The next morning, I'm up before the...my Handmaids rush as a flood into the room—still getting used to owning a whole lot of stewards here. I remain in bed though, reliving the events of yesterday; the day I was transmigrated—quote, unquote—and my first day as queen. It's a lot to contemplate and so I'm glad for the silence. Laying there on the large bed, I fix my eyes on the domed ceiling, leaving my mind to wander. This new world offers a lot. Prestige. Affluence. Literal aristocracy. A chance to explore all that I couldn't as a virgin valedictorian.
But it doesn't offer some; my parents.
I think Yennara would've have mentioned if the King and, or the former Queen were alive. Also, for a new queen to ascend, the throne would have to be empty. Unarguably, in this reality, my parents are no more. But I need them. I was raised as an only child and my whole concept of viewing the world, emotionally and otherwise was shaped by them. It hurt to even think of a world where I don't do karaoke with my mum on summer Friday nights or go golfing with my dad on Sundays. A huge part of a wish come true would've been to have them both at my side as I rule, but I guess they don't call it a fairytale for nothing. And I suppose it also hurts less because I know that they are alive in some reality, in the real world. This makes their absence an easy pill to swallow.
Yennara had mentioned me being the Enchantress of the Celestine Court and having access to the Spiritflame—I am yet to figure out what this means. True magic exists in this world. Perhaps, I can harness whatever this energy is to return back to a home where both my parents are alive. Deep down though, a question I don't want to admit bugs me, do I really want to go back?
In this world, Cheyenne is Yennara. I don't have to fight with a girl I may or may not have had a hate-crush on. I have a real life best friend. And she isn't with Lance in this world. Our bone of contention is vanished. In this world I actually have a chance with what I want. I want Yennara. I want Lance. And this reality offers them both. No academic trivia limiting the extent of our relationship. No annoying highschool social circles. Nothing but the expression of what could be. I'll take it. My arrival in this world might not have been a conscious decision but this is. I choose to explore having a bitchy cheerleader as a friend and a rugged jock as my knight. And I see it then, if I were taken back to the very moment on prom night where Lance asked me what I wished for, I would've given the exact same answer. I wished this world. This is my reality, and you can be damned sure I'll enjoy every pleasure it has to offer.
Dawn comes swiftly and before long, the door peels open. In comes my personal train of attendants. They quickly get to pushing back curtains and letting in the rosy sunlight. Already used to the patter of their feet, I remain on the bed, my back propped against two great pillows, watching in mild amusement as they dust and tidy. Beyond their quiet motions, I'm waiting for someone. Someone that makes me think I'm crazy for liking. And when she walks in, a smile spreads my lips. I just can't help it.
Yennara moves towards me with a calm ease about her. I find it disturbingly sensual. But then again, she is still Cheyenne, and there was nothing Eastcreek High's cheerleading captain had done that wasn't meant to be provocative. It's her—their nature.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she speaks over the din of moving handmaids, whispering to each other. She seems even more comfortable than I am going about normally as if we're the only ones in the room. Weirdly I can't help but think she would have made an excellent pornstar. Lord knows she's fine as hell.
Yennara narrows her eyes and I quickly catch myself. I'd been staring. I hope to God she can't see my thoughts through my eyes. One can't be too sure in this world.
"Er, morning Yen," I respond awkwardly. She gives me a shadow of her disarming smile and I run out of things to say. She must see this because she lowers her eyes. I follow them down to spot a tray balanced perfectly on her hands. With the ease of a panther, she glides over towards me on the bed. Gosh! Why am I seeing her in this light? She stops at the bed's edge, standing right over me. Don't kneel, don't kneel, I beg. I don't think my sanity can handle it. I mean, the places my brain goes to these days.
She drops the tray on the bed, smoothing the blanket as she does.
I glance down to spot a porcelain teacup, a flask of pure silver and a covered dish of equal shine. Breakfast in bed. Nice. To the side is also a heavy-looking book; with a gray leather pelt that looks like it belongs on the body of an alligator and seeming to hold every mystery of the world in it. Stephen King has no chance.
"The book you requested yesterday, Your Grace."
I peer back up to catch Yennara's eyes. She had been watching me.
"The book on transmigration," she continues. "For our large library here at the castle, it is a surprise that only this tome was available on the topic. I can reach out to the royal archives if what you find in here isn't enough." Picking the book off the tray she reads. "Other Worlds Beyond Ours." I trace the path of her hands to perfectly trimmed nails. Those hands... I recall her massage yesterday.
"Your Grace?"
"Yes, Yen. I'm sorry. The book is fine. Pretty polar title but fine. Thank you. No need to reach out to the royal archives yet."
"Your Grace, I—"
"Allie," I cut in. "Please Yennara, quit the formality. Your hands have been on me." She moves to avert her eyes but I hold steady on them. "Don't Your Grace me. That's an order."
She nods and starts to smile. It's infectious and I grin also, unable to stop the red creeping up my neck.
"Alright, Allie," Yennara taunts. "How are you feeling this morning? Slightly better than yesterday, no?"
"Yes," I join her game. "I am better actually. Thank you. Yesterday was...a lot." I opt with the truth. If only she knew the extent. I'm literally a day old in this body and crown.
"Yeah, I can tell." Yennara's grin doesn't fade. If anything it's now somewhat flirty, like something you'd find on the face of a Chad or a Taylor. A playboy smile. How does this suddenly feel like poker with my dad? Well, two can play this game.
"Yeah? Can you?" I lean over on the bed, scooching to her side, and since she's standing over me, I can tell she gets a pretty good view of what's under my nightdress. No bra invented yet so there's tits and nipples. Her fair skin colors and she pulls her maiden shawl tighter over her shoulders, sparing a glance towards the other handmaids dusting away. They are oblivious to our power play.
Yennara rises up to the challenge. "Yes. I can tell a lot of things right now." Surely I must imagine it when she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. "Your bath is set, Queen Alessandria. Do you need a massage?"
Her eyes are unblinking. She's undaunting, daring me to say yes.
Uh, yeah. Who wouldn't?
Instead, I shake my head. "No," I reply.
I don't really trust myself around Yennara. Last time could've gone south really quickly. And until I understand everything there is about my new position, pleasure has to take a backseat. For now though. I squint at Yennara who's smiling at me conceding. She's feeling pretty confident...the sexy bitch—and I say that with all the love in the world. She is getting under my skin. I will admit that; turning my command to do away with the formality against me.
But I can still have the last laugh now, can't I?
Leaning back against the intricate brass headboard, I take the poise of Rose in the Titanic—the epic scene where Jack painted her—and begin,
"Thank you for offering but I'll have my bath today, alone." I stress on that last part. It has its intended effect because Yennara tugs back a loose strand of her hair. She's uncomfortable. I go on, unabashed. "You wouldn't be there. You wouldn't watch me in the pool, the water all over..." I lower my voice seductively. "...steam washing over my skin, my hand trailing over my body. Wet, wet skin. Descending—"
"Your Grace," she doesn't let me finish. "Perhaps, I should leave you to your breakfast."
I don't hide my giggle. "Yes, do that, Yennara," I rasp, letting the simple strap of my shift fall so she gets a good glimpse of the cream swell of my breasts. She swallows hard. "Oh, and while you're at it," I add. "Prepare a tour. I intend to cruise the kingdom today. Get Sir Lancelot too. Tell him that he shall be leading the expedition."
"Yes, Your Grace," Yennara nods, drowning in her blush.
She was so attractive at the moment but I couldn't lose sight of the goal; beating her at the flirting game.
"That's all, Lady-in-waiting. Unless—" I lift a finger to my chest, tucking down the hem of my dress an inch.
Yennara hurries to the door, all but flying through it.
At her exit, I bust out laughing. I can't believe I just did that. My God! I'm no flirt, but that bordered on the edge of sadism. She'd been shivering when she left and I'd seen her fingers close into fists, battling her own desire. I'd given Yennara something to imagine and I feel nothing but sexy for it. One for the queen! My inner rogue hails. Pushing off the bed, I clamber into a pair of fluffy gray slippers, grab a bathrobe—this one emerald green—and head immediately for the bath pool.
Breakfast can wait. I want to imagine too.
Yennara returns a half-hour later. In that time, I've gone through a bath, breakfast, and a corset. Who says a queen can't dress herself? I'm prepared when she walks through the door. At her entry, she stills a bit, looking me over and certainly surprised at my attire. The fact that I managed to wiggle into one at all. I have on dark hardskin pants, thigh-high goth boots, oh—and the corset; a lacy, strapless silvery thingy that exposes my belly. Per modesty, I've added a black trenchcoat with a high collar which wraps comfortingly around me. God forbid a queen walk around in a corset only. These people certainly haven't met the 21st-century.
"You look ...sightly," Yennara says to me.
"Sightly?" I counter. "Is that a word for—"
"Sexy," she finishes for me.
"Oh," I nod, perusing her freshly laundered garb of red and gold—an erotic tease of a uniform mind you. "You look radiant." This being the only non-sexual thing in my head.
"Uh huh," she smiles, unconvinced.
I clear my throat. "Shall we?"
Yennara surprises me by giving a low bow before leading the way out of the bedroom, and it's only in our exit that I realize how many steps it takes to actually reach the door. It's either that or follow the sway of Yennara's hips. Such a large bedroom.
We both walk some distance while I try not to look surprised as we pass below great stone archs some thirty feet above, by hulking royal guards ten feet apart in every direction, opal walls shined to a pale pink, and the occasional sect of stewards who collectively bow to me. All in all, the castle is a mini-city in itself, with about a hundred grand rooms and a seeming neverending maze of aesthetic glory.
A round bend down a resplendent hallway, and we sweep into what I assume must be the Royal Ballroom. It's so wide I can only see a hazy view of the only other men in the room—they are seventy feet across. As if sensing us, the men turn and begin walking in our direction, swiftly. They look about a dozen. And I'm not the bravest female.
"Uh, Yen?" I question the fair-skinned woman.
"It's just the guards, Your Grace." I hear the amusement in her reply. "Sir Lancelot Grimm and others," she adds and even more humor marks her words.
"Oh, Sir Lancelot." I straighten in my stance, adopting the most regal posture I can manage. With my past as a nerd, it's near comical.
As the men draw close, I make out Lance. He's the tallest of the bunch—sorry, troop. His golden top is the first to catch the light, a man blond as the Kentucky sunrise. As beautiful too. His armor is pure gold. His cape flowing behind is scarlet red. His steps are a gladiator's gait. Lance walks with the surefooted way of a gazelle, much like a roman emperor. For some reason he seems even bulkier now. Added muscle to his pretty boy highschool self. A new roguish personality seeping like an aura from his moving figure.
I stare openly. And I don't even realize he's right in front of me until he bows.
They all bow.
Nine men total.
Wow! Okay.
Sir Lancelot Grimwald draws back up and all the others fade into the background. Yennara even. I just become immersed in all the want, and need, and longing I'd ever felt for this beautiful, beautiful boy. Past life or alternate reality, this man is my fate. I see he's a young man now; a shadow dusts the underside of his chiseled jaw, his blond hair no longer falls into his eyes in that boyish way but is brushed back to his nape in a perfect arc. And there's his eyes. Big. Bold. Blue. Icy depths that tell me that he's still my Lance. Underneath the armor and the gold and the ruggedness, is my hero and best friend with a heart of gold. Even if this version of him doesn't realize it.
"Your Majesty," he tones in his voice like breaking thunder. "We have prepared a royal carriage and will serve as escorts. Your kingdom is ready for you."
God! His voice! It's so fucking triggering it hurts.