Jack is not my destiny.
I came to this party to make Jack happy. It did—a bit too happy, if you ask me, because I drove him straight into Amber’s waiting embrace.
I returned from fetching the drinks (me, fetching drinks like a common kitchen maid!) to find them locked in a torrid kiss. Jack just kisses anyone and everyone, I now see. It was not special at all when he kissed me. His lips are everywhere.
I turned to run away.
That was when I realized I had nowhere to run. I was in a foreign land, a strange time, alone and friendless, all because I believed Jack—horrible Jack—to be my destiny.
But Jack was kissing some trollop named Amber. Malvolia was right! He is not my true love. I should not even be awake. I should be back in the castle, awaiting a kiss from a respectable prince!
“Is one of those for me?” a voice says while I consider this.
I turn to find myself eye-to-eye with a handsome, dark-haired young man. “I beg your pardon?”
He points to the cans I am holding. “One for you, and one for me?”
I laugh, for it seems preferable to bursting into tears. “Why not?” I hand him Amber’s can.
He takes it and drains it down. “Can I get you a refill?”
Finally! A young man who knows how to treat princesses, by fetching and carrying for them. But I say, “I have yet to finish this one.”
“Then finish it.”
This I do, under his watchful eye. It is cold and tart and fizzy. I still have not worked out how people of this century contrive to keep everything so delightfully cold, even on the hottest of days, but it is lovely, almost worth living three hundred years.
Then I think of Jack. Almost, but not quite.
“Lovely!” I say.
He laughs. “That’s a good girl.” He takes the can from my hand, then steps away to get another. When he comes back, he says, “I saw you come in with O’Neill.”
There is a question in his voice. I answer it. “I am not with Mr. O’Neill.”
He glances over at where Jack and Evil Amber are still locked together. “Yeah, I can see. Stupid guy. If I’d come with you, I’d never have let you get away.”
I like the tone of his voice almost as much as the tone of the conversation. A young woman clad in a scandalous costume passes by, holding a tray of jewel-colored objects which look to be some sort of confection.
“Want one?” the boy says.
“What are they?”
“Jell-O shots.”
I have no idea what a Jell-O shot is, but many people are ingesting them. So, as not to reveal my ignorance, I say, “They look lovely.”
“Yes, lovely!” He takes two. I see other people slurping theirs out of the cup like a drink, so I do the same. It is cold, like everything else, and sweet as strawberries.
“Delectable!” I say.
“Delectable!” He laughs. “Here—have mine, too.”
I do not argue. I have had little to eat, and my head is spinning. I hope this Jell-O shot will calm it down.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asks.
“Talia…Talia Brooke.”
“Well, Talia Talia Brooke, I’m Robert, and I think you’re definitely delectable yourself. Did you bring a bathing suit?”
I did, of course, with no intention of wearing it. I note that several other young ladies also appear unable to swim and are simply standing in the water, talking, almost as if the pool is the dance floor. But I am not about to wear such an immodest garment.
“I do not have one with me,” I lie.
He frowns. “Sorry to hear that. Don’t suppose you want to go skinny-dipping?”
I do not know what this means. Perhaps he can see this by the expression on my face, for he looks annoyed, then away. But I cannot let him leave me, for then I would be all alone while Jack kisses another girl. My head is spinning like a whirligig, I suspect from the beers I drank. I feel about to cast up my accounts like a common drunkard. Still, I must keep Robert with me.
“It is a lovely night,” I say. “Perhaps we could go for a stroll.”
He looks back at me, smiling. “Someplace dark?”
I blink my weary eyes. “Dark would be nice, indeed.” As I say it, I stumble upon my own feet. Robert reaches his hand out to steady me.
“You are so kind and helpful.” I glance over at Jack. “I have no idea what I would do without you.”
“That’s me—Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.” He laughs.
“It is true.”
We pass the young lady with the Jell-O shots. There is one remaining on her tray, and Robert picks it up and hands it to me. “For you, milady.”
“Oh, no,” I protest. “You have had not even one.”
“I insist.” He holds it out to me. It is as blue as a peacock’s feathers. I take it. “Thank you. I am excessively grateful for your help.”
“Maybe we can figure out a way for you to show your gratitude later.”
“I am certain we can.”
He looks so happy about that that I begin straightaway to come up with a plan. Of course, back in Euphrasia, what he is doing is little more than common civility, but this seems to be a century completely devoid of manners and consideration. Therefore, common civility should be rewarded as heroism. If I return home (for it seems I may do just that, if Jack is not to be my husband—horrid Jack!), I could arrange a knighthood for this young man or, at the very least, a medal of some sort.
Jack will be beheaded.
But it is hard to think about it, with my own head so light and floaty. The only time I have felt like this before was once, when Father received a case of that special bubbling wine from France. I consumed almost an entire bottle and, in the end, felt wonderful and terrible and nothing at all like myself.
“Ah, you don’t have to do that,” Robert is saying.
“Do what?”
“Arrange a knighthood for me. I’m happy to help out a beautiful girl like you, especially when mean old Jack ditched you.”
Did I say that aloud? Has the beer done me in?
We stroll through the crowds of people, Robert’s hand still steadying my elbow. I swallow the Jell-O shot, allowing it to play upon my tongue as it falls down my throat.
“Where are you from?” Robert tightens his grip. “Your accent’s really hot.”
“I’m from Euph…Europe. Belgium.” My head is spinning, and I am barely able to place one foot before the other. Were Robert not supporting me, I would surely fall. I begin to, anyway, or perhaps it is more like floating, flying, jumping from an airplane and landing in a jewel-colored cloud.
And then I feel his mouth upon mine, Robert’s mouth, this stranger whom I have barely met. His mouth is upon mine!
I begin to voice my displeasure, but with his tongue in my mouth, it comes out as a moan. We are standing at the far side of the pool, away from the boys and girls playing ball. Robert kisses me again. My brain is in a fog, like the moment—I now remember it—the moment after I touched the spindle when I was falling and helpless to prevent it.
“You’re so beautiful, Talia.” Another kiss. It is too difficult to fight him in my tipsy state. He kisses me, and then I feel his hand traversing inside my trousers toward my nether regions.
“No! Stop it!” My cries are almost soundless. He means to dishonor me!
“No!” I shriek, although in my fog, I fear my shriek is weak. “No!”
Indeed, he ignores my cries, his hot, rough hands searching where they ought not search. I hear sounds around me, people conversing. Does no one notice or care that he is disgracing me before their eyes?
“No!” I pull free of him, raising my hand to slap him, and then I am falling down, down into the cold shock of water.
Water! “Help!” I cry. The icy water sobers me somewhat but not enough. I cannot touch bottom. “Help! I cannot swim!”
I reach for the wall, but in my beer-drenched muddle, my fingers slip away from it, over and over, scraping. Then I cannot see. All I can see is Robert above me, a surprised expression on his face. Does he not understand that I am drowning?
“I am drowning, you fool!” I yell, but the last words are lost as my mouth fills with water. I emerge again, fighting my way up. “I am…” I submerge. Is this the end of me, then, the end of Princess Talia of Euphrasia? Shall I meet a watery grave three hundred years too late but not a moment too soon? Will I lie forever on the bottom of this man-made lake with no one to mourn me, no one to know what has become of me?
I submerge for the third, and what I believe shall be the final, time. I lack the strength to fight my way back up. This is the end. This is the end.
And then, all at once, I feel a strong grip upon my arm, someone pulling me up. Once again, I can breathe. I can breathe!
Then I am unceremoniously dumped upon the patio. I take many great, gasping breaths. I lean forward, choking on great quantities of strange-tasting water. There is a hand on my back, hitting me. I choke and inhale, choke and inhale many times before I feel well enough to look upward into the eyes of my savior.
“Come on, Talia, let’s go home.”
I open my eyes.
Jack.
I collapse against him, feeling his warmth against my cold skin.