I close my eyes for a second and let out a long, frustrated sigh. "That fucking cat better have at least nine lives because when I get a hold of him, he's going to be down one."
Oh now, please don’t get all offended and call P.E.T.A. on me. I would never actually do any harm to an animal, but that particular spawn of Satan needs to get the fuck out of my palace as soon as possible. I storm out of the apartment and make my way across the palace to the throne room, where I find Gran, Arabella, Evi, Ruben, and several staff members surveying the damage. And believe me, there is a fuck load of damage to be observed here. Both thrones—my father's and the one my mother used to sit in—have been ripped to shreds so now the white stuffing that used to be inside the red velvet cushions is splayed across the floor as though we’re preparing for a Christmas play. Somehow, that bloody cat has also managed to pull down a five hundred-year-old tapestry that used to hang behind the throne bearing my family's crest. It has been reduced to an enormous ball of string on the floor.
"We are so sorry," Evi says, rushing over to greet me. "I have no idea how he got out. We've been so careful the entire time. It must've been when the staff was clearing up from our breakfast.”
Ruben pulls his Valcourt United check book out of his back pocket. “What do I owe you, Artie?”
I swallow my irritation and manage what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“We insist. Evi’s a whiz at recovering chairs, and we can replace that wall hanging if you tell us where you got it.”
“Not to worry. As talented as Evi is, we do have a furniture repair company on retainer for the thrones. As to the tapestry, you’d first need to acquire a time machine so you could travel back to the mid-fifteen hundreds and make a trip to Naples to visit Charles the Fifth, the Holy Roman Emperor at the time. Ask if he’d be so kind as to offer another gift of gold-wrapped silk from his private stock to my family. I have to warn you, though, you may have to wait there for the better part of a year if he doesn’t have any and needs to send a ship to China for the silk. Once you return, you’d then need to find thirty or so of Avonia’s most talented loomers who would require sixteen months to complete the tapestry.” As I talk, the smile never leaves my face, even though my tone rises with every sentence until I’m almost yelling.
Ruben lets the hand holding his checkbook drop to his side. “I see.”
“Do you?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes, I think I do,” he turns to his wife. “We’ve worn out our welcome, Evi.”
“You think?” I say in a tone curt enough to shock even me.
Evi whispers, “I’m sorry, Arthur, Arabella,” then starts toward the door, tears brimming in her eyes.
Arabella, unable to stand scenes like this, steps in. “No, please don’t cry. Arthur was only joking! I’m sure we have another tapestry we can put up. We have loads of them all over the palace. That one was getting ratty anyway.”
Ruben gives Arabella a small smile. “You don’t have to do that, dear. We know enough to know we’re not welcome here anymore.”
“The strange part is, you’re just figuring this out now,” I say. Turning to Bellford, I say, “Please arrange to have a guard at Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe’s door to watch that that...animal doesn’t escape again.”
Ruben takes Evi by the arm, and the pair slink away whilst I watch. Good riddance.
Evi turns to me, clutching Mr. Whiskers close to her chest. "We’re very sorry, Arthur. We’d do anything to make it up to you if we could."
"Sorry about what, exactly? Sorry about interrupting me constantly to give tours of my office to every person you've ever met? Sorry that you're driving our staff insane giving them ‘helpful pointers’ on jobs they've been doing for many years? Sorry you want to set my father up with some hot-to-trot middle-aged divorcee who spends her time crocheting and playing Candy Crush? Sorry that you've been absolutely awful to your daughter her entire life and favoured your sons so much, she doesn't even know her own worth? Which is it exactly, Evi? Because as far as I can see, there's a long list of things you should be sorry for, not just allowing your horrible cat to ruin my family’s priceless throne room!"
Ruben takes a step toward me. "Now listen here, you! I don't give a good goddamn who you are, nobody talks to my wife that way. And for someone who’s supposed to be so well-mannered, you certainly haven't learned a thing about how to treat your mother-in-law with the respect she's owed." Turning to Bellford, Ruben says, "No need to post a guard outside our door. We'll be gone within the hour."
Grabbing Evi by the elbow, he stalks away, letting the heavy wooden door swing shut behind them. Bellford clears his throat a little and then excuses himself, leaving me alone with Gran and Arabella, both of whom look absolutely shocked.
Arabella, who looks as though she's about to start crying, just shakes her head at me and walks away. Gran opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up one finger. "Not now, grandmother."
"Put that bony finger down before I snap it off your hand. And don't even think to tell me what to do ever again. Now, I know you're under a lot of pressure, but that is absolutely no excuse for treating your in-laws so horribly. The world expects more from you, Arthur, and your children will need more. If you’re going to start giving in to fits of ill-temper, you’ll be no good as a father or a king!”
"I'll be just fine as soon as they're gone."
"If you actually believe they are the problem, you really are turning into your father." With that last jab, she exits the room, leaving me alone with the cleanup crew, none of whom will make eye contact with me–not that I’d want to at this moment.
I storm out of the throne room and back to my apartment. Going straight to the kitchen, I grab a six pack of beer out of the fridge, then walk into the nursery and shut the door behind me.
“Now, let’s get back to building these fucking cribs.”
