by Vicky Savage
“They were vile,” Drew says with a groan. “They wouldn’t shut up all night. Cook threatened to make Skorpling stew for lunch today.”
Fred shakes his head. “No, no Jay, Fred good.” Ethel is too occupied with my hair to worry about Drew’s slander.
“You look tired, Jade. You should try to nap a little before the big gala tonight.” Drew reaches for Fred. “God knows you can use the beauty sleep.”
“Thanks a lot.” I swat his arm. “And thanks for bringing Fred and Ethel to me.” I kiss Ethel’s furry head and hand her over to Drew. I scratch Fred’s ear.
“Bye Fred, bye Ethel,” I say. “You two be good. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye Jay,” they say in unison.
“I am glad you’re home, Sister, if only to calm these rascals down,” Drew says, bouncing them in his arms.
“It’s nice to be home,” I say. And what a nice home indeed.
TEN
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep—hours maybe—when a loud rap at the door startles me awake. Before I can respond, the door flies open and in marches a gaggle of pretty, colorfully dressed teenage girls, led by a severe looking older woman outfitted in black who is carefully balancing what appears to be a green ball gown in her arms. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am.
“What? Who?” is all I manage to get out.
The woman in black, who could pass for twin sisters with the Wicked Witch of the West, lays the gown on the foot of my bed. “Princess, ze queen wishes for you to get dressed now,” she says with a French accent. “We ‘ave a lot of work to do. You must not lie abed all day. Come, come.”
Grasping my hand in her bony claw, she pulls me to my feet, appraising me critically from head to foot. A sour look organizes itself on her clay-like face. She makes a clucking noise with her tongue and shakes her head. “Oh mon Dieu, what are we to do with you?” She lifts a strand of my hair. “No, no, no, zeez will never do. Celeste, go and get ze wigs, we will ‘ave to use a wig tonight.”
“A wig?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, she barks, “What is zeez?” She uses her thumb to push hard against the newly healing scar on my forehead.
“Ow! That hurts!” I yelp.
“We will ‘ave to use ze thick makeup,” she says. “Rose, go. Get ze makeup tray.” Another girl scurries from the room. “I think we shall dress you before we do ze wig and ze makeup.” She reaches for the belt of my robe.
“Whoa, lady,” I say, yanking my belt out of her hand. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m naked under here.”
“We must get you dressed. I ‘ave seen you naked ‘undreds of times.”
“Well not today. Get out of here!”
“What?” Her entire body forms a questions mark.
“Get out of here. All of you. Now!” The girls scatter immediately, but Witchy Woman’s eyes bore into mine. I suspect she’s casting a silent curse. After a moment she turns, gathers her skirts, and moves slowly out the door, which I slam and lock behind her.
“Arrgh. I can get myself dressed,” I mutter.
Everything is laid out on the bed. I mean how hard can it be? The underwear is easy to figure out, even though it isn’t what I’m used to. There’s a very French looking, lacey push-up bra and a microscopic pair of panties. The princess is obviously more daring in the undie department than I am, but when in Rome, right? I put them on and examine the other items.
The long silky white thing looks like a slip, so I figure it must go on next. I pull it on over my head. No problem there. The dress is another matter, though. The fabric is exquisite. I rub it between my fingers. Some kind of silk, I think. The color is the exact shade of my eyes, but it’s iridescent and takes on a slight golden hue when the light hits it just right. The design is classic—square neck, square back, long sleeves, flowing skirt, and about five thousand tiny pearl buttons. The trouble is I can’t figure out if the buttons are supposed to go in the front or the back. There’s no tag to help me. The dress is obviously custom made. I’ll just have to try it on both ways.
I begin to undo the endless trail of buttons when someone else knocks at my door. Crap! “What is it?” I shout.
The door knob rattles. “Jaden, it’s Mother. May I come in?”
I dash to the door and fumble with the lock. When I manage to get it open, I nearly fall over in awe. My mother is dressed for dinner in a very low-cut, red velvet gown. Her hair, styled on top of her head, is held in place by a magnificent jeweled crown. She’s heavily made up, but on her it looks killer.
“Wow, Mother you look outstanding,” I say.
“Thank you dear.” She touches my cheek softly. “Now, what is the trouble? Sylvia says you banished her and my ladies from your room.”
“She was so rude, Mother. I don’t like her. She manhandled me worse than the kidnappers did.”
“Jaden, I know that Sylvia can be rather coarse sometimes, but you need help getting dressed, and I need to be downstairs greeting our guests. Please let me send her back to you.”
“No!”
I know I’m acting like a child. I also know I’ll never get that dress on by myself, but there’s no way I’m letting that old cow back into my room. “What about that Maria girl? Is she around?” I ask.
“Maria Alvarez?”
“Yes, I like her. Would you see if she’ll help me?”
“Of course, dear. I’ll send her right up.” She glides to the door. “Jaden, please don’t keep our guests waiting. Dinner is promptly at eight.” She tilts her head to the side, smiling at me. “I’m glad you’re home, darling,” she says and floats out of my room. I’ve never before fully appreciated what a great beauty my mother is. She’s absolutely stunning.
Maria arrives within a few minutes, carrying what looks like a make-up case. She suggests I wear my hair up like my mother’s, but with a small pearl tiara to match the buttons on my dress. Although I’m not a big up-do person, I like the effect when she’s finished.
“May I do your make-up now?”
“I don’t really like make-up,” I tell her. “Maybe just a little concealer to hide the cut on my forehead.”
She studies my face for a few seconds. “I have been learning all about make-up, and I think tonight you may wish to wear a little more. You have wonderful skin and eyes. I will only make them a bit more dramatic. Will you trust me?”
Judging from my mother’s appearance, make-up is part of the royal get-up for this event, so I reluctantly agree. “All right. Just don’t give me raccoon eyes or anything.” Maria looks confused. “Never mind,” I say. “Just use a light hand.”
She quickly gets to work, refusing to allow me to look in the mirror until I’m completely dressed. I don’t get really nervous until she brushes a little golden glitter under my brows and across my cheekbones.
When she’s satisfied with my make-up, Maria helps me into the dress. It turns out the buttons are supposed to be in the back. Go figure. She holds my shoes for me, and I slip my feet into them. Then she takes my hand, guiding me to the full-length mirror. I’ve never worn a long gown, since I missed the prom, and it feels weird walking with so much material flowing around my legs.
“Close your eyes.” She positions me in front of the mirror. “Now open them.”
When I do, I let out a startled “Oh!” The person staring back from the mirror looks nothing like me. She looks sophisticated and regal. She looks like a princess. I smile involuntarily, feeling like a little girl playing dress-up. I hold out the sides of my skirt, turning from side to side. The fabric glistens in the light.
“Ah, lovely,” Maria says.
“Thank you so much. I love it—even the glitter. You did a great job.” I hug her.
“You’d better go, it’s almost eight o’clock. The queen will be looking for you.”
“Wish me luck,” I call heading out the door.
ELEVEN
My insides squirm like a bucket of eels as I traipse down the hall
way to the stairs, careful not to trip over my dress. Even though I now look the part of a princess, I have serious doubts about whether I can carry off this act in a room full of strangers—most of whom I’m supposed to know.
Thankfully, Ralston’s waiting for me at the top of the stairs. “You look quite beautiful, Jade,” he says, offering me his arm. “Just follow my lead tonight. You’ll do fine. I’ll step in if I sense that you require some assistance.”
“Thanks Ralston,” I mutter. My mouth’s gone dry.
“Hold your chin up,” he whispers, as we near the entrance to the grand hall. “Remember, act like a princess.”
I straighten my posture, and do my best Marie Antoinette imitation. As we enter, every head in the great dining hall turns our way. By now the entire country has heard about my abduction and rescue, but I’m not prepared for the roar of applause that greets us. My cheeks burn bright crimson, but I keep a smile on my face and hope I look more gracious than terrified. We move slowly up the red-carpeted aisle toward the queen’s table. Everyone along the way bows or curtseys to me. I follow Ralston’s lead, nodding occasionally to the adoring assemblage.
About halfway through the crowd, a guy steps out onto the carpet and bows deeply in front of me. His unexpected appearance rattles me, but when he raises his head, I recognize him.
“Jason!” I say. I can’t believe it’s my almost date to the prom.
“Yes.” He takes my hand and kisses it softly. “Forgive me Princess. I wish only to tell you how happy we are that you have returned safely to us.”
It’s wonderful to find a familiar face. “Thanks, Jason. It’s good to see you.”
He bows to Ralston. “Thank you sir, for bringing our Princess Jaden home unharmed.”
“It was my privilege, Sir Jason,” Ralston says with a nod. He gently nudges me forward along the carpet.
“Jason Fallon’s a ‘Sir’?” I whisper under my breath.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “For future reference, he’s quite smitten with Princess Jaden.”
I’m psyched to hear that, but I hope it won’t present a problem. I’m counting on things going smoothly with no complications until I get shifted back to my real home. A love interest is the last thing I need.
When we reach my mother, she stands and kisses me on both cheeks. She shakes Ralston’s hand. The guest of honor is standing beside her, and Mother formally introduces us to Ambassador Diego Reynaldo Garcia of Cupola de Vita.
The ambassador is a balding middle-aged man with a dark mustache and a prominent paunch. His appearance is completely unremarkable except for his peculiar outfit, which resembles white pajamas with a red sash. A brown woolen serape is draped across his shoulders, and a thin golden sword hangs at his side. He reminds me of an overweight Jedi warrior.
Ralston greets the ambassador in Spanish. Apparently they’ve met before. Ambassador Garcia seems genuinely pleased to see Ralston. I hope that isn’t lost on my mother.
Ralston and I are seated to Mother’s right, the Ambassador and Drew to her left. Various other dignitaries of one kind or another fill out the rest of the queen’s table.
Shortly after we take our places, the feast begins with a great flourish of music and activity. Exactly on cue, uniformed waiters march into the dining hall bearing tray after tray of meats, vegetables, and other accompaniments. I recognize pheasant, venison, beef, and chicken, as well as the normal fruits and vegetables one might see at a spring banquet, along with some not so normal looking items that I decide to steer clear of.
Other delicacies soon follow—caviar, quail eggs and some odd looking dishes I don’t recognize. Baskets of bread and pastries arrive, and with an additional splash of fanfare, the desserts appear, looking more like art than food. The most spectacular creation is an enormous cake sculpted in the shape of Warrington Palace, complete with turrets and climbing ivy. I’ve never seen so much food in my life. Heavenly aromas fill the hall, and I realize I’m starving.
An orchestra plays tedious elevator music throughout our meal, but the food is delicious and I stuff myself. I even try something called Baked Weigel, that looks a little like fried puke, but tastes okay—kind of smoky and earthy. By the dessert course, my stomach is aching, and I’m worried that I might pop all the tiny pearl buttons on my fitted gown.
Ralston leans in to tell me to expect some interesting entertainment after the final course. He’s heard that Ambassador Garcia brought a traveling menagerie of exotic animals with him from Cupola de Vita. After meeting the Skorplings, I’m looking forward to seeing that.
I push my plate away and sip slowly from my water goblet, taking a moment to admire the grand hall. The room is enormous with towering white columns, ornate moldings, and gold patterned wall paper—exactly what I’d expect a grand hall to look like. Judging from the smiling faces and audible good cheer, the finely-dressed guests are enjoying the evening’s festivities immensely.
I’m grateful to have Ralston by my side. His presence helps keep my creeping paranoia in check. No one has acted the least bit suspicious of me, and I believe the evening has gone pretty well so far. I’m beginning to believe we might just pull off this whole charade, when the doors at the opposite end of the hall fly open, and a group of armed soldiers bursts into the room.
The music immediately ceases, and the crowd falls silent. I’m convinced they’ve come for me, the princess-pretender, but Ralston smiles reassuringly.
“It’s all right,” he mouths.
The soldiers clatter up the red carpet toward our table. When they’re about five yards away, they come to a halt. The soldier in the lead steps forward and bows to my mother. He’s large and attractive, in a kick-ass kind of way, with a shaved head and a giant ruby stud in his left ear. He has a tough-guy arrogance about him.
Mother rises from her chair, concern lining her face. “General LeGare, what is it?” she asks.
“Your Highness, I apologize for interrupting your elegant dinner, but I thought you would wish to know right away—we have captured three of the criminals who abducted Princess Jaden.” He motions to three men in shackles being held by the guards. “Some of the others had already escaped. We have their leader, though. We have young Chief Blackthorn.”
He half-turns signaling to his men. Two soldiers step forward with a shackled Blackthorn propped up between them. They drag him to face my mother, and roughly force him onto his knees. I gasp involuntarily. Ralston places a warning hand on my arm.
Blackthorn’s armor is gone, his white tunic torn and caked with blood. A gash disfigures the biceps of his right arm, and dried blood covers his forearm. His head is bowed, his face hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair.
Mother’s expression hardens. “Good work, General LeGare. Thank you for bringing the prisoners to me immediately. I have always believed in swift justice.”
She nods to LeGare, then focuses her attention on Blackthorn. “Young Chief Blackthorn, I am very disappointed to see you here. What have you to say for yourself?”
He does not reply, but keeps his head bowed. LeGare rams the hilt of his sword into the wound on Blackthorn’s arm, causing it to gush fresh blood. Blackthorn grunts in pain.
“Answer the queen.” LeGare says.
Blackthorn springs to his feet, swinging his shackled wrists upward, catching LeGare under the chin. The blow sends the general sprawling into the crowd. Three guards immediately subdue Blackthorn, forcing him to his knees again. LeGare regains his balance and charges toward Blackthorn, a murderous expression distorting his face.
“Enough!” Mother cries. “General LeGare, I will not have brawling in the middle of my feast.”
LeGare regains control of himself, taking his place next to Blackthorn, his fists tightly clenched at his sides. “I apologize, Your Highness,” he says.
“Young Blackthorn, you are not doing yourself any favors by attacking my general,” Mother says. “You stand accused of grievous crimes against Domerica. You are charged with abduct
ing Princess Jaden, holding her against her will, and causing her bodily harm. These are offenses of a most serious nature. I am offering you the opportunity to speak before I pass sentence upon you.”
Blackthorn raises his head, a defiant expression on his handsome face. “Your Highness, I have nothing to say in defense of my actions, other than that they were committed not to inflict harm, but only to persuade you to speak with my father in an effort to save the Unicoi from certain death.”
“Nonsense! Does your father know what you have been up to in Domerica?”
“No. My father knows nothing of my actions, nor would he condone them if he did. I beg you not to hold my transgressions against him or Unicoi. They are mine alone.”
