Chapter Nine

Little girls may dress up in their mother's jewelry and dream of it, but I have no choice. A Princess I will live, and a Princess I will die.

--Princess Achara, in an interview

TATLER'S OFFICIAL LIST: MOST ELIGIBLE ROYAL BACHELORS

--PRINCE FELIX OF LUXEMBOURG--

This thirty-one-year-old wit sure loves his classics ("I can't imagine being sexually attracted to someone called 'Bogie'"), and is highly critical of American gun culture. ("I don't think that's patriotism," he said, "You don't worship something by destroying it. Then you're left with nothing. What do you do-- let the ashes fall between your fingers? Even they have nowhere to land.") So all you gun-loving girlies can go choke on a non-organic wiener, I guess.

He is also one-fourth earth-elf-- as his mother, the Polish Lady Jagoda Jagiellon, is half. It is said that he speaks the seductive Kringmy dialect in addition to the rest of the Elven language, the giants' Neo-Jotun, and the four dialects of Saphoise, the fairy language. He foretells the future and speaks to the dead using circular mirrors, and likes teaching other part-elves to do the same. (Sadly, humans lack the same capacity for magic-- yet it's still scarcely possible to learn. And who wouldn't want to learn from him?!)

Nevertheless, our Felix enjoys philosophy, various films, and reading and writing poetry. ("When there's no tears left for crying, no clear glass left for scrying, you'll miss Titania when she's dying.") Intellectuals, take note-- it's time to live it up in Luxembourg!

--PRINCE MATEO OF SPAIN--

This tall, dark-haired 29-year-old has been spotted with a few women in the past, but he's never settled into a serious relationship. (He's allegedly "very picky" and will only date women with some elf blood.) He also hates shopping, once quipping, "Someone could say, 'That shirt looks good!' And I'd think, 'So does that exit!"' He has the deep, modulated voice of his grandfather, and enjoys painting and sailing on his yacht. He's also a bit of a foodie (loves baked goods) and even worked as a waiter-- not out of necessity, of course, but to understand the common people. His parents are proud of him, as are his sisters. Ladies, if you need a man who cuddles as well as he paints-- you know where to look.

--PRINCE FAISAL BIN HAMAD OF BAHRAIN--

Start your engines, ladies! Despite his stuffy title of Crown Prince, twenty-eight-year-old Faisal loves motorcycles almost as much as he loves rock-collecting. (He also likes caving and collecting crystals.) Being half cave-elf, the cool darkness of a remote cavern does "soothing wonders to his soul." He also knows how to collect delicate, blue-white cave-flowers and ivory cavefish with beady red eyes. And the cave-elf dialect! "Gislaby sigybev?" (Can you translate that? I hope so.)

He's very adventurous and impulsive, so you might want to save your energy for this one. But don't worry-- he also makes time to relax by watching The Sopranos. However, you can't watch anything in peace, as he's always making constant commentary. Not even a cooking show! ("I hope only his ass and dick and balls materialize in Heaven...and the rest of him arrives one hundred years later.") Even his little brothers get exhausted with his antics! But don't get too competitive, girls-- he can have multiple wives. If you love the wind running through your hair and big brown eyes in your face, get ready for some fun!

--PRINCE HINATA OF JAPAN--

At thirty-four years old, Hinata is the oldest bachelor on our short list, but is possibly the most handsome. The heir to Japan's Chrysanthemum Throne is known for his luxurious tastes in music and architecture. However, he is reclusive and has also been called "stupid" for his lack of common sense. He plays the harp, but doesn't know how to run a dishwasher. (Nobody's perfect...!) There are Palace rumors that he doesn't get along with his mother, but others regard this as a rumor- particularly Palace staff. It is also rumored that he is secretly engaged to opera diva Princess Achara of Thailand, but the Palace has yet to confirm this.

His dream date?

"I'd love to hang out with a woman casually," he says, "We can watch a movie together in our pajamas until the wee hours, just eating snacks and making dumb jokes."

"Anything more?" we asked.

"No. Ideally, a woman would feel comfortable with me romantically. If we kiss or cuddle, etc....but I don't do any deeper touching. I have to maintain my cleanliness for the Chrysanthemum Throne, you know."

He then added, with a smirk,

"Amano Tadashi is my kitchen grunt and errand boy. He's single, too, you know-- but a shy half-elf. I hope he finds a girl, too. Then we can double-date!"

He also likes Old Hollywood and sitcoms like I Love Lucy. If you're up for hot tea and late movie nights, he's your guy!

XXX

To be a Palace Servant is to be visible at His Highness' disposal. After a few years, I realized this has its pros and cons. The best parts are the pay and the comfortable home. Another good part of it is that— as a quiet person —I don't attract any unnecessary attention. Of course, I like some attention, but the kind I get is the kind I don't like. I'm not offended by their simple requests, and I'm numb to the rolling eyes and snapping fingers. That being said, I don't like being singled out. The Prince humiliates me on purpose, for his pleasure. My mother is too tough for this and he knows it— so I get the brunt of it.

On his twenty-first birthday, he claimed I sent out pink meat on purpose. One of his cousins got sick, so he accused me— rather loudly— of trying to kill him. I denied this. He rose to his feet and slapped me so hard I fell into the table. My skin felt cold and slimy, as I landed in three large platters of sushi. Everyone laughed. My head was so heavy and sore I could hardly lift it. When I did, I erupted into tears. *click!* I heard the shrill snap of a phone-camera. My heart was throbbing in my throat. I ran downstairs, a sobbing mess. Mom looked me up and down, so I told her everything. She nodded and wiped my tears.

"Don't worry," she soothed, "We won't see him forever."

Oh, how I wish that were true…!

—from the diary of Tadashi

The disguise officially wore off. Bathilde felt an odd sense of relief, even in her stiff maid uniform. But she also felt stupid-- very stupid. Her words made so much sense in the moment-- and she could create warm green landscapes with them. But as beautiful as a world as she could build, Hajime would wash it away in a swirl of silvery blue water. This never angered her, as the old wizard tended to reel her back to reality, but every time he did, she would thrash about like a caught fish.

"I wanted to stay," she snapped, "I wanted to stay and fight."

"Keep your voice down...we're still too close to that...Palace for my liking."

They walked a little further, until they reached the opening of the green-black forest. Bathilde panted and pressed doughy hands into her knees. Hajime reached into his shirt-pocket and handed her a small bottle of water.

"Merci beaucoup," she gasped, twisting it open. She took a long swig, so streams of cold water dripped down her chins. "Ah! Ma bichette, I am starting to worry that my Pearl, the little lamb of the lambiest lamb Amma, has outgrown my hugs!"

"Now, don't be ridiculous. She loves you more than you realize."

"Sacrebleu, I thought I would never see the day," Bathilde sighed, "That my own granddaughter would outgrow me. Was I too hard on her?"

"I feared this, but it's not betrayal," Hajime reasoned, "It's, uh, growing up. Pearl's in her twenties. She may not act like it, but she's ready to take that next step."

"She's never dated before."

"So?"

"You recall what occurred between me and...M. Beraude."

"Then you found me, remember? You were worried back then, too; I saw it in your eyes."

Bathilde smiled, revealing her gappy front teeth.

"That's true. I did overcome that."

"And she's matured some-- and she still has a soft spot for you." He blinked, causing a tear to drip down his cheek. " I can see it in her eyes."

Bathilde folded her arms, shaking her head.

"Since when did you wear rosy-colored glasses?!" she hissed, "The girl is done with me-- she doesn't even want my gift!"

"Has it ever dawned on you that there are witches and wizards who never practice their craft?"

Bathilde shuddered.

"Unfortunately. It's tres sad, Hajime, when one has talent and lets it rot inside themselves."

"Precisely why Pearl isn't what I feared-- a spoiled, vapid bitch."

"Hajime!"

"Well, you know what I thought-- airhead, bimbo, all these horrible, ugly things. But when I met her, I realize...her power isn't rotting, it's growing. And if we can get her to channel it into other forms of magic...."

"You can't force her, ma bichette."

"But you said...!"

She shook her head and gazed into the earth, as if Pearl was buried beneath the soft, sun-warmed grass.

"I wanted too much out of her, didn't I? It's no good. When I was in the French Resistance, I wanted my comrades to be their best-- better than me, even."

"You were in the French Resistance?"

"That's another story. I suppose I saw Pearl as an untouchable angel. You merely saw her as another one of the world caricatures. My dear, I forgive you, but I cannot forget what you said."

"I-I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. But no amount of sorry will ever be enough for that poor...woman." She shook her head. "We've got to get back in there. There's no other way we can save her."

"You called her a woman, not a girl. A woman can save herself."

Bathilde clenched her teeth.

"Why, you...!"

"I-I don't know what else to say. She may be smarter than I expected, but that also means she's a lot more difficult."

"I see. Well...." Bathilde adjusted her glasses. "Maybe we should leave her alone a while, and see what happens. If we have to intervene, we will-- but overall, we can watch from afar."

"Isn't that still intervening?"

"Not if we don't do anything stupid-- like shit on her head, you know?"

Hajime frowned, but nodded.

"I-I see. It's our safest option."

They embraced, gently wrapping their arms around each other. Eyes closed. Hearts thundered. Lips pressed into each other. Skin sizzled. They felt their aging human bodies shift into small, smooth forms with sharp claws and lush feathers. As they fluttered toward the roof of the guest house, they waddled toward the window. They dipped down, swooping onto a nearby bush. (As not to look too obvious.) When they turned their tiny bird heads, they saw Pearl scribbling on a notepad while a Japanese- dubbed episode of I Love Lucy blared in the background.

"Is that the Vitameatavegamin episode?" Hajime cooed, "That one's my favorite!"

"Since when did you appreciate the classics?"

"Oh, I...I was always a Lucille Ball fan."

"In what way?"

"Shhh! Now isn't the time!"

Pearl looked comfortable, they thought. She changed into a long pink tee dress the Prince provided for sleep, and she crossed her slender legs in a crooked, thoughtless way. She wrote quickly, then skimmed over her words while mouthing them. She scratched some out with black ink, before writing new ones. Despite craning their necks, neither Bathilde or Hajime figured it out.

"I saw something about Princess Achara," Hajime observed, "But I'm not sure what."

Bathilde opened her beady eyes to their biggest size.

"Isn't the Prince supposed to marry her?"

"Why, yes, I've heard rumblings of that."

"Hmmm. She must be planning to interview her for an article or something."

"Doesn't she realize...?"

"I don't know. Is she going to be his...?"

"Or his...?"

Pearl rose from the bed and slammed the blinds over the window. Pa-kiss! The birds squawked, leaping up in shock.

"Well!" huffed Bathilde, landing on a higher branch, "Do you think we ought to resort to...The Wall Plan?"

Hajime blinked.

"Not yet. We'll see how she does tomorrow, and if our meddling is worth it."

Bathilde thought about this for a minute. Her mind swirled with the memory of little Pearl bouncing through a warm green field as pale sunlight illuminated her big babylike eyes and dark-brown hair. Then teenage Pearl, all aqua-braced grins and wide glasses as she won her first essay-writing contest. Then adult Pearl, caked in heavy pink makeup and the giggling, flutter-lashed desire for a world that didn't exist....

"When wouldn't it be?"

XXX

The only thing the Prince and I ever bonded over was karaoke. One night, I sang "Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga rather badly, and I let him laugh about it. That might sound strange considering how much I despise his ridicule, but he meant to me in the nicest way possible. After all, I laughed at his own lackluster vocals, and he didn't seem to mind….

I should also mention that he has a passing interest in magic. I'm half-elf and this piques his interest to the highest degree. His eyes light up. His mouth spreads in a wide grin. He pumps my hand up and down and asks me if I'm an earth-elf, do I collect herbs and crystals, do I know any spells, etc. (sadly I do not) Anything and everything humans know about us, he asks. He even spoke to me in the ancient elfin tongue, taping my shoulder and greeting:

"Tri la!" (The casual form)

I had no choice but to respond.

"Well," he replies, "There are many elf-bloods in the world, but I'm glad to know you. You are my greatest servant; let me give you a raise."

As if he needed to prove himself, he pulled several crinkled yen notes from his pocket. I was speechless. My mouth dropped open and I nearly fainted. He laughed and smoothed my hair.

"I'm sorry for everything," His tone was serious, "The laughing, the humiliation— all of it. This is all I can do— to make it up."

"Th-Thank you," I gasped, still confused.

I trudged downstairs and told Mom the news. She leapt up and down, dancing in a wild whirling circle. She shouted,

"Woo-hoooo! Woo-hoooo!"

So our pay increased quite a bit. However, His Highness never kept to his apology. Now that I think about it, money is his only redeeming quality. (That I know of)

So am I a gold-digger? Somewhat. Will I always be one? I hope not…!

That night, Mom threw her big soft arms around me and sobbed. Her tears were hot against my skin. My breath came in a rasp; Mom usually doesn't cry, so when she does-- either someone has died, or a dream did.

"I-I don't know what to do with this money," I confessed, "Other than run a restaurant. It's always been my dream to leave and start my own

"Oh, Tadashi," she whimpered, "Dad always wanted his own restaurant too. But no matter how much the Prince raises out salary, I fear it'll never be enough."

"We'll see about that," I chuckled.

We did see, and Mom was right. The raise wasn't nearly as big as he promised. My heart sizzled with such rage, I cried myself to sleep at night. I spent hours sweating in the kitchen, perfecting my recipes. I wanted to curse all humans.

But not all, I suppose.

When I was little, my father told me that elves have twisted their own souls by living among humans. That each foul word beat it like hot iron, that it hammered it into a hard, hideous shape. We are supposed to be one with the clear waters and soft blue skies, one with the shimmer of crystals and warmth of magic. We do not chain ourselves to the troubles of humanity.

I still worry he was right.

—from the diary of Tadashi

When the Prince finished breakfast that morning, he dreaded the rest of the day. He liked Princess Achara, but the idea of forced fun, of a playdate...made him feel like a child, or a doll in a child's hand, forced to play with a teddy bear. He groaned, slurping down a hot, cream-doused cup of coffee. There was no reason to be treated like this-- not when he had a brain pulsing in his head and a heart beating in his chest.

"Your Imperial Highness," said Kanako, bowing, "The Princess waits for you."

He frowned. Kanako was a sweet, pretty lady-- why couldn't he just marry her?

"All right. Give me a minute to compose myself."

Kanako folded her arms.

"She doesn't want a minute," she said firmly, "She wants you now."

The Prince staggered into the front parlor and fell into a comfy chair. Achara wore a loose gold dress and large straw sunhat that hid half of her face. What he did see of it, was covered in an all-purple makeup look. Her full lips were painted a deep matte plum, her cheeks flushed with lavender, and her eyelids shaded in a dark, shimmering violet. She wasn't wearing a bra, so her round bulging nipples pressed against the fabric, causing it to flow even smoother than otherwise. He shivered. He didn't mind this, since he never had to wear one of those lacy, wiry torture devices, but he knew his mother would have a heart attack.

"Good morning, Hinata-Sama," she said, nodding, "I took my voice lesson early this morning; my teacher uses the video call...isn't that nice?"

"Well, yes, it is. Whoever it is, is...knows what she's doing."

The Princess chuckled.

"I'd figure you'd say that, darling. Is the Empress around? I need to ask her something...."

As she turned, Hinata wrapped his hand around her wrist. She scowled.

"No," he said, "She'll...she'll kill you if she sees you on, uh, display."

"Display? What are you talking about?! My life is display!"

"I mean...the...." He motioned toward his chest.

Achara tipped her head back and unleashed a high, fluttering laugh.

"Oh, you didn't notice? I never wear those things! Much too constricting, says my voice teacher, Bad for the lungs. She's funny, but smart. I like that."

"Well, you know, I don't want to see those fatty things jiggling about. Neither does my mother."

"She didn't say anything yesterday," reasoned the Princess, "She was too impressed by my singing." She shook her head. "It's crazy, how much they like it-- it's really average, compared to the greats."

Prince Hinata nodded. Oh man, this is perfect! he thought, I wish Pearl was here to write this down.... Where is that girl anyway?! He looked over both shoulders, surveying the room. Not up yet? How is she still asleep?

He shuddered. Achara's long, manicured hand pressed into his shoulder. His eyes met hers; her gaze was so icy, his skin prickled.

"Darling," she said, "Something's wrong. Please tell me what's wrong."

"I...uh, thought I heard something."

"Heard what?" she asked coolly, "Servants walk and talk all over this Palace; it's not unusual to hear something."

Oh, no...she's right! That was the worst possible excuse I could make!

"Well, I...we've a journalist in the guest house, who's been wanting to interview you for some time, Achara."

The Princess twisted her mouth suspiciously.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, she's written out all the questions and everything...all you have to do is sit there and be honest."

"Oh. I suppose...I never get interviewed!" She grinned, and her eyes bulged with excitement. "My goodness, darling, I simply must meet her!"

After a butler opened the back door for them, they walked outside. Princess Achara oohed and ahhed at the smooth, round stone path, calling it "cute" and "darling." (Prince Hinata groaned at that word!) She smelled every flower-- even the wilting ones --and greeted the gardeners. (The Prince smiled at that....) When he opened the heavy, ivory door to the guest house, her chin nearly hit her chest.

"Wow," she breathed, "It's beautiful...!"

"Dad hired an Italian designer, many years ago. The man insisted on a Victorian Rococo style...with more carved roses and grapes than one could possibly plant...!"

The Princess marveled at the small, yet luxurious interior. She felt too dirty and "common" to touch anything in it-- bead-strewn crimson curtains, ivory-and-gold sculptures, dark cherry bookshelves crowded with gold-spined titles.... Even the antique couches looked too elegant to sit in. The way the main room was arranged almost reminded her of a cramped, yet suitable stage-- a slim staircase stretched near one of the bookshelves, and the walkway wrapped around in a square, so anyone upstairs could see anything on the lower floor. She inhaled deeply. It was cozy.

A silver chandelier flickered with lit candles, illuminating the maroon walls. She got distracted by the silver-gilded mirror, fussing with her hat and eyeshadow in the glossy round frame. The Prince smiled.

"You're going to like the journalist," he said, "She writes for Tatler-- and reads it, too. She loves royalty."

Princess Achara raised an eyebrow.

"What's her name? I might know her."

"Pearl. Pearl Solstice."

"Hmm! Charming! I might have read an article or two-- the name is odd, but it does sound familiar, darling."

Before Prince Hinata could, she walked to the end of the long hall, twisted the crystal doorknob, and stepped inside. He bit his lips. Miss Pearl better be ready!

A high-pitched scream pierced the air. The Prince's heart skipped a beat, and he had no idea what to do. Was it Pearl...or the Princess? He darted into the bedroom and saw Achara standing at the foot of the bed, her entire body taut and trembling. Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull, and her mouth fell open. When she turned to Hinata, a pale vein jumped in her neck.

"Oh, dear," gasped the Princess, lifting a hand to her lips, "Who is this woman?!"

Pearl sat up, holding the fluffy pink blanket over her breasts. Her wavy brown hair was tangled and flew in every direction, and dark circles curled under eyes. The Prince blinked, too stunned for words.

"I...uh...." he gasped, "That's Miss Pearl Solstice."

Princess Achara buried her face in her hands and began to bawl loudly.

"Ohhh...I'd rather die than be rejected," she wailed, "By the world's greatest Prince!"

"Achara!" cried Prince Hinata, "Certainly you don't mean that...!"

Achara's head shot up. Although her cheeks were slick with tears and gooey mascara, her dark eyes flashed with rage. A knotted vein jumped in her forehead. She clenched her teeth, and her breath came in fast, hard rasps.

"You're going to regret this, Hinata," she snarled, "From today until the day you die, you'll live with this. And whoever this...this...woman is...." She pointed a finger at Pearl's head. "She's every bit as guilty, if not more!"

"B-But, Achara, she didn't...!"

"How could she not know?!" hissed the Princess, folding her arms, "I found her naked in bed!"

"That's because I sleep naked," Pearl explained, "Besides, I'm a journalist and...!"

"You weren't supposed to be asleep," snapped the Prince, "What were you thinking?!"

"Well, I...I was writing the questions last night, then I got distracted and...." Pearl took a deep breath. "Watched too many episodes of I Love Lucy."

"Oh, poo!" huffed Achara, "Grow up, you ugly, lying whore!"

She leaned forward and slapped Pearl across the face. When that didn't suffice, she leaped into the bed and yanked Pearl's hair. She pulled out a few strands, cursing the entire time. Pearl screamed and kicked the Princess' chest.

"Ladies!" cried the Prince, "Stop!"

They didn't hear him, so he wrapped his hands around Achara's waist and pulled her off the bed. She collapsed to the floor, her eyes flashing with rage.

"When my father catches word of this, it's over for you," she snarled, wobbling to her feet, "And your parents-- they'll fucking kill you for hiding this whore in your guest-house."

"I-I gave her a nightgown," the Prince stammered, lifting the frothy pink dress from a chair, "She must've gotten hot and taken it off during the night."

"Th-That's right," Pearl agreed, "I sleep warm."

"She sleeps beautifully," the Prince remarked with a wink, "In fact, I'll join her next time!"

Princess Achara tore the engagement ring from her finger and threw it on the floor. She stomped on it until the karats cuh-racked and scattered into clear glittering shards across the wood.

"So..." Prince Hinata breathed, "I guess the wedding's off?"

"You two are both idiots and you deserve each other. As for you, Hinata...." She pointed at his face. "The image of my corpse will haunt you for eternity!"

"Wh-What are you...Achara!"

"Goodbye, Prince Hinata," she sniffled, "I do not know my exact fate, but prepare to live the rest of your life in shame!"

She stormed out of the house and slammed the door. The Prince started after her, but stopped. It was no use; the Princess was beyond livid, and she was going to tell the King, and even more terrifying-- the Empress. His heart raced; he took a deep breath, struggling to accept his fate.

"Y-Your Imperial Highness?"

The Prince turned. Pearl sank deeper into the bed, her cheeks flushed a dark pink. Her dark liquid eyes glazed with tears, quivering softly in the warm lamplight. The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It felt like trying to talk to a ghost. A tear streamed down her cheek, puddling into a dark hollow in the fluffy pink blanket.

"Are you okay, baby?" he whispered, running the back of his finger along her cheek. She shivered at the coldness of his skin.

"I-I should go," Pearl finished, her voice a hoarse whisper, "There's no story. No wedding. No..." She sat up, still shielding her body. "Please, give me privacy. I-I need to get dressed. I-I...I've never been more sorry!"

Before she could move, the Prince grabbed her wrist. Pearl froze. He looked her directly in the eye, his lips trembling into two words:

"Stay here."

Pearl fell back into the pillows, her mouth falling open.

"Ah, but I thought...!"

"Stay here."

The Prince walked out through the front door. What am I doing? he thought, clicking it shut, Well, she did say 'corpse', so it must be done. He held his breath, and a wiry vein pulsed against the delicate skin of his neck. He ran, ran, ran after a woman he swore he would never love.