Fairy Godmothers, Inc

TWENTY-ONE



Fields of Battle


Jon stared down at the chaos on the ground floor, more than a little disturbed by how close to self-torture this was. The True Love kept making him think ridiculously swoony thoughts about carrying Rellie up to the altar; and watching his mother and the dressmaker attempt to get her fitted for a wedding dress left him feeling both depressed that she was so clearly not interested, and nauseated at himself for feeling that way. He also couldn’t help but be embarrassed that he was hiding on the upper walkway rather than trying to stop her from being assaulted with seed pearls, despite that by doing so he was sparing her from feeling the same mopey self-disgust he suffered from.

Of course, she was clearly doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself. The sheer entertainment value was more than enough to keep his feet rooted to the spot.

“I told you!” she shouted again, swinging the bolt of silk wildly enough one of the assistants actually fell backward in an attempt to get away from it. The dressmaker himself had long ago backed out of range of any easily accessible weaponry. “I don’t want a wedding dress, I don’t want people sticking pins in me, I don’t want you for my mother-in-law, and I don’t want to get married! Why won’t you people listen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the queen snapped, attempting a step closer. In a ludicrously self-sacrificial move that should probably earn her a raise when this was all over, one of the maids grabbed the queen’s arm to pull her away from a swipe that would have gotten her crown knocked off. “You’re clearly one of those poor tragic creatures who knew nothing about her noble heritage before falling in love with a prince. Those kind of girls all dream about getting married in dresses that cost more than what small kingdoms make in a year! It’s practically law!”

Standing next to Jon, Lawton nodded dryly at the scene below them. “Clearly, your mother managed to absorb something from all those years technically helping to run the kingdom.”

“Technically nothing,” Jon said. “Before she left, Grandmother set up a special edict that stated Mother wasn’t allowed within fifty feet of any decision that had any actual effect on the country. Before I finished school and took over most of his responsibilities, Father managed things by focusing on the paperwork and having Grandmother threaten people remotely.”

“I believe you mentioned that to me at some point, though I never remember it. I have difficulties picturing your father spending even that much time interacting with the rest of humanity.” Lawton smiled at Rellie’s next swipe, which hit the queen’s upsweep directly enough to knock out a few persimmons. “I do feel a certain sympathy for the man that he’s not here to witness his wife’s inevitable defeat, however. He would undoubtedly find it even more of a heartwarming sight than I do.”

Jon ruthlessly crushed a burst of pride in Rellie at Lawton’s words, which although much deserved, kept generating thoughts that started with “my darling.” He actually closed his eyes briefly when she blew a lock of golden hair away from her face, keeping her vision clear while the assistant who wasn’t unconscious circled just out of reach. “The mature, responsible thing to do would be to go down there and end this before someone draws blood.”

“Since I suspect the blood would either be your mother’s or one of the dressmakers, I would hate for you to spoil the fun early.” Lawton shook his head sadly as Jon’s mother called for the guards, who had left after the queen’s first frustrated shriek and were likely out of earshot by this point. “Besides, I suspect your guilt over not rushing down there to settle matters comes not so much from any sense of maturity or responsibility, but from the uncomfortable reminder of your current difficulties in controlling every ebb and flow of the universe.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “I run an entire kingdom and try to keep the rest of my family from killing themselves or each other. I’m just doing my job.”

“You’ve been dosed with a remarkably strong love potion, you have no idea what’s happening with the woman you actually love, your brother is missing, and your mother seems to have finally gone mental completely. And I am certain that, deep down, you are convinced the entire list is nothing more than a temporary hitch in your plans.”

Jon glared at Lawton, more than willing to lie but not sure he was in any shape to pull it off convincingly, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the assistant lunge. Naturally, his sweet Rellie responded with a solid forward jab and hit her opponent in the target favored by women throughout the ages—the young man undoubtedly regretted removing his heavy leather work belt—but as he doubled over, Jon noticed the dressmaker move. A larger man easily three times Rellie’s size, he picked up his own bolt of cloth and inched toward her blind spot.

Jon swore softly. “Doing this is not going to make me more willing to pay them.”

Lawton watched the clumsily executed strategy through narrowed eyes. “He’s moving more slowly than he should be to set up the proper rhythm with his assistant. Rellie might intercept him before he’s moved into position.”

“She’d still be left holding off two men with a bolt of fabric.” Jon sighed, already able to feel the headache sharpening again. It didn’t help that the love potion kept pushing him to rush down and bravely defend his angel from the brigands who threatened her. “I don’t suppose you could possibly—”

Lawton shook his head. “I could provide our young friend with physical assistance. However, the only reason the dressmakers didn’t allow a burst of good sense to send them home twenty minutes ago is that your mother promised them a ludicrous amount of money to complete the dress. I, magnificent though I am, don’t have the necessary authority to contradict that promise.”

Knowing he was right, Jon turned and headed for the stairs. “Could you . . . ?”

“Shout a friendly warning should the need arise?” Lawton nodded, following him. “I will also endeavor to get Rellie out of your immediate visual range as quickly as possible.”

“We both thank you.” Jon kept moving, ignoring the brief sense of loss Lawton’s statement inspired. “I haven’t had time to inform Dobbs of his new role as Rellie’s temporary manservant, but the man hasn’t protested an assignment in ten years. I doubt he’ll give you any trouble.”

When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Lawton headed toward Rellie while Jon aimed for the dressmaker. Getting his arms far enough around the man for a suitable restraining hold would have been a challenge, so Jon grabbed the bolt of fabric sticking out over the back of the dressmaker’s shoulder and jerked it downward. The move was sudden enough to rip the bolt out of the other man’s hand, and when the dressmaker turned around, Jon used it to whack him in the head. “We need to have another talk about not taking commissions from my mother without consulting with me first.”

The dressmaker’s face turned white. “Your Highness!” Business owners who dealt with the palace recognized Jon far more quickly than anyone else in the kingdom, since he held the final say on all major expenditures. “I . . . I presumed your mother wanted it to be a surprise . . .”

The queen scowled, jabbing a finger in the dressmaker’s direction. “You traitor! See if I send for you the next time I want to commission a gown for the Fall Spectacular!”

Behind her, Jon could see Lawton ushering Rellie out the door with his hands over her eyes. Rellie’s hand was on top of his, as if making sure it didn’t come off—and Jon kicked himself for the pang of jealousy he felt seeing it. She let go long enough to feel ahead of her for the edge of the door. Just before they passed through it, she lifted her hand in a wave clearly meant for someone behind her.

Jon felt himself melt, immediately hated himself for it, and scrubbed a hand across his face before his mother could see the besotted expression he knew struck him a few seconds ago. Then, even more annoyed than he’d been before, he turned back to the dressmaker. “If you leave now, you have about a fifty percent chance of receiving a consultation fee for being completely embarrassed by an untrained girl at least half your age. In a perfect world you’d probably be arrested for the combined charges of incompetence and assault, but watching her hold the three of you off with a roll of fabric has unfortunately been the sole high point of my day.”

When the older man flushed, mouth opening to formulate some sort of defense, Jon narrowed his eyes at him. “If you don’t leave now, I assure you royal inspectors will become a significant part of your future. The more miserable they make your life, the more money I plan to pay them.”

The queen, distracted from the affront of the dressmaker’s betrayal, turned to Jon. “How dare you! You have no right to send someone away I called for, even if he is a sniveling little trai—”

She fell silent at whatever she saw in his face as he glared, the calculating expression on her face making it clear she’d postponed her side of the argument rather than ended it.

No one else felt quite that brave. The assistant whom Rellie had taken out with a direct hit was still curled in a protective ball on the ground, not caring what else was happening in the room. The one who’d fallen earlier had stood at some point and was carefully trying to inch her way out of Jon’s field of vision. The dressmaker, who had gone pale at the mention of royal inspectors, wisely dropped his eyes when he realized he was the center of attention once again. “Why, precisely, haven’t you left yet?” Jon snapped.

The dressmaker became even paler, actually backing up a step. “Perhaps one of my assistants could repair that loose thread on your sleeve before we go?”

Jon pointed a finger in the direction of the doorway. The dressmaker finally accepted his absolute lack of ground to stand on, and hurriedly collected his things. The standing assistant poked the one on the ground with her foot to nudge him upright, and within a few moments the three of them had gathered their scattered equipment and wisely fled the room. Once the door shut behind them, Jon turned to his mother. “Out of curiosity, what exactly was your plan there?” he asked. “Did you expect that, somehow, the sight of her in a wedding dress would magically make me—” He could feel the love potion waiting eagerly in the back of his mind for any mention of its favorite triggers, so he shifted mid-sentence. “—forget everything I’ve said to you all morning?”

The love potion, deeply annoyed by the denial, threw back a mental image of his beautiful, golden Rellie running to him in a wedding dress. Gritting his teeth, Jon shoved it aside with a vision of a dragon eating the entire management team at Fairy Godmothers, Inc. When he felt he could safely refocus on the argument he’d started, he found his mother glaring at him in frustrated confusion. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, Jonathan, the least you could do is make sure you’re paying attention!”

Since revealing anything to do with the love potion would be bordering on suicidal—his mother, he had no doubt, would simply consider it a part of the normal courtship process—Jon threw his hands up in the air and swung the argument in a different direction. “If you’re going to suddenly take an interest in my life at the worst possible moment, the least you could do is tell me why! Up till this point we’ve both been very comfortable with the fact that you barely acknowledge my existence, and if this sudden attention is a side effect of Rupert not being around, then I will end his quest right now just to make him come back and distract you!”

The queen blinked at that, though whether it was from the question itself or merely her son’s vehemence Jon couldn’t say for certain. Either way, the surprise didn’t last long—she was quick to frown at him. “Most sons would be grateful their mother was making an effort to show more of an interest in their lives.” At his incredulous expression, she made a frustrated noise. “Fine. So perhaps I was a bit overly dramatic this morning when you refused to tell me anything about the fact that you had clearly fallen in love, which is the first thing you’ve ever done that any reasonable person can expect me to have an interest in. Then when I try to encourage you by dressing up the girl so you can be struck by a music-swelling burst of romantic feeling and immediately propose to her as you should, you kick everyone out and have the gall to yell at me!”

Jon just stared at her for a minute, mentally sorting through what she’d said in an attempt to connect it to some kind of logic his love potion-battered head could understand. Giving up, he closed his eyes. “If I get Rupert off his quest and drag him back here, is there any chance at all you can start planning a wedding for him and forget about me again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My darling Rupert is clearly much too fragile to get married. His job is to perform the traditional naughty escapades, which I may then coo and tut over as a mother should. He also lets me tell him about my projects, and though my poor dear does usually fall asleep halfway through, at least he has the decency not to interrupt me with sarcasm.” She said the word like it was something evil, right up there with things like “chores” and “sensible shoes.” “You, on the other hand, ignore me, and insist on spending all your time with numbers and meetings and all those ridiculously boring things that my father used to pay so much attention to!”

Jon, surprised enough at the slightly hysterical edge that had crept into his mother’s voice, opened his eyes to stare at her with the slowly sinking realization that the conversation was heading toward some kind of psychological insight. As that was the last thing he wanted just then, he changed to the soothing tone he used on skittish ambassadors who were afraid to commit to anything. “You’re right, Mother. I shouldn’t have dismissed the dressmaker without allowing you to express your fully justified displeasure with him.” Noting the surprise on the queen’s face, he bowed and flourished his hand toward the door. “If we hurry, I believe we can catch them before they leave the palace grounds.”

Thankfully, his mother was mollified enough to sweep out of the room, heading for the palace entryway in the hopes of making an appropriately large scene. Jon, exhausted but oddly relieved, followed behind at a much slower pace.

But when he arrived at the main doors, his relief vanished at the sight of three women arguing with Lawton and his mother in the entryway. Rellie—delicate, beautiful Rellie—was luckily safely out of sight, but her ball-crashing stepfamily was quite busy expressing their displeasure at Lawton through a mixture of shouting and overly dramatic hand gestures. Even his mother seemed to be somewhat put off by idea of facing people who could rant as loudly as she, and was doing quite a bit of gesturing of her own as she refocused her frustration with the dressmaker on the more convenient target.

For a moment, all Jon could do was stare at the burgeoning chaos, already able to picture the inevitable moment when someone started throwing things. Then, sighing, he headed forward to take over for Lawton. “Can I help you?”

The stepmother—Maleeva, he thought he recalled his darling Rellie calling her—snapped her attention to Jon. “I need to speak this instant to the prince who’s planning to marry my stepdaughter. I was assured we would be welcomed with open arms by his family, but this insolent servant refuses to let us be properly received!”

Hearing the word “servant,” Jon glanced over at Lawton. Normally, the other man would have already dispatched the three with some cutting witticisms and a few strong guards, which was his general policy for those foolish enough to waste either of their time. Though sweet Rellie’s presence had complicated matters, Lawton knew better than anyone that family rarely improved the situation.

Lawton, catching the question in Jon’s eyes, twisted his mouth into a rueful expression. “Apparently, it was the Fairy Godmother overseeing young Miss Rellie’s case who’d personally assured these women of our welcome.”

Jon’s eyes widened, heart kicking against his ribs even as his brain tried to make him feel guilty for all the wrong reasons. He repeated her name to himself like a mantra in retaliation, forcing it through the fog as he turned back to their unwelcome guests. “You spoke to Kate?”

The queen cut off whatever she was about to say to stare at Jon with a newly confused expression. Maleeva was still furious. “Why would I bother asking what the woman’s name was?” she scowled. “She was an employee.” When Jon didn’t respond, she sniffed and lifted her chin. “All I know is that she suggested asking the royal family to initiate a proper shoe quest for our dear Cinderella, a fine and upstanding tradition that the Fairy Godmothers themselves failed to provide for her.”

Jon tried to analyze this newest development through the haze of the love potion. There was no reason management would bother with a shoe hunt after doping them both up with enough love potion to fell a giant, but as far as he could tell Kate didn’t have any more—

A light clicked on in his head.

More time.

Stepping forward, Jon gave Maleeva and her daughters his best salesman’s smile. The piece he’d just been handed may have been ridiculously tiny, but it was a relief to have a chance to get back in the game at all. “Let me assure you, Madam. I have always firmly believed in the importance of upholding tradition.”