Page 41 of Night's Fall
“And why wouldn’t you do that?”Gayleasked quietly.
Gods!
They needed to let this go!
“I don’t know,Gayle, because it hurts when you don’t get what you want really, really badly.Ithurts a fuck of a lot,”Ibit.
“Oo, damn,”Moniquewhispered. “She’scussing.”
“Everybody has to dream,”Gaylereplied, still going quietly.
“You can.Catcan.Moncan.ButIlearned the hard way that if shit happens, it will.Likeparents hating you only slightly less than they hate each other…and the whole world.Likeyou can be walking home after getting yourself a whirly-whip, be dragged into an alley and?—”
“Okay, shh, okay,”Catsoothed. “Don’tgo there, honey.”
I snapped my spine straight and turned to the valet rails. “Ineed to change.”
“We really fucked this up,”Moniquemuttered.
They grew mercifully silent asIshrugged off my robe and headed to my plethora of bottles of perfume (yes,Iwas old-fashioned there too,Ididn’t even have any scent loaded into my bath pod).
I was perfumed, dressed, accessorized, had the bag switch programmed and was seated on my lilac velvet poof, buckling the thin straps on my shoes whenCatbroke the silence.
“I just want you to think about the idea that, if this was just a date, if this was just the prince wanting a break from the monotony of his fabulous life, why he’s arranged for you to go through instruction withMadamGarwah.”
My head snapped up to look at her as my lungs compressed all the air out of me.
“I can guaran-damn-tee you, his aide does not call onGarwahfor every female he dates,”Catcontinued.
“They taught you not to dream,”Gaylesaid.
“We’re just saying, maybe, just maybe, they were wrong,”Catfinished it.
“Mm-hmm,”Moniquehummed.
AndIknew, whileIwas getting dressed, they’d conspired their coordinated exit to punctuate this last point because, completely synchronized, once they delivered it, they all blinked out.
Chapter8
Something
Shocker:Royalprotocol was actually kind of interesting.
I learned this asIsat alone in a room (alone saveMadamGarwah) at the middle of five desks arranged in front of a step, up on which a female who appeared a well-cared-for age of two hundred and seventy-five paced the “stage” slamming her intricately carved cane down with every other step so hard, it seemed she used it to punctuate the importance of her words.
She had silvery hair pulled back into a bun at her nape.Shewas wearing a dress that was very stylish…in theYearof theDragon2002.Hereyes were beady.Hernose hawk-like.Shewas excruciatingly thin and very tall.Shehad not bothered to visit any clinics to deal with the wrinkles that lined her face and hands.AndCatlahad shared the rumor that she had troll blood in her ancestry.
A lot of people claimed they had troll blood, butI’dnever seen anyone who actually looked like a troll.
IncludingMadamGarwah.
No, she was a shifter.Icouldn’t get a lock on her beast, but ifIhad to guess,I’dsay it was a snake.
So far in our session,I’dlearned there were different curtsies.
During formal occasions, a very deep one for the king and queen, with your arm thrown out to the side and your head bowed (when she made me practice (over and over)Ifound the arm thing was good, because it helped you balance).
A less deep, but still deep one (no arm), for the princes and princess, and during less formal occasions, the same for the king and queen.
