The problem with selling a product that is inherently defective is that eventually, you have to take it out of the box.
After the luncheon, I dragged Avis down the corridor by her elbow, ignoring the way she stumbled in her heels and looked back at the Banquet Hall with traumatized eyes. She had just choked on a cephalopod, been assaulted by her uncle’s hand, and humiliated in front of the entire court. She looked less like a princess and more like a seal that had been tumbled in the surf during a hurricane.
“Stop dragging your feet,” I hissed as I shoved her into her chambers and kicked the door shut behind us. “You are scuffing the marble.”
The room was aggressively pink. It smelled of potpourri and innocence. It was an assault. Avis collapsed onto the bed, curling into a ball and burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook.
“Oh, stop it,” I barked, pacing the room while my heavy boots sank into the plush carpet. “You embarrassed yourself, but you’re not dead. Unlike that poor unfortunate octopus you swallowed. I told you so, Avis. They cover us in garlic and butter and call it a delicacy.”
Avis looked up, her mascara running, and pointed at her throat. She made a sharp click-click sound.
“Yes, I know it was invasive,” I said, waving a hand dismissively as I walked over to the bed and hauled her upright. “It was brutal. You’re welcome. Now, sit up. We have work to do.”
She felt light in my grip. She felt like a shell without a crab. I dropped the Milstead facade for a second letting the witch bleed through.
“You are failing miserably. You walk like a newborn calf on a slippery deck. You eat like a starving shark. And your idea of seduction is to stare at him until he gets uncomfortable.”
Avis glared at me and crossed her arms, so I loomed over her to drive the point home.
“You should have been married to him by now,” I demanded. “I would have already hooked him and been on my honeymoon… if I was a little bitch and had legs.”
I looked down at the pathetic lumpfish crying on the bed.
“That's you,” I said. “A little bitch with legs.”
“I gave you a head start,” I growled. “I gave you a fin up. I informed the entire court that you were a trollop. Do you know what a gift that is?”
Avis’s eyes went wide with horror, and she shook her head frantically. She was behaving as if I didn’t do her a favor and as if I didn’t just save her life.
“Do not look at me like that,” I snapped. “You are not living up to the reputation. A trollop has class. A trollop has grace. There is an expectation for a Trollop to be regal. The greatest queens of the surface world were all Trollops: Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, that woman who runs the bakery down the street. All Trollops. All powerful. You must exude your big trollop energy.”
Avis’s jaw dropped. She wanted to tell me something but was reduced to a frustrated click.
“Get up,” I ordered. “For the next two hours, we are going to engage in the most difficult and energy-draining exercise of your life. I am going to teach this stupid fish how to become an excellent woman.”
I threw off my heavy blue coat, unbuttoned my cuffs, and stood in front of the full-length mirror to assess the raw material. I may have been a six-foot-four man with a beard thick enough to hide a puffer fish, but I am all woman.
If anyone could teach this beached monster how to be feminine and attractive, it could only be me. At the very least I could teach her to be feminine. I may be a witch but I’m not magic.
“Watch,” I commanded, turning to the mirror and softening my knees. I let the weight of my massive, masculine frame settle into a curve that defied the geometry of my bones. “It is about the invitation. You don’t stare. You beckon. You look at him like you are the ocean and he is a deep sea diver. Open your waves and allow him to dive into your depths.”
I turned to her and told her to do it, but she narrowed her eyes and lowered her chin until she looked like she was trying to calculate the depth of a trench.
“No,” I groaned. “You look constipated. Relax the brow. Open the lips slightly.”
She opened her mouth. She looked exactly like a halibut gasping on a deck.
“Less fishy,” I corrected. “More fish.”
I demonstrated the walk. I put my hands on my hips, or where my hips would be if I still had them. I missed my hips. I missed the sway. As a man, I had to simulate the movement with my shoulders.
“One foot in front of the other,” I instructed, strutting across the room. “Shoulders back. Chest out. Let the fabric move against you. Make him wonder what is underneath.”
Avis stood up and tried to copy me, but she tripped over her own feet and slammed into the wardrobe.
“Grace!” I shouted. “We need grace! You are water! Flow!”
She tried again, but she was stiff and mechanical. She walked like a soldier marching to an execution.
“Stop,” I said, rubbing my temples. “This is useless. You are overthinking it. You are trying to be a princess. Stop being a princess. Be the hunter.”
I walked over and looked her in the eye. “Channel the predator. Channel the power. You are a shark in waiting. Act like it.”
Avis blinked. A spark lit up in her eyes. She nodded, seemingly understanding the assignment. She stood up straighter, tilted her head, and let her weight shift to one hip. She hooked a thumb into the sash of her dress and gave me a look that was entirely lacking in elegance.
It was inappropriate and somehow perfect.
“There,” I lied, knowing we had hit the ceiling of her capabilities.
“Better. Now let’s go test it.”
I didn’t give her time to overthink it. I marched her straight out of the room and down to the courtyard where Devan was inspecting the carriage.
“The girl needs air,” I announced before he could ask why she was staring at him like he was a snack. “She needs to get out of this mausoleum. I propose an excursion. The Salty Dog. Down by the docks.”
Devan looked hesitant until I challenged him. “Unless that is too rough for a Prince?”
Devan grinned. The challenge hit the mark. “I haven’t been there in years. Let’s go.”
The Salty Dog was a pit that smelled of stale beer and fish guts. The floor was sticky and the air was thick with smoke. It was perfect. We sat at a table in the corner where I ordered a round of dark ales, silencing the bartender’s suspicion about Avis’s age by telling him she was old enough to gut him.
This was the test. This was the field work. Devan was nervous at first, checking the door for the Royal Guard, but he relaxed when he saw Avis unleashing her inner energy. She did nothing that I taught her. She wasn’t being regal or classy. She was being comfortable.
A sailor at the next table slammed his mug down. He shouted about the currents off the Northern Cape being pulled by the moon, and Avis perked up immediately. She reached over, grabbed the salt shaker, and poured a pile onto the table to draw the coastline, the moon, and arrows indicating the tide.
“She’s correcting you,” Devan said, watching her hand move as she tapped the table to indicate a whirlpool and a safe passage. She mimed a boat crashing into rocks and made a motion across her throat.
Then she picked up her ale and drained the tankard in one go, slammed the mug down, and let out a burp that was absolutely classless.
“She drinks like a fish,” Devan whispered, staring at the empty mug in disbelief.
“Well... she used to be one in her previous life,” I said, laughing and clapping him on the back.
Avis grinned. She leaned back in her chair with her legs spread wide under her dress, looking for all the world like a dock worker on a lunch break. She winked at the bartender and slapped the table.
Devan laughed. It was a real, belly laugh. He looked at her not as a delicate flower, but as a riot.
“She’s incredible,” Devan said, wiping a tear from his eye as he looked at me. “You know, Milstead... I really thought you were just being inappropriate when you called her a trollop back at the castle. But I see now that she really is.”
I beamed, taking the compliment at face value.
“I told you. High class. Top shelf.”
We walked back to the castle under the light of the moon. Avis walked ahead, kicking stones and swaying slightly. She looked happy and like she belonged in the gutter. Devan walked beside me, bumping his shoulder against mine.
“Thank you, Milstead,” he said softly. “I haven’t had a night like that in... I don’t know. Ever.”
“You need to get out more,” I said. “The crown cuts off the circulation to the brain.”
I walked to my guest chambers feeling triumphant, convinced I had done it. I had trained the girl, proved her status, and secured the path to the Treaty. The princess can marry the prince, the kingdoms can be united, and I can be welcomed back into the kingdom.
I stripped off my coat and unbuttoned the collar of my shirt. I looked in the mirror and told my reflection, “Done. Hook, line, and sinker.”
There was a knock at the door. I froze as Martan’s strained voice called out, “Lord Milstead?”
I opened the door to find the old man looking pale and wringing his hands.
“The Prince,” Martan said. “He requests your presence in the Solar. Immediately. He says it is a matter of State. He says it is constitutional.”
My stomach dropped at the word constitutional. I grabbed my coat to follow him. The Solar was dark, lit only by the dying embers of the fire.
Devan was pacing in his tavern clothes, looking agitated and manic.
“Milstead,” he said when I entered. “Close the door.”
“Devan,” I said slowly, standing by the entrance. “What is this about?”
“The law,” Devan said, grabbing a piece of parchment from his desk and waving it in the air. “The damn marriage law. I fixed it. I called the Council, woke them up, and told them I wouldn’t be King if I had to follow their archaic rules.”
I felt a surge of pride. “Good for you, boy.”
“I rewrote the law,” Devan said, holding up the parchment. “I removed the word ’Wife.’ It doesn’t say ’Woman.’ It simply states now that the Prince must marry, to become King, the person of his choosing. I fixed it.” He dropped the paper and reached out to take my hands.
“I don’t want a Queen, Milstead. I want an anchor. I want a partner. I want someone who would save my family without hesitating. I want you.”
He altered the legal requirements for kingship and rewrote the legal definition of marriage for his entire country. The Constitution had been amended. He had only had three beers. If we had been drinking rum, he likely would have signed the entire Kingdom over to me right on the spot. Which wasn’t a bad idea... no. I had to focus.
“Narissa was the safer choice,” I whispered to myself.
“Who?” Devan’s eyes squinted.
“Nothing,” I corrected. “But Devan, what about Avis? She truly loves you?”
Devan stopped pacing and looked at me like I was insane. “Avis? Why would I want to marry her?”
I blinked. The logic short-circuited in my brain. “Because... she is a catch. She is a trollop.”
“Exactly,” Devan said. “No offense, Milstead. She’s fun. She’s wild. She can drink a sailor under the table. No one would ever accept a trollop as Queen.”
I was a whirlpool on the inside. He was babbling about class and grace. Had I misunderstood? I had sabotaged her and didn’t know it.
From the very beginning, the failure was mine.
“She burped in the bartender’s face,” Devan reminded me. “She is chaos. I cannot rule with chaos.”
He walked toward me, looking at the beard, the scars, and the man he thought I was. “But everyone would accept you. And I can rule with you.”
I stared at him as he continued, his voice trembling with excitement. “And don’t worry. You wouldn’t be considered a consort. We would be equals. Both of us. Kings.”
He let go of my hands and rushed to his desk to pull open a drawer.
“I even took the liberty. I had the wedding invitations made. Just in case.” He handed me one. The calligraphy was exquisite and the gold leaf shimmered in the firelight. The octopus was perfect. My breath stopped.
“Why is there a white octopus?” I screamed.
Devan jumped, his eyes questioning if he had offended me.
“It’s the Royal Crest of my family,” Devan answered. “But I can remove it. We can make it anything that you want.”
I was stunned. I was the symbol of his kingdom and he didn’t even know it. Is this fate? I wondered. Am I unconscious on the floor of the Leviathan Trench in a drunken pool?
“Read the rest?” Devan said it almost begging.
I read.
I looked at the card. The final lines seemed almost more drastic than the crest at the top. The name King Devan Waters the First. He didn’t only want to marry me, he wanted to take my name. He fully intended to erase his father’s legacy and step into mine. To submit to Daddy... but Daddy was Mommy. Could he handle that?
My brain began to spiral as I looked at him. He thinks he loves a man. But he is really proposing to a woman who used to be a man, and is disguised as a man. I stopped for a moment to consider myself before I could even go further.
Is that correct?
Merman-Queen of the Deep-Milstead. Right. He/Her/His. Exhausting.
Who was I squidding? If I couldn’t even keep up with it, how could I expect poor simple-minded Devan to do it? He’s an idiot.
I looked at his face. He was waiting and terrified. If I said no, he would be heartbroken. He would reject the crown and the Treaty would die. If I said yes... I would be King. I would be trapped in this meat suit forever. But I would have the power.
Then he lowered himself to one knee.
“Lord Milstead Waters, will you do me the honor of becoming my King, sharing my crown and my life? And ruling this land with strength, beauty, and pride? Will you marry me?”
“Okay,” I heard myself whisper.
Devan blinked. “Okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Now, listen. Don’t judge me! If he was on one knee in front of you holding up a giant golden ring you would have taken it, too. Have you seen his eyes? No, you haven’t.
Is it so impossible for someone like me to find love? I’m not the hag or truly even a witch. In my hearts of hearts, I’m just a girl. He’s just a boy. He offered me love and respect. And power, so much power. A lot of power.
Devan let out a shout of joy, pulling me into a hug and burying his face in my chest.
The palace erupted within the hour. Bells rang and servants ran through the halls as the news spread like wildfire. I stood on the balcony of my guest chamber, watching the chaos, feeling numb.
Down in the courtyard, Avis stepped out of the guest wing. She rubbed sleep from her eyes as she heard the bells and saw the servants carrying flowers. She grabbed a passing footman, pointing to the decorations and then to herself. She mimed a ring with a happy, hopeful look, thinking her performance had worked.
The footman smiled and bowed low. His voice carried up to the balcony.
“Oh, no, My Lady. The Prince isn’t marrying you.” Avis froze.
“He is marrying Lord Milstead,” the footman beamed. “King Devan Waters and King Milstead Waters! Isn’t it wonderful?”
Avis stood there. The color drained from her face as she looked up and saw me. She saw the witch. She stared at the thief who had stolen her voice and her prince.
Her mouth opened. An impenetrable rage coursed through her body as she fell to her knees in the dirt. And up in the tower, holding the invitation that bore my name, I felt the trap snap shut.