by M. L. Ryan
Drying my hair as I emerged from the bathroom, the towel prevented seeing the entire room. When someone unexpectedly cleared their throat, I leapt backward, slipped on a patch of wet tile, and landed on my ass. “Son of a bitch,” I snarled, my heart thumping wildly.
“I am sorry, Miss,” the young woman crouching beside me bleated. Her hands were clutched against her chest, panic etched upon her lovely face. “I never meant to startle you.”
“Just help me up,” I groaned. She did, apologizing even after I was standing. As I gingerly touched my aching butt, pain radiated throughout my lower back. “I hope I didn’t crack my tailbone,” I groaned, twisting around to get a glimpse of my backside in the mirror.
If she seemed unnerved before, my boneheaded comment clearly ramped up her anxiety. “Oh no,” she wailed, covering her face in her hands. “I have broken the prince’s intended!”
My discomfort subsided now that I was off the floor. “It’s probably just a bruise,” I stated, not certain it was true, but not wanting her to continue to freak out that my injuries were serious.
Her composure seemed to return quickly once I convinced her I likely hadn’t sustained permanent damage. “I am so very sorry,” she repeated, wiping a few stray tears from her cheeks. Pointing at my rear end, she asked, “May I ice it for you?”
I hadn’t considered my lack of clothing, what with getting scared shitless and keeling onto my keister, but now that she was staring at it, I blushed. I didn’t care so much that I was naked, but had I realized I wasn’t alone when exiting the shower, I’d never have belted out a rousing rendition of Pitbull’s Fireball.
“Uh, no thanks,” I replied, searching for something to cover myself. “I’m sure it will be fine.” I bent over to grab the towel, now crumpled near where I fell, and then felt something very cold on my butt.
“It is no trouble,” she said, readjusting her icy hand over the sorest spot.
Straightening, I wasn’t sure how to react to an unfamiliar woman palming my posterior. While the situation was undeniably awkward, I did feel better. Brings new meaning to the term handmaiden, I supposed.
“Who are you, and why were you in here?” I finally asked, wrapping the damp towel around my shoulders.
“My name is Myrjix. The protocol aid tasked me with attending you.”
“No offense, but shouldn’t you wait to be let in?”
She dropped her head, and even though her shoulder-length, wavy chestnut hair covered most of her face, I could still detect a slight flushing on her pale cheeks. “Yes, but when you didn’t answer, he assumed you were bathing. He said the prince’s fiancée should never be without an attendant, and told me to go in and…”
“Attend,” I finished. Glancing skyward, I shook my head. Pixie was an annoying jerk, but Myrjix was just following orders. I couldn’t be mad at her, although I was beginning to wonder why she was still clutching my ass.
“Okay,” I began, removing her hand as nonchalantly as one could when separating a stranger’s hand from one’s fanny, “No matter what Pixie-whatsits says, I’m not a fan of someone hovering over me. If I need something, and I can’t get it myself, I will let you know.”
Myrjix frowned. “I am supposed to provide for all your needs.”
“Well, I don’t have that many.”
“I am sorry you are displeased with me.” She sighed, turning her head away.
“I’m not unhappy with you; I’m pissed at my flippin’ PA for assuming I needed a chambermaid.”
Her lip began to quiver. Crap, I only made her feel worse. “Hey, the living ice pack was great,” I offered. “Really, there’s barely any pain now.” I rotated my hips and swung my arms to indicate how my condition had improved. “See, all better.”
“It is one of my gifts,” she said, wiping tears from her hazel eyes with her sleeve. “My mother says I have healing hands.”
“Shouldn’t you be using those gifts for something more important than waiting on me?”
“Actually, serving in the palace is an honor. Plus, I’m trying to make enough money to pay for advanced training.” She glanced at me expectantly. “I can’t lose this job, Your Highness. The pay is excellent, and I don’t want to embarrass my family by being sacked.”
“You are not getting fired,” I said, sighing. “But, let’s set some ground rules. You can be my assistant, but I don’t expect you to cater to my every whim. No hovering, no more crying, and under no circumstances are you to call me ‘Your Highness’.” Technically, I wasn’t anyone’s highness, as I had not yet married Alex. Even if we were hitched, the appellation was infuriating.
“I can do that,” she confirmed with a relieved smile. “How would you like me to address you, then?”
“My name is Hailey.”
Myrjix’s brows knitted together. “I might get in trouble if I use your name.”
I considered telling her she wouldn’t as long as I requested she call me that, but I worried I might not have the chops to override centuries of palace procedures. “Okay, use Miss, but only if we aren’t alone. When we are, then you can call me Hailey.”
She nodded, but didn’t appear convinced. “Oh, I almost forgot. This came from Prince Aldegrexynthor.”
Myrjix pulled a folded note from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to me. Purple wax, into which the royal insignia was pressed, secured the parchment-like paper from prying eyes. Very old school, I observed as I slipped my finger under the seal depicting a winged seal.
Carisa, forgive me, but I will not be able to have lunch with you today after all. My meetings have taken longer than anticipated. With luck, the never-ending parade of people who absolutely must speak with me will diminish soon. Love, A.
P.S. I will make it up to you later. Check the refrigerator in the bar.
Intrigued, I moved into the living area and opened the mini-fridge nestled under the black marble of the bar’s counter. In addition to the usual snacks and beverages provided daily, the middle shelf was now empty except for two new items: a bottle of expensive, artisanal tequila and a can of Reddi-wip. Alex must have had someone send them from home; both items clearly originated in the human dimension as Coursodon had neither tequila nor anything other than freshly whipped cream. The booze was clearly for me, but the dessert topping, well, that was for Alex to use on me. Visions of how we might utilize both items temporarily distracted me until Myrjix pulled me away from my private porn fest with a question.
“Would you like anything else, Your… uh, Hailey?”
Yeah, about two hours alone with Alex. “Nope, I’m good.” But now I need another—cold—shower. “You can go,” I said brightly.
She nodded and handed me a flat, metal oval about the size of a quarter. “If you need me, you can contact me using this.”
I stared at the thing in my hand and tried to imagine how I might summon her with what looked like a dog’s ID tag.
My confusion must have shown, because she pulled an identical one from her pocket. “I have one just like it. They are magically connected—if you grasp one tightly, it will make the other vibrate. See…” She fisted hers, and mine sprung to life.
“Cool,” I said, studying the quivering disc. “But why not just use a phone?” Technology in the Coursodon dimension was similar to that of the human dimension, except it ran with magical energy instead of electricity. People had the equivalent of cell phones here, but they wouldn’t work back home, and vice versa. Wrong kind of power, wrong kind of wireless.
“Some do, but the palace is imbued with just enough praseodymium to be protective without affecting most magic. Unfortunately, the power required for telephone service is quite sensitive, and is unreliable within the walls. Jyrgitsap,” she continued, pointing at my new, personal messenger, “have been used for centuries and are not as prone to malfunction. They work just fine.”
Praseodymium had magic-tamping properties and protected against anyone materializing in the middle of someone’s home or business. When
we battled Keem, we holed up at the Summer Palace, a completely misnamed, hulking, and dreary fortress with enough of the rare earth mineral to mess up arcane power far beyond preventing unauthorized entry.
“I guess it beats pulling an embroidered ribbon,” I remarked, recalling the antiquated method utilized for communication in the Summer Palace. “I’ll squeeze it if I need you.”
Once Myrjix left, I rifled through my closet for something to wear that didn’t make me look like a fifty-year-old spinster but wouldn’t cause some sort of etiquette disaster. I finally settled on a dark grey pantsuit, which might have bordered on 1970’s librarian had I not added my own bright pink blouse. Back in Tucson, arguably a casual kind of town, this outfit was dressy. Here, I had no damned idea. I just hoped it was appropriate for a repast in whatever room stood-up consorts ate the midday meal. I briefly considered squeezing for Myrjix, but I opted to find my own way. Better to keep my directional challenges to myself.
As I floundered around, one of the under butlers came up from behind, chastising me for wandering around the private areas of the palace. When I turned, he realized I wasn’t one of the employees and spent the five minutes it took to escort me to the dining room apologizing. The case of mistaken identity made me reconsider my wardrobe choice.
It turned out I didn’t have to eat alone. Tannis was there and already spooning something from the buffet onto her plate. The food looked great, but, as usual, there was enough for a small army.
“This is a hell of a lot of food,” I quipped, surveying the multiple bowls and chafing dishes. “Anyone else coming?”
“Try this one,” she advised, pointing to the concoction at the front of the line. “It’s much like a chopped salad, but with Drryxian sausage instead of ham. And, to answer your question, it’s just us. The kitchen staff is of the opinion that too much is better than not enough, which means they always plan for a crowd. Mother and Father are off doing whatever, and Xina is still keeping to her room. Too bad, the sausage is her favorite; she turned us on to it when she married Kyzal.” Tannis gazed wistfully at the salad. “The only food from her native land that any of us liked, actually. Anyway, if Alex hadn’t let me know he couldn’t make it, all this would have been just for you. I planned on dining elsewhere, so the two of you could be by yourselves for a change.”
Seemed like a waste, but without the queen, the meal was bound to be more relaxing. I didn’t worry about saying anything inappropriate with Tannis—she was as likely as I was to be impertinent. That was one of the things I liked best about her, just ahead of her ability to seem completely unaware of her astonishing beauty. She finished piling up her plate and took a seat at the end of the table. “What’s new with you?”
I chose a spot opposite hers and proceeded to rehash the morning’s events.
She chewed a crusty roll thoughtfully. “Ryxjat has always been irritating. Everyone, except Mother of course, loathes him. Frankly, you are better off dealing with this Pixie guy. From your description, he seems harmless, albeit aggravating in his own way. At least he won’t be whispering about you in my mother’s ear.”
“Is that what Ryxjat is doing?” I asked, putting my fork down on the plate. I suddenly regretted not being more compliant. Almost.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it specifically about you,” she answered, “That’s part of his job description. He keeps the queen informed about everyone. I swear he has spies all over the palace; he used to rat me out to my parents all the time when I was younger.” With a smirk, she added, “He made it extremely difficult to misbehave without getting caught.”
“Still, I should probably be nicer to him. Your mother doesn’t need any more ammunition to use against me.”
“Are you kidding? She likes you. If she didn’t, she never would have let Alex have Dyzopga for your engagement ring.
I glanced down at the behemoth resting on my finger. “It has a name?”
“Sure. It means, ‘sunlight glinting on the ocean on a bright summer day’.”
“One word translates into all that?”
Tannis grinned. “We have many words that mean something complex. My favorite is ‘iryxij,’ which is the act of pretending you aren’t there when someone comes to the door.”
I’d never have guessed Courso, with its reliance on x’s, j’s, z’s and y’s and unfathomable rules of sentence structure, would have such succinct words to describe multifaceted ideas. Completely different from German, which I studied for a single semester before giving up, stymied by grammar construction that was happy to string together bits to make single words stretch into absurdity. If I remembered correctly, it was the word, Siebentausendzweihundertvierundfünfzig,—7,254—that provoked me to throw in the towel.
“My protocol aid told me if Dyzopga was not on my person, I had to transfer it to some guardian for safekeeping. Is that true?”
“Technically, yes. However, I don’t call for the Wiqyrd dirthyxa unless I plan to leave the palace for an extended period without my jewels. Although, I hardly ever do,” she confessed, flipping her gorgeous flaxen waves behind her equally beautiful ears. Azure studs, the size of grapes, adorned her lobes.
“Wow,” I said, studying the cushion-cut stones. “Are those sapphires?”
“No, natural blue diamonds,” she answered, casually rolling the left sparkler with her fingers. “I received them when I turned forty-three. It’s a bit like a girl’s sweet sixteen in your dimension.”
For my sixteenth birthday, my parents gave me a purity band, with My True Love Will Wait etched on the surface, along with a pamphlet detailing how to say no to your boyfriend without losing him. The gift was particularly odd as I hadn’t yet been on a date, much less had a beau who might pressure me into having premarital relations. I used the brochure to shim a leg of my wobbly dresser, and the ring’s cheap metal plating gave me a rash on my finger that itched like a son of a bitch for two days straight. It ended up shoved in the back of a drawer in the same, previously unleveled highboy. It could have been worse; for her big day, my sister Sarah got a T-shirt with the words, Pet Your, written above a graphic of a fluffy kitty, and, Not Your Date, beneath it. The irony of the use of the particular animal was lost on everyone except the soon-to-go-to-hell Hailey. At least, that was what another sister, Teresa, called me when I pointed out a cat could also be called an alternative name with naughty connotations.
“They almost match your eyes,” I observed. Hers, like Kyzal’s, were a bit greener than Alex’s, which had a violet cast.
“I know. That is why my mother decided I should have them.” Tannis gazed at me intently. “I think there is a relatively low-key choker in the collection made with dark cognac diamonds. I will mention it to Alex; he should snag it for you. The stones will look fantastic with your eye color.”
“The story of my life. You get gems the color of the sky on a bright summer day, and I get brown,” I joked.
“I like your eyes. They are exotic and mysterious. I read somewhere that people look at blue eyes, but they look into brown ones.”
I smiled at the analogy. “Alex likes them too. And really, in the grand scheme of things, all that’s important is that I can see out of them.”
She nodded, deftly taking a bite out of a single slice of grainy bread piled with soft cheese, smoked salmon, and cucumber. She even eats beautifully, I observed. Not only could I never get the knack of eating the Alenquai-preferred open-faced sandwich without most of the toppings falling off, but minus the upper piece of bread, those that remained also tended to get stuck in my teeth. It occurred to me that her skill might not be entirely natural.
“Did someone teach you to eat?”
Tannis stifled a laugh. I couldn’t help but notice her adroitness in doing so—not a single bit of food found its way out of her mouth—although she did dab her lips with a napkin. Even that was elegant.
“If I understand the question, I spent more time than I like to remember at Lady Hydropjix’s Finishing School
. I suppose learning all the social graces and upper-crust cultural rites had some merit,” Tannis continued, rolling her eyes, “But, the woman had the personality of roadkill.”
A picture of a flattened raccoon lying in a highway median, still clutching the handle of a porcelain teacup in one paw, flashed through my mind. Despite the disturbing image, an equally distasteful realization started to take focus.
“I probably could use some work with the protocol aid. I’d rather be tied to a stake and flayed with a dull knife, though,” I added under my breath.
Tannis reached across the table and patted my hand. “Look on the bright side, if you were skinned alive, your aid would have taught you how to do it with elegance and grace.”
5
Armed with a new appreciation for the many unknowns involved in royal life, I vowed to give Pixie a chance. Well, I decided not to go out of my way to torment him. As much. Considering he continued to be mostly an infuriating pain in the ass, I couldn’t help myself from occasionally doing stuff just to exasperate him, but I did manage to pick up a few useful tips. I learned proper table manners—such as one should never cut lettuce with a knife—and he also showed me how to curtsy without wobbling like a newborn foal.
Still, aside from some pointers destined to help me not publically embarrass myself, the boredom was numbing. Hewlyxnathin wouldn’t be available for Yterixa training for a few weeks, and I rarely saw Alex during the day. While my physical needs were satisfied at night, great sex alone didn’t cut it. There weren’t that many people around who spoke English, and I particularly missed having someone to talk to who understood me. Alex, and to some extent Tannis, got my warped sense of humor. I didn’t bother with witty repartee around Pixie; the complete absence of any whimsical elements might be a prerequisite for a successful PA, but it sucked for someone like me, used to focusing on the comical nature of the world.
Engaging in impudent jocularity in the presence of Alex’s mother was out of the question as well. She left no doubt tomfoolery would not be tolerated. I knew this because the night before, as Tannis and I tried to hang spoons from our noses while waiting for the cocktail hour to begin, the queen walked by and stated, “Tomfoolery will not be tolerated.” It was bad enough she caught us engaged in a juvenile, lowbrow competition, but I had been oh-so-close to victory before she put a stop to the contest.