under construction/power is power

So I’m off on le vacacion. Ooh, fake Spanish.

So I’m dead to you for awhile, mkay?

Thanks, dawling.

The Princess and the Fey

 © Liam Deihr, 2010      

I’d been told that I would only be disturbed for important things.               

This hardly counts as important.               

I am underneath countless layers of mattresses, sheets, quilts…it is insanely soft, but luckily I cannot feel the heat, seeing as I am masquerading as an uncooked pea, which is stupid because I could have magicked the feeling of a pea under the layers. But no.  I had to turn into a pea.               

Veronique saved my life as a teen, and now she is the sovereign of a large kingdom. It was the only time I’d ever felt helpless and she was there, as I have been for her ever since. We became great friends and I saw her through her marriage to the present king. I told her I would do anything for her.                I did not foresee this. My faerie brethren probably all have their own lives in other kingdoms, acting as envoys to the faerie queen.  While I am an uncooked pea.                

Groan. The girl atop the bed stretches and the bed wobbles. She mutters to herself about the bed being dangerous, and then her words prove true as she swings her legs over to try and get down. She knocks the ladder down, a raucous clatter ringing though the air. “Dammit,” she says. Sighing, she lies back down. Obviously she can’t sleep, not because of discomfort but because she, I know, overheard Veronique speaking to the king about this.               

But I feel bad for her and will find out if she is truly a princess. I vanish and am soon beside her face. I feel her smooth brown locks and smell them. Creepy, yes, but useful. I need to get a trace.               

And I am swept off to a bridge. A very long bridge. It’s still raining, worse than it was when the girl arrived. Across the rain-pelted moat is a castle of the same stature as Veronique’s, only less pretty. It is made of gray stone and, as I’ve said, is on an island separated by a ridiculously large moat.               

I fly up to the turrets (slowly, and uncomfortably with my black hair plastered to my back) and find a way in. In what is obviously the king and queen’s room lie a man, and beside him a woman who looks exactly like the girl who wishes to marry the prince.               

My mind is made up. Back in the bedroom, I shake her awake. She does not scream but raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”               

I roll my eyes. “Look. I work for the queen. I know that you’re really a princess. I changed myself into an uncooked pea to provide you with discomfort under her orders; she is under the impression that a true princess will not be able to sleep with anything wrong with her bed. So in the morning, tell her that you slept terribly and let’s be done with this. I’d like to go to bed.”               

She smiles. “Thank you, um…?”               

She wants my name. I smile and disappear.

***               

In the morning, I sit on the breakfast table next to the queen. There is honey cake, my favorite.               

The girl, nay, the princess, shuffles into the room and sits next to the prince. He smiles at her and rubs her shoulder. I wonder how she got down from the bed.               

The queen grimaces. “And how did you sleep last night, my dear?” She stirs her fork in the puddle of syrup on her china plate.               

A bit discomfited, the princess replies, “I appreciate your attempts to make my bed as comfortable as possible, but I was disturbed by a strange, hard point in the center of the bed.” She frowned.               

And the queen’s grimace evolved into a full-fledged smile. “Very well. Do you like hotcakes?”               

The girl steals a wink at me, and I smile.               

But never again will I be a pea under a bed. Shuddering, I reach for more honey cake.