by Vicky Savage
Sifting through the rest of the things Mother sent up, I come across a folder containing several sketches of gowns for me to choose from for the various events surrounding the wedding—the rehearsal dinner, the wedding day brunch, the ball afterward.
A quiver of excitement shimmers through me when I think about my wedding night. I wonder if Ryder and I will have a chance to be together intimately before that night. I hope so. I don’t want things to be all awkward between us, like we put off the big event until we were married. I want making love with him to be spontaneous and natural and just happen because the time is right. Unfortunately, we keep getting interrupted whenever spontaneity takes over. If we have to wait until our wedding night for people to leave us alone, I guess I can live with that.
Shuffling through the sketches, I notice that Mother has marked the gowns she likes best, and made little notes in the margins as to possible colors and fabrics. She jots a reminder not to expect fabric from Dome Noir, since they’re no longer exporting to us. I’m not sure what’s available locally, but I’m hoping it’s not fargen wool or nothing. Mother’s always had better fashion sense than me, so I go along with all of her choices.
When I reach the bottom of the pile, I realize there are no sketches of wedding dresses. I search through the rest of the stack—proposed menus, music choices, entertainment, floral preferences, but no wedding dress. Hmm. I wonder what that means.
I work my way through the remaining items to be decided before morning. Fortunately, my choices are limited by the reality that the wedding is less than a month away. After everything’s been checked off, I replace the stack on my table, and head to my closet to dress for my undercover operation with Eve.
Before I find an appropriate Skorpling rescue outfit, though, someone knocks at my door. “Come in,” I shout.
The door swings open and in walks Maria followed by four servants carrying a huge ornate chest of dark wood with elaborate gold leaf on the lid and the claw-shaped feet. The front and side panels are painted with gorgeous Italian street scenes, grayed with the patina of age. It’s the most amazing piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. After placing the chest carefully in the middle of my floor, the servants bow and back out of the room.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“I am sorry to disturb you so late, but the queen asked me to bring up your trousseau. We also need to unpack your dress so it will be available when the seamstress arrives in the morning,” Maria says.
I don’t have the vaguest idea what she’s talking about. I’ve never heard of a trousseau, and I don’t know what dress she means, but she acts like I’m supposed to know what’s going on, so I just play along.
“Uh, thanks, Maria.”
“Why don’t I get your dress first? It should not require much alteration, since you and the queen are similar in size. We will air it out before morning.”
“That’d be good,” I say.
She strides to my closet, and I pad along behind her. The princess’s closet is still somewhat of a mystery to me, even though I’ve spent a lot of time in here lately. Besides racks and racks of dresses, tops, and pants, shelves extending all the way to the ceiling are stacked with hundreds of sweaters, scarves, hats, and anonymous boxes I’ve never even opened. My curiosity is piqued when Maria grasps the side of the tallest rolling ladder and shoves it to the far corner.
I hold the ladder, while she climbs all the way to the top rung. To my astonishment, she reaches up and pulls open a small door in the closet ceiling, and proceeds to disappear inside.
“Whoa, wait a second, where are you going?” I call after her.
Her face peeks through the opening. “I’m getting your dress. Didn’t you know it was here?”
“No. What is that place?”
“Just a small storage room.”
It looks kind of scary-cool, so I scramble up the ladder to see for myself. The room’s barely big enough for both Maria and me, but it’s kind of a neat little attic space, with a small overhead light and a shiny wooden floor. One small window overlooks the palace courtyard, and the view is spectacular.
“This is amazing. I’ve never been up here.”
“It’s possible no one has been here since the queen’s dress was placed in storage,” Maria says. A few dresses, carefully preserved in plastic, hang on a tall rack. Maria selects one and motions for me to help. She gently lays it across my outstretched arms. Okay, now I get it, this must have been Mother’s wedding dress when she married Father.
“Hand it down to me,” she instructs, repositioning herself on the top rung.
I do as I’m told. Maria drapes the plastic covered dress across her shoulder, and descends the ladder. “Don’t forget to close the door when you leave,” she calls.
Straightening up, I take another look around the little room, thinking it might make a sweet little hideaway if I ever don’t want to be found. There’s really not much else in here—a few boxes and a very old sewing machine. Reaching up to flick off the overhead light, my eye is caught by a small door behind the dress rack. Rolling the rack out of the way, I examine it more closely.
A black metal ring serves as a handle. I tug on it, but the door doesn’t budge—locked-up tight. A star-shaped hole in the metal plate beneath the handle may be a keyhole. I bend down, taking a closer look. Something pings in the back of my mind, and I remember coming across a large key with a pentagram-shaped head in the princess’s jewelry box. It must belong to this door. Cool. A little mystery. I decide to come back and check out what’s behind that door the first chance I get.
“Princess?” Maria calls.
“Coming.”
The dress is spread out across my bed, as Maria painstakingly removes the plastic sheathing. It’s breathtaking when fully laid out. The bodice is entirely covered in pearls, each perfectly matched in size and shape and arranged in a beautiful swirl pattern. The neckline is off-the-shoulder and the sleeves are long—very long—and belled. The bottoms of the sleeves must reach nearly to the floor. But the fabric is the most astounding feature of all, silvery-white and luminescent as a star.
I brush it lightly with my fingertips afraid it might dissolve beneath my touch. It’s ethereally soft. “What is it made of?” I ask reverently.
“They say it is silk, spun with platinum thread,” Maria tells me. “The only dress of its kind. Would you like to try it on?”
“Really?” I ask uneasily. It seems too delicate to actually wear.
She unfastens one pearl button in the back, opening up the neckline. Sliding the gown off the bed, she puddles it on the floor in front of me.
“You are to step inside,” she says, making a space for me to step into without crushing the fabric.
Shrugging out of my robe, I carefully tiptoe inside the gown. Maria efficiently lifts it up around me, holding the sleeves for me to slip my arms inside. She straightens the neckline and buttons the back. The pearl bodice is stiff and heavy, but lined with silky fabric that’s soft against my skin.
“I will get slippers for you,” Maria says. “Don’t move.”
I stand rigid as a statue.
She returns with a pair of white pumps. “These will have to do for the fitting,” she says, slipping them on my feet. “Now walk carefully to the center of the room.”
I take cautious baby steps as Maria meticulously unfolds and smoothes the train behind me. It must be fourteen feet long.
“Stay right here. I will get the mirror.” She pushes my hair back, baring my shoulders and hurries to the closet for a mirror. I’m afraid to even breathe.
As she positions the mirror in front me, I stare in disbelief. Then from somewhere deep inside me a giggle worms its way into my throat. This is beyond ridiculous. What in the name of everything sane and rational is Jaden Beckett doing in this unimaginably beautiful wedding gown, about to marry the hottest, most incredible man in the world? Suddenly the whole thing seems utterly preposterous, and I realize I’m laughing like an idiot.
/>
“Princess, are you all right?” Maria asks baffled by my outburst.
My hands fly to my face, blotting out my absurd image. “Just get me out of this thing,” I say, trying to swallow my giggling fit.
She quickly unbuttons the gown and slides it down my body. “You do not like it?” she asks anxiously.
I cocoon myself in the safety of my robe. “It’s not that. The gown is perfect. I’m just kind of overwhelmed, and nervous, and more than a little scared. Can I really stand in the queen’s shoes? I’m just a … girl.”
She lays the dress across the bed again and faces me. “Your mother was just a girl when she wore that dress. No older than you. You have been through much and shown yourself to be courageous and resilient. You will be a resplendent bride and an incomparable queen. Do not fear, princess. You are worthy of this, whether you believe it or not.”
I hug her fondly. “Thanks, Maria.” Sometimes she knows exactly what to say.
“I will take the dress downstairs to the gown room to air out. We will meet the seamstress in the morning for your fittings. You should go through your things.” She nods toward the chest. “I’ll wager you have not opened it in years.”
“Yeah, I hardly know what’s in there,” I say. “Thanks again.”
Maria folds the gown into a more manageable size and carts it away.
I wander to the chest and twist the key. The lid pops up, and I peer inside. It appears to be mostly household items, neatly folded and stacked. Things that don’t really interest me much—napkins embroidered with the royal crest, gold teaspoons, lace handkerchiefs. I wonder idly if Princess Jaden was really into this domestic stuff. Pulling everything out by the armload, I make a pile on the floor and sit cross-legged beside it.
Most of it is yawn-worthy, but under a set of satin pillow cases, are some interesting lingerie items. In addition to white lacy underwear, obviously meant to be worn beneath the wedding gown, three silk cases contain lace nightgowns, one white, one gold, and one black. The lace on the upper part of the gowns is fabulous, obviously handmade, but the rest of the fabric is filmy and completely transparent. Real Fredericks of Hollywood kind of stuff. I feel the blood rise to my cheeks at the thought of wearing these for Ryder. I set the bags aside. Maybe I’ll have a use for these, if I work up my nerve.
Near the bottom of the pile I come across a white satin box, with an exquisite pearl necklace tucked inside. The small, perfectly symmetrical pearls are strung together in a swirl pattern. This will look amazing with Mother’s dress. Closing the box, I hug it to me and sigh deeply. It all seems like a dream.
THIRTY-TWO
“You’re not ready yet!”
The voice out of nowhere makes me jump. The satin box tumbles to the floor, spilling its precious contents onto the rug. I swivel around to see Eve standing there, hands on her hips.
“Geeze. Scare people much?” I say irritably.
“You told me to be here at midnight. It’s ten past, and you’re not even dressed,” she says tartly.
The time got away from me. “Just chill for a minute.” Stuffing everything back into the hope chest, I say, “It won’t take me but a second.”
She surveys my room. “Nice digs. Where’s the TV?”
“No TV in Domerica.” Closing the chest, I lock it and hurry to the closet.
“No TV? Sweet Giza, what do people do for fun around here?”
“Read books, attend balls, play chess,” I call as I tug on my riding pants.
“Uk. Just kill me now. And you’re here voluntarily?”
I laugh. “So it would seem.”
After I’m dressed, I stop off at the jewelry chest to snap on my TPD bracelet. My katana sits propped in the corner, and I quickly secure it in my belt.
Eve slouches in a chair, feet up on the coffee table, picking at her nail polish. “Okay, I’m ready,” I say. “How do you want to do this? Do you just hold my hand?”
She looks at me like I’ve completely lost it. “Uh, we’re going to need horses, earth girl, or whatever it is they use for transportation here in bubble-land. I could take us there, but we need a way to get the little widgets back.”
I slump down in the chair next to her. “Oh man, I forgot. That’s going to be a problem. My horse is over in the Royal Guard stables and he’s watched 24/7. We can’t sneak him out. If we want horses, my guard will have to come with us.”
Eve gnaws on her cuticle. “Look, I’m willing to help you rescue them, but you gotta figure it out in a hurry. Sooner or later someone in Arumel’s going to notice I’m AWOL and come looking for me.”
“All right, give me a minute.” Staring at the twinkling crystal logs, my mind fumbles for a plan. If Eve shows me where Fred and Ethel are tonight, I can take soldiers there in the morning. But, I can’t leave them there tonight. It’s too risky. One thing I know I can count on is Patrick’s loyalty and discretion, so I’m going to have to take a chance and bring him along tonight.
I hop out of my chair and pull the door open a crack. The butler stationed in the hallway hurries over.
“May I help you, ma’am?” he asks bowing.
“Yes,” I say through the crack. “Ask Patrick Stillwater to have a carriage ready for me in twenty minutes. A covered carriage.”
“Yes ma’am.” He scuttles off.
“Eve, come here,” I say, heading for the closet again. “You’re going to meet my guard, Patrick. I’ll tell him you came to me in secret with information about the Skorplings, and that we need to protect your identity. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Ooh, kind of Mata Hari-like?”
“Kind of. Anyway, you can’t go out dressed like that, and we’ll have to do something about that hair. Your color and cut do not exist in Domerica.” Quickly surveying the closet, I pull out a chic, black, knee-length coat with puffy Domerican-style sleeves. “Put this on,” I say tossing it to Eve. “It will cover your gun nicely.”
I rummage through a couple of drawers until I find what I’m looking for—a long, black silk scarf.
“Might as well look the part.” Draping it over her hair, I wrap it around her neck, and toss the sides over her shoulders. Using my fingers, I arrange her ice-blond bangs and stand back to inspect the effect. She looks like a kewpie doll dressed in Jackie Kennedy couture. All that’s missing are the huge dark glasses.
“You look good,” I say. “Just try not to talk. You don’t sound anything like a Domerican girl.”
“Neither do you,” she says defensively.
“I fake it whenever anyone else is around. You should too.”
“I’m not stupid. Asher told me they don’t use slang here.”
“Good, now let’s get going.”
The butler’s still away, so I hustle Eve out of my room and down the back stairs. We keep to the shadows as we make our way to the stables. Patrick waits for me in the courtyard with the carriage ready to go.
“Thanks for coming out so late, Patrick. This is Eve. She knows where the Skorplings are, and she’s going to take us there.”
He nods to Eve. “Ma’am,” he says. She smiles demurely.
“Your Highness, may I have a word?” He steps a few feet away and I join him. “How well do you know this woman?” he whispers. “I sense a trap. Allow me to go with her, or at least let me summon additional men to accompany us.”
This is what I was afraid of. “No, Patrick. She comes to me on the highest recommendation. It’s important we go now and alone. We’ll be cautious, though. If it seems like a trap, we’ll turn around immediately.”
He looks dubious.
“Those are my orders,” I say, feeling a little guilty about pulling rank on him.
He bows. “Yes, ma’am. Where am I taking you?”
“She will show us the way.”
We return to Eve, and ask for directions.
“Take the main road toward the village. There’s a turnoff to the east, after five kilometers or so. The building looks like an aban
doned factory of some kind,” she tells us.
“That is the old textile mill,” Patrick says. “I know it well. My father worked there until the new factory was built.”
He opens the door of the carriage for Eve and me. Once we’re settled, he snaps the reins and Operation Skorpling Rescue is underway. Lanterns attached to the horses’ harnesses act as headlights on the road. The carriage is lit by a lantern on each side. As we approach the palace gates, the guards, recognizing Patrick, wave us through.
“What do we do if those sitzprobes are guarding the Skorplings when we get there?” Eve asks.
“I assume they will be. We may have to confront them. That’s why I told you to bring your gun. They’ll most likely only have swords.”
