Stroke of Midnight: Future Fairytales

by Dawn, Stella

  She leaves behind a scent of roses, thick and sweet. Her signature, Joy.

  * * *

  Forty minutes before dinner I have accomplished all my tasks. I have taken the black lid off the black bottle named Fracas and sprayed it into the air a few times and then walked into a bank of sweet and shrill narcissus flower. It hung unseen in the air and now clings to the length of my body. Lastly, I struggle into the red cage. I am so uncomfortable and my stomach growls it's discontent. I leave my room and wander the empty halls.

  There are sounds of hissing and light clatter, I push against a swinging door and walk into a room that is empty, white and modern. All stainless steel and marble. It smells divine. I see a little stool and decide this is where I could wait until dinner. Quiet, out of the way, unseen and forgotten.

  Moments later, a tall man made taller, dressed in white with a high white hat, comes through another door walking backwards. His arms strain to carry a heavy stainless casserole that cannot contain its steam. He looks like a train running backward and I am so surprised that I forget I am the intruder. He turns to place the great armful onto the marble counter and his eyes open wide with surprise. If he hadn't smiled I'm sure I would have run away. If he hadn't looked so cute, under that high white pleated hat, I would have felt self-conscious. There is something about him that made me forget about the worries that bring me to this stool.

  "Good evening, beautiful lady. Are you lost?"

  "I was looking for a place to hide."

  "What would a beautiful woman like yourself want to hide from? Tell me your troubles, I will defend you from them."

  I laugh, in spite of myself. He is adorable. I don't know what to say to explain why I am here. So I say nothing.

  "Well you have come to the right place. I'm Bastian. Would you like a bite to eat?"

  "I shouldn't ruin my appetite and besides, I'm on a d-d-diet."

  Bastian frowns, his thick dark brows come together above his incredibly straight and perfect nose, like the letter T. "From what I can see, you are perfect."

  He gives me a bright smile and lifts up the lid on the heavy industrial casserole. Taking care to waft the steam in my direction, I lean forward and my nose wrinkles in delight. Spice and savory meat.

  In moments a spoon is next to my lips and I open my mouth, looking into his wide expectant blue eyes. They are a different, brighter, blue than his skin. Everything about him is clean and soothing and in my mouth there is an explosion of richness, sweetness and salty spice. I shut my eyes to sort out the flavors. Clove, cinnamon and one I can't place.

  "What is that almost peppery sweet spice?"

  "Cardamom."

  "It's divine. I'm in love at first bite."

  He gives me a startled look and then says, "For me it was love at first sight."

  8

  Petros

  Bastian has outdone himself. Head waiter Bishop stands at my right and lifts off the sterling silver dome in a dramatic sweep. Steam and spice waft across the length of the table.

  Victoria, to my left, gives out a little moan.

  Gwendolyn is seated at my right. Rupert and Dora are seated together, across from me. Cyndi is seated next to Dora. Rupert has Grandmother seated on his other side, followed by Char.

  Gwendolyn's cymbal clanging laughter adds to Bishop's flair. He gives her a sharp look and jumps back but then steps forward gingerly and selects a lamb chop and a pigeon breast for me before moving over to Gwendolyn's shoulder.

  "I'd like a wing, please, and a leg. You know me, I love to dance and to wave. I know, I look like I eat like a bird but the excitement of being here has given me such an appetite." She leans towards me conspiratorially and swivels her head and giggles. Her bony shoulders tremble above her low décolletage.

  I stifle the urge to bolt from the table. I hear a low moan from Victoria, who is seated on my left. Her nose is twitching and she is twisting her napkins in both hands. Across the table, Dora gasps, "Oh, this is so elegant. I want to eat like this every evening for the rest of my life."

  I'm actually horrified to see Prince Rupert's smile. He must think its genuine but he looks possessed. Rupert looks into Dora's eyes with a wrinkled brow and promises , "And so you shall. Every wish of yours will be my command."

  She squeals and wiggles in her seat like an excited puppy. I sigh and wonder whether any of them are house broken. I have the sudden thought that my castle has become a zoo. My table certainly has never been so uncivilized before. Bishop serves young Char, who promptly picks up the wrong fork and saws off a piece of roast. Before Bishop serves Dowager Margaret, the child inhales that bite and is working on another. I see the Dowager give a small smile and then lay her hand upon the child's arm. "No need to hurry, child. Take your time to taste and savor." Her eyes twinkle and her voice is soft and soothing. I remember how she was always kindly to me when my parent's fought. This child is taking advantage of Granny, who's never had a young girl in the palace.

  "I'd like to propose a toast." Rupert lifts his glass high, "To our inter-galactic union. Tomorrow night, I will announce Dora and my engagement at the masquerade ball. The ball was scheduled long before I had the good fortune to meet Dora. But I'm thrilled to be able to make it official so soon. I can't wait to show off Dora and her delightful family to all the kingdom."

  I thought I could detect a flicker of shock run across Cyndi's face. Her pretty brow wrinkles for a split second and then she ducks her chin and stares at her plate. Her eyes cut across to look at Char and then stray over to my place at the table and slowly rise up. I feel a perceptible shock that buzzes against my wrists, as though my hands are bound by electric wire. My heart races and I imagine I see her pupils bloom. Her dark brown eyes turn into twin inky black pools. She startles and her hand sweeps her dessert fork off her plate. I note that she has taken only one bite of her creme brûlée.

  Bishop nods and his under butler dips to retrieve the implement. He gives her another clean fork but she shakes her head and he removes her dessert.

  Bishop raises his eyes in silent question. I nod. Bishop gathers my dessert and continues around the table. There is a murmur of protest that dinner is finished. When the King finishes, so do his guests. I wonder at my instinct to cover for her overreaction. No matter, my appetite is ruined. I can only think of brandy, to wash down fire with fire.

  "Let us retire to the parlor with a bit of entertainment for our guests." Rupert announces.

  9

  Petros

  Rupert stands and holds out his arm for Dora. I stand and raise my arm for Gwendolyn who gives me a toothy grimace I suppose she means to be ingratiating. She lifts her right hand and gestures several times and then tilts her head back toward the table.

  I give a half turn and proffer my free arm to Victoria. Bishop pulls back her chair and Victoria reaches out and drags herself up on my arm, "Why th-thank you your high high highness."

  I walk into the parlor with as much decorum as I can muster with two strange females upon each arm.

  "Oh, isn't this divine. I see you have a pianoforte." Gwendolyn says.

  "Do you sing, King Peter?"

  "Not very well."

  "That is divine. You and my Toni must sing a duet."

  King Peter draws in a big breath, ready to refuse but looks at Prince Rupert who has his head forward, eyebrows lifted to the point where they seem to want to merge with his hairline. His hands lift up in a silent imploring gesture.

  King Peter's shoulders drop and his breath comes out in a long suffering sigh.

  "It would be my pleasure." I signal Bishop to make that a very strong brandy with a twitch of my jaw and a stabbing glare.

  There they are, singing. His voice is a strong baritone, full bodied and measured. Her soprano is a bit forced. Alto would be a more suitable range. What she lacks in modulation she more than makes up for in diligence.

  Cyndi barges in and makes quick hand motions to Charlotte. There is no need to do this soundlessly since the
double doors suddenly swing open wide and the heavy echo of brass door handles smacking mahogany wainscoting reverberates through the room.

  Gwendolyn's hands skitter across the keyboard and then her next chord is misplaced. Dissonance, Tori frowns but her voice follows the downward sweep over the keys and accurately hits the misplaced notes. Toni may be relied upon for her ability to mimic pitch, as well as follow her mother's instructions.

  The sound is ghastly. Rupert only has eyes for Dora and he is oblivious to everything else. Charlotte covers her ears. Dowager Margaret was dozing off and comes awake with a start. Her needle hidden beneath the heavy linen suddenly pokes through into her index finger, "Oh, hell," she exclaims. I take a large swallow of brandy.

  Gwendolyn raises her voice, "Look what you made me do. Must you ruin everything by being here?"

  "I am sorry, step-mother. I have only come to remind Charlotte of her bedtime."

  "Very well. Both of you, leave. Damage is done."

  Cyndi stands stock still and looks around the room. I catch her eyes and she juts out her chin and frowns. Just so. She turns on her heels and marches out the door.

  "Good night, my child," my grandmother calls after Charlotte and then stuffs her index finger into her mouth.

  "Excuse me, I have business to finish." I bow to Victoria and then to Gwendolyn. Leaving the room I glance over to Rupert with an intent to hit him squarely with a red hot poker which I intend to blast from my eyes. But he seems not to notice time or sound or place. There is only Dora.

  Gods. Love is blind. I make a silent prayer for our kingdom that I may never be tempted by the false appeal of the heart. I had witnessed first hand what others do and say and the fools they become in the name of love. May it never provoke me.

  * * *

  It is later, when my body lays beneath comforters and my head atop rabbit filled pillows, that the scene in the parlor comes back to me. Even gulping stiff brandy between verses could not dull the irritation and assault upon my senses. I had been party to a common entertainment act, much like being the monkey to the organ grinder. Nothing could wipe that memory from my mind. Except then Cyndi blew in like a cold wind from the north, skittering the needle across the groves of the record, making such a welcome racket that brought the fiasco to a close. I felt such unexpected gratefulness for her sudden presence.

  I had grown cold and distant as though the scene played out far below as though I was a balloon, somehow tethered to the spot but there was no one holding the string. Her sudden presence had the effect of placing me into my body. I felt a rush of heat in my loins and the full weight of my body on my feet. I wasn't rooted to the spot with that weight but had the feeling I could have rushed over to her or at least slammed the cover on the keyboard upon her step-mother's fingers. For now I heard the desperation in Victoria's voice, for being forced to follow her mother's insistent notes as she banged out the keys with the intention of a dilettante.

  I even got a glimpse into my brother's heart. How it swelled with pride and he glowed with such obvious well-being. I felt a pang of jealousy for Rupert's gift of the common touch, the ease in which he mingled and merged with nearly anyone.

  These thoughts were foreign. The thoughts of a long and uncomfortable day. Tomorrow things would be set right and return to normal. This was only a moment of sentimentality brought on by fatigue. The King hasn't the luxury of being swayed by his subjects. He must stand fast and anchor the kingdom. Yes. Fatigue and brandy sunk me suddenly into the dark legions of sleep.

  10

  Petros

  I roll over in my bed, pissed off. Sunlight pours in through the curtains and I feel like sewing my eyelids shut. A hundred needles of bright light pierce my hangover, my brain feels like a pincushion.

  Drinking doesn't usually cause me to need a personal morning to myself, but then again, I haven't downed eleven shots of whiskey since I was in prep school. Especially not alone.

  Even though the thought of drinking anything else makes me want to unload whatever's left in my stomach, I debate whether I should stop in the kitchen and mix myself a Bloody Mary. But that would require getting up--something I'm not quite ready to do just yet. A hair from the dog that bit you sounds all well and good, but not if means lifting your head and the possibility of heaving.

  At this moment, it would be so much easier to have Bastian's life. He only has to manage the kitchen of the palace. Not the kingdom. Why did I feel so out of my depth?

  Just before I passed out last night, I remember trying to conjure an image of a woman, any woman that would help clear my mind of Cyndi, my supposed soon-to-be stepsister. But each time I imagined one, she would fade away. Then I would hear the soft gasp that came from Cyndi, when I practically cornered her at the piano. Or, in the library, when I memorized the shape of her mouth, working as she struggled to find words to say after we nearly kissed.

  I don't want to admit it, but that woman is distracting me from the job at hand. Its her fault I am making no progress in breaking up Dora and Rupert.

  Even though I would rather chew off my left arm than have to deal with anyone right now, it was the immediate necessity of drinking a liter of water. My mouth is so parched, if I don't get bottled water from the kitchen I'm going to turn into a fucking sand dune.

  I head downstairs, tucking my phone in the pocket of my gray sweatpants. It doesn't matter to me that I'm shirtless with my favorite pair of comfortable pants slung low on my hips. I glance sideways at Bishop who raises a bushy white eyebrow at my attire or lack thereof. As many times as I have had to stride down these halls wearing starched shirts under many ostentatious layers, I don't care if anyone has a problem with how I look at the moment. Even royalty is allowed to have off days.

  I groan as I pull open the door to the industrial-sized refrigerator, my muscles ache from sleeping wrong. Grabbing a water and an apple from the fruit basket, I take a seat at the staff's table, glad to see that I have a little piece of my home to myself at the moment.

  I had only a moment's respite. Soon the sounds coming from the kitchen, the high pitch of blenders, kettles whistling, heaving oven doors slamming and stainless steel kettle drums going off like gongs.

  What I need now is a good distraction--something physical that I can touch. Whiskey isn't enough to drown out the sway of Cyndi's hips when she made her quick getaway in her bikini.

  Bastian comes barreling through the double doors leading to the kitchen. He gives me a smile and then comes to a stop.

  "You look like shit."

  "Remarkable. That's exactly how I feel too."

  "Let me fix you a bloody Mary."

  I don't protest, partly because it takes too much effort to talk and mostly because it feels like someone's nailing a wooden sign to the top of my head. My hangover is taking a turn for the worse.

  Bastian slides a glass of red juice, blood from my forehead presumably, with a length of celery standing in for a swizzle stick.

  "Bless you," I say.

  "What are you going as, for the Masquerade ball tonight?

  "What?" I almost choke as I swallow. For a moment, I can't figure out what he has said. He could have said I'm due to speak before the Congress of Peers in fifteen minutes. He could have said there is to be a ball tonight. A ball tonight. I reluctantly wrack my brain for the answer to his riddle before it hits me. "The Ball?"I groan to realize it was last night, at dinner.

  It explained the noises coming from the kitchen.

  "Of course. A wicked night for all, my friend. Prince Rupert allowed me to pick the theme. Do you have a costume?"

  Cyndi's face appears before my eyes yet again. I get an image of her dressed head to toe in tight black leather and I shut them, determined to get that image out of my head.

  "Yes."

  "Good, it's about damn time, Petros. You need to lighten up." Bastian rubs a hand over his mouth and looks around the kitchen. "The sisters are all going to attend the ball, aren't they?"

  "Why should
you care? I don't think this is the kind of event they would appreciate. It can easily get out of control." Even as I say those words, I picture Dora going all out. Tori hanging back and watching. I can't even imagine Cyndi at a ball.

  "Have you met all the girls yet?"

  "They all ran into me."

  "How was it?"

  "I'm surprised I don't have bruises."

  Bastian laughs. "It couldn't have been that bad."

  "I suggest reserving judgement until you meet them for yourself."

  "Is King Cod feeling like a fish out of water?"

  "Not only am I out of water, I'm dangling by the hook."

  "I guess I know another dish I'm making tonight. Cod aspic."

  "Very funny. I plan to have a good time and not worry about anything." I say without enthusiasm.

  "Word is that Everyone is excited to meet your palace guests, since seeing them on the news. They are delighted there is new blood around here."

  I sit up, my head is on fire at what he's implying. "I'm sure they are delighted." New blood for my friends to sink their teeth into, for them to impress with their money and power.

  I can picture it now. Dora and Toni, their eyes wide as they take in the ball. But Cyndi would never stand for any of it. I can see her turning her pretty nose up at the whole thing. She would disapprove.

  "Best be on my way. I have a costume to design. Thanks for the help with my hangover." I don't want Bastian to know how much this news distresses me.

  My headache is gone and is replaced by anger. I'll be damned if I let any of our female guests get under my skin. The last thing I want is to deal with Cyndi's holier-than-thou attitude.

  There will be plenty of females to distract myself with. I desperately need to let off some steam and behave like a normal man. Wearing a costume and mask might give me the privacy I crave.