by Vicky Savage
In the morning, we feast on a breakfast of fruit, Fred’s favorite muffins, and egg casserole. I drop off my furry friends at the nursery before making my way to the gown room. The final fitting for my new wedding outfits is scheduled for ten o’clock. My plan is to get it over with quickly and take a long ride on Gabriel.
A uniformed butler greets me as I arrive at the gown room and informs me that the fitting has been relocated to the east ballroom. That seems a bit odd to me, although it might be kind of fun. The east ballroom is a gorgeous space used for smaller dance parties. It has a golden mirrored ceiling and walls, sparkling crystal chandeliers and a shiny wooden dance floor. The butler escorts me down the short corridor.
When he swings open the doors to the ballroom, I’m convinced there’s been a mistake. The whole room is completely transformed into something appropriate for fashion week in Paris. A brightly lit runway skirted in blue velvet sits in the center of the dance floor, with folding chairs for spectators arranged on either side. A blue curtained dressing area has been erected in the back, and a young man in formal attire sits in the orchestra area playing a complicated concerto on a grand piano.
Uh oh. I pick up an unpleasant vibe that someone may be expecting me to model my new gowns. No way that’s gonna happen.
Jennifer Osborne hurries over grinning hugely. “Oh, Your Majesty, isn’t it lovely?” she says with a curtsey.
“Uh, yeah, it is. But what is it?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but everyone’s been working so hard to prepare for the wedding celebrations. I invited the young ladies in waiting to view your fitting as a kind of reward for all their efforts. Cook has prepared some refreshments for them.”
She gestures to a long table covered with a white cloth and laid out with silver platters, tiered crystal serving stands, and cake pedestals loaded with the most luscious looking desserts I’ve ever seen.
Really? Nobody can take a crap around here without asking the queen’s permission, and yet Jennifer sets up this whole party/fashion show without even telling me?
“That’s really thoughtful of you, Jennifer,” I say, biting back my annoyance, “but I’d planned to have a quick try-on and then go out for a ride. In addition to which, I’m not comfortable parading around in front of a bunch of people, and I doubt they’d find it very entertaining.”
Her face crumbles just as the ballroom doors fly open and dozens of smiling, chattering young women burst inside. When they see me, all conversation ceases, but the smiles remain as they curtsey and hover near the door.
Jennifer looks pleadingly to me. “What shall I tell them, Your Majesty?”
I blow out a long sigh. Well, hell, I’m not going to be responsible for spoiling everyone’s good time, but I’m also not prancing around like Kate Moss while everybody else sits and gawks. Then an idea strikes me. Jennifer won’t like it, but tough. I’m the queen and she brought this on herself.
I take her arm and move us over to one side of the room. “Look, Jennifer, here’s what’s going to happen. You tell everyone to get something to eat and make themselves comfortable. While they’re doing that, send some butlers over to the gown room and have them bring back a bunch of those rolling racks of my gowns and Mother’s old gowns. Anyone who wants to try on dresses and model them for the crowd is welcome to do so.”
Jennifer’s features contort into a troll doll mask of disapproval. “But they’re maids, Your Majesty. You want them to wear your gowns?”
“They’ll be careful with them, I’m sure. It’ll be fun.” I’m never going to wear them again anyway. “In the meantime, the seamstress and I will take care of my fitting in the dressing area back there—in private—and everybody will be happy.” I pat her shoulder reassuringly.
She looks scandalized, but having no choice in the matter, she agrees. “As you wish, ma’am.”
While Jennifer instructs the butlers, I locate the seamstress and we quietly slip into the temporary dressing area to work on my gowns. My heart dips when I catch sight of the luminescent wedding gown that was once my mother’s. I miss her so much and wish she were here. All things considered, though, I suppose she’d be an additional loved-one to worry about when the shit hits the fan on Saturday. Maybe it’s best she is not here to suffer through all that is to come.
When the racks of evening gowns are wheeled-in by a small army of butlers, a loud squeal of excitement fills the room. I catch myself smiling with amusement as the ladies race each other to have first choice of the fairytale dresses. The rumble of their shoes on the dance floor sounds like a small Fargen stampede.
The seamstress and her assistants efficiently help me into and out of the new gowns created for my wedding events. They are beyond gorgeous and most fit me to a tee, with little or no need for alteration. My favorite is the floor length beauty designed for the Wedding Eve Dinner. It’s indigo satin, with a deep v-neckline and a wide drop-waist sash fringed in silver. It hugs my every curve, and the slit up the front of the skirt is just high enough to make things interesting.
After the seamstress secures the last straight pin into the fitted waist, I change back into my riding clothes, anxious to get to the stables. When I step out into the room, though, I’m immediately swept up in the party atmosphere, and my attention is captivated by the amateur high-fashion models breezing up and down the runway.
The piano player—the only male still in the room—must think he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s switched to playing sultry tunes for the girls, most of whom are dressing and undressing out in the open without a thought as to who might be watching. The guy’s got to be hoping this day will never end.
Once my eye is drawn to the dessert table and a mound of gooey looking chocolaty squares, all thoughts of the stables are pushed aside. I grab a plate and decide to hang around a few minutes longer.
Jennifer is seated near the back of the room, and I take the empty chair next to hers. She sips punch and seems to be enjoying herself as she oversees the jubilant girls playing queen-for-a-day. Some of them put on quite a show, and I find myself giggling and applauding along with the other spectators.
Half-way through my triple-chocolate, frosted fudge brownie, the doors open a crack and Ralston pokes his head inside. He doesn’t spare a glance for the girls, but stiffly motions for me to join him.
I set my dish on an empty chair, and hurry to the door. “What is it, Rals? What’s wrong?”
He flaps a sheet of paper in the air. “I’ve been summoned to headquarters. They wish to have a signed copy of your contract filed with the agency’s legal department prior to your wedding day. In addition, they wish to question me regarding the matter of a mini QP which seems to have gone missing on the day I departed IUGA.”
“Oh god, Rals. You can’t go. We have to figure out something else.”
“But I must go, my dear. Otherwise the jig is up, as they say. May we discuss this in your office?”
We quickly take the stairs to my office and lock the door. “What are we going to do, Rals? Do you think they already know you’re helping me?”
“No, I do not. Otherwise I believe they would simply have removed me from the palace and sent another agent to pick up your signed contract.”
We sit at the small conference table. “I’m confident I can handle the issue of the contract rather easily,” he says. “The stolen QP may be more problematic. It was checked out to a friend and fellow agent. I swore to him I’d return it to the equipment room that afternoon. The record keeping in that section is notoriously bad. I assumed this whole thing would be over by the time they discovered it missing.”
“Can’t you just deny ever having it?”
“I do not wish to place my friend in a bad situation. I must find a way to return it without them knowing I’ve had it these past several days.”
“What happens if you get caught?”
“You must go to Arumel at once. It’s too dangerous for you to attempt to proceed without me and the quantum predicto
r.”
“Don’t say that, Rals. Just don’t let them catch you, okay?”
He pats my hand. “I’ll do my best, old girl.”
“So how will you handle the contract issue? I can’t sign that thing electing to stay in Domerica.”
“No. You cannot, and you will not. You shall sign a contract stating that you have elected to join the Transcenders in Arumel. We’ll make certain Narowyn Du Lac has a copy of that contract and that she files it with the Office of Records in Arumel City.”
“But what will you tell IUGA?”
“It’s best if I do not disclose that to you at present. It’s important that you have plausible deniability.”
“Plausible what?”
“Never mind. All it means is that, in this situation, what you don’t know can’t hurt you. You must trust me on this.”
“Okay, if you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ll run my plans through the QP before I do anything. Rather ironic isn’t it,” he says with a tilted smile, “relying on a bit of stolen technology to get me out of the sticky predicament created by the theft itself. Poetic justice, don’t you think?”
“Only if it works. When do you leave?”
“They don’t expect me until tomorrow. I’ll use the remainder of the day to prepare the contracts for your signature and run a few scenarios through the quantum predictor.”
“Okay. I’m going for a horseback ride, but I’ll be back in an hour or two if you need me.”
“Fine. Don’t worry if I’m not in attendance at dinner tonight. I’ll see you in the morning before I depart.”
* * *
Patrick joins me in the stables as I’m saddling Gabriel. “Your Majesty,” he says bowing. “Where are we off to this afternoon?”
“We’re riding to the lake,” I say, tightening the saddle’s flank cinch.
“Then we will require a few more men,” he says.
“Ah, Patrick,” I wheedle. “Let’s just go by ourselves. It’s not that far.”
“No ma’am. You know it is not safe. If you wish only the two of us to ride, we must stay within the palace grounds.”
I scowl at him, even though I know he’s only trying to protect me. “All right, we’ll stay within the grounds, but I want to go all the way to the high meadow today.”
“As you wish.”
Gabriel snorts and prances as I mount up. He’s as excited as I am to be out in the open country breathing the freshly ionized air and putting acreage between us and the palace. We gallop for a time, the wind whipping through my hair and the sweet smell of pommera blossoms tickling my nose. It doesn’t take long before the momentous cares of the upcoming days slip from my shoulders and a lightness of spirit descends on me.
We slow to a trot, moving as one unit through the outrageously gorgeous landscape. I’ve grown to love this richly luxuriant land, especially the distinctive silvery light of the soaring dome that imbues every object with radiant glow.
When we reach the upper meadow, I slide off Gabriel’s back and walk to the edge of a nearby brook. Dipping a cupped hand into the icy water, I raise it to my lips. Gabriel saunters over to join me, drawing deeply from the little spring. Patrick hovers in the background, allowing me my space.
“Patrick, come and sit for a minute,” I say.
He dismounts and leads his horse to drink from the stream. I perch on a large stone near the bank. Patrick goes down on one knee facing me.
“What may I do for you, Your Majesty?”
“You’ve seen some unusual things the past few days—my hasty marriage to Chief Blackthorn, the secret meetings at my brother’s estate. I’m sure you’ve wondered what triggered these events.”
“It is not my place to question you.”
“I know that. You’re the best bodyguard—and friend—I could have hoped for. Nevertheless, I’d like you to know what’s at the root of these actions. We’ve become aware that Dome Noir plans to attack Warrington Palace on my wedding day. Their soldiers are already hidden away in a series of caves in the Northern Hills. The goal is to kill me and as many other members of the royal family as possible, with the ultimate objective of taking over Domerica.”
He gazes at me a moment with his earnest, honey-colored eyes. “How did you discover this?”
“Do you remember Eve?”
His face brightens and he nods. They met a few weeks back when Eve went AWOL from the Transcenders to help us rescue the kidnapped Skorplings. She saved Patrick’s life that day, using advanced medicine from Arumel to treat a serious wound to his arm.
“The information originally came from her people. But we’ve confirmed the facts ourselves. General LeGare knows, but you’re the only other member of the Royal Guard to be informed, and you must keep it in the strictest confidence. The bulk of our defense will be handled by the Enclave and Unicoi armies.”
“I will fight for you. I have sworn to protect you with my life,” he says.
“I have complete confidence in you. I’m going to need you, especially on the day of the attack.”
Deep furrows crease his forehead. “Surely you do not intend to be here at the palace on the day of the attack.”
“Yes, I do. It’s important that the wedding appears to be proceeding exactly as planned, or our defense strategy won’t work.”
“What do you wish me to do, Your Majesty?”
“For now, just keep quiet about this. Make note of any new people you think might be spies, and tell General LeGare. We’ll take care of them first. If you’re a religious man, Patrick, pray this all works.”
“I shall, Your Majesty.” He stands and offers me his hand. “We’d better return before the rains begin.”
One more person added to the circle of intrigue. I hope I’ve done the right thing in bringing him on board.
* * *
At dinner, the palace groupies seem unusually animated. The entire castle is buzzing with stories of the uproarious party/fashion extravaganza of earlier today. Hilarious tales are making the rounds about the risqué antics of some of the guests. The accounts make it sound a little like Maids Gone Wild, but I suspect most of it didn’t really happen. Things seemed pretty tame when I left, and Jennifer was there to supervise.
I’m not sure if I come off looking good or looking bad for throwing open my closet to the household staff, but at least it was a memorable day for those who attended … and also for those who only heard the stories.
Back in my room, Maria helps me out of my formal dinner clothes. “Why weren’t you at the bridal fitting party today?” I ask.
“The party was really for the young, single women. Now that I’m engaged, I feel more … settled.” She holds up my robe and I slip into it.
“I understand that, it was a little frivolous, but fun. By the way, have you’ve set a wedding date yet?”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink. “It is in June. It will be a very small affair, but I would be honored if you and Chief Blackthorn would attend.”
“Thank you, Maria. We wouldn’t miss it,” I say, regretting the lie. Sitting at my dressing table, I remove my earrings and crown. Maria replaces them in my jewelry chest and begins to brush out my hair. She’s an expert at pampering, and I admit it feels wonderful.
“Are you nervous for your wedding day?” she asks.
“Maybe a little.” But not for the reasons you think. “How about you? Are you nervous for your wedding?”
“Oh, I am nervous.” She gently draws the brush down the length of my hair. “But not for the wedding. For what comes after.”
I glance at her in the mirror. She pauses, her lips trembling slightly. “I’ve never been with a man before. They say the first time is very painful.”
Rotating in my seat, I take the brush from her and hold her hands in mine. “Listen, Maria. It’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not that bad. Really.”
Her eyes register shock at my admission of not being a virgin.
I laugh lightly. “It’s all right. Chief Blackthorn and I are already married.”
“You are?”
“Yes, we were married two days ago in Unicoi.”
“But why?”
“Well that’s complicated. Mostly it has to do with politics, but it’s a big secret. You can’t tell anyone, understand? Not even your fiancé.”
“Oh, I would not.” She makes the sign of the cross. “As God is my witness.”
She swivels me back to face the mirror and resumes smoothing out my tresses. “My congratulations to you. And truly, it is not so bad?”
“No, it …”
