Rich Girl

by Mary E. Twomey

  I’d been instructed by Demi and Rigby to stare straight ahead with a bland expression on my face. Apparently smiling would upset Morgan, and was thought to be a weakness on the part of the royal in these grand public situations. It was just as well. I was too nervous to smile anyways. My hands gripped the golden armrests, my fingers clutching the claw-like grooves that had been engraved to look both menacing and regal.

  Morgan wore a crown so thick, tall and heavy, it was a wonder her neck could hold it up. The spires jutted out nearly an entire foot, and were crusted with diamonds and jewels of every color. Her usual stone of preference was the ruby, hence the signature red color of her banner, the guards’ uniforms, and our dresses. Her crown made a statement, wearing the jewels of all the provinces to declare herself without having to come out and say it. She was the Queen of Avalon, a notch above the sisters she’d stolen land and power from. Her expression was fierce, ignoring the civilians who whispered beyond the row of emotionless guards lining the platform we were positioned atop. On Morgan’s other side was an empty throne meant to represent my father, who was gone, but not.

  The other royals led their people, and the throngs of civilians grew by the minute. There had been plenty of space that morning in the vast prairie, but now I wondered what might happen if someone sneezed wrong.

  On the sides of the wide expanse of green were smaller platforms – eight of them – one to represent the rest of the provinces. Though some had been completely absorbed by Province 1, the illusion that their failed regions were somewhat represented was an offering to the people who clung to their heritage. Really, it served as a grim reminder that Provinces 4, 6, 7, and 8 were no more, and had been absorbed by Morgan. Lot was standing proudly at the fifth platform, his blue cape gently flapping behind him, making him look like Duke Ken Doll in the flesh. He shot me a sweet little smirk, which I nodded at, since I wasn’t allowed to smile. He seemed to understand, and turned his attention out to the crowd, who genuinely seemed to love him.

  My gaze kept shooting towards Province 9’s platform, my exhale audible when Lane finally rode in with Draper and Reyn, and took her seat on her smaller, but still beautiful golden throne. I wanted to run to her, to throw my arms around my best girlfriend and beg her to run away with me. I wanted to make cookies with her, paint each other’s toenails and talk about nothing and everything until we had no more words left – a thing we had not yet attained, though not for lack of trying.

  The whispers gave way to rude pointing and a mixture of jeers and cheers at Lane defying Morgan so openly, making off with her daughter in the dead of night. Though Lane had been pardoned when the letter bearing my dad’s seal surfaced, stating that he’d given permission for Lane to take me away, the scandal was still a stench in the air. She moved up onto the platform nearest our grand stage, on the left side. The provinces seemed to start at us, and moved counterclockwise from the lowest number to the last. At least that meant Lane was closer to me.

  The third scandal of the day (behind me being alive and well, and then Lane reclaiming her throne) was when Roland rode in on a horse, his chin in the air and a look of “come and friggin’ get it” on his face. He didn’t bother with a smile to the people, but rode his horse right to the platform, dismounting on the raised spot earmarked for the fallen Province 4.

  Roland didn’t wait for Morgan to permit him to speak, but raised his arms high in triumph. “People of Avalon, I’ve come back to you this day, ready to reclaim the throne of Province 4. All you who are proud of where you came from, return to me this day! I’ve come to bring you back to a land that is bursting with life, waiting for its sons and daughters to return to its hills.” He had an unadorned gold crown on his head and his fist in the air. “Province 4, today I’ve come to call you home!”

  Morgan was a live wire beside me, her face composed but taut with fury she’d learned to control. She stood, and the people who had been flocking to Roland paused at her impending speech. “How is it you’ve come back from the Forgotten Forest, Duke Roland? You abandoned your people long ago, but now you show up, eager to take them to a devastated land? I’ve cared for your people – took them under my wing when you abandoned them. How is it you expect them to return to a shepherd who walked out on his sheep?”

  “You ran me out of Avalon once, Morgan, but never again. My people know my quality. They know I would not abandon them unless I was forced out.”

  “What you’re suggesting requires proof, of which you have none. Clearly you were hiding like a coward elsewhere in Avalon. Clearly you didn’t get on the Cheval Mallet, or you wouldn’t be returned to us.”

  I prayed Roland wouldn’t rat me out, my fervent worry interrupted by a commotion coming from the empty platform from Province 8. There, amid gasps and shouts of confusion was Aunt Avril, stepping up onto the rise from her horse so she could glare out at her sister. Lane’s platform was positioned between her two sisters, and her head whipped between the two, clear concern marring her proper smile.

  Aunt Avril wasted no time backing up Roland. “I can confirm that Duke Roland was driven into the Forgotten Forest by Morgan le Fae, because she did the same thing to me!”

  The crowd turned to her, gasping and pointing, afraid and amazed, as if they were seeing a ghost. Avril was thought to be dead, but there she stood, soaking in the scandal of being brought back to her people.

  Roland was a jaggoff, for sure, but on his platform, he looked regal and ready to rule the province he’d inherited. His dimpled chin creased when he scowled. “Duchess Avril and I have come back to reclaim our thrones. Morgan le Fae chased us away from you all, but we’ve returned, ready to welcome you all home.” His face broke into a smile of triumph. “Duchess Avril, Duchess Elaine and I are in possession of three of the lost Jewels of Good Fortune, so do not be afraid to return to the land of your childhood. It will always be there to welcome you with the open arms Avalon was once known for.”

  “Province 8, return to your duchess!” Avril stood tall, her face fierce with pride at the scandal of going to the Forgotten Forest, and returning with a crown. My fingers itched with the desire to knock her flat out for stealing the jewels I’d rescued; I didn’t like her platform being so close to Lane’s. Birds flew overhead, circling and asking me if they should attack. I held my tongue, but was tempted to let my minions loose.

  Lane carried herself as she always had – with poise, a “deal with it” attitude, and her chin raised to fend off whatever came her way. She was glorious in her flowing emerald gown, a tasteful silver crown on her head.

  Of all the people I’d ever known, Lane deserved a crown most of all. She lifted her arms high and called to the crowd. “People of Province 9, I come to you today with my gemstone and all the love in my heart. If you wish it, my land is open to you. In fact…” She turned and met Morgan’s eyes, a calm smile firmly affixed in place. “Province 9 is open to anyone who is tired of living under the thumb of Morgan le Fae. All you who are troubled from the long years of waiting for King Urien to rise up and remind Avalon what was once great about Province 1 can come to my land until your beloved king is returned to you.”

  Morgan’s nostrils flared. “I cared for you all when your rulers abandoned you. I took you in and gave you food to eat and a place to water your flocks. Would you abandon your queen so easily?”

  My mouth fell open when Rousseau charged to the front, his fist high and a sneer on his hairy lips. “You taxed us until we had less than what we came to you with! Your soldiers pilfer our crops and take our daughters for themselves. You didn’t protect us, you corralled us, lining us up for the slaughter!” Spittle flew from his lips. “Well, not me! I’m going home!”

  The thick crowd didn’t really have room to shuffle around, but that’s exactly what they started to do. People tried to make room for each other, beelining toward the platforms for districts 4, 8 and 9.

  I remained motionless, suddenly scared that they might start rioting. I was positioned right next to
Patient Zero for all the drama. Morgan was fuming, but quickly plastered a benevolent expression on her face as the sea of people shifted below us. “You are all free to go wherever you wish. You were never my prisoners. I had hoped you would love Province 1 as I love her, but if you have grown ungrateful to the hand that fed you, I see no reason why I should sway you to stay. Province 1 deserves the best – those who truly love her and would fight for her. Do as you must. As your queen, I wish the newly reinstated provinces nothing but the best as you rebuild. I do not envy the long journey that lies ahead of you all.”

  She motioned for the trumpets to play a tune while the crowd reconfigured, everyone clambering to get to their lost ruler with gleeful grins and new hope in their eyes. It was a thing of pure beauty to watch those who had been resigned to living under Morgan light up and reclaim their lives.

  As the trumpets droned on, the whispers and pointing didn’t stop. I realized that some of the attention was directed at Draper, with furtive glances en masse cast over shoulders toward Duke Henri, who was stony-faced and fuming. It was then it dawned on me that Draper was wearing a silver crown on his head, his clothes regal, and an emerald cape to match Lane’s dress flowing off his shoulders. He was Duke Henri’s son that had been cast out. If anything, he should have been on Henri’s platform with his brother and sister, Damond and Gwen. Damond was staring at his older brother longingly next to his father, wearing the orange sash of Province 2.

  Lane didn’t wait for the assembly to be called to order, and stood in front of her throne, commanding a crowd as easily as she always had. The trumpets ceased as one, trained perfectly to obey any royal who had something to say. Her brown curls were spilling loose down her back, and her dainty features that matched mine shone out with rebellion only the youngest of nine daughters could get away with. “Draper of Province 2 was cast out long ago by his ungrateful father, Duke Henri. But since I’ve resumed my post as the Duchess of Province 9, Draper has been adopted into my family as my son.” Her voice rang out in triumph at the scandal.

  Despite the instructions I’d been given to remain stoic, I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. Draper had a parent who loved him again. My heart leaped in my chest at the wonderful news. In the sea of so many wrongs, that one shining moment was purely right.

  Lane stood next to her new son, with Reyn positioned behind her throne as a display of unity. “All of Avalon will recognize Draper’s new title as the proud and noble Prince of Province 9.”

  At least half the crowd bowed their heads in respect to Lane’s ruling, shocked but following procedure. The other half shot cagey glances over at Duke Henri, who said nothing, but turned red as a beet.

  I wanted to go to them, to place my familial allegiances where they belonged. Lane was my mother, and Draper was my brother. I didn’t belong next to Morgan, who sighed disparagingly whenever she looked at me. I belonged with the woman who’d held my hair back when I puked my guts out after we found out the hard way that Chen Li’s Best American Good Food Yum-Yum is the absolute worst place to acquire food poisoning.

  Demi seemed to sense my dilemma from where he stood at attention behind my throne. He whispered a calming, “Steady, now. The royals will stay after the ceremony to visit with each other. You’ll see Duchess Elaine soon enough.”

  Demi was my rock today, keeping calm while the introvert in me had a mini panic attack at being so thoroughly on display in such a ridiculous getup. Luckily I didn’t have to do or say anything (yet). Rigs broke it down for me when I’d been freaking out in my bedroom earlier that morning. The only thing I would have to do is collect the pledges from the eligible suitors, and then later I would have to swear my allegiance to Avalon when Morgan crowned me in front of the whole country.

  In front of the whole country.

  I took as deep a breath as my corset allowed when Morgan deemed that Avalon could withstand no more surprises. She stood and stepped forward, her mere presence quieting the entire country without a word necessary to make them fall in line.

  My eyes scanned the crowd for people I knew, while Morgan started her welcome speech. I’d heard her practicing it yesterday morning over breakfast; it was your standard politician-speak, so I didn’t feel any guilt tuning out. My gaze fell on Rousseau, who nodded serenely at me with a stony expression. He stood at the foot of the platform for Province 8. I’d never seen him dressed in his military gear, and tried not to stare rudely at the man who was so hairy, he could give Chewbacca a run for his shaving cream.

  Morgan’s speech started to gain passion, her volume building when she spoke of the joy she felt over me coming home to her. That was sure news to me. “My poor husband, your beloved King Urien, was growing weak of mind before his sickness took him. He convinced Duchess Elaine to take our Rosalie away to escape the wars that went on decades ago between our provinces. He did it to save me the heartbreak of watching one of my now deceased sisters slaughter my only daughter. Duchess Elaine kept your princess safe, and for that, she’s to be welcomed back with opened arms.”

  I met Lane’s eyes across the way and wished with everything in me that I could run to her, and away from Morgan’s lies.

  Morgan’s voice boomed out as she motioned to me. “And now, may I present to you, my daughter, the Lost Princess, Rosalie of the First and Greatest Province, returned to her people at last!”

  18

  My Very Own Husband

  I jolted in my seat when the crowd cheered as one, erupting in joyous shouts and loud “Huzzahs!” that made my heart bang in my panicked chest.

  Demi was offering his hand to me – for what? I couldn’t tell you. I took his hand and stood, moving to Morgan’s side. It was all I could do to keep my chin raised, as Lane had taught me to do when I wanted to hide. I caught Draper’s eye, who disregarded the “no smiling” rule and shot me a dimpled grin, knowing, as I did, that we’d both won the lottery being taken in by Lane.

  I felt a low seething directed at me, and it wasn’t from Duke Henri. I’d been avoiding the area I could feel Bastien was in (near the front of the crowd a stone’s throw from my throne. Not that I was keeping track). I hated that I knew where he was – that I could sense him without looking to verify he was watching me. I could feel his frown locked in place that Demi had touched my hand.

  Morgan went on about securing her kingdom through an heir, and that I was the one who could keep the legacy of Province 1 safe and untouched. I nearly choked on my heartbeat when she made the announcement I’d been warned was coming. “And now, eligible suitors can come and lay their pledges at her feet.”

  Instinctively, I backed away, letting out a miniscule noise of distress when several men with regal capes hanging off their shoulders moved out from the crowd made their way to me. Each one wore a look of purpose, determined to either make a good impression, or to get the offering over and done with.

  As I looked around, I noticed that the only other princess was Gwen, and she was still young, only sixteen or so. I remembered someone mentioning that she couldn’t sit on the throne, because she’d been adopted into the family, and not born into it. It was just me who was a female heir. Many were in search of someone in my position, each man determined not to marry below their station.

  My mouth fell open when I counted a dozen men making their way to me. The crowd was pointing at the candidates as they stalked to the main stage, and I heard a crier taking bets on who I’d pick.

  Me.

  Rosie Avalon, who couldn’t get a date to senior prom. The Humpback Whale, who’d been one of the guys for as long as I could remember. Remedial Rosie, who couldn’t read for crap, who was a joke to elementary schoolers everywhere. It would have been flattering, if the balance of the entire world didn’t feel completely off. It might have been thrilling, had I earned a lick of it. This was all due to a blip of genetics that tied me to the woman who couldn’t stand the sight of my face.

  Men I didn’t know approached Demi, who stood at attention on t
he edge of the stage, a shoebox-sized gold coffer outstretched. One by one, each man rested something inside – a ring, a gold bracelet, a jeweled necklace. It was their pledge that, if chosen, a wedding ring and a life of luxury would be provided.

  I didn’t know the first five men who put their tokens in Demi’s box. Like, had never seen them before in my life. The ages ranged from maybe eighteen to late fifties. After they dropped their token in the box, they made their way across the stage to kiss my hand. I could tell which province each segment of the crowd was loyal to when the people cheered at the potential their hometown heroes had of bringing me back to their land.

  The next man was a familiar face, but not one I wanted to see in this parade. Duke Lot had always been kind to me, and once upon another time, I’d considered giving him my first kiss for a fleeting minute. He was kind in that dashing gentleman way I knew I didn’t deserve. He dropped a shimmering necklace in the box and strolled across the stage, his shoulders back and a pleasant fondness on his face when our eyes met. He bowed his head in front of me, shooting me a charming grin when his back was turned to the crowd. “It’s a delight to see you again, Rosie. Do consider my offer. I would be good to you.”

  I met his eyes with gratitude that at least there was one friendly face. I didn’t have to marry a stranger, if worse came to worst. A shadow fell over my heart as I took in his kind eyes, his blond hair that fell slightly over his forehead, and the gentle smile he wore for me. Lot deserved better than me. He deserved a woman who wanted to marry him because she had buckets of adoration in her heart for him, and chose his smile above all others. I cared about his happiness, so I knew that I couldn’t be selfish with him. “You’re a good man, Lot. Please always be this way. Always be the best man in the crowd.”