Valerie

Chapter One

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

"If a girl could be made completely of thorn and needles then she might thank her benefactor."

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ 

"And the Good Queen Imani resisted the call of her nature to bring forth justice and understanding into the world. But none of you are the blessed Queen Imani. Straining against your nature would not make her proud."

The words made me wonder aloud in class, something I was swiftly punished for--speaking out of turn--and I never did it again. It was the same thing, said over and over again. The Good Queen Imani was blessed by Selene, the moon goddess. The rejection of the natural order would probably kill us if we tried it as she did. Not everyone was made to survive such extreme stubbornness.

But I wondered, waking up in the dark, shoddily lit servant room, if the Good Queen Imani would be proud of what's become of the Kingdom. I wondered if I had any place to judge this kingdom, wondered especially hard as I wrestled with the zipper of my uniform.

I was a maid, serving in the court of Aeneas Augustus, of the line of Evans, descendant of the Good Queen and the First King. And currently, I was shaking my roommate, trying to get her to rise from her deadman slumber before we both were disciplined.

"I finished your work so you could sleep longer, how in the world are you still tired."

One hand rose, a sign of life in most, probably all people except from Hilla. Hilla could sleep through an earthquake. Or worse, she'd get up, sleepwalk to safety and immediately curl up on the floor as the world burned. "Five more minutes."

"No, we're late." I popped the back of her head. "You only have ten minutes to dress."

That woke her up sure and proper. Hilla scrambled out of bed, shoving back her long brown hair and reaching for one of my hair ties. I smacked the hand away. My hair ties ate up a fat chunk of my little salary. They were made for my thick, kinky hair, most usually kept in miniature twists. The longer it grew, the more sentimental I became. And also, the harder my hair became to maintain.

I shoved a pin into my hair, trapping the last unruly twist and looking at myself in the mirror. Should I have powder my face to make myself look more ashen and dead? I would've wiped away the oil on my lips, but I'll be the one suffering if they crack in this winter. "What can I do to make myself look dreadful?" I asked as Hilla did a worm hop around the room, shoving herself into her work dress and looking like the headless horseman in the process.

"Not much. Sorry."

"It's your job to say that as my best friend, but I'm not joking." I reached for my bottle of scent-blocker, high contraband, but something that Hilla goes out to procure for us with our combined money. I can't confirm, but I'd bet the maids who've been working here longest have all been using it. Hilla was here before me, she's been here almost three years. I've been here about two. It's an elderly career in comparison to the country bumpkin girls who come without scent blockers and quickly find themselves snatched up. It happened too often.

"Put that away," Hilla hissed, having freed her head from the folds of her dress. I opened the cap and tipped back the rest. It's not a full dosage. Hilla would have to sneak out and get more.

"I don't have enough. Which is exactly why I need to look dreadful."

"It's been building in your system awhile. I don't think the situation is dire."

"Do you want to take that chance?"

Hilla sighed, crossed the room and squeezed my shoulders from behind. "I think you'll be alright." She grabs her makeup kit, a sad little thing, mostly used for this purpose. "But, a little shadow under the eyes won't hurt. You'll look like a consumptive."