Far, Far Away

The queen and prince sat on opposite sides of a stately sofa. They stared: politely and regally, of course. Only royals seem to stare as if it is their right and theirs alone to look at you like some sort of inferior being. At least their aristocratic faces complemented the act of looking down their noses at the unwashed masses. With long beaks like those, Sarah could not miss the family resemblance between mother and son.

Silence loomed around the edges of the room. The queen and prince did not seem bothered by it. Sarah expected they thought she was to be the one to break it, but she was at a loss. This really was not her day. Her mind, while not empty – never empty – tried prodding her with thoughts of fluffy pillows and downy coverlets. Sarah did not find this useful. As was her habit, her eyes slid of their own accord to the floor. Realizing her faux-pas, Sarah lifted her gaze from the blue carpet, the royal blue carpet, just in time to see the prince smirk.

Now that goaded her into action; words poured forth. "Your Majesty and Your Royal Highness. I must apologize humbly and profusely for the intrusion. I sincerely do not wish to interrupt your evening so. I believe there may be some confusion as to my presence here. I am simply a traveler looking for one night's refuge from the storm. Your generosity has been overwhelming and most appreciated. I have never been blessed by such..." Such what, Sarah? Charitable? Munificent? Keep it simple. You're rambling, "kind hosts."

The queen's face remained emotionless: acceptable and matching the somber twilight hue of her gown. From the other side of the settee, the prince's smirk nearly widened into a smile. For goodness' sake. He better stop doing that. It is most discourteous and makes him look almost handsome. Sarah's exacerbation threatened to overflow. She was grateful when the queen spoke.

Her gratitude was short-lived.

"There is no need for apologies, my dear. Guests are most welcome here, no matter what the hour."

Bloody hell, thought Sarah. Does she mean to chasten me? But I cannot apologize again, as that would directly go against her previous statement. Bloody royalty.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Do take a seat. My son and I are most interested in how you came to arrive on our doorstep in such abysmal weather." Sarah sat upon one of the two upholstered chairs that faced their Royal Highnesses. She picked the chair opposite the queen – valiantly refusing to succumb to its cushions – and perched upon the front edge. She hoped she made the right choice.

The queen's grey hair might have betrayed her advancing years, but the storminess of it suited Her Majesty's attire perfectly. Her face, while solemn, seemed open enough, and not nearly as wrinkled as Sarah thought it would be. Stony like the castle, but softened inevitably by age, one had to climb that sharp regal nose to gain access to intelligent green eyes. Upon reaching them, Sarah realized that, unlike the Grizzled Giant, Queen Anna of Shea would never be caught with her pants down.

"Your Majesty," Sarah daintily cleared her throat. The prince rose from the settee to pour a cup of tea from the sideboard; Sarah did not look at him. "I do not know what to say. I feel that my long journey has taken much of my energy." That could be interpreted as whinging. Best continue, thought Sarah. "I am from the neighboring kingdom of Yore and was – that is, I am – on my way to visit my grandmother. She lives near the town of Overleigh." Alright, this is true so far. But I need a reason for my visit other than "my parents are smothering me." Sarah was not entirely sure how to continue until she stumbled upon the best, and most overused, lie in the book.

"My grandmother is ill; I admit I have not seen her in many years. I had hoped to be of help to her for a time. She lives alone at present."

Is this even making any sense? I think I might have chosen the wrong story. But a quick glance at the queen showed Sarah her words found a sympathetic ear. So she kept going: "I had an escort, of course, but we were separated in the storm. I fear they may be lost in the woods off the main road. Well, not lost exactly, but thinking I am lost, they might be searching for me. I do hope they find shelter for the night. Once better weather comes with the sun, I can seek them out."

A thought struck Sarah. "Are the forests here safe? Free of wild animals and the like? Of wolves?" Suddenly a hand holding a tea cup thrust itself in front of her face.

"Oh." Startled, Sarah went to cradle the cup with both hands, only to remember that she was with company. Royal company. She lightly held the handle between three fingers, neatly avoiding brushing the prince's hand with her own. "Thank you, Your Highness." Sarah's tone was even.

"My pleasure," he said. And Sarah could not help but look up. Up into the face of a man who, while seemingly sincere in his reply to Sarah's thanks, had a much less open countenance than that of his mother. Interesting, was Sarah's single thought before she burned the tip of her tongue on the tea, and nearly upended the contents of the cup onto the royal blue carpet.

Her Majesty smiled. "Is something wrong with the tea, dear?"

"No, it is lovely. I simply was not expecting it to be so hot." Sarah weakly returned the smile. Good will and all that.

"Was it now, Peregrine?" The queen remarked to her son. Apparently Sarah was not trusted to be an objective observer of the relative temperature of liquid.

"I am sorry, my lady. And I was worried that the tea might be too tepid." Prince Peregrine directed the latter to the Royal Mother. His tone was dry. His own cup of tea must have done little to improve his attitude.

"You needn't worry Your Highness." Sarah replied to the first, outwardly remaining calm. She internally huffed at the rest of the prince's response.

"Call him Prince Peregrine, dear. No need to stand on ceremony. We are all friends here."

Are we really? Sarah was beginning to find this encounter, for lack of a better word, surreal.

She needed to learn to go with the flow.

Especially since the night was young and would become stranger yet.

The prince resumed his seat next to the queen. Sarah sipped her too-hot tea. The queen smiled again. Sarah wished she could leave. Instead she decided to look at Prince Peregrine. Now that she had a name for him, and learned that he might be temperature-insensitive, Sarah wanted to figure him out.

Excepting his mother's nose, he resembled a bird of prey not at all. Tall. Too old for gawkiness, though. A few years older than Sarah perhaps. Black hair. Plain face with a strong nose and jaw. Sarah could just make it past his imposing nose to see his eyes. They were brown: unremarkable really. Dressed reasonably well, although his attire was less impressive than the queen's – sable trousers, kid boots, hunter green jacket. Again, nothing remarkable.

So why did something about him bother Sarah so?

The queen picked up a slim leather-bound volume from an end table to her right. "Do you read, dear?"

Faced with a non sequitur, Sarah answered truthfully. "In general? Yes, I do."

The queen opened the book and removed a thin ribbon. "Would you read for us, dear?" She passed the book to Sarah.

It was a collection of poems. In Farbudi.

Fortunately Sarah had studied Farbudi at school; she enjoyed languages. However, the fact that the queen of the kingdom of Shea wanted her to read aloud some poem in Farbudi struck Sarah as presumptuous. Were all those sweetly-spoken "dears" meant to put her in her place – as some sort of novelty act, perhaps?

But, finding no way out of it without appearing rude herself, Sarah read:

"Kan jiu shairsh pur tes'yu/ Jiu truv / Man ahm," which roughly translates to: "When I look for your eyes I find my soul." Bugger. It's a piffling love poem. Sarah internally cringed. She read every word. Queen Anna of Shea was charmed.

"Oh, Peregrine, how delightful. It is good to know they still teach you young people the classics." Sarah, who had a passing familiarity with "the classics" knew that the poem she just read was not one of them. The phrasing was much too modern to be Medieval, Classical or Romantic Farbudi verse.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty, but surely this poem was written more recently? In the past decade or so?" Sarah was unsure as to whether she should question Queen Anna, but a discussion of the literature of Farbud seemed much more pleasant than awkward silence or small talk. Prince Peregrine coughed. Both Sarah and the queen ignored him.

"You are correct, Dear. La lan di'ahmur was published just last year, in fact. Peregrine gave it to me as a birthday gift." She smiled at her son.

"How thoughtful." Sarah replied, frustrated that the queen chose to acquiesce so readily. "It is rare for a son to be so perceptive of his mother's interests."

"Isn't it though?" replied the queen. Peregrine frowned. It made him unattractive.

"Dear, your Farbudi is almost fluent. Where did you study it? Did you have a governess?"

"I last studied Farbudi at the Brighton Academy, Your Majesty."

"Really, dear? How wonderful! My daughter Annabelle has been at Brighton for nearly three years now. Have the two of you met?"

Sarah let surprise show on her face. She did know Princess Annabelle fairly well. They had a couple of courses together at Brighton, belonged to several of the same clubs, and lived next door to each other for a semester. Sarah had no desire to tell all of that to the queen, though. "I believe so, Your Majesty. I was a member of the debating club while I was there. And we were in the same faction twice." Sarah answered. "I enjoyed working with her."

"Oh, Annabelle is a part of so many organizations, it is hard to keep up." The queen smiled. "But you do not attend Brighton anymore?"

"I graduated, Your Majesty."

"Did you? With a degree?"

Sarah was worried she was being led onto dangerous ground, so she decided to tread carefully. "I studied the arts and sciences, Your Majesty."

"And your focus, dear?" Sarah was unaware that the queen was not on solid terrain at all, but instead waged her war on the water. The queen was always at home above the roiling waves.

Sarah saw no way around the question; she could not lie. "Politics and government, Your Majesty."

"Call me Queen Anna, dear. And what will you do with such knowledge?"

"I am not yet sure, Queen Anna. I have family obligations at the moment." Sarah sidestepped Her Majesty's prying and reminded the queen of her "ailing" grandmother all at once.

"Of course you do, dear. And have you been enjoying your journey from Yore, was it?" The queen navigated the conversation back to safer waters.

"Yes, Queen Anna. The weather has been mild until yesterday, and I have appreciated the change of scenery."

"But surely the trip has been long? Where is your home in Yore?" The queen was a tricky adversary.

"We have been on the road but four days, Your Majesty. We came from Silverdell just across the border." Nothing like a bit of deference to help avoid a potentially dangerous question, Sarah hoped.

"I see," said Queen Anna. "Peregrine, King John and Queen Laura have a summer residence in close to Silverdell, do they not?"

The prince – whose taut shoulders belied the fact that he was, in fact, not reading a treatise on medicinal herbal remedies, but listening to everything being discussed in front of him – curtly replied, "Yes."

"I thought so," said the queen serenely.

"Young lady, do you have any siblings?" The queen cast another baited hook at Sarah.

"No, Queen Anna. I am an only child."

"Pity. Peregrine and Annabelle were practically inseparable as children. Was your time at Brighton difficult for you, dear? All those girls? We females can be noisy when housed together." The queen's smile was nothing short of conspiratorial.

"I shall always treasure my time at Brighton, Queen Anna. I made many lifelong friends."

"Then you must visit again when Annabelle is home. She always likes to spend her holidays with young ladies of quality. Perhaps at the royal residence in the capital?"

Sarah wondered if getting up and dashing from the room could be misconstrued as temporary insanity and not her survival instinct forcing her to flee. "That is very kind of you to offer, Queen Anna."

The queen looked at her son.

"Yes. Great idea, Mother." He returned to his book. The queen sighed.

"It seems my son has also developed a taste for the written word."

"I was always taught of the importance of an engaged mind." Sarah babbled.

"How so, dear?" prompted the queen.

"My parents told me that those persons who willingly use their minds," a muffled noise came from Prince Peregrine's side of the settee, "will not have to worry about them failing when they need them most."

The queen's placid look slipped for a split second; her eyes narrowed. Luckily Sarah was studying the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup as if they held within their swirling dampness the secrets of the universe.

"That is very enlightened of them, dear." Queen Anna forced a regal yawn, her gown crinkling as she stood.

Sarah, clutching her empty cup, rushed to do the same. Her back protested at the sudden change in position.

"I believe the hour is late, and it is time I retire. Christine will show you to your bedroom." The door opened to admit the maid. "Good night, Peregrine."

The prince grunted.

Sarah, appalled at the prince's rudeness to the queen – and in front of a guest, no less – noticed it was her turn to speak. "It was wonderful meeting you, Your Highness. Thank you again, Your Majesty. Good night." Sarah curtsied, deeply. Then she docilely followed Christine from the room.