Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (23 page)

A second beam of light fell to the ground. It illuminated the dead bodies of King Leopaldi and Queen Karie, lying in a pool of their own blood.

Erin stepped back and covered her mouth with her hands in horror.

“You are the ruler of Stretis now,” a man said smoothly as he emerged from the shadows into the light with her.

Erin’s face went white as she looked at the corpses. Her fingers trembled.

The man leaned in towards her with needle-like eyes, nearly touching her cheek. “You must never be afraid of the dark colors on the canvas,” he advised, “for they are just as beautiful and sublime as any other.”

“W-who are you?” she asked with a dry mouth.

“My name is Blair,” he introduced politely as he held up his wrist, revealing an inverted spiral brand.

Her eyes fixed on it knowingly. “I...I live to obey,” she responded with quivering lips.

“Do you?” he mused. “Well, I suppose we shall see, won’t we?”

The amphitheater vanished, and Erin found herself standing alone in the small room again.

Athel loved the feeling of the warm water hitting her scalp and flowing down her back. It was soothing in a very primal kind of way. The water pooling at her feet; sometimes she could almost imagine that her feet could draw up the water into her body. Her arms stretched high, she would imagine herself catching the sunlight and making it a part of her. There was something divine in the simple design of a tree. They used power from above to draw up the dust of the earth and make it a part of themselves. That material which was once dead and inert was now alive and part of something greater than itself.

Nallorn trees were beings of harmony. You could fill the whole world with them and never experience conflict. Willows, on the other hand, were complete jerks. Spruce tended to be gossipy; maple were a bit snobbish, and oak were a bit on the dim side.

Athel chuckled. She could just hear what her mother would say, her commanding tone reverberating inside Athel’s skull as if it had been implanted there. “Forsythians do not indulge in stereotypes. There are plenty of scholarly oak, reasoned maple, and agreeable willows in the world, and we do them a disservice by painting their kind with such wide strokes.”

Of course, if it is true, is it really a stereotype? I mean, sure there might be some smart oak out there, but I have never met one. Not a single one.

Athel reached up to the shelf but found no flask there.

Ugh.

“Hey, Aldi,” Athel yelled above the running water.

“Yes, my Lady,” came the quick response from out in the hallway.

“I ran out of shampoo, can you go grab me some dish soap or something?”

There was a moment of silence, then Alder cleared his throat.

“No, my Lady, you must not use dish soap. That is completely improper.”

“Well, why not?”

“It will strip all the natural oils out of your hair, of course. It will make your hair dry and brittle.”

“My hair was caked in mud. I’d much rather it be clean. It’s not the end of the world if my hair gets a little dry.”

“No, I will not allow it. A Lady needs proper hair care. Please wait while I make you some more shampoo.”

Athel sighed. Sometimes Alder’s voice sounded exactly like her mother’s. It drove her crazy.

“Alder, that will take all day. I can’t be in the shower forever!”

The silence from the hallway indicated that he had run off. She clucked her tongue in exasperation. Absentmindedly, she pulled at a strand of red hair that had fallen in front of her face and regarded her palms. “So, what does royal etiquette say about getting wrinkly from being in the shower too long, huh? A princess shouldn’t be all wrinkly, I’m sure that’s a rule too somewhere, right?”

The door to the shower room opened and Alder came in, breathing heavily, holding a small flask over the partition.

“Oh, good, you found some,” she praised, taking the flask.

“No, I just whipped up a quick batch,” he corrected.

Athel pulled out the cork suspiciously and gave it a sniff. It smelled wonderful.

“Are you sure you made this?” she asked again, as if suspecting a trap.

“Yes,” he reassured.

“Out of what?”

“Just some things I had lying around. Baking soda, almond oil, lavender, coconut milk, and some rosemary extract.”

Athel poured out the substance into her hand. It certainly looked like shampoo.

“You can do that?”

“Of course, my Lady. House-husbands are trained in the...”

“Yeah, yeah, save the speech, I've heard it before,” she cut him off as she worked the shampoo into her hair. It was easily the best shampoo she had ever used. Frothy and soothing. The rational side of her knew that she should be pleased. After all, she had a need and he had quickly and deftly fulfilled that need. That rational part of her was overruled by her emotional side, which was irritated that she was currently washing her hair the “proper” way instead of her way. Somehow, all the years of nagging from her mother and handlers was now Alder’s fault, and he didn’t even have the decency to apologize for it.

If Athel was really honest with herself, however, the real reason was because she had gone too long without eating, and it was making her grumpy. She was really in the mood for...

“I cut you some slices of kiwi,” he offered, his hand rising up above the partition, holding a small saucer.

“Ooh, that is exactly what I am craving right now,” she gushed, clapping her hands. She took a piece and placed it into her mouth. He had even carved them into her favorite shape, little penguins.

“How did you know that was what I wanted?” she asked happily with a full mouth.

“House-husbands are trained to sense the needs of their...”

“Stop it!”

A few minutes later, Athel came into her quarters on the Dreadnaught wrapped in a bath towel, with her hair wrapped in a second towel. Alder sat on their bed, studying one of her adventure novels. The room rocked soothingly from side to side as the airship traveled through open sky.

“You'd better not be marking those up,” she warned as she set the empty saucer down on the nightstand.

“Of course not,” he affirmed. “However, it has not been easy to resist. This author does not seem to know the difference between ‘then’ and ‘than.’”

“Is there a difference?” she wondered aloud as she knelt down and took out her hair.

Alder looked up slowly, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not she was joking. “Yes, there is,” he confirmed.

“When did they make that rule?”

“It has been a rule ever since...well...ever since books, I suppose,” he surmised.

Athel leaned forward to dry her auburn red hair, revealing the long, elegant nape of her neck.

From the corner of her eye she caught Alder staring at her. When he noticed, he turned his head back to his studies, his face a bright red from having been caught.

Athel smiled. It used to bother her when men would look at her body that way. It was like the way a hunter looks at a target. It made her feel vulnerable and threatened. She had yelled at Privet for doing so on more occasions than she could count. But with Alder it was different. She liked that he found her physically attractive. It felt good, like a vast unspoken compliment. Rather than making her feel like a prize, it made her feel beautiful, and she liked feeling beautiful.

“We should read a book together,” she suggested happily, looking at the bookshelf in front of her. “Don’t you think that would be fun?”

Alder sat up and thought for a moment. “It doesn’t sound very efficient...”

She raised an eyebrow. He was sounding like her mother again.

“...but it does sound quite enjoyable,” he smiled.

Athel grinned stupidly and began gathering up some candidates.

“Ooh, how about
Julea Smyh’s Chronicles?
” she prattled, holding up an ornate hardback edition.

He tilted his head and thought for a moment, the way a puppy does. “I think I would prefer something more sanguine.
Chronicles
is a great story, but at times the whole work seems formulated to achieve nothing but tears from the reader.”

“Oh, okay,” Athel said, putting it back.

“There’s nothing wrong with it thematically,” he clarified. “It is just painful to read. Equivalent to pulling off a bandage for three hours.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Why is it that foreign stories written for women, by women, always involve women getting physically abused?”

“I could not guess.”

Athel grabbed a worn and dog-eared paperback and held it against her chest. Its pages were littered with hand-drawn hearts and flowers. “Oh,
Tides and Undertow
, I haven’t read this one in forever. This one is sooooo good. We should read this together.”

Alder got a strange look on his face and looked down, studying the book in his lap. “We can read that one if you want.”

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, my Lady,” he covered. “I am happy to read it with you.”

Athel crinkled her nose playfully. “Don’t try to be all coy, you didn’t like this one, did you?”

He looked up, concerned. “I am not saying it is not a good story, I just do not find the main character believable,” he said, trying to be as delicate as possible.

She looked over the cover doubtfully. “Why not? He’s only the most amazing guy in the whole series.”

Alder sat back and measured his words. “Consider this: On the one hand, he is really sensitive and open, but on the other hand he is really aggressive, forceful, and dangerous.”

Athel sighed dreamily.

“But, you do realize that those are opposite traits?” Alder pointed out. “No man in the world has ever been both sensitive and aggressive. It is impossible.”

“I know,” Athel defended. “That’s why this book sells so good.” She was now holding the book tightly in her hands.

“Making money is fine, I just think it is dangerous to encourage young girls to pine after something that does not exist.”

Athel waved her hand dismissively. “Look, Aldi, I think you are taking this too seriously. I’m sure there is some man out there that...”

“May I ask, then, how many sensitive aggressive men have you met?”

Athel was a little taken aback. She was not accustomed to Alder cutting her off like that.

“I can think of a few,” Athel declared, becoming a little defensive. “Master Kolantine from
The Tale of
...”

“Can you think of any real life examples, my Lady?”

Despite the fact that he had cut her off, his face was calm— irritatingly calm. Even worse was the fact that she appeared to be losing an argument in her own area of specialty.

“These books are setting girls up to be disappointed for no good reason,” Alder posited. “These girls are being sent out into the world looking for something that cannot be found. It is not fair to them. And what’s more...”

Alder had to pause for a moment to cough and clear his throat.

“Oh, please do go on, dig yourself deeper,” Athel quipped. She could feel herself flushing with annoyance now.

“It is not fair to the young men out there, either,” Alder stated. “How can they possibly measure up to such an unrealistic standard? I mean, look at the illustration on the cover. The only people who have a body like that are the ones who can spend twelve hours a day sculpting it, but this guy supposedly also built up his own financial empire from the ground up. Now, where would he get the time to do both of those things?”

Athel shrugged defiantly. “Maybe his business involves working out in the sun for long hours doing physical labor?”

“No, he trades soma crystals, page 132. He is also supposed to have graduated from a high-level wizard academy. Again, it would take three lifetimes to accomplish all of that, and how old is he supposed to be?”

As she struggled to rein in her temper, she could feel her mind getting ready for a fight. Subconsciously, her mind drew up every occasion Alder had ever offended her and loaded them, ready to fire, like a bolt in a crossbow.

“He’s twenty-four,” she answered humorlessly.

“Twenty-four. Do you not see how absurd that is?” Alder sat down and became very quiet. He looked strange, almost defeated. An unusual look for him. “It is not fair...it is not fair to the young men out there who are just doing the best they can.”

In that moment, Athel realized what was happening and her mind came to a screeching halt. Her countenance softened, and her grip on the book slackened. This wasn’t about
Tides and Undertow
at all. It was about her, or rather, what he obviously suspected she wanted in a man.

Athel took a moment to let the anger flow out of her. Behind Alder’s frustration, he was expressing was a simple drive: He wanted to please her with all his heart, and was worried that he would not and could not live up to her expectations. Athel could feel her heart beating passionately within her chest. All of her anger collapsed in on itself and was replaced with sympathy.

He just wanted to be what she wanted in a man. It was that purity he had that made her fall in love with him in the first place. He only wished to make her happy, and asked for nothing in return. She recalled the feelings he had displayed for her in the cave back on Thesda. Athel felt her heart fill almost to bursting at the thought of it.

Gently, she stood up and took his hand. As he stood up she drew him in close, embracing him. He was so much shorter than she was that she had to lift his chin up to kiss him tenderly on the lips.

Slowly, she could feel the tension flow out of him as he returned her kiss. Even though she could never link with him through the trees, in this moment she could feel his love for her just as clearly. It positively radiated off of him. It felt like sunlight. It felt like water. It felt like home. She felt so happy to be with him, felt so cherished by him, that she could actually feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“You know what, though?” she said, wiping her cheek. “Someday those girls grow up, and they find something even better then what they read about.”

“What is that?”

“Something real.”