American Cent

"THE QUEEN! THE QUEEN!" Hundreds of voices go up.

People are coming out from the market stalls, filtering as a crowd into the streets. Men lift little children high onto their shoulders, who wave their small hands in the air, ebulliently shrieking. The streets become a garden of diverse colors as garments go flapping in the wind. The passing breeze is a bit dry as it blows over the capital and those peeking from high windows in their houses have to shield their eyes with their hands even as they cheer away. The atmosphere is something like you'd only see in the my previous reality if the Pope were moving amongst the people, or in a Pride parade. Such kind of open vitality can not be described, only seen and felt.

A couple of bystanders wave little red flags in the air and my astonished escorts have to struggle to keep astride their horses as gifts are tossed up to them. Lancelot keeps the crowd in check but the carriage has to move slower. I am lost in staring into the festive vigor of the throng. For my presence to elicit such excitement means the threat of Crave had been real. Only from thick darkness can such beautiful light glow. Opposite me in the carriage, Yennara moves her hand to mine and squeezes softly.

She doesn't understand.

My gaping. My shock. My fear.

At the first instance of opening my eyes to this reality, I'd addressed the previous world as the real world. But this one is as real as it gets. I smell the fragrance of maples and blush tossed towards the carriage, expertly dressed bouquets like intended for a bride. I can see clearly the misted gold embroidered around the red flags waving in the air. The moving carriage. The raucous people. It hits me then like never before. This world isn't some dream that may fade with time. This is real. This is my world. My reality. My truth. And I have to step into position as ruler, the same enchantress who led armies to defeat a horrible pirate.

I have to...at least for the sake of these people.

Moving amongst them, I can see that the horror of Crave and his ships was no less real than me sitting for English Lit everyday. This is no game, no sport I can just maneuver however I want. I have to really become the Queen—the one they know me as—not because of the prospect of Lance's love or Yennara's friendship, but for all the lives that now hang in the balance.

And I'd thought College was responsibility. Try an entire kingdom.

Shit.

Yennara's hand in mine helps and I squeeze back. I look away from the red faces swiping past the window to her. And her eyes...

Christ! She looks at me with such adoration sometimes, I feel only a puppy capable of—no offense. The carriage has been moving slowly for a couple of minutes but comes to an abrupt halt, making me rock into Yennara. Her hands fly to my shoulders to steady me. The contact brings us close, her face and inch away. Her hands move to my upper arms and she rubs tenderly.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, unable to look away. "Mhmhmm. The carriage has stopped."

She smiles then, prettily. "Yes it has."

Her gaze falls to my lips for the briefest of moments. I think then, am I going to get my first girl kiss in a carriage in Mythronos, the glory of the Dark Ages? The contestant for worlds most romantic universe? I mean I've kissed a couple of guys—about two—at EastCreek High but I can't say I didn't wonder how Cheyenne's lips would taste while fantasizing about her kissing Lance. Now that she's so close...her breath my breath. Her perfect crossbow lips...just...a...kiss...

"Your Majesty," Lance's bass hits me. And I split from Yennara faster than his voice fades.

His handsome face is by the window, his frigid blue eyes peering in. Intent. I feel my face hotter than a bonfire. How long has he been standing there? I don't exactly know why I'm shaken. I'm not doing anything wrong. I haven't done. But still it feels a bit weird to find his eyes this close to us when I was this close to his girlfriend from another world. God! I'm so glad they have no memories from before. The Big Man sure has some humor.

"Your Majesty," Lance says again, looking skeptically at Yennara. She meets his gaze with astounding ease over her features. Damn! While I'm struggling here? But then, Cheyenne had always been a master at the feminine arts. "A little girl is by the road." Lance looks back to me as he speaks. "She stands in front of the carriage."

Oh! That's why we stopped.

"Let her be." I adopt my most Victorian accent. "I would like to see her."

"What!" Yennara's caregiver side erupts. She catches Lance's narrowed eyes and comports herself. "I'm sorry, Your Grace but the crowd is thick. And even at their best, citizens of Mythronos can be intrusive. Not to mention the sun is three-quarters in the sky. Perhaps, we can arrange for the little girl to come in the carriage."

Now it's me turn to smile prettily.

"These are my people, Yen." I glance from her to Lance, and back again. "Rowdy or not. I will see the little girl."

Lance nods, give me a look of admiration and swiftly turns to execute the order. I turn to Yennara and her lowered gaze tells me she understands. For a child to brave the huge guards manning the streets, she had something important to offer.

The door to the carriage opens a second later and a long muscled arm stretches in. With a smile, I take the fingers I know all too well and step out the streets. Yennara is by my side and she doesn't give the sun a measure of space as she has over me a large feathery umbrella styled like a gigantic fan. Its shadow blocks out the misty gold rays. Seeing me, all at once, the crowd falls silent.

I turn to face forward, spotting the little girl immediately. She doesn't look a day over five, and seems a bit ethereal standing there in the middle of a paved sunny road. Lance takes my left and with Yennara at my right, I walk to the girl.

"Hey there!" I say, bending over at the waist. I have no experience in this at all. I'm just riding the wave. Some would even argue I'm a child myself.

The girl says nothing. She only stares straight at all of us, her innocent gaze trailing from Lance, to me, then to Yennara, like she knows something the rest of the crowd doesn't. Like she knows we don't belong here. I take the moment of her silence to study her; blond hair that drops down to the earth, blue eyes the color of the sky. A beautiful child but nothing out of the ordinary. And then she stretches out tiny hands, offering me a shiny object.

I peer closer. A coin.

"Thank you." I gently collect.

I'm about to ask what her name is but a woman breaks out from the barrier the royal guards constructed and hurries to us, picking up the girl in a swift move. I can tell she's the mother instantly. Same long hair. Same sky eyes.

"Your Grace," she doesn't meet my eyes as she bows and walks away.

I watch mother and daughter for a few moments until they disappear into the sea of heads. I glance back down at the coin in my hands.

It's an American cent.

And before anyone can see, I quickly slip it into the pocket of my pants.

The crowd begins cheering again as I turn and walk back to the carriage. I take my seat quietly and we begin to move again. Yennara whips out the fan again and begins waving over me as our escorts lead the way. The clopping hooves of horses on cobblestones, the mild chatter of traders and patrons, of screaming playing children, all of it fades to the background as I wonder what the hell just happened and what exactly I have in the pocket of my pants, cold against my thigh.

I for sure know one thing. I am not alone in this world.

Paraphrasing, I am not alone with memories in this world.

As we move further into the Capital, Yennara begins to describe places we pass by. She points to storeyed stone buildings, detailing them as homes which actually house families descended from a common ancestor. She waves over what seems to be bungalows on stilts, Inns for tired wave-torn sailors, explaining the reason for the stilts as for when the tide came in. She brightens whenever we pass by a scarlet and gold banner hanging down a house, telling of the faith the people have in me. She tells this all in an accent that would've been described as French if we still lived in a world with Paris. It's the most I've ever heard her speak. She has a one-of-a-kind voice. A bedroom voice. She laughs sweetly, when she catches on the joke of a clown performer we pass on the streets. And I think it's an enchanting song. Excitedly, she urges Lance to ride faster, hurrying him along until buildings are flying past the carriage window, her ponytail of unruly brown hair whipping in the cool evening hair. I want to tell her she's even more beautiful than when she led the cheerleading squad as Eastcreek High won the State Championships. We near the outposts of the capital where the homes are scarce, and she points to scattered stumps of blackened destroyed buildings which looked like they'd been in a blast. The remnants of the warriors garrison, she'd said, after Lord Crave's ships cannons had run them through. To see this level of soul from her speaks to me.

I see all these. I feel all these. But all in the background. Because the only thing paramount in my mind is the cold American cent in my pocket.

And so rather than join Yennara to enjoy our cruise this beautiful evening round the capital, I lift a hand to rub against my temple.

"I need a drink."

Yennara for the first time looks away from the window to me, noting my downcast expression. "No. You need a Physician," she tones back. "I shall tell them to head back to the castle and—"

She stops when she catches my stare. Deadeye. Unblinking, with no room for questions.

"Yes, Your Grace," Yennara gives a soft bow.

She turns to the window next, taking up to Lance who rides ahead. "A bar," she yells in her tiny voice. "The Queen wants a bar."

I hear the slap of reins, the revived gallop of horses, and soon enough we slow down and come to a halt. I push the door open myself, stepping out before Lance has a chance at chivalry. Yennara hurries behind me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Lance send her a puzzled look. She shakes her head at him.

I know I'm being emotional. I don't care. I haven't had a drink in my entire life. I don't care. I'm a queen who has cellars of the most expensive wine waiting at her grand Disney castle. I don't fucking give a damn! This is what I want. Anything to thaw the gnawing feeling in the pit of my belly. Because I know someone must've given the little girl the coin. Someone with memories too.

Someone who knows me before the fame and wealth and crown.

Someone who remembers me as the geek girl...

Someone who's mere existence threatens mine.

And so, I need a drink.

I spare the bar's sign only a glance—it reads Vanishing Pub—before I kick open the door.