by Sally Laces
A servant - speaking to me without permission.
“Your Grace,” Ellory says, voice barely quavering. “If I may, I would like to help you with your makeup and accessories. If I may.”
She technically asked permission - twice. Even so, this is a grave breach of servant decorum.
I love it.
I turn back to her as slowly as I can, feeling too giddy to help milking my vaunted status for all its worth. Ellory keeps her chin high and her hands behind her back in the servant’s pose.
“Makeup?” I ask, putting two fingers on my powdered cheek. “Do you think I need any?” I tease.
She shakes her head, but only once. “Not in general, your Grace. I am aware…” She clears her throat. “When I worked in Dominar, I learned a bit about how they wore their makeup. The women, and the men.”
“Interesting.” I hadn’t heard anything of the sort. Then again, Dominar always has been a rather secretive nation. They haven’t opened themselves up to globalization and capitalist freedom the way we Femnosi have. “Go on.”
Ellory’s posture relaxes slightly, her shoulders sliding back as her arms move to her sides. “I have some jewelry I bought in Dominar that you can wear. It’s not as nice as your crown jewels, of course, but if you’d like -”
“Oh, yes!” I nearly drop my resari in excitement. The hem brushes dangerously close to the carpet before I jerk it back up. “I mean, yes. That would be appropriate.”
The corner of Ellory’s mouth twitches downward. “I, um, bought them as gifts for myself…”
“Yes?”
“I just want to make sure, if I can, um, if it’s okay to have them back later…”
I wave my hand in the air. “Oh, Ellory, of course. I told you, we’re friends now!”
Ellory smiles at me though I can see it’s taking some of her willpower to do so. I know very well that most friendships don’t have an employment contract and a crown between them. Yet it’s the best I can offer, and the best I can get.
I’ll do my damndest, though I won’t admit I forgot Ellory would need her jewelry back. I’ll have to get my own at some point - just another task to add to the pre-wedding list.
“Shall I go fetch it then, your Grace?” She asks, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.
“Of course, Ellory. But please -" I hold the resari up to my slender chest. “Call me Anya.”
Chapter 3
Toras
A small army of castle servants and local press coagulate around my step-mother and I as we make our way to the castle courtyard. They seem to peel off the walls as we navigate down centuries-old stone hallways on our way toward the historic meeting point.
“NO CAMERAS,” barks a Femnosi guard, stomping forward to snatch the smartphone out of some journalist’s hand. The portly, balding man opens his mouth to protest; one hard look from under the furred helmet of the Femnosi guard turns his protest into a silent pout.
He shouldn’t act so upset. Back in Dominar they would have smashed his phone unless I ordered them otherwise (I wouldn’t). The rules are clear - no cameras or recording devices while the two royals first meet. The journalists are only here to report that I, Toras of Dominar, and Prince Anya of Femnos exist, have met, and are on our way to getting married.
A crowd of ten becomes twenty, then blossoms to almost thirty people before we get to the courtyard gates. Two guards in royal Femnos armor, tinted a salmon color (more like pink) stand with their lances in both hands, guarding the doors.
“The Prince of Dominar,” booms the guard with the confiscated cellphone, “requests entrance into -“
“Oh, one second,” I spout. All eyes turn and I can tell baldy wishes he has his camera. The look on my step-mother’s face is worth a Pulitzer. Her eyes bulge in fury and her mouth twists into a scowl. Can you blame her? I just interrupted the first of many royal traditions. She’ll have my head for this later.
Worth it.
“Mother,” I say sweetly, turning to her. “We forgot to fetch my most trusted servant.”
Her nostrils flare to the size of salt shakers. “We’ll send someone to fetch him,” she grinds out.
“Oh, I’d hate to be a bother. Would one of you kindly direct me to the servant’s quarters, please?” I turn toward the confused guards and Femnosi servants, all standing surrounding me with perplexed expressions.
“Sooner rather than later, if you would. My, ahem, spouse-to-be is waiting.”
An elderly man in a black suit shuffles forward out of the crowd. Leave it to the old-timers to know what to do when things don’t go as planned. “I’d be happy to escort you, your grace,” he says, in a voice I can only describe as ‘old.’
“Thank you. But please - call me Toras.”
He says nothing, knowing better than to call a royal by his first name, even when asked. It’s always a trick.
There’s only one servant who gets away with calling me by my real name, and we’re going to find him right now. The ancient butler guides me back out of the stone hallway we came through, then turns toward a small door I missed the first time. He slides his hand up the dark wood and exposes a hidden panel where a door handle lies. Pressing forward, we enter a dimly-lit narrow hallway, unable to even walk side by side. There are no candelabras and oil paintings lining the walls here like there were in the previous stone hallways.
The servants, I realize, have their own passages behind the main halls. They’re hidden away from the royals and courtiers when not in service. Back in Dominar we’re not as elegant. Our castles are simpler in both design and decoration. We have fewer servants and the ones we do employ live near our bedchambers.
What other changes, I wonder, will this new life of mine hold.
At the end of the narrow hallway the path stretches in two directions. It’s like a hotel corridor, or perhaps that of a cruise ship given how closely spaced the doors are. The rooms must be small.
"Shall I enquire as to your subordinate's current abode, Your Majesty?"
Subordinate. Isaac's going to love that one.
In the few moments the butler and I spend standing without speaking I suss out the location of my 'subordinate.' He's easy to find. Just listen for the only door blaring electronic music at a not-quite-deafening voluem.
The sound of the rolling electronic drums and gated reverb along with a purely 80s baseline stand out entirely from the dour surroundings. The butler's wrinkled upper lip twitches slightly in distaste. As long as Isaac hasn't been playing the music all night, interrupting the sleep of the tireless crew who keep this castle running, I'm afraid I can't share the butler's sentiment. Any sign of outside culture and actual joy in castle life is more than welcome as far as I’m concerned- which is exactly why I let Isaac, my best friend of the past 15 years, play double duty as my personal assistant. It's the only way to allow him to travel with me wherever I go.
I march straight up to Isaac's door and pound on the cheap wood until the synth volume drops. Isaac mutters something to himself or perhaps to me. I knock again, even louder this time.
"DUDE, WHAT?"
I have no idea if he knows it's me or if that's just how he talks to the officials who showed him to his room.
"Hey, subordinate," I growl with mock anger. "Get your ass out here, I'm not paying you to play video games."
The volume of the music drops entirely. "I'm not playing - hang on, one sec."
Less than one second later, the door to the servant's room flies open. Isaac stands before me, his blonde hair wet and swept back, his blue eyes cleared of last night's drinking binge, and his arms folded across his chest.
"Whatcha need King?" He asks.
I try not to look down. His torso is completely bare and I know damn well, without even looking...
"Where are your pants, Isaac."
He uncrosses his arms. "Is that a royal order? You know I prefer to remain comfortable in my spacious quarters."
I poke my head into the room. It's even smaller h
ere than it looked from the outside. He's got a single round window about 3 inches in diameter over a small sink. A double-bed is built into the corner of the room. If the castle designers hadn't built a stall around the toilet this place would look exactly like a prison cell.
"Doesn't even seem like you have room to get dressed," I murmur, glancing down at his well-worn travel bag in at the foot of the bed. It lies open with his shirts, pants, and underwear strewn about the floor like a bricolage carpet.
"Yeah, no shit. The other employees get changed in a room down the hall. Of course, I'm not invited, being a foreigner and all."
I wonder how he found out about that rule. The way Isaac moves around his small room, picking up a long-sleeve striped button up off the floor with a quick snatch, it almost seems like he's embarrassed. Not of his nudity, of course, but of being treated like less than a servant in this Femnosi castle.
"I'll make sure you get a different room," I assure him, averting my eyes when he plops onto the bed to pull his boxers up. "One closer to me."
"My hero," he coos with a grin. "What are you doing down here, anyway? I thought the dinner wasn't till six."
"They want me to meet my br- my spouse beforehand."
Isaac brushes his hand around the floor until he finds a pair of socks. They're mismatched, but I say nothing. "And I need to be there for that?"
"I'd like it if you would. They're bringing guards, journalists, castle staff. A butler," I add, glancing down the hall where the old man waits patiently by the entry door out of earshot. "Annabelle and I are outnumbered."
"That woman could face down an invading horde without breaking a sweat, Toras."
"Fair enough. All I'm saying is - I need you there."
Isaac stands up on his socked feet and slaps his palm down on my shoulder. "Whatever you need, bro. I've gotta be good for something besides pouring your tequila shots, right?"
I muster my best smile. Isaac and I have partied in all the hottest spots - Ibiza, NYC, Bangkok, Tokyo. I've heard Femnos has a happening nightlife but we’ll see none of it. That part of my life is over. It'd be bittersweet if I weren't being forced to marry... him.
"You've been a great friend, Isaac," I reply, suddenly feeling painfully nostalgic for a time I'll never get back. I suppose there'll be time to wonder if I lived my 20s to their fullest. For now, I need to handle this next chapter of my life as best I can.
Isaac searches my face for a moment. "Anything you need, okay?"
I tap my hand on top of his, prompting him to let go of my shoulder. Things are getting a tad too emotional at the moment and I'm trying to keep a stoic visage today - and, probably, for the rest of my life.
"Seriously man," he adds. "Just let me know. I'm a pretty shitty assistant but I can try my best."
"You're good. Just one thing?"
"Anything bro."
"Zip up your fly."
Isaac glances down at his chinos.
"I kind of like the breeze."
We share a laugh. From down the hall the butler clears his throat, and the moment for laughter ends.
Time to meet my spouse.
Chapter 4
Anya
"This is where the first Femnosi princess met her Dominari husband, way, way back in 1791!"
"It's quite beautiful, your grace."
It certainly is. The ornate tile flooring stretches from one end of the courtyard to the other, surrounded on all sides by various species of trees, some as old as the modern Kingdom itself. On the left, Femnosi trees with slender trunks curve toward the sky while on the right Dominari foliage gifted by various Sultans, Kings, and dignitaries stand proud and thick. The courtyard lacks the scent of the royal garden where I‘ll wed, yet it more than makes up in breezy space and fresh sunlight. Ellory and I avail ourselves of the humble luxury while we wait for the others to arrive.
I jolt up from the bench we've been sitting on for the past 10 minutes. I feel like I've had three Femnosi espressos back-to-back-to-back. My whole body thrums with a nervous energy. Anytime now, from the other side of the courtyard, my fiancé will appear with his retinue, and we'll greet each other in the traditional method of cultural exchange dating back over two centuries.
I pace, stopping short of the imaginary line dividing the two halves of the courtyard before turning and hurrying back to the bench.
"Of course, the FIRST Femnosi princess to marry a Dominari Sultan did so in their Kingdom. Do you know the tale of Princess Amber the First?"
"Only loosely, your Grace. I'm afraid my knowledge of history is not quite up to par."
I wave a hand in the air, the golden bangle she let me borrow jangling while I dismiss her self-deprecation. "The official story is merely one of many. Some say Princess Amber didn't begin life as a girl at all."
"In truth, your Grace?"
"Yes!" I lean toward Ellory conspiratorially, hands on my hips. "In fact, some people say -"
We both draw in a breath at the sound of a horn. It's a low, ominous note, most likely blown by an experienced flautist through a Dominari pipe. Ellory launches onto her feet so quickly that she almost stumbles before I grab her around the hips and set her right.
"I really shouldn't be here, your Grace," she whimpers, attempting one last time to free herself from my side.
"Come now, Ellory, I want you here," I whisper quickly.
She's right anyway. When a Femnosi princess greets her Dominari husband-to-be in the castle courtyard she is expected to meet him alone. She shows her vulnerability and acceptance by standing solo in front of the Dominari himself along with whatever and whoever he wishes to bring with him. It's a show of trust and acceptance, obedience and duty.
Yes, Ellory shouldn't be here - technically. Technically, I'm supposed to be a girl, but that's already gone by the wayside. I have no sisters and my brother the King already married a woman from Ilkos to strengthen our naval trading rights with her realm. Custom dictates a marriage between Femnos and Dominar; I’m the only unmarried royal, so it‘s my duty to put the needs of country ahead of unwritten tradition, whether it‘s marrying a man or bringing my handmaiden to the courtyard. I like having her by my side. Without her, I'd probably have melted into a puddle of nerves on the priceless tile floor.
The first two through the awning are guards in full armor and helmet. Femnosi guards, I realize, not Dominari. The next through are Femnosi servants in their typical regalia. Two or three journalists scamper to the side walls, getting as close as the guards will allow with their notebooks and pens at the ready. I fold my hands over my crotch and try to stand as still as possible. These are not the men and women I've come here to see.
I'm here for him, and only him, for the rest of my wonderful life.
There's a break in the action while the Femnosi guards and servants find their places on our side of the courtroom, trundling across the tile and grass. One guard accidentally brushes the elbow of his armor against a tree trunk, leaving a small scratch against a Femnosi palm tree. I hide my wince and remind myself to check on the poor plant later.
The next two people through are an older woman and a man of just over six feet. My heart begins to rise in my chest, but falls quickly once I realize it is not my husband. I've seen Toras in pictures and videos before. He has dark hair and green eyes; this man is blonde with blue eyes. He's the one playing the Dominari flute, still carrying that one long note with a bit of mirth in his eyes until the woman - the Queen Regent, Prince Toras' stepmother - slaps his palm lightly with a fierce grimace.
The blonde man holds the flute by his side with a bit of a blush as they both walk toward me. The Queen composes herself almost inhumanly quick, turning her look of disapproval into a warm yet piercing smile.
"Greetings, Prince Anya of Femnos. I am Annabelle, Queen of Dominar." Her lilting, elegant voice hypnotizes me - and Ellory, who gazes up at the woman in awe. Ellory's an inch or two shorter than me, and in her flat shoes she's several inches shorter than the Queen. I went with a
pair of traditional Dominari sandals on my feet; now I'm wishing I had something with more lift.
I nod without a sound, and the Queen's smile twitches upward a fraction. She knows better than I do the traditions of Dominari-Femnosi greeting. As the spouse-to-be it would be improper to speak to her or any Dominari before I meet my husband. It's the same reason I try not to look at the blonde man with the flute standing beside her as he rocks back and forth on his toes.
A few long seconds pass, a cool spring breeze wafting in from the open air, the flute letting out a tinny noise from the wind's subtle blow. Soon footfalls sound in the adjoining hallway, and everyone in the courtyard become as immobile as the statues hiding in the arcades behind the trees.
"May I present to you," Says the Queen, lifting a long, tanned arm behind her, "Prince Toras of Dominar, Second of his name, future King of the realm!"
Her voice carries above the sound of his firm footfalls and the hushed whispers of the observers. I reach out to hold Ellory's hand, needing something to stop me from fainting. Yet I pull my arm back to my side, knowing the only support I need is right in front of me.
Him. My husband. Stepping toward me. His wild black locks and piercing jade eyes are even more vibrant than they are in the countless photographs taken of him throughout the years. In real-life he is an imposing figure, tall, fit, packed into a bespoke suit and moving toward me, closer by the moment. Yet he says nothing.
Perhaps this is one of the traditions I missed. I don't mind being the first to speak.
"Prince Toras," I say, my voice tight and high yet without a quavering note. I've practiced this little speech dozens of times alone in my chambers. Hundreds, if you count my childhood fantasizing. "Welcome to my realm. I am honored to have you here... and to be your spouse."
"Yeah," he replies. "That's... something."
I nod politely, unsure of his response. All I do know is he's handsome.
Unbearably handsome.
They don't make men like him in Femnos. Tall and broad and olive-skinned with rich black curly hair I just want to run my fingers through, almond-shaped dark green eyes that could pierce rocks and burly arms that could hurl them. His charcoal suit is fitted for his frame and sits in a broader cut than our slim Femnosi style. He wears no tie - just a button-up shirt with the top button undone, exposing more of that curled black hair.