And now, it’s my job to prove it.
Feeling the blood flowing back into my extremities, I return to my chair. Yes, I do so in a frothy cloud of tulle and a burping Hallelujah chorus, but I’m able to paste on my thousand-watt wedding planner smile and curtsy before I take my seat.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” I say, imbuing my voice with dripping-honey warmth. “Queen…?”
“Mab,” she drawls into her wine.
“Tits,” says Hanry’s dad. He’s not fully straight-faced, the bastard. I bet that’s a fake name.
“Pleasure to meet you, Your Highnesses, Queen Mab, King Tits.”
“I’m a photographer,” says Jurgis from where he’s been made to sit cross-legged in the corner of the room. Gustavo, the Academy Award–winning Spanish director whom Rochester has brought to join us, adds with a similarly enchanted air, “I am a videographer.”
“Have you enjoyed our hospitality so far?” Mab asks me and Mandy, as if we weren’t pelted with arrows five minutes ago. Oh, look at that: King Tits is giggling behind his hand.
Fuck it. I’m not giving Hanry’s parents an ounce more of my respect than I’ve already given.
The sarcasm-off is officially on.
“It’s been great,” I say. Plucking at my skirt, I add, “Thanks for getting my measurements right. To be fair, the length was slightly off, but your tailor noticed right away.”
Mab frowns. “He did?”
“Mmm, yeah. One of his arrows sliced off a bit of hem. It now fits perfectly.”
Mandy, not following, interrupts. “Whyisshe wearing a wedding dress?”
The king has been waiting for this.
“Because it’s funny,” he chortles. “Isn’t it funny?”
“It’s very funny,” agrees Mab.
A dark cloud gloms onto me, but I bat it aside. “We have a lot to discuss for tomorrow,” I say. “Mandy let me know you ran out of time to complete our surveys. Could you quickly tell us about the bride? Is she here at the castle and able to join us, by any chance?”
“She doesn’t need to join!” Tits says. But I disagree: I need to know my enemy. The woman who would dare marry Hanry right beneath my slightly bumpy nose.
“If we could be introduced, it’ll help me get a sense of how to instruct our photographer and videographer—”
“Princess May is our guest. She has traveled from Japan and has made her needs clear to us. We will handle everything on her behalf,” says Mab, so firmly I know it won’t be useful to push further. I let it go. In spite of my dread, I ask: “How about the groom?”
Tits replies with eager, sparklingly evil eyes. “Our son, Hanry—”
“Whom you’ve met,” says Mab.
“—is the groom.”
“Whom you’ve met,” says Mab again, louder this time. “I believe you’ve gotten very close. I’m sure you’ll know just how to make the day perfect for him.”
I refuse to blanch and play into their hands.
“Of course, Your Fairy Majesties,” I say sweetly. “Though I have to say the wedding details are… surprising, considering what I know about him.”
“We had to make the day more befitting of a prince,” says Mab. “He’s too simple sometimes. Too rugged, too rough-edged.”
“Too manly,” agrees Tits.
Huh. They’re just listing synonyms for “sexy.” This is weird.
