Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Switching From Fantasy to Thrillers – Why Do I Write Across Genres?

I might be working on Faerietales 4, but I’m done publishing fantasy fiction for the year. I’m now switching over to the world of thrillers. Political thrillers, to be precise.

Which means that as of the 24th of May, I will have published Christian fiction, historical fiction, fantasy and modern fiction.

All I need to do is add in some mystery, chick-lit, young adult and sci-fi, and maybe the next “Fifty Shades of Grey,” and I’ll be a mini Barnes & Noble.

Just kidding about “Fifty Shades of Grey.” I have soooooo much more dignity than that. Not to mention talent.

I also don’t have plans to plot out mysteries, not because I don’t like them but because I’m not sure if I have the right type of mind to write that way. More power to those authors who do though.

But other than those two genres, I’m open to whatever the muse strikes me with. And since my particular muse likes to strike me with a whole lot of randomness, that means, in some ways, she’s a lousy one to have.

You see, most authors make a living for themselves by building up an audience. And how do you build up an audience? You appeal to the same people over and over and over again so that they keep buying up each new book that you debut.

Most people do have a particular genre they consistently turn to. Hence the reason why fantasy writers stick to writing fantasy.

Christian fiction writers don’t write anything but Christian fiction.

Historical fiction writers and thriller writers? Yeah… It’s usually the same thing.

My muse, however, apparently isn’t a capitalist. Or maybe she is, but just isn’t the brightest entrepreneurial spirit in the box.

Go figure I’d get a flighty one.

With that said, I cannot wait to tell you more about Dirty Politics 1: “The Politician’s Pawn” next month.

Because as inconsistent as my muse is, she sure can come up with one heck of a story line…

Monday, April 27, 2015

Faerietales 4: Because Trilogies Are So Cliché

At the beginning of the month, I mentioned how I’d started another story despite my plans to work on completely different novels.

So here’s the big reveal now that  I've officially published Faerietales 3 (available on Amazon.com in both print and Kindle copies)... I’m working on Faerietales Book 4.

It had to happen, I suppose, considering all the questions I left unanswered at the end of the appropriately named “Up in the Air.”

It’s not a cliff-hanger ending. Don’t worry, guys. I had originally intended this to be the last Sabrina-focused book, and so I gave her a promising new future. But it did still end in such a way that left a whole lot of room for a whole new story.

At least that’s what a certain lovely, lovable, obnoxious someone I know told me after reading Book 3. And I guess I caved to the pressure.

Nah… That’s not being fair to her. If anything, she got my imagination fired up. That’s it. The rest is all my fault.

So here I am, typing away, reusing memorable tertiary characters from “Not So Human” and “To Err Is Faerie” that I never thought I’d write about again. Oh yeah, and I’m introducing a new character based on one of the greatest emotional con-artists I’ve ever personally met.

Unexpected though it is, it’s totally fun!

Don’t ask me what the title is, because I’ve got nothing right now. But I do have a good grasp of where the plot is going. And let me tell you… It’s going to rock! As is Sabrina. No more scarred little faerie… This princess is ready to rule.

Since I’m still in the early stages of writing, don’t expect this baby to fly free until next year. But here are a few elements I may or may not have already written into existence:

·         There may or may not be a wedding involved.
·         There may or may not be a faerie plot to kill humans for a change.
·         And Sabrina may or may not have to work hand in hand with the HPAC at some point.

I wish I could say more, but I really can’t. For one thing, it would be giving away too much of the recently-debuted “Up in the Air,” which is now available on Amazon.com in both Kindle and print copies.

But also, I don’t like locking myself into anything. I reserve the right to go back and edit out anything I want to until I push that “publish” button.

In the meantime, feel free to post any suggested titles in the comments below. I’ll take all the help I can get!

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

“Up in the Air” Chapter Three: Why I Pick on Italians So Much

In Monday’s post, I shared the back-cover description of “Up in the Air,” – due out on Friday on Amazon.com! – in  which I mention a certain “playboy Italian prince.”

Which made me start to think about my other novels, particularly my other series – Dirty Politics – which I’ll be publishing between May and July. It made me realize that I pick on Italians a good bit in my story lines.

I do that for a reason though, mainly because every group of people – and I’m not just talking about nationalities; pick a category, any category – has some average defining quality that’s absolutely ridiculous. In fact, most of the time, these subsets of humanity have a whole lot of laughable defining qualities.

And who doesn’t like to laugh? I know I appreciate a good giggle.

Then again, there’s always the risk of hurting people’s feelings, which I genuinely don’t want to do. Hence the reason why I maybe go overboard with the whole Italian thing. Because I’m half-Italian and identify pretty strongly with the pasta-eating crowd, I feel like I can poke fun all I want since I’m poking fun of myself.

Makes sense, right? It does in my head at least. But to any fellow Italians, I’m genuinely sorry we’re so easy to pick on.

Long live the ravioli! (And manicotti, and lasagna, and baked ziti, and… great. Now I'm hungry.)




Chapter 3



W
hen even Claire had left, Deanda followed up on that hand squeeze. Standing right in front of Sabrina, she placed both hands on her practically bare shoulders.
“How are you doing? Better? Do we need to talk about it now or later?”
With a fond smile, Sabrina shook her head. Ten minutes after the episode, she was past it. If anything, she wasn’t sure why she had been about to cry in the first place. It seemed unnecessarily silly when she really did recognize that things were better the way they were. She and Alex wouldn’t have been able to ever get past the alterations the HPAC had made to their relationship.
“No need to talk about it now or later. I’m fine.” She let her gaze rake over her friend’s physical form. “And you really do look exquisite, by the way. Has Alistair seen you yet?”
Managing to look both concerned and giddy at the same time, Deanda shook her head with the excitement of a little girl held at bay by the more mature sympathy she had for her friend. “No, I wanted to surprise him.”
“Oh, you’ll surprise him all right,” Sabrina noted with raised eyebrows. “Somehow, I don’t think his mind is going to be on my party tonight.”
Deanda blushed but didn’t bother to disagree. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Dallas is going to be able to keep his eyes off of you. You look absolutely amazing.”
Sabrina turned to look in the mirror once again, her wings fluttering slightly at her reflection. It was an automatic sign of some form of happiness she couldn’t repress. And maybe – just maybe – some tiny voice of hope informed her, she could focus on the princess staring back at her instead of the nervous commoner casting that image.
It was getting close to go-time.
Due to an ancient custom the Scottish court still adhered to, arriving at least twenty minutes late was considered polite. Apparently, back a few thousand years, the queen had been prone to fickle tastes and constant fits of change. One day, she would want the standard green decorations. The following Thursday, everything had to be gold.
Naturally, that drove the servants crazy during regular hours, and special occasions sent them into absolute fits of panic. They would do their best to manage her mood swings, ensuring that guests never knew the carpeting had been completely stripped and laid out again from one day to the next, or that the mess of draperies had been replaced mere hours before an international gathering.
That was until the queen pushed her luck and her servants too far too late one fateful occasion. So when everyone arrived, the featured rooms were in chaotic disarray that took another hour to fix.
After that, invitees became much more wary about showing up on time. And for whatever reason, the tradition stuck long after a new court took over.
That was true for the guests, anyway. Not the hosts, who never knew which delegates would be familiar with the proper observances in the Scottish faerie court and which ones were complete newbies. So Sabrina needed to be there about a half hour early. There would be no grand entrance for her, despite the theatre of her first dance. Instead, she’d stand with her brother, sister-in-law, nephew, Deanda and Dallas, greeting each person who came in. Since the RSVP list was close to four hundred names long, the first two-hour span was reserved for greeting guests.
Sabrina had done the math in her head when they first told her the estimate, and it seemed rather ridiculous to think she’d be able to say “hello” to that many people in that period. But Alistair, who had gone through more than enough royal events already, assured her that most people would respect her limited time and politely move on after introducing themselves.
Sabrina remained somewhat skeptical. About a lot of it.
“I’m so happy you’re going to be standing with me,” she told Deanda, though she didn’t turn away from her reflection while she spoke.
It was, she felt, rather calming to look at herself dressed up so elegantly. If her royal fashionistas had managed to make her look so good, then she could totally pull off the next few hours.
“Well, technically, I’m standing with Alistair,” Deanda pointed out with a grin. “But we’ll still be close enough to give each other meaningful looks.”
“I wish I could have you as my date,” Sabrina sighed with the smallest smidgen of actual discontent on the topic. “It really is a shame that faeries are so closed-minded.”
Deanda knew exactly what she meant, because she gave a melodramatic sigh of her own. “I know, because if we just accepted same-sex marriage like the civilized humans above us, we’d be able to celebrate our relationship in the open instead of hiding our love like this.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Sabrina finally allowed herself to look away from the mirror, her mouth dropping into one of the good-natured smirks she used to feel so much more familiar with once upon a time. “But sadly, you have to go date a prince, and I have one of Faeriedom’s most eligible bachelors as my escort. Our lives are so difficult.”
“So true,” Deanda agreed, looking like she wanted to say more except that her phone beeped from an incoming message that had her eyes brightening. “The boys say they’re ready, so I’m going to tell them to come and get us.”
Sabrina nodded her assent, drawing strength from the fairytale image she’d seen in herself just a minute ago. In fairytales, at least the ball scene was always gorgeous and romantic and dreamy. So if all went according to script, she supposed she and Dallas would be sharing in true love’s kiss before the night was over.
Though perhaps that only worked if godmothers and wands were involved. As far as she knew, her attire had been made the old-fashioned way; nothing magical about the process whatsoever.
That aside, she had to admit that the official festivities seemed to be starting off on the right glass slipper when their escorts arrived.
As predicted, Alistair was exceptionally attentive to Deanda. The crown prince was smitten even on her worst hair days, much less when she looked like she did in the red gown. It was difficult for Sabrina, her straight best friend, not to notice the way the dress rustled when she walked, or how well the fabric followed Deanda’s body so well. So she could only imagine how much it captured her nephew’s attention.
Then again, come to think of it, she supposed she didn’t want to imagine that at all.
Dallas was very gallant as well, paying attention to her and her alone after the first round of compliments were exchanged and they were walking to the grand ballroom. He took her arm and told her she looked beautiful, a compliment he seemed to mean if his frequent glances were any indication. It was rather endearing the way he thought he was being subtle, despite how he had no good reason to think he might possess that ability.
Besides, she was casting a few lingering looks his way too. He looked phenomenal in his tuxedo, which emphasized his broad shoulders and the impressive difference in their heights. Sabrina liked that about him. It made her feel safe.
“You should never go to America looking like this,” she mused out loud.
Dallas tilted his head curiously. “Oh? Why?”
“Because they’d never let you leave. At least the women wouldn’t, especially after you opened your mouth with that accent of yours.” She’d complimented his brogue herself once upon a time.
He grinned. “I wonder how much tickets are going for these days. I hear American women are pretty easy on the eye themselves.”
Sabrina grinned right back. “Yeah, they can clean up well when they want to. But you’re not allowed to go gallivanting anywhere until tonight is over.”
She used her free hand to slap his bicep lightly for emphasis. It felt like a rock. A very, very sexy rock. Which may or may not have prompted her to keep running her mouth.
“You’re mine for now, and don’t you dare forget that.”
The responding look he gave her was particularly intriguing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not leaving.”
They would have descended into silence again, but Sabrina found herself grasping at still another straw. If there was a way to keep the conversation going, than she was in the mood to take chances.
“So seriously, how bad are these things?”
She’d already asked Deanda and her brother and her sister-in-law that question more than once each, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she wanted to keep hearing him talk, accent and all.
He shrugged as if such events were old hat, which they somewhat were for him. He might not be royalty, but he and his younger sister were practically adopted into the family considering that their mother was dead, their father obsessed with his own doings, and Alistair and Dallas had been best friends since childhood.
“These parties are a nuisance more than anything,” he assured. “Just smile and nod a lot, and pretend you care about what everyone else thinks. And whatever you do, don’t get into politics with the Spanish prime minister. Once he starts, you can’t get him to shut up.”
Sabrina racked her brain for a face and name to go with the title. She knew she should know it by now, considering the detailed lists of attendees she’d poured over. It had been both annoying and time-consuming, but she had committed to the effort all the same, determined to come across as something other than the clueless country bumpkin she might otherwise be.
“I’m going to look like an idiot by the end of the night, aren’t I?” It was an utterly shameless fishing expedition for reassurance, and maybe another compliment.
Deanda responded instead and with her usual brand of directness. “You look like a goddess in that dress, your hair alone is going to get you rave reviews in every society page written about tonight, and you’re on a very hot guy’s well-muscled arm. Shut up, stop complaining and enjoy yourself already.”
Sabrina started laughing. She couldn’t help herself. Leave it to her best friend to say something so blunt. She should have known.
Meanwhile, Dallas had stiffened in embarrassment at the unrequested attention. Since his arms tightened and she was still holding onto him, that gave her another involuntary feel of how much he’d been working out.
“Yes, ma’am,” she managed to say after she got herself under control again. And just to be even sassier, she snapped off a jaunty salute while she was at it. Then, turning to her escort, she patted his bicep again. “You know, Dallas, you really do have very well-muscled arms. How much can you bench at this point?”
“Five hundred,” he told her, sounding and looking smug the way he had when they first met.
It made her want to goad him further. “So you could bench me without breaking a sweat then, huh?”
“Oh, he’d break a sweat alright,” Alistair muttered loudly enough for even the bodyguards around them to hear. It was surprisingly ungentlemanly of the normally polite prince.
“I heard that,” Dallas retorted.
“You were supposed to,” he replied. “Just remember what I told you.”
It was apparently Dallas’ turn to mutter something, though it was under his breath. Sabrina would have pressed him to repeat it right then and there, but they were already approaching the ballroom doors. So she tucked it away for later.
Something in her nephew’s tone informed her she definitely wanted to know what that little exchange had been about.
Kenneth and Kyla were already inside and walking around the enormous room, inspecting everything. At least Kyla was inspecting everything. Kenneth was walking beside her, maintaining a casual conversation and trying to snitch treats from the passing servants, who were setting up the last of the food tables. Sabrina had no idea why he kept at it when his wife caught him each time, smacking his hand whenever she did.
If that bothered him, the faerie king didn’t show it. She saw him bend down to kiss the top of Kyla’s head before either of them realized the next generation of royals was behind them.
They made a striking couple, he in his practically black green suit with matching bowtie, and she in a light green dress that fell in beautiful silk folds down to the floor. For that matter, they also very nicely matched the room, which was a cavernous creation at least the size of an American football field. Done up in silver, bronze and green, the size of the dance floor alone was enormous, mainly because faerie wings necessitated the extra space. Soon enough, the entire expanse would be taken up with mingling guests, but for the time being, the scurrying servants were accentuating how very large the room really was.
“Sabrina!” Kyla was the one who first spotted them. “Don’t you look beautiful!”
Though she had to raise her voice to be heard, there was barely an echo.
Kenneth put an arm around her shoulders, his booming voice carrying all on its own without having to shout. “She scrubs up well, doesn’t she? Nice tiara by the way.”
The couple started walking over, but Sabrina didn’t wait to reply. Feeling deliciously silly, she called back, “Thanks! My rich big brother got it for me.”
It was a good start to the festivities, she thought. And she was still of that mind when the first guest arrived well before the polite twenty-minute period had passed. But since it was Geoffrey and he wanted to scope out the place one last time, nobody was surprised. The head of Intelligence was thorough, to say the least, and had already driven palace security insane by inspecting the entire room three times over. According to her sources, he had also wanted to frisk every guest before they came in, which wouldn’t have gone over well diplomatically.
Dallas hadn’t been altogether against the notion either, which didn’t surprise Sabrina either.
What did throw her for a loop was Geoffrey’s wife. Somehow, someway, she had never considered the possibility of him being married. It was a fascinating realization made that much more so when the woman in question came across as pleasant and likable. In stark contrast to her husband, she managed to have a lighthearted chit-chat about nothing in particular while he went around the room eying everything with solemn suspicion. He was still doing that when the rest of the guests started wandering in.
Soon enough, Sabrina didn’t have more than a second at a time to gather herself. As the first person in a welcoming line of six, she smiled and complimented and welcomed away until all of the faces and names, dresses and wing colors started running together in her head. Her cheeks began to hurt well before the first hour was over, but still she kept her lips turned upward until the very last faerie had made his appearance.
That very last faerie just happened to be the infamous Prince Vatuicci, who planted a lingering kiss on the back of her hand before moving on to greet a none-too-happy Dallas beside her. Sabrina was practically seeing spots by the time he came along, so she barely registered that he was as handsome in person as on all those magazine covers he’d graced. If anything, the publications hadn’t done his runner’s build, deep brown eyes and copper-colored hair justice. Yet the second he was moving away from Kenneth at the end of the line, Sabrina forgot his presence entirely.
Gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter who walked over as if on cue, she forced herself not to down the whole thing on the spot. She’d survived the first stage of her official ascension into society, but she’d have to save any serious celebrating for later.
Deanda patted Alistair’s hand before breaking free from him to stand beside her best friend. “I told you you’d do fine,” she assured like her normal know-it-all self, before switching to the kind of accent found in the Hamptons. “You were marvelous, darling. Simply marvelous.”
Sabrina smirked in self-mockery, but the compliment did feel good and she knew that showed. “I still have to get through another how many hours though? Still plenty of time to step on a foot or two.”
“You’re not going to step on anyone’s feet,” Dallas assured, but he looked slightly worried all the same.
“So what happens now?” Sabrina asked, looking around the room at her fellow faeries mingling about. “When do I dance and start making my rounds?”
Like they had heard her question, the full orchestra against the left wall struck up the introductory notes to her chosen song. The musicians had been playing more fun, folksy pieces up until that point, but they moved into the softer ballad with a few graceful flourishes like the pros they were.
The time had come for Sabrina to make it or break it in front of everyone. So it was a good thing for her that she had Dallas to rely on. He took her hand and led her out onto the green mural that was the dance floor. And in a surprisingly insightful move on his part, he looked her right in the eyes when he pulled her into his arms.
“Just concentrate on me. Forget they’re even there.”
“Easier said than done,” she replied, but her gaze remained locked on him regardless.
Sabrina found out quickly that it actually was easy to tune everything else out when she was focusing on his rich brown eyes and the way his hand pressed against the small of her back. Despite its classical tones, the music felt entirely potent. Every time the stringed instruments took the lead, she could feel a delicious little shiver race through her nerves; and every time the pianos stood out in particular, her mind tingled with possibilities.
Combined, it was almost enough to give her the courage to tell Dallas something she might later regret. Her lips went so far as to part and her tongue rose to form the first syllable; but it almost seemed irreverent to break the heady spell of the moment. That and traces of cowardice kept her silent, though that fear wasn’t because she was afraid her sentiments wouldn’t be returned. If anything, it was the exact opposite.
In front of her and above her and around her, Dallas’ emotions were written all over. And as they glided to the beat, stepping and turning without any noticeable mishaps on her part, all of her personal demons stepped away to give her total clarity. Everything about him, from his touch to his posture to his expression, told her what she had already recognized deep down inside.
She had known it; she just hadn’t admitted it for so many reasons, including the fact that he hadn’t been going out of his way to be around her like he had before life took such a nasty fall. So it was rather nice to see him showing that he wanted her still, that he cared and thought highly of her.
It allowed her to concentrate on the moment instead of her other blinding insight: that he wasn’t going to make any moves. Just like she channeled her pain into staying busy, he was coping by trying to insure that she never got hurt again. And in his messed-up mind, she now fully recognized, that included getting close.
The song ended and so did the dance, but Dallas held onto her for an unmistakable three seconds too long, his fingers curled around her waist. For the space of a single but poignant breath, Sabrina was sure he was going to kiss her right then and there in front of the whole entire faerie court and assembled guests.
In the end, he did, but it was only to brush his lips against her cheek. Then he spun her out so they could curtsy and bow to the assembled crowd.
The room broke out into polite but enthusiastic applause.
Sabrina’s skin tingled where his mouth had been.
“We didn’t do too bad together,” she dared to say, smiling up at her handsome escort when he began leading her off the dance floor. “And I didn’t step on your feet once.”
“I wasn’t worried you would,” he replied confidently.
“Liar.”
He had the grace to grin at that, though he still didn’t admit to anything.
After reaching her family’s side, she had maybe five minutes with them before they all had to spread out and socialize. Deanda barely had the chance to give her a meaningful look indicating loud and clear that there were comments coming later. And then the three couples were off to play the cordial hosts and hostesses.
For her part, Sabrina clung to Dallas’ arm like a life raft, though she once again had her princess face on. It had been so much easier back in the reception line, where she didn’t have to think of proper conversation topics and meaningful replies.
It got worse when she was forced to let him go to shake the hand of someone who came up to her side. In retrospect, she realized it was a distinct tactical move on the newcomer’s part since he had help with it. He first walked over with a beautiful female friend with pale purple wings and auburn hair swept into an elegant up-do. And with almost imperceptible nods that Sabrina just happened to catch by a chance turn of her head, they separated: the woman to distract Dallas, and Prince Vatuicci to capture Sabrina’s attention.
She briefly considered shrugging him off entirely with a few kind but dismissive words, but he never gave her an opening for that. Taking her hand in his right from the get-go, he didn’t kiss it, but he did claim it.
Sabrina saw Dallas shoot her a concerned look, but he couldn’t politely detach himself any more than she could. It made her hate the leggy woman at his side, and not just because of the slit in her dress, which stopped mid-thigh and was therefore unnecessarily slutty for a formal event.
Prince Vatuicci was speaking though, forcing her to turn to him. “Princess Sabrina, may I just say that the rumors of your beauty didn’t come close to doing you justice.”
His smooth, Italian accent made the words seem less cheesy than they were, though she still wasn’t sure how she felt about his tone caressing her skin quite so intimately. Sure, he held his wings folded in the back like a gentleman, but something in his eyes and olive-tinged complexion made her guess at what he was thinking all the same.
“Oh, you know,” she tried to reply with light dismissiveness, risking a glance backward while he pulled her further away from Dallas and toward the less crowded wall. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
To her ears, her American inflections sounded so much less impressive than his smooth tenor.
He chuckled anyway. “Am I making you nervous drawing you away from Sir Dallas?”
The way he pronounced the faux title made her reach two quick conclusions, the first being that he knew Dallas personally. The second was that they didn’t get along.
Sabrina decided to be equally blunt. “Well he is my escort for the evening, and he’s been amazing so far. But I also think it’s impolite to go gallivanting off with one person when it means I’m neglecting my other guests.”
Vatuicci smiled, looking both younger and older than the late twenties she knew him to be in. “I don’t think taking ten steps with me constitutes ‘gallivanting,’ but we can dance if it makes you feel less uncomfortable about skirting these stuffy rules.”
He said that last part as a distinctive dare: a supposed challenge to be her own woman and stick it to the man. The truth was Sabrina recognized it for the manipulation attempt he meant it as. Yet it got her competitive side going anyway, and so she raised her eyebrows right back.
“How about you tell me more about yourself, first,” she commanded lightly. “Didn’t I hear you were dating someone in Italy? Or am I thinking about her sister?”
That had been one of the stories Catherine shared earlier in the day. The prince had gotten himself into yet another scandal just the week before by seeing a pair of siblings at the same time without proper permissions granted on either woman’s part. It hadn’t ended well when they found out what he was doing behind their respective backs.
His admittedly beautiful eyes were full of amusement while he straightened his bowtie in a supposed fit of self-consciousness. “I can see you Scots have much better sources than my poor country has. You seem to know my very darkest secrets.”
“Of course we do,” she countered. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with this case, Prince Vatuicci. Your reputation more than precedes you.”
“Let me guess then,” he began, putting a hand on the small of her back to presumably guide her still farther away from Dallas.
That was his mistake though. Because when he did, it ceased to be a game she knew she could win. It stopped being a game at all, for that matter. In that moment, it wasn’t his touch she felt; if it had been, she probably would have been able to shrug it off physically and otherwise.
Sabrina must have tensed a decent bit, since Antonio dropped his hand.
With practiced ease, however, his speech didn’t falter in the slightest. “You heard I’m the modern-day version of Casanova, that I’m a bounder and a cad – as I believe your ancestors would have dubbed me not very long ago – and that good little Scottish princesses stay far, far away from the likes of devilish Italian seducers like me.”
Sabrina took the opportunity to take another step away from him in pretended surprise. “Are you sure your sources aren’t doing their job? Because that’s almost verbatim what my hairdresser told me this afternoon.”
It wasn’t really, but he didn’t need to know that.
He laughed appreciatively. “With all due respect to your hairdresser – who, may I say, does exquisite work when it comes to styling – I think it’s best to discover the truth for oneself rather than rely on second or third-hand accounts.”
Still not feeling as secure as she’d like, Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest to regard him with a skepticism she didn’t bother to hide. “Oh, you’re not wrong. She is a terrible gossip, and I don’t make a habit of taking her at her word about such things. But she’s not the only one who’s told me to be careful around you.”
He started to say something.
She interrupted, her tone light, her feelings not so much. “And even if that wasn’t true, I’d say your behavior right now is proof enough.”
“You hurt me, Princess. Truly.” The prince clapped his offending hand to his heart with an overdone sigh. “And after I went out of my way to set my sister on Dallas. I had to promise she could borrow my jet one of these coming weekends in order to bribe her into my brilliant plan.”
Sabrina understood very well that he wanted her to ask him about his jet. Unfortunately for him, she had completely gotten ahold of herself again, allowing her  to throw the conversation in a different direction than he intended.
“You mean you had to bribe her to talk to him? The way he looks tonight, I’m surprised all the girls aren’t throwing themselves his way.” To emphasize her point, she eyed Dallas with an appreciative gaze of her own.
It would have been a good dig at anyone else. Prince Vatuicci, however, was a pro.
Barely addressing her comment, he rerouted to his own. “Yes, well, she knew she could ask for close to anything when I wanted to talk to you so badly.”
A brown-suited servant chose that moment to walk over with a tray of champagne. Sabrina accepted one and took a very slow sip, knowing full well that her companion was watching her while he reached for one himself. He was smirking again too. He seemed to smirk a lot, even when his lips were set otherwise.
She hadn’t needed the drink for itself. She just wanted it for the brief diversion it offered. In which case it worked as intended, since she knew exactly what she wanted to say when she lowered the flute.
“Do Italian faerie women read romance novels?”
If possible, he looked more amused than ever. “If you mean sensual and provocative fictional stories, then yes, they indulge in them just as much as yours do, I would imagine. Why do you ask?”
She took another slow sip, this time to draw out the suspense. “Because you could have stepped right out of one.”
He laughed, a rich sound that might have been a lot more hearty if they were somewhere else. “I would say ‘thank you,’ but I’m not sure you meant it as a compliment.”
Sabrina wasn’t quite bold enough to agree, but she didn’t correct him either. Instead, once again, she turned to lead him back to the main hub of people.
“Shall we go and see what your sister and Dallas are up to?”
He, once again, had a very different idea. And when he didn’t immediately start moving with her, she faltered in her resolve. Etiquette said that she couldn’t leave a guest all by himself, which he knew very well. That custom ran through all of Faeriedom, not just the Scottish sections.
Taking one last swig of his champagne, he beckoned for another waiter to come collect his now empty glass. In that moment especially, everything about him exuded confidence.
Italian royalty could claim just a few centuries of rule, whereas the Scots had a carefully maintained lineage that stretched back over four thousand years. Yet Vatuicci behaved like nobody had told him that. He looked the very picture of aristocratic perfection, from the tips of his violet wings to his strikingly human attire, which was what she would have once considered to be a standard black tuxedo.
Come to think of it, she wondered if he had done that to appeal to her in particular. If so, it meant he would have had to not only get it custom tailored but also custom made. No faerie designer, self-respecting or otherwise, would make a suit in that color without some major cash incentive.
Not that cash was an issue for an Italian prince. That country boasted the second-largest faerie economy, after Scotland. It used to have the largest back under his grandparent’s rule, or so she’d been told. Rumor was that the present monarchs were slowly running the country into the ground, financially speaking, though that didn’t appear to concern Antonio. Like any other carefree dandy, he was much more focused on the immediate.
“I promise to let you go just as soon as you dance one dance with me. You can’t deny me that single pleasure, Princess. Not when I’ve asked so nicely.”
Sabrina wanted to deny him. Quite a bit, actually. But try as she did, she couldn’t think of a single excuse he wouldn’t have an immediate comeback for. He wasn’t the type to not have a comeback in general. So she let him lead her out into the center of the dance floor and pull her closer.
It wasn’t inappropriate how he put his hand on her back this time, not far up enough to indicate mere friendship but not low enough to indicate anything even borderline untoward. And he didn’t crush her to him like she half expected. There was his dance space and her dance space, and a whole lot of sexual tension in between.
Sabrina didn’t need to want him like that to recognize that it existed all the same.
It flowed from his hands and eyes with a gentle intensity that looked a lot more genuine than the snarky persona he’d exuded before. Then again, looks could be deceiving, as the two sisters he dated now knew all too well.
Sabrina made sure not to look directly at him for any noticeable amount of time. Instead, she caught glimpses of other faeries moving around them, or concentrated on following his steps, which didn’t feel nearly as natural as her dance with Dallas had been.
“You seem distracted,” he noted with some concern, compelling her to really look at him.
He was very nearly Dallas’ height, she realized. “I’m sorry. It’s just been such a busy day, and I’m already thinking about what tomorrow involves.”
“Ah.” He nodded in understanding. “I was the same way at my coming-out ball.”
That startled her, since she didn’t know faerie men were introduced to society the same way women were. “You had a coming-out ball?”
He grinned. “No.”
Realizing what a blond she’d just been, Sabrina had to laugh.
“I just wanted to make you smile,” he went on. “You looked far too serious.”
His spot of fun had put her more at ease, so she obliged him with the conversation he wanted. “So when did you arrive in Scotland exactly?”
He spun her out and pulled her back in again before answering.
“Just this morning. The original plan was for us to leave yesterday morning, but you know how affairs of state can get.” He rolled his eyes in self-mocking amusement, though she thought she might have caught a stronger hint of annoyance there then he meant to show. “Fortunately, that’s all taken care of, and my schedule is clear for the next few days. My parents are leaving after tomorrow night, but I’ll be staying for the rest of the festivities.”
“That’s nice.” She stepped right, right and then back three times in time to his leading. “Then you’ll be at the breakfast tomorrow? It was on the itinerary you should have gotten. All of the young people are meeting in the gardens at ten-thirty for a buffet.”
The turn they next took meant that Sabrina got a glimpse of Dallas, who was standing at the edge of the dance floor. Despite his exquisite companion, who was still all but attached to his hip, he looked decidedly less than happy.
If he was jealous, he didn’t need to be. She wasn’t about to fall for the Italian prince’s charms, regardless of whether he played the flirtatious gigolo or the much more likeable suitor he was behaving at the moment. One pleasant dance couldn’t erase the scores of negative reviews she’d heard about him.
“Can I be your special guest, in that case?” The musical piece ended, as did their dance, and he bowed gallantly to her.
“Sure,” Sabrina said for lack of anything better to say. “Why not.”
It wasn’t the proper phrasing, and his expression showed how he knew that very well. “Can I escort you around at all? Introduce you to anyone in particular?”
Recognizing that he was back to behaving impishly, despite his guileless tone, Sabrina didn’t take the bait. She knew it would be rude to her actual escort. She had been coached in all the proper protocol for too many months now to make such an impolite gaffe, even if she was inclined to do so. Which she wasn’t.
So she politely thanked him for the offer and the dance, then told him she’d be sure to find him at the outing tomorrow. Sabrina also let him escort her back over to Dallas, where the Italian princess was instantly excusing herself, calling her brother away with her.
Dallas scowled after them, or to be more precise, after Antonio. It was almost a little embarrassing how blatant he was being about his antipathy toward the other male. And it became more so when a small party attempted to approach Sabrina a mere moment later, and Dallas practically dragged her onto the dance floor and into his arms.
“That was rude!” She hissed, despite how her hands fell into their proper positions and her feet followed his. “They’re going to think I did that on purpose!”
“No,” he snapped. “They’re going to think I did that on purpose. Which I did.”
“Well aren’t you in a snit about something.” Sabrina would have wrapped her fingers around her waist in a show of temper if either set was free.
As it was, she was left contemplating nothing worse than stepping on his foot. Anything else would make a scene.
“I am not in a snit,” he retorted. “And what were you talking about with that worthless poser?”
“Who?” She needled with eyebrows raised and mouth set in particularly mocking fashion. “Prince Vatuicci?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
He pushed her backward on the next beat with the same tension that dominated his voice. Somehow, she managed to step the right way in response to the unexpected dance move, her wings billowing out behind her while she executed the next two paces just as flawlessly. Twirling once beneath his raised arm, her feet ended perfectly so she could press him forward next.
Two could play to that tune.
“Nothing much.” Again, her tone couldn’t be called friendly.
“Antonio Vatuicci,” he gritted out, “doesn’t talk about ‘nothing much’ with beautiful women.”
“You’re so prehistoric sometimes.” Sabrina was more annoyed with him than perhaps she should have been, but she didn’t stop to analyze her emotions. “I know he’s a player. I’m not a complete idiot.”
“Good. Don’t you forget that.” He sounded way too superior for her liking, and ultimately for his own good. “You can’t trust him any further than you can throw him.”
“Well I’m so grateful you told me that.” A much happier couple breezed by them, their faces set in mutual admiration and enjoyment. “Because I was getting kinda close to planning our honeymoon. What do you think of a summer wedding?”
He didn’t care for that sarcasm. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to.
They finished the dance out with a much different kind of tension than the one they’d started the night with. Dallas didn’t say much on the subject after that. He stuck right by her side the whole time, surprisingly making semi-pleasant conversation with each new person or group that came over to greet her. It would have been perfectly pleasant if it weren’t for the twinge of annoyance she heard in his voice.
Maybe the guests couldn’t detect it, but she definitely did, just like she caught him shooting nasty glares in Vatuicci’s direction more than once.
 The Italian noticed too, and made it obvious he was trying to annoy Dallas in turn. While Sabrina was sure her escort for the evening was more than intelligent enough to recognize that, it appeared he wasn’t mature enough to act accordingly.
When Antonio made a point to catch her eye and raise his glass in her direction, Dallas glowered. And when he glided by her, grazing one wing against hers, Dallas’ hands clenched into fists. By the time the playboy went out of his way to bring her over a fresh champagne flute, Sabrina’s escort was done.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking the drink from his marked rival, his smile cold. “Thanks, pal.”
Overall unfazed, Vatuicci raised both brows. “I had meant that for our enchanting princess here.”
“She’s had enough to drink,” Dallas replied, then tossed back the contents of the glass with one last swig.
“That’s not the only thing I’ve had enough of.” Sabrina took a deep breath to rein in her temper and keep from saying anything she’d regret. “Forgive me, but I’d better go find my brother now that the party is winding down. I want to make sure to thank him for tonight.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, nor did she bother to have pity on either man when she left them to battle it out, verbally or otherwise. In her particular opinion, they both deserved a bruised eye or two.
The fabric of Sabrina’s beautiful green dress rustled against her skin while she walked away, a sensation that had a calming effect on her nerves. The night really was coming to a close, and soon she would be able to take off her heels, slip into some ridiculously comfy pajamas and go to sleep.
Bed sounded like such a wonderful idea right then.
Bed or maybe some chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter. The food being passed around the room looked so delicious, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to try any of it since she’d been too busy meeting and greeting.
That wasn’t to say she was hungry. Sabrina merely thought that comfort food sounded like a good idea.
She stopped or was stopped several times on the way to her brother’s side to shake hands and wish her guests the best, asking them if they had enjoyed themselves and saying stuff like how they “must come back again. It was so very nice meeting you,” and “Have a safe trip back home tomorrow.”
Throughout it all, she tried her best not to yawn. It was way past the time good little princesses went to bed, which made her particularly grateful whenever another pair or group of faeries would take their leave from the ballroom altogether. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol she knew some of them had consumed, not a one tripped or swayed. From what she could see, each individual traipsed out with the same grace and pose as they’d entered hours ago.
As for her, she made it over to her brother without any mishaps of her own. And that was despite how Antonio still managed to get in one last brief conversation before Dallas could stalk over and reclaim her.
Then it was all over. Kenneth gave her a big, congratulatory hug and told her she’d worn her tiara well; Kyla declared the evening an overwhelming success; and Deanda yawned pointedly, saying that she was going to bed.
The girl only believed in subtlety when she felt like it.
Yet after they’d all said their goodnights, and it was just Deanda and her bodyguards left to escort her down the hallway, Sabrina was less than forthcoming. She was tired. Too tired even to take a walk to get those cookies she’d been thinking about. So she promised to tell all in the morning, and then retired to what she hoped would be a thoroughly restful night sleep.
If she was really lucky, she remembered thinking with her cheek buried into a pillow, she’d even dream up ways to deal with the drama that was Dallas and Vatuicci.

Monday, April 20, 2015

“Up in the Air” Chapter Two… One More to Go Before the Official Launch!

In posting chapter two of “Up in the Air,” I’m finding that all I want to do is yap on about chapters three through 19. And I can’t. Which makes me slightly cranky.

Nobody likes a cranky writer. We’re obnoxious enough when we’re happy.

(It’s true. I can admit it.)

So I’m going to find a median between what I want to do and what I should do today, and just post the back-cover description of “Up in the Air.” It doesn’t give away anything you don’t figure out by chapter three anyway, which I’ll post on Wednesday.

That’s my justification, and I’m sticking to it! So here goes…

“Facing fears isn’t easy. But it sure can be rewarding

“Six months ago, Sabrina did some serious damage to the HPAC. Since then, she’s been busy throwing herself into the role of faerie princess, which includes some crash courses in foreign affairs. And not the fun kind, thanks to a playboy Italian prince. It’s a good thing she isn’t interested in him considering exactly what his real intentions are for her.

“Following the trail of international betrayal leads her right back to some shade-sporting bigots she’d really rather never see again, along with a startling discovery about her dead parents. When the intrigues just keep coming, Sabrina has to figure out what little faeries are made of... and exactly how much power she has at her disposal when she’s free to fly.”

So toward that very goal, here’s chapter two!




Chapter 2



“S
ay something to distract me,” Sabrina ordered after a mere minute’s walk down the hallway in the direction of the dance studio.
Gerard and Simon followed behind her, matching her pace perfectly right down to her footsteps, which forced her brain to count out a terse beat of “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”
Try as she did, every time she practiced her dancing, she found herself focusing too much on the footwork and not enough on the actual dance. In so doing, she usually messed herself up and definitely never relaxed. It looked like today was going to be worse than normal considering how far in advance she’d started counting before the music began playing. That was why she needed a diversion of some sort.
She should have known Dallas wasn’t the one to fulfill that particular request.
“Erm,” he stalled, his wings fluttering enough to create a small breeze around them. “Are you okay?”
“No.” It came out sounding something very close to snappish. “I’m freaking out. Which is why I need you to distract me.”
The exceptionally concerned look he shot her ended up doing the trick, but in all the wrong ways. Sabrina knew exactly where his mind went. He’d assumed she was having a flashback to her time with Stewart; and thanks to him, now she was. On top of the worries she’d already been dealing with.
That nervous energy channeled into pure crankiness, pushing her to go for broke with unflinching candor. It wasn’t her usual style, but when motivated enough, she could get brutally honest.
With his simple and yet very complex question, Dallas had propelled her over the line, and Sabrina let him know in no uncertain tones. “You have to stop that.”
“Stop what?” His face now showed a sort of panicked confusion.
“Looking at me like that.” She came to a halt right there in the middle of the hallway, grateful that nobody but her bodyguards were around. If there had been, she knew she would have held her tongue, and she had to acknowledge how good it felt to vent. “You’re treating me like my entire world revolved around what they did. I’m trying to get over it. I really am. But you giving me that sad, pitying look all the time isn’t helping.”
“I’m sorry.”
She knew he meant the apology about as sincerely as anyone could. The crestfallen pull at his eyes and mouth sent her irritation skittering to the side in favor of a humongous heaping of guilt for making him feel bad. Without the aid of her righteous indignation, her motivation to discuss difficult topics fell by the wayside.
All the same, she had little choice but to proceed. “I know you don’t mean to make things worse, but you taking that tone and regarding me like that just makes me remember it more than I already am. I want you to treat me like I’m me, not like I’m some fragile victim.”
Sabrina watched a drastic set of emotions play across Dallas’ face. She saw the way his fists clenched and unclenched several times at his side, signifying that he might not be able to meet her request as easily as she wanted him to.
She persisted anyway. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
It practically came out as a prayer, a desperate request for understanding. If a person could be killed with kindness, she was sure Dallas would have taken her out months ago.
When he still didn’t respond, she took a deep, calming breath and started walking, not bothering to wait for his brain to keep up any more than she did his feet. And when he was at her side again, she threw him a bone.
“Look, if being my escort tonight is going to be too difficult for you to handle, I hereby absolve you of your duties. It was sweet of you to step in, but I’m sure I can find someone else.” The truth was Sabrina had no idea whether that was possible or not, but she cared too much about him and her own sanity to distress either of them further if there was some way around it.
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “Why would I not want to escort you?” His brain must have still been working to process everything, because in the next breath, his eyes went about as blank as he could possibly make them, and his tone became flat. “Unless you don’t want to go with me.”
None of his carefully closed-off walls meant Sabrina didn’t understand she’d just hurt his feelings. It set her own emotions on another unplanned turn, which wasn’t at all unusual around him. Her attitude toward Dallas switched a lot. She couldn’t even blame her kidnapping trauma for that; he’d had that effect on her right from the start.
“You’re impossible,” she informed him, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Do you know that?”
“I’m sorry?” He was right back to not knowing what to say.
That was it. She gave up. “Come on. Let’s just go dance.”
“Do you still want me to distract you?”
“Sure,” Sabrina agreed amiably enough. “Why not. Watcha wearin’ tonight? Some snooty faerie designer I’ve never heard of?”
She was relieved to hear him laugh at that, the sound just as genuine as every other attitude he’d displayed in the last five minutes.
“Aerifeth. That’s what I normally wear to these things.”
Sabrina nodded despite not recognizing the brand. Her experiences in Faeriedom were still rather limited since she didn’t like straying too far from the automatic protection and comfort the palace offered. Fortunately for her, there were plenty of things to do in her new home. Even the dance studio she’d been practicing at was safe and sound inside her brother’s beautiful fortress.
Ten hallways later, they’d arrived at their destination; and seven minutes more meant she was in Dallas’ arms, gliding across the floor as best as she could to a beautiful and intricate tune. The original piece was by a legendary composer, who wasn’t anywhere so human as his fans upstairs assumed. The rendition Sabrina had chosen was even less so, filled with dueling pianos and lilting flutes and instruments she couldn’t name that made it an evocative depiction of Celtic life from centuries ago.
It never failed to make her heart melt, even if it didn’t have such softer effects on her feet.
A quick glance at the mirrored walls around them showed that her face was squidged up in concentration just as expected. She didn’t like the mirrors when she was dancing, though she hadn’t said as much to anyone other than Deanda. They were supposed to give her insight into what she was doing and how she was doing it. Yet she felt like they just added to her stress levels in the end.
When she’d gotten the privilege of watching other faeries dance in the room, it was quite the different experience. They managed to make every angle and reflection look intricate and easy, powerful and delicate all at once, a combination she aspired to with very little actual hope but a lot of wistful delusion.
For all that, the mirrors were only half of the room’s charm: the lower half, to be specific. Fashioned with pure white oak, the rest of the walls were carved into simple perfection at the base. Similarly sturdy beams then branched out into delicate tendrils from the top of the reflective glass all the way up to the pinnacle of the vaulted ceiling. And as for the rest of the space above, it was covered with a beautiful mural of faeries done up in various shades of the royal green.
Oddly, the painting didn’t depict the figures as dancing, a detail Sabrina still found odd considering the room’s single purpose. Instead, they appeared frozen dreamily, their wings raised, though not necessarily in movement. Their specific tilts expressed too much for her to imagine them in flight. If anything, it made her think they were involved in a very different activity altogether.
The detail that saved the painting from being racy was that it quite simply was not. All the figures, both male and female were fully clothed, their bodies poised in modest and respectful positions. It was just their wings that belied their otherwise tasteful appearance.
   Seeing that intriguing dichotomy had a habit of putting her in a somewhat introspective mood. Twice already, she’d caught herself wondering whether that was why she enjoyed the interlude so much between when the music started and the dancing began. That was the lull between finding herself in Dallas’ arms and having to worry about what her feet should be doing. Perhaps the emotional reaction she had to that pause was more about the room’s romantic feel, and less to do with her and him specifically.
   Then again, Sabrina admitted to herself, maybe Deanda was right and she was trying to delude herself out of wanting something that could hurt her.
If that was the case, then the room had another definite perk. Because when she was in it with Dallas, he couldn’t shy away from her like she was a leper. He had to hold her firmly, guiding her on the floor like they were just a regular couple instead of two victims trying so hard to forget that they’d ever had less than perfect control of their lives.
Sabrina cast a sad smile at her feet when the song stopped and Dallas moved back a step or two, rocking awkwardly on his heels. That aspect of the dance had been nice while it lasted, and she’d have another opportunity to enjoy it just as soon as her instructor Lynsey told her what she had done wrong.
Because there was always something she’d done wrong.
Sure enough, the attractive brunette was already waltzing over to them, her steps a dance in and of themselves. On the bright side, she was noticeably smiling, her arched wings depicting the same happy emotion in her eyes, which featured a few permanent laugh lines.
“Sabrina,” she trilled, her hands moving animatedly in the air ahead of her. “Your technique was amazing this time. Now all you need to do is learn how to relax. Have fun! You’re dancing with one of Faeriedom’s most eligible bachelors, you know.”
Dallas rolled his eyes, a faint blush covering his cheeks.
Sabrina covered up her own embarrassment with sarcasm, her usual defense tactic. “Why do you think I’m so nervous?”
Lynsey let out a little laugh when her student went on to fan her face like she might swoon, but she still shook her head. “If such a handsome young man can’t tempt you into relaxing, then we need to think of something that will.”
“How about not having to dance in front of a whole group of strangers?” Sabrina suggested smartly.
“Nice try,” her instructor warned, though even that came out sounding lovely. As well as preoccupied. She shook her head in thought. “I would suggest imagining people in their underwear, but that might be more traumatizing than it’s worth considering some of the people I know who will be in attendance tonight.”
Dallas snorted in dry amusement, thereby drawing attention his way.
“Maybe it’s your fault,” Lynsey mused. “How are you holding her? Show me.”
She might have been little and admirably peppy, but when Dallas opened his mouth to protest, all she needed to do was give him a single warning look. Without any actual words of protest, he uttered a “right, ma’am” and then waited patiently for her to turn the music back on. When they swept onto the dance floor a moment later, Sabrina very nearly felt green with envy at how natural they made it look.
It made her wonder whether Dallas was working extra hard to prove Lynsey’s accusation incorrect, or if she herself was to blame for keeping him from looking so phenomenal as a general rule.
The probable answer was not one she cared for.
Lynsey’s flowing white skirt swirled around her legs with every step and turn she took, a dreamy image that managed to sour Sabrina’s already shaky mood. As hard as she tried not to be jealous, she wanted what her instructor had so badly, from her cheerful disposition to her ease with the ins and outs of faerie life. The woman would have no problem behaving gracefully tonight, whereas Sabrina knew how very off-kilter her own royal tiara could be.
The song ended and the dance partners pulled apart from each other, but Sabrina’s mood didn’t lift one bit. If Lynsey sensed that, she didn’t show it. What she did do was push her student back into Dallas’ arms.
Not expecting the shove, Sabrina fell rather helplessly against Dallas, who caught her on instinct. Maybe she imagined it, but it almost seemed like he held onto her a little longer than necessary.
She knew her hands lingered on him.
“I want to see you two try again,” Lynsey instructed. “And no slacking off on your part, Dallas,” she warned with a teasing glare.
They started into the routine again, but she stopped them before they had finished the second turn. Striding over, the bubbly brunette shifted Dallas’ hand a smidgen lower on Sabrina’s back.
“There. Now she’ll be able to follow your lead better.” Then to the other party involved: “Stop trying to do all the work. That’s what he’s there for. You’re too busy concentrating on what you need to do. Instead, let him take charge.”
Sabrina knew she was blushing madly even before she did her best to fix her gaze on some spot between Dallas and Lynsey’s heads. That perspective let her see her reflection, however; which, sure enough, showed a starkly reddened complexion.
All the same, when their instructor started up the music again, Sabrina did her best to do as instructed. The evocative piece played around her, and she let it slide into more than just her ears. This time, she allowed it to ease some of the tension in her mind and shoulders and otherwise rigid spine. It wasn’t like she instantly lost the majority of her qualms, but she was nonetheless able to cast off a noticeable fraction of her inhibitions.
With each passing stanza, Sabrina felt herself melt further into the picture of rolling green hills and gentle sunrises the sounds evoked. If it had gone on for twenty minutes instead of five, she thought she might be able to lose herself altogether. But sadly, the remainder of the dance lesson didn’t last that long, much less the song. She had scheduled just a half-hour session since she had plenty of other entries on her to-do list before the ball began.
Thanking Lynsey and trying to act as normal as possible when she said goodbye to Dallas, Sabrina left the dance studio behind for the equivalent of the royal cafeteria. It wasn’t anywhere as formal as the banquet halls the palace featured, but it was set up with a ritzy buffet. As a general rule, the room wasn’t used at all, but they’d had it running for the last few days considering the occasion and the hundreds of guests who were either rooming in the palace or taking meals there away from the glamorous hotels they were staying at.
Sabrina felt bad for the chefs who were working nonstop behind the scenes regardless, but it seemed a particular shame when their efforts were so very underappreciated with at least a quarter of the guests. A lot of the ladies in attendance trended toward the salad bar alone, much like they would in the human world upstairs. It was a little difficult not to cave in and make a salad herself, but Sabrina couldn’t quite bring herself to run with the crowd on this one. She liked her meats and carbohydrates way too much to ever diet like real princesses apparently should.
Walking the richly carpeted path to the cafeteria, she had to convince herself more than once not to dawdle. She really didn’t want to make nice with a bunch of new acquaintances. It wasn’t that she had automatic negative opinions of them per se; she was just getting tired of all the festivities, which came complete with the constant need to entertain someone or some group.
Her one and only consolation was that Lauren, Dallas’ younger sister, had agreed to sit with her. They’d even pre-arranged gestures for the teenaged faerie to use if Sabrina did or said anything wrong. Extending one pinky finger meant to be careful, holding out her thumb meant she was doing okay, and if she flexed her hand twice, Sabrina would know that someone had just fudged the truth.
Just for unrefined kicks and giggles, they’d also thrown in a signal to use if anyone behaved in a particularly obnoxious fashion.
Sabrina hoped beyond hope that the little pixie with the auburn hair was at their table already. There was no way she wanted to arrive first, though it was too late to do anything about it one way or the other. She was already approaching the opened double doors, where two footmen stood in their palace finery. They wore full dress kits, which came complete with household-green cummerbunds around their waists.
She couldn’t imagine having nothing to do but stand there, yet they cast her genuine smiles nonetheless. It probably wasn’t an expression they granted to everyone, but she’d long since gained a reputation for being just as easy with the servants as her brother, who was notoriously lax in that regard.
Stepping into the sizable room, Sabrina took in all the gorgeous details with an absentminded appreciation for the familiar. Part of her always enjoyed the aesthetics: the dark blue carpet with the mauve walls and off-white trimmings, the strategically set food stations with everything from fresh fruit to ethnic cuisine to the standard Scottish breakfast fare she knew she would trend toward, and the round tables draped in flawless ivory cloth. But the feature that most caught her attention was a certain diminutive faerie across the room, who was waving both her hands and bright pink and black polka-dotted wings to get her princess’ attention.
Already threading her way through the tables, Sabrina did a double-take at the girl’s appearance, but she gave Lauren an amused hug nonetheless when she reached her side. “New wings, huh?”
Dallas’ sister nodded excitedly. “I just dyed them this morning.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at her exuberance. “Is it permanent?”
Emitting a quick snort of amusement, Lauren shook her head. “Nah. I woke up this morning and felt like making a fuss tonight.”
New to the faerie scene as she was, Sabrina could still guess well enough why the somewhat garish pattern might scandalize a socially conservative group of people at a formal event. The neon pink, however, wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow by itself. Her newfound land was filled with eccentric fashion rules that Sabrina’s American and human sensibilities were taking their sweet little time getting used to.
Lauren, who knew exactly what was what, simply enjoyed being a rebel. Sabrina had to admire the girl’s spunk, though she did inquire whether her friend was going to get kicked out of the grand event. Since she was assured that wouldn’t be a problem, in large part because Kenneth had such a soft spot for both Dallas and his sister, Sabrina was therefore fine with it too.
“So is any of the rest of our party here yet?” She asked, clinging to the silly hope that they’d all bailed.
Knowing full well what she was thinking, Lauren gave her a sympathetic smile. “Vayanalette and Nat are both at the fruit bar, and the others haven’t made it yet.”
Sabrina craned her neck just a little in order to pick out the two in question. There was a cluster of women in the general direction where Lauren was pointing.
“Am I going to like them?”
“I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourself, Princess.” She grinned again, turning the title into a mockery.
Sabrina cast a condescending glare back, then started toward the food lines. From literally the second she met Lauren, she had liked her, and that feeling hadn’t gone away. The two of them had been joking about practically being sisters for a while now. But like real sisters, the teen did get on her nerves sometimes. In true sibling fashion, she was a lot like Dallas in that she was something of a skutch. So Sabrina had no real qualms about expressing her exasperation when such irritating instances arose.
Over at the fruit bar, she picked up a little cup of strawberries and raspberries along with vanilla yogurt. Then it was right over to meats and breads to fix a breakfast bap with the specialized sausage, bacon and poached egg. Sabrina did skip the baked beans though, just to be on the safe side.
By the time she finished, Vayanalette and Nat were already back in their seats, chatting happily with Lauren and a newcomer who hadn’t yet sat down. Sabrina adopted a polite smile when she approached the table, hoping that whoever the person was, she’d be worth talking to. Most of the young people she had met so far were well versed in politics and history and all the who’s-who of the faerie world. However, that didn’t make them all interesting. Despite their supposed sophistication, too many of them acted exactly like the masses, just with more money at their disposal.
The thing was, Sabrina could pull the snob card better than most of them if she wanted to. Since faeries were indigenous to just five places – England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Germany – there were only five truly royal courts. And she belonged to one of them; not that she would ever bring that up, no matter how much she might want to remind certain individuals that they weren’t as amazing as they wanted to think.
Sabrina did her best to mask her own prejudices with a friendly face and relaxed wings. Putting her plate down, she offered her hand all around. “Hello. I’m Sabrina.”
The newcomer at the table thrust out her own hand, her smile nothing short of radiant. “Hi, Sabrina. I’m Rose. It’s so nice to meet you!”
On anyone else, the enthusiasm would have been overdone. On the redhead with the beautiful brown eyes and the autumn-themed wings, it seemed pretty natural. Moreover, that personality trait made her quite the conversationalist during brunch. It wasn’t that she monopolized the table so much; she asked questions and listened intently to the answers. It just seemed as if she had a general zest for life that she couldn’t keep contained very well.
Since Sabrina wasn’t about to stop her, the little get-together passed by rather quickly and without Lauren needing to use any of their preplanned warning gestures. By the time they got around to saying their goodbyes, she could even say she’d enjoyed herself.
From there, it was over to help her sister-in-law with a more formal event, and then Sabrina all but ran back to her bedroom suite for what she planned to be a very short nap. She set her alarm and everything; she just forgot to turn it on. So it was something of a surprise when a speaking voice instead of a singing voice woke her up.
“Princess? Are you alright there?”
The feminine accent with its desperate overtones broke through her dreams slowly at first.
“Princess, I need you to wake up now,” the Irish lilt pressed. “You were supposed to be at your hairdresser appointment fifteen minutes ago. You have to get up.”
The word “hairdresser” was what really penetrated Sabrina’s sleep-focused and therefore bleary brain. She sat up quickly, managing not to clock her personal assistant in the chin.
“Oh bugger,” she muttered, most of it coming out as a yawn.
“‘Oh bugger’ is right.” Claire took a quick swipe at her brown bangs before helping her up. “Catherine is freakin’ out!”
“I bet she is.” Sabrina dashed her fingers across her tired eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Her PA wasn’t about to stand around and listen to apologies though. With a critical, “You look an awful mess,” Claire dove into her boss’ walk-in closet and came out with a huge, fashionably floppy hat. Plopping the white thing with the beautiful green bow down on her own head, she flitted back over to start piling Sabrina’s static-ridden hair into a makeshift bun. In that way, she was able to contain most of the bright yellow mess in one more efficient movement, tucking in what wisps remained behind.
Standing back, she eyed her princess up and down. “You’ll do. Now come on. Hup hup!”
Feeling more than self-conscious beneath the wide brim, Sabrina tried to smile nonchalantly at the few people she and her little entourage passed. She was exceptionally happy that most of the female guests were in their rooms or at their own appointments getting ready for the evening. And most of the men were engaged in a massive pool tournament they’d rigged up earlier, complete with high stakes and some top-notch faerie-brand cigars. Forget Cuba: Downstairs, the good smokes came from Germany.
Apparently, however, there was at least one man in the palace who didn’t much care for cigars or pool. Either that or he had other priorities, like picking on princesses who were running very late. So Sabrina found herself stopped short by a deep, booming voice from behind her. A Scottish voice, to be precise, and one doing a very bad job at an American accent.
“Howdy, ma’am. Nice hat you have on that pretty little head of yours.”
Sabrina would have known that bass anywhere, masked or not. She didn’t need to see her bodyguards’ wings and arms and entire selves stiffen in attention to know that her brother was making an appearance. They were much more casual with Alistair, whom they saw a lot more of.
She on the other hand, had no problem giving the king just as good as he gave. He might be the faerie equivalent of six-foot-three, with powerful green wings and a rugby player’s build, but he didn’t scare her one bit. Particularly when he was needling her.
“That was the worst American accent I have ever heard,” she began well before she was fully facing him. “And I’ve heard some bad ones since coming over here, so that says something. What is up with you people thinking everyone in the U.S. sounds like a sixties-era Western?”
Holding a foot-long, black container that came across as expensive right from the start, Kenneth chuckled. “How about New York? Would that make it better?”
“I really doubt it,” she informed him, then squealed in protest when he reached forward to grab her hat away. “Don’t you dare! My hair looks horrible.”
Wings quivering with amusement and the natural sibling need to antagonize, he tapped the brim anyway.
Her responding scowl didn’t faze him at all, she could tell.
“You wouldn’t be mocking me if you knew what I had in this box,” he assured somewhat smugly.
Not sure how to interpret that, she regarded him suspiciously. “What’s in it?”
His green eyes, so similar to hers, sparkled back. “Go ahead and give it to your hairdresser. She’ll know what to do.”
Since Claire was twitching with impatience beside her, more than ready to hurry them on their way, Sabrina didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she gave her brother a hug for whatever “it” was, and then let her attendant drag her off to the date she was running very behind for.
As expected, Catherine was not happy when her royal client slid to a halt inside the very private hair salon. Sabrina could have gotten there faster if she’d flown, but that was a major faux pas indoors for some reason. She’d learned that early on and not the hard way, for which she was very grateful.
In her opinion, the explanation about why it was such a no-no still hadn’t been explained all that well. But she was willing to chalk it up to a cultural oddity.
“Sit. Sit.” The leggy, perfectly-painted woman with her designer jeans and manicured nails, pointed at one of the silver-accented salon chairs. “You’re late.”
Princess or not, Sabrina knew when to shut up and take orders. Sitting down without a word of dissent, she crossed her legs at the ankle and folded her wings around herself as instructed. She’d gotten her hair done often enough now to know the drill, but she still found the required action annoying as Catherine secured a stylist’s wrap around her shoulders. She hugged herself similarly whenever she went to bed, her wings serving as a security blanket most nights. But having to sit still in the same position while she was awake felt a lot less natural.
Sabrina nonetheless kept her wings folded for her shampooing and beyond. A little less cranky now that she was officially at work, Catherine carried on a conversation with the same kind of skill as the way she wound her princess’ locks this way and that.
Much of what she said was about Italian Prince Antonio Vatuicci, who was a notorious playboy. His exploits regularly ran the length and breadth of faerie gossip networks, and it didn’t seem like he minded the attention considering the mischievous smiles he wore more often than not in the circulating pictures. At one point, he had even taken up a whole half of one sensational magazine cover while a certain Scottish princess graced the other side, each with their own “breaking news” stories. With that said, all three women had to agree he was quite the photogenic philanderer.
That was right before Catherine paused to ask for the not-so-little black box Sabrina had brought in with her. If her tone was any indication, she seemed to know what was inside and when to use it, which was a step up from Sabrina.
“Claire,” the stylist called out, her tone exceptionally bossy.
Sabrina winced, knowing how much her personal assistant would dislike that attitude. There was some bad blood between the two faeries, which she’d learned after one particular eventful episode not that long ago.
But there were no fireworks this time. Instead, Claire played dumb, blinking a little too stupidly while she swept her brunette bangs back for the umpteenth time. “Yes?”
Catherine sighed the sigh of a long-sufferer. Either that or a prima donna. “The box?”
“What about it?” Again with the clueless voice.
“Would you be so kind as to bring it here please?” Her tone was now pure ice.
“Oh.” Several more blinks ensued. “Of course.”
With a well-aimed glare, Catherine accepted the case to open it up. Yet just like that, the tension between them faded into a mere background detail as the three women peered at what it held.
Inside, a stunning silver tiara was displayed against black velvet.
It wasn’t all that large, composed of a small, silver band that came close to disappearing into Sabrina’s hair when Catherine slipped it into place. The front portion of the crown sloped upward several inches in a gentle tangle of silver wisps and exquisite diamonds.
Even with half of her locks clipped up or hanging out in disarray, Sabrina had to admit that the tiara looked good on her. She’d even go so far as to say it looked right.
That was a definite plus considering what she was getting dressed up for.
After the oohing and aahing subsided, Claire went back to her seat against the wall and Catherine went back to work, combing out and curling up and spraying around. Fascinated, Sabrina watched as much of it as she could until it was done and there was nothing to stare at but perfection. Silvery-blue wings quivering in pride, Catherine handed her a mirror to see the exquisite arrangement from all angles.
Sabrina’s hair was mostly swept back off her face, gathered into a pile of curls that rested all around the back of her head. That alone would have been elegant, but then there were the artful wisps designed to escape the tangle in distracting form. They fell down her neck, with a few more dangling around her ears and two less spiraled strands closer to her face.
It was those last locks that kept the style from being too old-fashioned against Sabrina’s pixie-cute face. They added just the right touch of girlish personality to an otherwise very grown-up look.
Looking at herself like that, tiara and all, her nerves slid away in favor of excitement for perhaps the first time that day. She couldn’t wait to see how her dress looked against the hair.
“It’s gorgeous,” Sabrina breathed, her eyes wide with delight. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Good.” Catherine beamed briefly before forcing her smile into the kind of disapproving frown most artists knew how to utilize. “Because I had to rush it since you were late, so let’s seriously hope it stays the way it’s supposed to.”
Awestruck though she was, Sabrina fought the urge to say or do something snarky right back. Being gracious, even in the face of the opposite, was all part and parcel of being a princess, she reminded herself. So she let the snippy comment roll off her wings, thanking Catherine once again and then gliding down the hallways back to her room.
This time, there was nobody about other than Claire, Gerard and Simon. Sabrina had a feeling that was on purpose, like a parade blocked off before the floats started coming down. Being the silly romantic he was, her brother would have made sure nobody could see her during her in-between stage of getting ready for the party.
They made it back to the room, where her security team took their spots on either side of the door after she slipped through. Deanda was already in there, lounging against the one bedpost in her own attire.
Not that it was any big surprise, but she looked like a knockout.
Decked in a red strapless gown, a Kisseyin original, she was both classic and classy in the floor-length ensemble. Gently creased from fitted bust to hemline, the dress had a thick, scarlet sash around its empire-waist, and a scarlet underskirt that showed for the last few inches at the bottom. It kept her strappy high heels almost completely covered beneath the fabric. Meanwhile, up top, a delicate pearl strand graced her neck, and two same-sized pearls dangled from her ears to finish off the look.
Each one of the details complimented her dark hair, and black and white wings.
“You look stunning!” Sabrina exclaimed at the same time Deanda’s eyed widened in appreciation for “Your hair!”
They barely got the chance to laugh about that before the royal dressmaker arrived, complete with sewing kit and two attendants. Enar had Sabrina undressing right away so they could finish fitting her down to the last tiny stitch. Everything was going to be perfect, the seamstress assured.
Unlike with Catherine, Enar knew how to perform her art without an attitude. So Sabrina smiled much more easily at the Scottish matron with the tiger-lily wings. They’d been working together for months to design the perfect dress, and the finished result was a masterpiece with or without whatever last-minute nitpicking she planned to add.
A cheerful green that perfectly matched one of the slighter shades in her wings, it cut in a fetching but modest sweetheart neckline. That had been at Sabrina’s specific request. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have minded showing off what her mama gave her for special occasions. These days though, a nunnery didn’t sound so bad, complete with long robes and habits.
Despite her Stewart-inspired neurosis, she had to admit she looked good in the gown. The A-line pattern featured thin straps that were made out of tiny, disconnected strands of diamonds; and more of the same laced the very top of her gown from front to back, as well as around her hemline and the slits for her wings. The tiny stones could have looked tacky, but the rich, ruched fabric they lay on was more than enough to demand the lion’s share of attention.
There were larger diamonds for her choker and bracelet, making for a dazzling finish that had Sabrina’s thoughts skittering where they had no purpose going. Alex had bought her a diamond necklace their last Valentine’s Day together. It had been just a very simple pendent, but she had loved it anyway.
If he could have been there with her right then, she thought he would have been rendered speechless. But he never would see her like that, or like anything again for that matter. He was back in the United States, alive and doing fairly well according to the last report she’d requested. Yet well or not, he was out of her life for good.
She could feel the tears well up in her eyes.
Claire, who had been busy expertly applying her makeup, yelped in concern. Deanda rushed forward with a tissue, startling Enar, who was crouching on the floor making some infinitesimal adjustment.
Somehow, everyone managed to not trip over each other while saving Sabrina’s mascara. It was supposed to be smudge proof, but only after drying appropriately.
The real factor that kept her from turning into a sniffling, sobbing mess was Deanda, who gave her hand a quick squeeze. It was a welcome reminder that she could get through tonight because she didn’t have to get through it alone.
Sabrina squeezed right back. And then she set Alex out of her mind. He wasn’t part of her future. She had a whole new world to welcome, and so welcome it she would with her head held high and her makeup perfectly set.
That might be because she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But she was going to take it on and take it down anyway.