "I don't want to be queen. I don't want any of it. I want to go back where I belong."

  She turns to me with an icy stare, and I almost feel my blood freeze in my veins.

  "Perhaps I should give it to you. Perhaps I should have you dropped in America with nothing I haven't given you. No well-appointed house, no education I paid for, no food, no resources. Oh, and your clothes, I paid for those too. I own all of it. We should see how long you last that way."

  I take a step back from her withering gaze. Her look is like a pressure, pushing on me. I look down at the floor.

  "I'll have the seamstress here in a few hours. The wedding is tomorrow. You'll marry Mortimer and you'll keep your mouth shut. You don't have to love him, you just have to breed with him. Pop out a few children and you can send him away, it doesn't matter to me."

  "So I can raise them like you?"

  "In wealth and luxury, yes. No more theatrics, Ana."

  She turns on her heel and struts out of the room, and the door closes behind her. It always felt like a prison door, but even more so now with all its weight and finality.

  I collapse to the floor in a heap.

  Jason

  You know what I hate worse than flying?

  Landing.

  I thought the taking off was bad. My knuckles turn white gripping the sides of my seat and my heart races as the plane begins to descend. It leans backward, which throws me as it happens and I start to shake.

  "We must move quickly," Konstantin says. "Let me do the talking."

  I chance a look out the window. I can see the island.

  It's just as breathtaking as Ana made it sound. My jaw drops. The ocean is a dark, steely blue, except where the waves foam against the stony shore. The island is a giant, rocky cone sheared in half, and the interior is a vibrant, pastoral green with rolling hills and fields. The tiny, white specks must be sheep.

  Like she said, the castle stands at one end of the island, surrounded by a quaint-looking town. Little fishing boats bob like toys in the ocean, and in the distance, so far away they look hazy, the oil rigs blink with red warning lights. The plane turns and levels out, and I press back into my seat and close my eyes.

  My heart tries to escape through my mouth when the wheels touch down. It feels like five minutes between the back landing gear making contact and the front landing gear touching down with a sharp, angry squeal. The plane shudders and jerks left and right, and finally starts to slow down with such force that it feels like a giant hand pressing into my chest.

  Man, fuck flying.

  When it finally stops, Konstantin leaps to his feet and rushes forward, yanking open the cockpit. He steps back out a few seconds later.

  "Everybody ready to getting off."

  "Uh," Aheahe says.

  Dee snorts and rolls her eyes.

  "He means take your seat belts off," I shout, rising. I grab the seat to steady myself and take a deep breath.

  They're all looking at me.

  "Look, everybody. I know this is a huge thing you've done for me. It's a huge thing we're doing. Never in my life did I expect to go somewhere like this, do something like this, experience something like this. You've all come this far, but I have to say it.

  "If you don't want to come with me, you don't have to. I'm not going to judge anybody for staying behind. I'm not going to hold it against anyone who doesn't want to go any farther. We're in a foreign country and we're about to break like fifteen different laws. If we get arrested, our parents aren't going to come pick us up and pay our bail. Also, midterms are in two weeks."

  There's a hush. I cough.

  "I'm going to get my girl. Anybody that wants to come, come with me. Let's go."

  The cheer that rises in the airplane shakes the windows and hurts my eyes. I turn and walk down the stairs with Konstantin, and I don't need to look back; I can feel them piling out behind me.

  "What the hell do we do now?"

  Konstantin shrugs. "I am having a plan!"

  "Great, that's fantastic. Let's do it."

  "Do you not wanting to know what it is?"

  "Fill me in as we go along."

  I take my first look around the airfield.

  This is definitely an airfield, not an airport. The prince's plane isn't huge as commercial jets go, and I can tell the airfield can barely handle it. There's one control tower and a concourse, and big hangars with curved roofs. It's a lot colder here, and the wind whips hard across the landing strip.

  When I turn back to Konstantin, he's on the phone. My breath catches when I see a fleet of vans driving across the tarmac toward us.

  "Is that the cops?" Akele says.

  "Do they have cops here?" Aheahe says.

  "Of course they have cops, dumbass."

  "I mean, don't they have like knights or something?"

  Akele groans.

  The vans roll to a stop, and the very closet driver throws her door open and runs out. A tall, busty woman with red hair in pigtail braids runs out and shouts something at Konstantin.

  "What's she saying?"

  He looks at me. "Ah, she is saying she is wanting to have my babies."

  "What, seriously?"

  He shrugs. "It is good to being the prince. Getting in the vans now."

  There's barely enough room. The cheerleaders and band members end up sitting on player's laps, but we don't leave anybody behind. I wedge into the lead van with Konstantin. He speaks in his native tongue—it does sound like Swedish—to the driver, who gives him a saucy look and spins the van around, sending my stomach lurching to the side before she floors it.

  "Where the hell are we going?"

  "The castle is having a service entrance," Konstantin says. "We are needing to bring in food for the wedding. Also for tourists."

  "Tourists?"

  "Yes, we are selling tours of the castle. Very much money. The younger female tourists are personally escorted by the prince."

  "Right."

  He grins.

  I look over my shoulder. There's five more vans behind us. The road is narrow and has no shoulders, with fences blurring past on either side. There's sheep. A lot of sheep. The sheep look up in silent judgement.

  Quincy is still wearing his mascot costume, and the plume of his big foam-rubber knight helmet is crushed up against the van roof.

  It's not a long drive. The airfield is close to the castle. I can see it through the windshield. It climbs up the side of a mountain slope, tall, round towers proudly lifting banners into the air, like in a fairy tale. It's a clear day, the sky a bright blue, the sun shining. I'm fuzzy on exactly what time it is, except it's midmorning.

  The castle gets bigger and bigger as we get nearer and nearer. It's one of the largest buildings I've ever seen. The main gate must be fifty feet tall. There are guards on the walls, though they're wearing uniforms and carrying rifles rather than armor and shields.

  Konstantin chatters with the driver and the vans drive along the wall, away from the main gate. They keep going until we reach a security checkpoint. The driver rolls her window down as a soldier walks up to the van door.

  The man is genuinely shocked when he sees Konstantin, who barks orders at him. Moments later, the gates open.

  "What did you tell them?"

  "I'm bringing enterta
iners, for the feast. That will purchase us some hours, but it will not lasting long. Mother knows there will be no entertainers."

  "Right. How do we get in?"

  I look around. This all seems modern to me. It's a loading dock, connected by a tunnel to the castle, or so I would expect.

  "I will lead the way. Hmmm." Konstantin looks at me. "You are maybe being a problem."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Mother knows what you look like, from the tabloid news paper."

  He pronounces "news paper" as two clear words.

  "So?"

  "So she will be making all the guards have your picture so they will not let you in."

  "Why would she even expect me to show up?"

  "Mother is very cautious. Stranger things have happened. After all, you are here now."

  "So I need a disguise. You're telling me I need a disguise."

  "I am telling you so, yes."

  Well, shit.

  I need to conceal my appearance somehow. Hide.

  I look at Aheahe, and Akele, at Thorlief, at the driver, who gives me a blank, smiling look but is mostly paying attention to Konstantin.

  We all look at the back of the van, where Quincy is wedged in with his mascot suit.

  Ana

  I read the article. I read what Professor Grandolf said, I looked at the pictures, and I believed it. I believed Jason had betrayed me, stolen my heart and slept with another woman while he was making me feel so wonderful and alive.

  Now that I am here, I am not so sure. I knew she had something for him, some perverse lust, but I never knew him to look twice at her. How could he be so totally loving and giving with me and betray me? How?

  I scoot along the cold stone floor and sit against the side of the bed and try to weep, as if weeping all the salt water from my body will give me an answer. Perhaps they'll find me here as a dried-out husk and take me down to the crypts of my ancestors and put me away and I won't have to marry anyone I don't want to or be a queen or any of it.

  The seamstress comes in an hour later. I rise mechanically, like a puppet, and stand there with my arms out while she measures me and fits me with a wedding gown.

  After she's gone I curl up on the bed and wish I could sink through it, down through the castle and into nothing.

  I hear a faint buzzing sound and roll over. I thought I'd left my phone behind. I barely remember this morning—or was it yesterday?—between the jet lag and the confusion of leaving America and flying here.

  Here, not home.

  The phone buzzes again. It feels like my limbs are made of cement, like my head weighs a thousand pounds. I fumble with it, almost knock it on the stone floor. That would surely destroy it.

  Somehow I manage to recover it and roll over, sighing.

  Jason: Ana I'm on my way there.

  Ana: No you're not.

  Jason: Ana it's all a lie I never slept with grandolf.

  Ana: I saw you coming out of the locker room with her.

  Jason: You saw a picture of her coming out.

  Jason: She was in there with me.

  Jason: She followed me in.

  Jason: She exposed herself into me.

  Jason: She tried to talk me into having sex with her.

  Jason: I told her to go away and got out of there and she followed.

  Jason: I would never touch her I hate her.

  Jason: You're the only woman in my life Ana.

  Jason: You're all I care about.

  Jason: I'm coming.

  Jason: Don't marry the other guy I'm coming I swear please.

  Jason: Answer me.

  Jason: Say something.

  Jason: Ana please.

  I bite my lip.

  It all floods through me. The last week feels like a lifetime, like it was the true world and what surrounds me here is just a dream. I tap my answer into my phone.

  Anastasia: Hurry.

  I don't know how much longer he has.

  Jason: I'm coming baby.

  I stare at the words on my screen and know I have to hide the phone. Mother can't find out. I run to the parapet and throw the phone over, and watch it sail off into the sea until it becomes too small to see. I think I catch a glimpse of its computery guts as it smashes open on a rock, but it may just be my imagination.

  I stumble back into the room and flop on the bed. I spin every scenario I can in my head. I must delay, refuse, try and worm my way out of this somehow.

  Or I could just refuse. Truly refuse. She says she'll have me held down, but does she mean it? Can't she see how mad all of this is?

  I want it to end. I want to go home!

  When the seamstress returns with the dress and my maids of honor, I stand up and let them dress me, listlessly moving my arms and legs to put on the dress. They drape a veil over my head, and a pair of ladies-in-waiting carry my tiara on a pillow. I haven't worn it in years, and when they put it on my head it scratches my skin like claws and its weight pushes my chin down. I hate it.

  To one side I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my wedding day in my wedding gown.

  I will refuse. I will not put on the ring. If Mother thinks she can force me through this farce, she truly does not know me at all. Ana the little girl is gone. I am a woman now, and I make my own choices. I will abdicate. I will throw it all away and run home with Jason where I belong and….

  And she can force this on my dear brother. I can't put the weight down, only pass it. Tears well in my eyes. How can I do that to him?

  A maze. I am trapped in an impossible maze. Every path leads to some terrible fate. What am I going to do?

  Become my mother. I can already feel it creeping up on me.

  The hour is at last at hand. Mother apparently doesn't want any stunts. My sisters are not going to be in the wedding procession, it would appear. For all the pomp this will inevitably involve, it's clearly a hasty, rushed affair. No press have been invited, no dignitaries. Only the local families of note will be in attendance to watch me seal my marriage.

  I walk as slowly as I dare, tearing every moment out of my mother's grip. I will breathe in every free breathe I can before I surrender to my fate.

  No. I will not surrender. Jason is coming. I can feel him the way I can feel the sea breeze or the salt water pounding on the rocks. I can feel him like the sea turning under my feet.

  As we approach the Great Hall, I clutch my wedding bouquet until my hands bleed and appreciate the irony of the situation. I am a captive princess about to be wed to a man I loathe and my knight is coming to save me.

  The question becomes, will he arrive in time?

  In truth I never spent much time dreaming of a fantasy fairy-tale wedding. Knowing that the whole purpose of my wedding was to breed, or rather "to be bred" as Mother always put it, soured my feelings toward it. When I was a little girl, I had only a vague understanding of where children came from, of course. When I grew older the concept fascinated and horrified me at the same time, especially the assumption that I would be subjected to that experience with a man of my mother's choosing, not mine.

  My chance at any input into this decision is gone. The valets open the doors to the Great Hall, and I shuffle awkwardly along the red carpet, feeling the weight of the castle above my head as I pass through the doors.

  The guests are few and the wedding party is nonexistent. There's a priest at the foot of the throne, standing with Mortimer. Revulsion chills my stomach as I see him, and I freeze in place.

  "Move," Mother orders. "I don't want to have you dragged to the altar."

  "I won't do this."

  "You will. Go."

  She gives me a short, sharp shove, and I walk very slowly through the hall. There is no music, no effort at even a pretense that this is a joyful moment. Mother takes the position my father should, walking me up to the altar. The closer I get, the more naked the lust in Mortimer's eyes. I'll stab him before I take off this gown in his presence.

  "You can make me walk up ther
e, but you can't make me say a vow."

  "I said the same thing. You know it's the right thing to do. The line must continue. You're going to marry him; you don't need to love him."

  I shudder at the matter-of-fact way she says it.

  Her voice is a cold whisper. "Don't try to convince me you had some illusion that your father cared for me, or me for him."

  "That's awful," I tell her. "I truly feel sorry for you."

  "I'm sure you do. Now get up there."

  I stand next to Mortimer and I can feel him peeling the layers of my clothing off in his imagination already. I pointedly look anywhere but at him and hold the flowers in front of my chest like a shield. I'll rake his face with the thorns if he tries to kiss me.

  Hurry up, Jason.

  I hear a commotion outside the doors. Mother looks on uneasily and says something curt to an aide in a low voice, sending the man running off. She looks at the priest.

  "Get started."

  The little old man clears his throat.

  "We gather here today in the sight of—"

  "The important parts only," Mother snaps.

  The old man sighs and looks at me with an apologetic shrug.

  "We are here today to seal the union in holy matrimony of Mortimer Andrew Karl Victor de Kupp and Princess Anastasia Carolien Jacobina Katrien De Vries."

  He shifts uncomfortably and looks at Mortimer.

  "Do you—?"

  "I definitely take her."

  Mother glares at him. "Shut up and don't interrupt."

  Mortimer rolls his eyes.

  "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

  "I do." He grins at me.

  "Do you, Princess Anastasia, take—?"

  "No."

  He blinks. "What?"

  "I said no."

  I throw the flowers down and rip my veil off, and throw it aside.

  "I do not and I will not. Do you all hear me? I'm not marrying this slimy eel. I love another."