Gloriana's Masque

by Eleanor Burns

  “Are you sure of that, Lord Lycon?”

  “More sure than ever.”

  “Ah … Since when, might I ask?”

  “If I had to date it, since the time of our first meeting when you had your little wardrobe failure.” Very gratifyingly for him, that actually managed to elicit a laugh from her, although the tears continued to fall.

  “I remember. Goddess, that was embarrassing,” she said, although smiling at the recollection. “Especially in front of you. I was trying so hard to be impressive.”

  “You succeeded.”

  “Well no thanks to you, Milord. Threatening me with bounty-hunters if I didn’t take my mask off … Not exactly putting me at my ease. I thought you were the most cold, arrogant, bullying, insensitive man ever, and I just had to pick that moment to wreck my fastener. I always was a lousy seamstress, though.”

  Sounds like me, thought Lycon, happy to hear her in better humour, but not entirely thrilled with the subject matter. “I was … I probably still am,” he confessed, although steadfastly avoiding self-pity. I chose my way, and she hers. She has every right to disapprove. “I doubt being an Alvere will do much for my ‘reform,’ all things considered. So, if you don’t feel the same as I do, then I wouldn’t dream of–”

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean … I mean, you can be like that … sometimes … but there’s more to you. Things I didn’t know about then. I do feel the same way. But …”

  “Does there always need to be a ‘but,’ Your Highness?”

  “Seriously, Milord … My face: you don’t find it repulsive? It doesn’t make you want to expel vomit right left and centre? I’m unlikely to ever get a new one.”

  “Hmm,” he replied, with a quizzical frown, as he held her gently by the chin. “Well, I might need a closer look, I suppose … No, that’s nowhere near close enough,” he declared, with mere centimetres now between them. “Maybe if I was to come this close …”

  Their lips brushed, shyly and awkwardly at first, but within moments they seemed to synchronise in perfect understanding. Almost a minute later, they separated, both breathing heavily. Lycon could feel his heart pounding like a steam-driven pile driver, and in that instant he was almost grateful for his transition and consequent rejuvenation. That I should be acting and feeling like a bloody amorous midshipman at my age … Quite a good feeling, actually, but that could well have been heart attack territory back there. Worse ways to go, of course.

  “Well, Gloriana,” he said, when his respiration had finally settled. “Are you tasting any vomit yet?”

  “No,” answered Gloriana, a tad vacantly, although with her eye wider and more dazzling than ever. “You’ve had a rough morning, though.”

  “Ah … My apologies, Your Highness. It did have its moments. I can always come back later after I’ve had a chance to fresh–”

  “Did I give you leave?” she snapped, although altogether archly.

  “Indeed not. Well if Your Highness commands me to stay, then who am I to contradict?” he said, matching her tone for roguishness, while drawing closer to her again. Before their lips could touch, however, she reached up and gently interposed her fingertips, detaining his approach.

  “You know, you can kiss me as long and as hard as you like,” she whispered, light-heartedly although with a lingering hint of self-doubt, “and I certainly wouldn’t discourage it … but it’s never going to transform me into a beautiful princess.”

  “Thank Thalassa. Why on Earth would I want to demote my beautiful queen?”

  “For an evil overlord, you do say the nicest things,” she said, and withdrew her fingers.

  The End