Her Royal Majesty

I stare at her, hard. She stares at me, hot. Her hand remains there, scorching. I can feel every shift of her hand. Her arm is now almost entirely under water. She squeezes down on the cloth and I bite down on my lip. The only barrier between the slippery heat of her palm and my pussy is a sponge. And there's nothing I find more erotic. She just hangs there, hand firm between my legs, and I just sit there, taking breath after breath. Subconsciously itching for more, I close my legs over her hand. Like is it just me or did her eyes go darker?

In my previous life, Cheyenne would never accept me—the geek girl, within three feet of her. This new world is weird.

Slowly, Yennara begins to rub. Fuck! Stop it, I urge my mind. I don't lift a finger though. She begins to pump, and feeling her fingers spreading me, I clamp my legs harder, letting out a moan.

"Yen, stop." My voice is strained, doubtful, but Yennara listens.

My heart is still skipping when she pulls out her arm. Her fair skin glimmers over the water. If it were Lance with me in the bath though, I doubt I could've asked him to stop.

Yennara still opts on rubbing me down, custom as it stands. I let her because if I feel this way about stopping whatever had been happening earlier, how does she feel?

She massages me this way and that, sponge in hand. I'm quickly loving her magical fingers. I try to keep my trembling legs in check. My blush however, I can do nothing about. It consumes me from head to toe. You try to stay relaxed when the gorgeous bitch you've disliked for the most part of your life gives you a hands-on experience—which was extremely good by the way. I'm feeling particularly regal as I ascend the bath and into Yennara's outstretched arms. The pink bathrobe fits my body to perfection. Yennara offers a smile which conveys…a lot. I don't know why I feel the urge to apologize; probably because I've given us both the female equivalent of blue balls. A half-day in this world and I'd been more than willing to get down and dirty with a girl for a slippery wet pool sex.

Me? I've never even gotten down and dirty with a boy.

To her credit, Yennara isn't hurt by it. I suppose you won't looking like her. Five grand—or gold or whatever—says there's a line of dashing knights waiting to fuck her should she give the word. Now that I'm queen, I could bet it.

Five minutes later, Yennara is somewhere in the closet/dressing chamber while I sit in front of a huge, huge vanity brushing out my hair when three raps on the door disrupt our companionable silence. She is by my side in a second.

"State your business?" she answers for me, consciously making an effort to raise her rather birdy voice. It's quite cute.

"Your Grace," comes a matronly voice. "It's…" I'm thinking the voice sounds rather familiar when Yennara brightens besides me.

"Oh goody! It's Miss Chandle. She can help me pick between the citrine and the saffron."

She waves two ostentatious yellow gowns in my face, demonstrating her genius-level fashion sense. I guess some things never change. Cheyenne could wear a trashbag and still look good in it. Admiringly, I nod to her and she hurries to the door.

"Wait, who is Miss Chandle?" I call but she is off.

"Your Governess," she replies ebulliently from the doorway just as a new figure clears into the room. Many new faces for the Queen today, I joke inwardly. After hearing Yennara's tale of me being queen and all, I'm not surprised to find out I have a Governess too.

"Come, Your Majesty, quickly," the new figure bows, talking as she strides for the closet with purpose. "We must prepare you for the royal address. It's about high noon and the Court get itchy with tardiness."

I am stuck to standing still with the gilded-handle brush hanging limply from my hand. I can't speak yet because this new figure, my Governess, is none other than the prudish Mrs. Elaine Chandler, secretary of the EastCreek High School. She is now Miss Chandle, pronounced 'Candle'. Seeing her pore over minute details of modest but regal calicos with Yennara as they rummage through the closet brings a paradoxical sense of déjà vu. Back in Eastcreek High, Cheyenne's least favorite person besides me was Mrs. Chandler, and I'm pretty sure the Principal's secretary in turn hated her guts. It's refreshingly disturbing to see them knit at the hip now.

"Your Grace," both Miss Chandle and Yennara turn to me at the same time but it's the former that speaks.

Miss Chandle stands with her fingers together over her chest, looking as prim and proper as her alternate reality self. Yennara stands beside her, holding a buxom gown that probably weighs more than her.

"We went with citrine Your Grace, hope that's okay?"

"Perfect." I plaster a smile, heading over to them. Luckily, they don't catch on the sarcasm. Reaching the dressing room, I just stand there, and they go trippy on me, fitting and pinning. Finally left to my thoughts, I ponder. Now, what was that about a royal address?

"All done! Your Grace." Someone says in what seems like merely a heartbeat later. With my thoughts haywire, I appear to have lost some sense of time. I quickly catch myself and actually peer through a looking but not really seeing vision to find two teary pairs of female eyes trained on me. I suddenly feel like the lovely bride a minute to her Hallmark wedding. Since I'm backing the mirror in a stiff poise on a dressing stool, I swivel around. And my heart catches.

Goddamn!

Yennara and Miss Chandle have outdone themselves.

Now I get the teary gazes. I go misty-eyed myself.

I look phenomenal.

Three words. Just three fucking words. I feel like Eve on the day of creation; a woman just staring in awe at all the beauty within and without. And a dress makes me feel this way. A dress? Shiiit! Bravo, ladies. Bravo! If there were ever a Vogue version of the Golden Age, I'd undoubtedly be it's frontpage. My dress is a splashy mix of gold and tones of yellow, a lemony color, which I'm learning is citrine. It's off-shoulder, strapless, held onto my upper arms by more breeze than actual thread, dips softly into a perfect bow, thus exposing what I would formerly regard as a generous amount of cleavage, and then cascading into a skirt made of tufts and tufts of handspun silk. The front of the gown ends an inch up my thighs, giving a hint to the cream skin underneath. But the train flows like a river behind me. I catch the satiny ends of it clasped softly in Yennara's hands. Her stare fully says it all, you are beautiful.

It's true but never in a million light-years would I expect to be the apple of sexy savage Cheyenne's eye. If this isn't some deep universe shit, I don't know what is.

"Oh, thank you...I don't know what to say. Thank you so much." I whisper excitedly to the two women who made me almost fictional. I have never been this adorned in my entire life, certainly not in such splendor. I really do look like a queen. And I want to tell both Yennara and Miss Chandle all this, but I figure it'll raise red flags. To them, I've been a queen for a month now—and a princess before that—so they're probably used to me being prima donna.

I follow the dress in the mirror one more time, up, from the tips of my toes until I meet again with Yennara's eyes. I hold her gaze.

"I'll leave you to finish," Miss Chandle turns and says to Yennara. She breaks eye contact for a moment to address the Governess. She offers a nod and a smile, and Miss Chandle glances back at me, "I'll see you at the pinnacle then, Your Grace."

With that said, she turns from the dressing room and makes her way to the door, softly pulling it close until it clicks in place. I and Yennara are left alone, and I can tell before even looking back at her that she is smiling. It shocks me how close we've gotten in this short space of time.

"Stop it," I swivel on the dressing stool to face her fully, the mirror behind me. She giggles at my mild bashfulness and keeps smiling.

"I'll get the shoes," she manages after a while.

She pulls seemingly out of thin air Cinderella's glass slippers. And I ain't capping. The shoes look really fairytale-ish. She bends low before me and holds one at a time, so I put out a leg. And what'dya know, the shoe does fit. I peer closer and discover they're actually silvery, kind of shiny like the moon, and met with three-inch heels overlaid in amber crystals. It flows like an extension of the dress, melding intimately.

I'm seriously falling in love here.

"You like?" Yennara asks in a low voice beneath me.

I can't speak so I nod, vehemently. She laughs and in a lighter voice she thinks I won't catch, she says, "Angelic."

I hear her but when her eyes stray back up to mine, I peer down, pretend I didn't hear her and hope to God that this version of Cheyenne stays. Forever. I feel like this world, whatever it is, is my universe where all my dreams come true. And that is not narcissistic at all. It's just the simple beautiful truth.

"So where's this royal address happening?" I ask Yennara, trying really hard not to smile. I feel like I have to be somewhat formal with her but I can't help it. Her eyes are just really enveloping—and brown.

Yennara doesn't seem convinced by my mock bravado. Seeing—and grinning—right through my walls, she replies, taking my hand as she helps me down the dressing stool. "The Pinnacle, Your Grace. The royal address will be held there."

Her hand is soft and slender in mine as she looks towards the window. "Light! Your Grace. We should head out now. Noon's upon us."

"I guess," I reply somberly. I'd rather stay here with her than head out to deliver a speech, but I'm also eager to see the kingdom. So yeah...I guess. In hindsight, Light must be Yennara's version of Fuck. Cheyenne happily swore though.

The finishing—as Miss Chandle had suggested, moves at rapid speed. Yennara dots the final I's on my attire, and about two minutes later, she has my hand in hers, leading me out the door and into a corridor wide as a Boston car sales. I guess walking the corridors of power is a thing. Yennara latches to my fingers like we've been BFF's as we stroll down twenty-feet high archways, realistic statues of legendary warriors or something, heavy doors with blazons I don't know what the fuck means barricading silent rooms. We climb a few stone steps; all the while I'm being aware of three hunks following closely from behind in shined chainmail armor and billowing red capes. It brings a particularly loving thought to mind. And I voice it out before I can stop myself.

"Are we going to see Lance...erm, Sir Lancelot at the address?"

Yennara pauses mid-step, at the end of a massive foyer.

"Yes, Your Grace." She gives me a smile of understanding before we continue.

We soon clear out into a wide area and I immediately hear cheering. It's whistling and chanting and drumming. It's the sound of people. Happy people. Thousands of people. And the thundering seems to be coming from everywhere.

"What the heck?"

I don't even know I've spoken out loud until Yennara's voice cuts in my head.

"They love you. We all do," she adds. And then she moves behind me, pulling out from my grip.

I look back to see her ruffle the train of my gown back into the perfection our movement might have disturbed. I'm still struggling not to straggle behind all the commotion and festivity in the air when I hear the trumpets. Yennara appears once more by my side, this time a hooded cape of shiny gold blanketing her handmaid's gown. Quite sexy if you ask me. Miss Chandle also appears, taking step by my left. Along comes four more people, sturdy and disciplined looking in equal honorary robes.

The Celestine Court, I presume?

The royal guards are distanced at all angles behind me into something of a football formation. And the trumpets are still blaring. Yennara must catch my apprehension because she moves close to me and whispers,

"Take a breath, Your Grace, you've done this quite a few times. The trick is just to stand there. You are all the speech they need."

Thank you, Yen, I muse. Except I haven't done this...at all.

Then when no one's looking, she leans in and blows me a kiss. A peck, perhaps. I stiffen. I turn, eyes wide, about to question her action when the trumpets all go quiet. Abruptly.

Shit!

And then silence. Complete devastating silence it's almost deadly.

Some manly, commanding voice begins to announce ahead of me, spitting bass hard enough to rattle bricks,

"Introducing, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Alessandria Irene Forsythe, Regent of the Dead Empire and Enchantress of the Crimson Court. All hail the Light of Mythronos!"

The pin-drop silence remains and at the back of my mind, I remember I have to move. And so I walk, taking slow steps, praying my heel not to dig into a crack in the floor that will send me to my eternal disgrace. Nothing happens. I excel at the royal walk. And when I and my entourage finally empty into an open balcony, I fully get why they call it the Pinnacle. We are hundreds of feet above plain ground. I feel like I'm standing in an helicopter. The air is fresher. The scents pronounced. The passing wind cooler. I can hear each sound like my own heartbeat. It is surreal. And below are hundreds upon hundred of real people, all looking at me, each one meeting my eyes with something of worship. Honestly, I feel like I owe the world—if that makes any sense.

"Hi!" I rasp weakly.

And the crowd goes wild.

They rage and cheer for me like I'm Babe Ruth, Lady Gaga, and Tiger Woods all in one package. You know what, add a bit of Eminem too.

Turns out Yen was right; all I needed to do was there. And the address itself was me. I didn't utter another single world. Yet the entire place felt like a host stadium for the FIFA finals. It is electric. I feel the tremors radiating from the earth from the crowd's pounding rush in my blood. Through the corner of my eyes, I spy Yennara spot a shy smile. She could feel it too. The guards don't let me stay long. Exactly five minutes later, they are whisking me away, Yennara in the lead and Miss Chandle behind back through the grand archways and corridors up to my room.

Through the frenzy of popularity and the roaring of people, I swear I see Lance in the crowd. Tall, dashing, and golden. A Prince to complete this fairytale. Yen was right again. Sir Lancelot was available at the address. Perhaps, tomorrow we will acquaint ourselves better.

More like very likely, a deviant part of me whispers. You are queen now.

Later that evening, after a long warm soak in the enchanting pool and a lush delicacy of royal room service, while I'm undressing for bed, Yennara is ushered in by the guards mounting the door. Her brown eyes light up a bit when she sees me and she covers the distance to help me undress from a corset into a rather freeing nightdress. Our usual solemn camaraderie reigns, and I let it—for all of two seconds.

"About earlier...In the bath, do you like do that often?"

I spit it out before I loose my nerve.

"What earlier, Your Grace?" Yennara asks softly.

"Yen?" I stop her fingers, fumbling with the binds of my gown. "In the pool," I enunciate. "Do you...touch Royals? Is it a thing?"

To my utmost surprise and partial horror, she smiles. Once a baddie, always a baddie. The little witch.

"You are a queen, Your Grace," she starts unhooking my lace once more like it's a totally normal topic of bedroom discussion. "It's not unheard for a vassal to pleasure her mistress. In fact, in Mythronos, it was quite popular with past Regents; instances of kings making bedfellows of Ladies or Knights his Queen admires, few though."

I shrug. "I'm just saying, I don't want you to do anything you're not okay with."

Her smile grows.

"You think I didn't want to do that. To touch you...feel your desire against my palm. Alessandria, you are a fucking ten—"

Wait. What?

First, she called me by name. And second, I'm not sure people truly of this Merlin-esque world know what a 'fucking ten' is. I just have to ask.

"Yen, what do you mean by that?"

"What, Alessandria?" Her coy smile is still in place.

"You know, saying I'm a fucking ten?"

"What? That?" she giggles. "You really don't know how ravishing you are. I just felt if there were a measure of true beauty, you'd be zenith." She grins. "A fucking ten."

"Okay, girl!"

The words fly past my lips before I have a chance to stop it. She narrows her eyes and we end up laughing. What girl doesn't like to be called special—or well, ravishing.

Yennara moves away to inspect the tidiness of the bed before I jump in—which I later learn is apparently something Handmaiden's do. I admire her svelte figure as she rounds the large four-poster. I've always known Cheyenne would do great in Hollywood, regardless of her bitchiness. Now, whereas there might be no Broadway stage or Reality TV in Mythronos, her elegance still shimmers. She's still got it.

"Thank you," I whisper. She looks up from running a hand over a twice-as-large pillow.

"Why, Your Grace?" She looks genuinely interested. Planting my eyes firmly on hers, I don't give her the chance to look away, so she knows I really mean it.

"For being here." I say.

She nods, smiles, gives a bow, and says, "Goodnight, Your Grace."

I'm still staring at the scarlet heaven of a bed when the soft click of the door marks her exit. She's giving me some space, I suppose. Yennara may not have fully grabbed the extent to the meaning of my words. I am truly grateful to her for being here. It's nice to know that even in alternate realities, some people are your ride or die. Me. Lance. Cheyenne. All in the same circle of life. Funny though that my Confidante has to be the most unexpected femme fatale in Highschool. My, how the universe works?

Climbing into the ocean of sheets, I sigh and lean back against the pillows. I would say my wish on prom night fairly came true, seeing that not all is actually Cinderelly. But what's life without added spice. Nice one though, fairy godmother.