38. Belle
Belle
“What are you doing?” Rosalia asks, pushing herself into my chambers.
I turn, my dress stopping me from moving freely.
It’s blue satin, embroidered in silver stitching—the newest addition to my wardrobe and no doubt my favorite.
It probably has wrinkles in it now, as I’m curled over a low table, my hands messy with oil.
“I finally did it!” I yell, holding the black box out to her.
She approaches, face scrunched in disapproval. “You did what exactly?”
“I made a clock!”
“A clock?”
I rise to my feet, excitement bubbling over.
“We have them on Earth. They tell the time. God, I can’t believe this.
I’ve been dying for time.” I stare down at the black screen, the red glowing numbers shining through.
It wasn’t an easy thing to construct without the technology I’m used to. Thank God for magic fingers.
“Wow,” Rosalia says sarcastically. “I just rebloomed the lilacs in the entire south courtyard, but you made a box that lights up and gives you arbitrary information.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll have you know that it was quite difficult to create without electronics or electricity or other Earthly advancement. Besides, the time is useful information.”
“Well then why are you late to your coronation ball if you now have a tool that helps you with registering where the sun sits in the sky?”
“The Queen is never late,” Rourke declares from the bed behind me, sitting upright and swinging his legs over the side. He stands, completely naked.
“Oh, Rourke, for Star’s sake,” Rosalia yells, shielding her eyes and turning away.
I laugh.
Peter groans from the other side of the bed. “Why are we talking so loudly, so early?” He smothers himself in a pillow, upsetting Weasel next to him, who hisses and jumps off the bed, hiding underneath.
What a bunch of lazybones. “Apparently, it’s not early, and apparently, we’re late. But that will be a problem of the past now that I have my clock!”
Rourke pads over to me, wrapping his arms around my chest and cradling my digital clock in one hand.
“You are a marvel.” He kisses my cheek, his hook grazes lower, sending my body alight.
I bat him away. We’re in company after all.
I’m not that obscene. Although when I catch Rosalia’s horrified expression, I have half the mind to shove my tongue down his throat just to piss her off further.
But, alas, I am the queen—or whatever—and I do have a ball to attend.
I wave my hands, placing down my clock. “Okay, okay! Just let me fix my hair.” I turn to shove in a fallen bobby pin—another one of my earthly creations.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss my ladies in waiting doting around and making sure every stray hair or article of clothing is in place, but I much prefer using the now paid labor on jobs that I actually can’t do on my own.
“Belle!” Peter yells, still lying in bed. “Come, here. Right now.”
“No!” I say without turning toward him.
“I order you!” He doesn’t remove himself from the nest of pillows.
Rourke runs and jumps on the bed, bouncing Peter, who protests and slaps his arm. Rourke musses Peter’s hair and yells to me, “I don’t order you, but I do beg you. We can make them wait.” They both scoot to the edge, making room for me.
I stare at them with a smile as I put on my star-jeweled earrings.
My cheeks burn from my ever-persistent smile.
They’re so fucking delicious, all bed-tossed and giddy, staring at me with pleading eyes, only an arm's width away from each other.
I mindlessly run my finger down my plunging neckline as I consider their offer.
Rosalia grabs my wrist and yanks me in the direction of the door. “No, we’re going.”
“Bossy!” I click. “Sorry, boys, but she’s right. Both of you need to get ready and be down in five.”
“Five?” Peter questions. “What does that mean?”
I nod to my clock before I’m pulled out of the doorway. “Five more numbers from now.” I cling to the frame as she pulls. “I'd better see both of your tight behinds on that dancefloor.” She jerks me out. I pull myself back. “Or you will be punished.” I let her drag me the rest of the way.
Rosalia intertwines her arm with mine as she stomps down the marble halls, walking much faster than I’m comfortable with in my satin high heels that already hurt like a bitch. “Did you tell them yet?” she whispers.
My smile disappears, and my face heats. “No. There wasn’t time.”
“Aw, yes, your precious clock was much more important.” She shoots me a pointed look.
“I’ll tell them after tonight. I’m already under enough pressure. I can’t worry about their emotions on top of everything.”
She studies me as we step down the winding staircase. “So you’re going to spend the whole night worrying about it instead of getting it over with?”
“Yes,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Perfect.” She leads me into a room I’ve never seen before—not unusual since this place is fucking massive. I’m assaulted by the blinding light of the jewels taking up the ample velvet countertops.
The thief in me cracks my knuckles, eager to steal as much as I can fit into my tight corset. Then I remember, everything here is already mine.
“We need a crown,” Rosalia says, opening a chest with shelves, full of intricately designed metal work. She examines me, tapping her lip before snagging a crown, a dainty piece of silver, teardrops of clear crystal falling from each point. She holds it out.
“You sure? It doesn’t really scream big dick energy.” I take it from her anyway and place it on my head.
“You want your subjects to think you have a big dick?”
“Yes.”
She scrunches her nose.
“God, you’re no fun,” I say, adjusting my crown as I exit the jewel room.
Sometimes it’s hard to have a best friend who will never understand my turns of phrase or the quotes from many years of being chronically online.
But it’s worth it, because despite our constant bickering, Rosalia is the best friend I’ve ever had.
I barely remember Charlene or Greg, or anything else from my old life on Earth.
There’s comforts I miss, like soda fountains and air conditioning, but I’m fucking magic.
I can make all that shit one of these days.
I’ll start my own chain of RadioShacks if I have to.
We weave through the halls, Rosalia speeding up to lead the way until she stops before the doors opening out to the back courtyard. She turns to me to move the star pendant to the complete center of my chest.
I smile, taking in the intricate braids of her rosy hair, the smooth color of her lips, the glittering blush rose petals that make up the tight-fitting, yet full-skirted dress. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Her eyes meet mine, darting nervously. “I know. It’s quite distracting, isn’t it?” She fluffs her updo.
“Quite. How will anyone tear their eyes away from you for my coronation announcement?”
“I know. I’m doing you a favor, honestly. I know how you get under pressure.”
I giggle, the weight of everything feeling so much lighter. I wrap her into a hug and revel when each inch of her relaxes into the embrace. It only lasts a moment before she pushes me back, clears her throat, and straightens.
“Alright, enough of that. You’re already late.” She swings the door open, walking in like she owns the place.
We’re on a stage, constructed to overlook the courtyard in all of its sparkling splendor.
Thankfully, the pillars with billowing fabrics between each post shield us from the immediate view of the patrons below.
A throne sits at the center—a bit stuffy if you ask me.
I hope they don’t expect me to sit in it and greet my subjects like some stuck-up wench.
But when I peer over the high back, the seat is already taken.
“Weasel? How did you get here?” My pet sits atop plush cushions, a small box of circular truffles before him.
His nimble hands bring the treats to his mouth, jostling the tiny crown resting on his head.
Rosalia huffs and rolls her eyes. “It was Peter’s idea. You know how much he loves that rat.”
I grab Weasel’s jaw and kiss his furry cheek. “Daddy is spoiling you, isn’t he?” My words flip my uneasy stomach.
“You ready?” Rosalia asks, turning back to me with her hand on the fabric.
Nerves creep up my spine, but I ignore their presence and nod. We push out, Peter and Rourke’s blinding smiles are the first thing I see. They stand on either side, each offering me their hands.
So long, nerves. I’m home.
Peter looks away, addressing the now quiet crowd. “Neverhaven, I present to you your new Queen, Lady Belle.”
The crowd roars, stealing my attention from Rourke in his fitted shirt and red-and-gold vest to the assembly before me.
The crowd is full of women with cat ears and whiskers, men with tails poking over their shoulders, and others that don’t look magical at all—much like me.
Perhaps they hold magic within. These are my people.
I carve their smiling faces into memory.
I don’t know if I’ll be a good ruler or if I’ll always make the right calls.
There will be times that people hate me, or try to assassinate me; it’s part of the gig, I’m sure of it.
But right now, in my home, with the two loves of my life beside me, everything is perfect, and the future is bright.
At the thought of my future—our future, my stomach rolls. I planned to dance with my princes, to enjoy the party before ruining it, but I can’t hold back my secret any longer. I’m about to vomit.
I bow to the crowd and wave before whispering in Peter’s ear. “Is there somewhere we can go? That’s private?”
Peters tracks my mouth like he’s a shark and I’m a minnow.
“Come on, Rourke,” he calls to his brother from over the top of my head, before yanking me off the stage.
Rouke must sense Peter’s devilish spirit, because they both pull me onward, in matching steps. Peter flings open the first door to our right, leading me into a coat closet.