Stroke of Midnight: Future Fairytales

by Dawn, Stella

  "So I have gathered."

  Encouraged, Bastian continues. "Dora came down and ate delicately. Two poached eggs and toast fingers. She enjoys eating like a princess. I think she and the Prince will make each other very happy."

  I nod and and lift out my palms for him to continue.

  "I, uh, saw, uh Tori for only a moment. She came down and seemed very out of sorts. I was ready to give her anything but she only wanted toast and juice."

  I frown. Bastian loves to feed people, its the source of his greatest enjoyment. Perhaps he is distressed that no one asked him to prepare a special meal.

  "So, you saw Gwendolyn, Dora and Tori. Anyone else?"

  Now it was Bastian's turn to raise his eyebrows and give me a careful look. I could tell he was remembering my state of undress when I ordered him out of the bushes early this morning. Why had he been hiding? He has questions as well, so I continue brusquely, "Well, there are other members of the family. What about Dowager Maggie, Charlotte and oh, uh, Cyndi?"

  "The Dowager took her breakfast at her usual time. Read the paper and had a large pot of tea. She dined alone, ahead of the others. Cyndi came down soon after the Dowager had left. She stole the tea pot and the linens holding the remaining pastries. I would have been perplexed at the absence of these items but I clearly saw her from the backside as she darted through the door heading back upstairs. She acted quite the burglar."

  Interesting news. Why was she so intent upon not being seen? Why was she sneaking around? I should think she would feel as though she has rights to being here. Having bed the King often changes a woman's demeanor. Adding thoughts of status and privilege. This does not sound anything like that.

  "I believe I have fallen in love." Bastian's declaration fells me like a sword.

  "Not you. You are the incorrigible bachelor. You go through women like you consume ingredients. You always cook something amazing after having sex. Come to think of it, there are no tantalizing smells. You haven't even started dinner. What is wrong with you?"

  "I've just told you. I have fallen in love. The odd thing of it is, I cannot think of what to make. I have never been at a loss for ideas. I just fed the multitudes and I have ingredients to make anything in this world but I can't settle on anything other than roasted swan. They are so beautiful that I could not bear to kill and pluck and roast such a beautiful bird."

  "Yes, that would be foul to look outside at our lake and discover one swan missing. We couldn't have that. Perhaps you can compromise, Cygnus hen or Delta Ohr Poulet."

  "Oh, there can be no compromise. I am a man of passion and I must answer to my heart. What can I do?"

  "Well, I guess we can all suffer for a few days until you sort yourself out." I pat him on the back.

  "I don't need your consolation. I am brimming, full of life and optimism. I pity you the more. You will never see your way to happiness, believing your heart is made of stone and your will is impervious."

  "My will is imperial, that is all. As for my heart, it beats away just fine."

  "Even so, I pity you, Petros."

  I turn on my heel. If he wasn't my oldest and most genuine friend I would have made him take that back. Pity. Me? The man was clearly out of sorts. I hoped he fell out of love soon. Two men in the palace in love was too much to bear. These were dangerous times.

  26

  Petros

  It's almost as if she's hiding from me.

  I'm about to give up when I catch a glimpse of her fine form walking down the corridor that leads to my library.

  "Hey," I call out to her, bridging the gap between us. "I've been looking for you."

  "Mm-hmm," she says, a small paperback in her hand. As if I'm not even standing here trying to hold a conversation with her.

  Cyndi pulls open the door to my library and walks inside, trailing her fingers down one of the shelves before placing the book back where it goes.

  "How do you know where to put that? I have a precise system, and I'm not sure that --"

  Cyndi says, "It goes chronological, then by author, then alphabetical. So all of the more ancient texts are back this way," she says pointing across the room, "and your modern texts end right here at the end of the shelves. It's really not all that complicated."

  I breathe in a light scent of lavender. She is wearing a different perfume and it wafts toward me. Is this how it's always going to be? That every time I'm near her all I want to do is touch her, feel her writhing under my body?

  "You catch on quickly. Anyway, about last night. That was amazing, wouldn't you say?" Cyndi walks past me back out into the corridor.

  My smile quickly fades. "Are you really not going to say anything?"

  She pauses for a moment, facing away from me before sighing. "There's nothing to say."

  "You could at least acknowledge me." I come off much more bitter than I intend to.

  "It can never happen again, King Petros. Let me acknowledge that."

  I pretend that she doesn't cut right through me. It sounds inevitable anyway. Regardless of what I think or feel.

  She spins around, her eyes full of longing, but her voice sounds pained. "We need to focus on making sure that this wedding goes well. It doesn't matter what you think about my being here in the first place. All that matters is that Prince Rupert and Dora are happy. At least we can agree on that. Right?"

  I know she's right, and underneath it I know she only wants what's best for Dora, which I can understand. But I despise being tossed aside.

  "Ah, love them and leave them, is that your motto? I can't say that I'm exactly surprised." The bitterness floods through my words despite my attempt to hold it back. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't be so affected, I know. But still, there it is.

  A look of disgust and anger crosses her face. I don't care if I'm making her uncomfortable. "No one can ever know about last night," she whispers.

  I fold my arms across my chest and force out a laugh. "I should have known. I mean of course, I'll keep my mouth shut. As long as that's what matters most here."

  Cyndi opens her mouth to speak, but she promptly closes it, narrowing her gaze at me. "I wouldn't have expected you to take it personally."

  Not to take it personally? "Who says I'm taking this personally? All I wanted from you was a good fuck. And I got what I wanted." I want my words to sting her like hers do me. If I'm going to deal with the aftermath then so should she.

  It doesn't matter that I've been thinking about her nonstop since she kicked me out of her room this morning. Or that I've been thinking about her constantly since we first met. No, I suppose none of that matters at all.

  This right here is precisely why I've never believed in true love. When you can't even get past the first hump, both literally and figuratively, what's the use in trying?

  Cyndi grits her teeth, and even though I know I'm not supposed to care, I still feel like an absolute jerk when her eyes take on a shine under the lights above. "I'm so glad you got what you wanted, Your Highness. Not that you've ever have to worry about that, of course."

  "You can be assured I will not breathe a word of last night. Go ahead and enjoy the library. I have more pressing matters to attend to." I bow and turn quickly. My footsteps echo down the stairs. The palace feels hard and hollow, like the husk of my heart. .

  Shit. And I can't blame the woman, either. Not only have I just insulted her, but I've thrown in her face the fact that I do get whatever I want. It's not like it's a secret. What I've gathered about Cyndi is almost everything comes with a struggle.

  I groan and desperately wish there was a place for me to curl up and pull myself together. I have never felt this vulnerable. The realization should have made me angry but I mostly felt rotten. There's never been an occasion where I've felt this awful after a disagreement with anyone. The woman has an invisible hold on me. She pulls an invisible string and I say or do the wrong thing.

  Except last night. As bad as I feel, I wouldn't change the memories of last night. Her body and
her reaction to my touch, the electricity between us. I breathe in and remember Cyndi's vanilla scent.

  I tell myself to man up. I've never regretted the things I've said to other women. Or even other men for that matter. I am the King and I often must speak harsh and disappointing words. Even when I personally felt the judgement was wrong, it hadn't counted because I was only a man. I had to subordinate myself to be Delta Ohr's ruler. The King and custom sets the rules and traditions. Though Delta Ohr was modernizing slowly, our charm and our strength lay in staying true to the course.

  For the Prince to marry a commoner and a foreigner, was all right and good. Perhaps he was even doing his part to strengthen the blood of the aristocracy. There had been problems with the royal blood. A scarcity of females, a lack of bonding, general lack of trust. These issues I lived with were not outside the norm.

  I pride myself in keeping truth always before my eyes. This woman and I would never match. She is right. I knew the truth of her words when she said them. I lashed out in pain and wounded ego. Why did Cyndi bring out the man in me? But I saw how my harsh words crushed her. She lifted her chin and set her face into a mask of defiance. She looked glorious. Why can't I shut her out of my mind?

  I've never believed in telling myself lies. I’m starting to realize that maybe I actually do care about what Cyndi thinks of me. I don't know why. But I most definitely do.

  27

  Petros

  I don't know how I end up in my grandmother's suite of rooms, but I've been walking around my castle like a sad pathetic clown. I'm even more surprised to see my grandmother actually sitting at her desk doing her correspondence.

  But I don't think she is surprised at seeing me. Her door is ajar and I make the motions of knocking but before my hand connects, she looks up as though she has been waiting to see me. She gives me a wrinkly smile and her blue eyes intrude like lasers. "What an unexpected pleasure," she says.

  I can't remember the last time I asked my grandmother for advice. There have probably been so many occasions when I could have but didn't, and I suddenly find that sad. I take a seat across the desk from her and notice she keeps her own smaller throne in an alcove overlooking the gardens. She had been queen until my father took the throne. When my father died, she became Queen again, until I came of age.

  I am suddenly all adrift about where to begin. "A lot of things have been changing around here."

  She crinkles her eyes and sets her fountain pen aside. She smoothes over her papers and then gives me a very direct look. "That's quite true, they are. Are you unhappy?"

  "I wouldn't say that, it's just . . . Everything is different." I woke up in my room only to find it wasn't my room. I was wrapped in gold sheets, not green. There was a canopy above my head and next to me was my soon to be sister-in-law. I know I can't tell my grandmother any of this. I search through my mind to find anything that I can say to describe my utter confusion and disorientation. "I don't know if my reaction makes any sense." I run my fingers through my hair, shaking my head at myself. Who am I kidding? None of the things in my head make any damn sense right now.

  She regards me over her reading glasses carefully. "No, I think I do understand. You feel like the palace has been overrun by the girls, and it's been a long time since there has been anyone of the, ah, female persuasion living under this roof along with us. We've been in isolation far too long, my dear."

  Surprisingly she's not far from the truth. "It has been a long time. Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday that mother left Rupert and me. Then, our father passed away so soon afterward and we were in your care. It's been a decade, how can it feel like it just happened the other day?"

  Grandmother's voice softens and speaks slowly. "Time has a funny way of speeding up situations that feel endless, and stretching out other situations that only last a few moments."

  I recollect the moment Cyndi was standing next to me seated at my desk in the library. Her full lips and full curves all on display wearing only a bikini. I wanted to drag her down and make love to her on my desk. I blink to clear the thought.

  Grandmother thinks this conversation is about my mother and my father. "I still wake up angry at her," I admit. Somehow the usual wall I keep up between my feelings and my behavior, and even my sense of self, is crumbling. "Not sure whether I'm angrier that she left me or that I never got to ask her why."

  Grandmother sighs and reaches her hands across the desk. "Petros, you need to let that anger from the past go. At first, it was well deserved and even served to keep you strong during those early years. But your anger is a handicap now. You must let it go before it becomes the only thing your heart is able to hold."

  I pull back my hands and frown at her. I had bared my soul and my grandmother isn't patting me on the back and saying, "There, there."

  She watches my reaction and continues, "The secret to letting go is to forgive. You forgive her for not being able to be a good mother. You forgive yourself for holding onto this anger to avoid feeling pain. Allow yourself to feel empty for a time. It will be a big shift to let your heart forgive and open up."

  "She never told us why. She didn't love us enough."

  "Somehow, I get the feeling you are unable to see and deal with the present because of the past. Have you opened your heart to someone who now feels far away?"

  There she was. My elderly grandmother seated in silhouette. Lit from behind, her errant wisps of hair shine like a coronet of fire. The other features that I could clearly make out are her bright blue penetrating eyes. She could see right through me. When had she not? Perhaps that is why I come to seek her advice so seldom.

  My throat is tight, and I fight against feelings that I've repressed all these years.

  "I can see that you are in pain. You won't believe me when I tell you that this pain is a good thing."

  My thoughts slip naturally to Cyndi. The way her lovely brown eyes light up when she reads, the beautiful curves of her mouth as she dishes her thoughts on anything, unedited, unafraid to speak her truth. How she moaned my name just last night...

  "You are a good man with a great heart for his kingdom who, fortunately, so happens to be its King."

  A King who can't manage one of his subjects. Come to think of it, Cyndi isn't my subject. She is wholly outside of my kingdom. Literally. It is her sister who is to become one of our very own. The thought that I bed down my sister-in-law makes my confusion all the more confounding.

  The doors to the Dowager's suites burst open, and in comes eight year old, Char, dragging her pink rabbit by the ears. Her face is frightened, her wide set eyes brim with tears.

  "Oh sweet darling, what's wrong?" My grandmother beckons her with open arms.

  "I can't find Cyndi," she sniffles, hiding her face against my grandmother's shoulder when she spies me looking at her.

  "I think I might know where she is," I say. This news turns her head and her eyes give me a tentative assessment. Her mouth is twisted as she waits for me to explain.

  "I could take you to her?"

  I can see that she doesn't trust me, so I point down to her pink rabbit. "I like your rabbit. Does it have a name?"

  Charlotte looks at me as though she is going through the alternatives to actually speaking with me. Finally she says, "She's a girl and her name is Pinky."

  I laugh at her obvious name and point to the female rabbit. "Would you mind letting Pinky know that I like her name?" I don't quite know what's gotten into me, but suddenly it is my sole mission to make Charlotte feel better.

  Charlotte sits up. "You can tell her that yourself."

  Clearing my throat I take one of the rabbit's little pink paws in my hand. "Pinky, your name is quite lovely. Now would you mind telling Charlotte that I would be happy to help her find Cyndi, and if she comes with me, I also know where we can find some of Bastian's secret stash of cookies? As long as she can keep it a secret."

  Charlotte says, "I'm fine with keeping a secret. It's Pinky you have to worry abo
ut. Also, I will go with you but I have to warn you. If you aren't nice to either of us, Cyndi says she is going to beat you up."

  Grandmother and I laugh. I kneel down so that I look at Charlotte eye to eye. "Between you and me, I know well how Cyndi could beat me up. But I would never dream of being mean to either you or Pinky. You are far too sweet and I want you to be my friend."

  I still see some hesitation in her big brown eyes but she wiggles out of grandmother's arms and takes my hand in hers. "Lead the way. I want to find Cyndi first but Pinky wants a cookie."

  I could do worse than listen to grandmother's advice. With Charlotte's hand in mine, for the first time today my mood lifts. Baby steps. Being open. Beginning with forgiveness and kindness.

  28

  Cyndi

  After we get Pinky a couple of cookies, Charlotte and I climb to the tower.

  "I want to show you a magical library. It is full of mystery and power. Do you like books?"

  "Oh yes. I love it when Cyndi reads to me. I can read too but we don't have any children's books."

  "Then you are in for a treat. I have all of mine and all of Prince Rupert's and all of my father's and his father's and mother's before him. Get ready for a treasure chest of books. I'm sure we will find one for you and one for Pinky as well."

  I open the door and the library is filled with a golden soft light. Afternoon is the most magical time to read in the library. There, curled in my chair is Cyndi. Her hair is bathed in light, the curls stand out starkly against the sun. Half her face is cast in shadow.

  She startles when she sees that I have Charlotte with me. Charlotte rushes over and offers her a bit of Pinky's cookie. Cyndi wraps her in her arms and above Charlotte's head she gives me a quizzical look.

  "She couldn't find you. I had a good idea where you would be."