This month’s  pic is courtesy of Vanessa Barger.

When Vanessa posted this picture to our crit forum it made Kat Williamson from my wip,  Haunting of a Reluctant Princess, nag me to let her come out and play. Here’s a little blurb to help set the stage for this ficlet/slice of fictional life/whatever the heck it it is:

 Kat’s bookish boyfriend turns out to be European royalty and history isn’t all that comes with the antique ring he gives her. Is a ghostly princess dangerous or needing Kat’s help to solve her murder?

(At this point in time Kat and her boyfriend C.J. a/k/a His Serene Highness Christian Josef Maximilian Alexandre Fortier are spending their break from school in the European principality of Mont Forte)

* * *

 C.J.’s cell rang as we neared the old stables that had been converted into a garage. “Yes, I know but I was going to show Katrina—Yes, Madame, I understand my new responsibilities especially in light of current events. Yes, Madame. I’ll be there shortly.”

With a frown he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’ve always been fond of Madame Mutter, but I’m finally beginning to understand my Aunt’s claims that she oversteps her bounds.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. C.J.’s father’s secretary didn’t seem that bossy to me but then again I was used to my dad’s office manager who was a former drill sergeant. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t important.”

He breathed a quiet sigh, “You’re right. Father is adamant that I start taking a more upfront role in matters of state.” C.J. took hold of my hands. “I’ll try to move this meeting along as quickly as I can and then we’ll go on that tour.”

“I can go myself. I promise not to get lost or do any embarrassing touristy things.”

“I’ll have Anton go with you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard. I don’t want one, and you can’t force one on me–at least not until the official engagement party happens and it’s becomes a matter of protocol.”

He laughed and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll give you a call when the meeting is done.  We can do a late lunch or early dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I took a few steps back and dipped into the lowest curtsey I could manage then tilted my head up. “Not bad, huh? I’m still wobbly  doing that in heels though.” I straightened. “I suppose Madame Mutter wouldn’t let me get away with wearing sneakers under my gown for that state dinner thing so I don’t lose my balance and embarrass us all.”

“You’ll be fine. And I promise the family isn’t as intimidating as rumor would have you believe.”

C.J. pulled me into a quick hug and kissed the top of my head. The feminist in me might have been cheezed off if he wasn’t so darn lovable.

His cell rang and I pulled away even though I didn’t want to. “You’d better get back inside.”

He smiled. And I hoped he never realized how that sweet but sexy smile alone could get me to do just about anything.

“Have fun and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything or if any reporters bother you.”

Ugh. Not the paparazzi again. At least this time I was properly dressed and not brandishing a butcher knife.

My phone rang and I checked the Caller ID It was Madame Mutter. I gave him a little shove. “Get going before I get a lecture about keeping you from your princely duties.”

He snapped to attention and gave me a courtly bow. “As you wish.” He grinned when he straightened and tossed me the keys to his cars.

Yeah, that’s right. Cars plural. Falling into a real life version of the Princess Diaries did have it’s fun moments and this was definitely one. Of course, being the paranoid dork I was, I just stood there in the cavernous garage that resembled a luxury car show-room thinking of the many possible disasters that might befall any of the ritzy cars on my watch.

And so, ignoring the amused stares of the garage attendants and the siren calls of the Maseratti, Porsche, and vintage red Corvette, I focused on the row of bikes off to the left side of the building. If I’d been dressed up I might have talked myself into a fancy car but, wearing Jeans and a sweater, I was much better off  taking the commoner approach to transportation for my sightseeing expedition.

And of course even the Fortier family’s bikes were top of the line titanium models, nothing at all like the basic Huffy 10-speed I’d grown up with. I hoped I didn’t wreck it. Squaring my shoulders, I approached the garage guys and told them my plan then asked them to see that C.J. got his car keys back.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t  prefer to drive?”

“I’m sure.” The guy’s expression said he knew I was faking it, but paranoia and images of the old photos of C.J.’s mom’s car crumpled at the base of the cliffs the castle rested on, stomped that wavering of my decision to bike it.

I walked the bike outside and stood a moment deciding which way to go down into town. I could go right and around to the modern front of the compound to take the main road down but it was the weekly visiting day and it seemed that world financial crisis be damned, a whole lot of people had decided to pay Mont Fort a visit. And, judging from the glimpse I’d had out the upstairs corridor window earlier, those who weren’t gambling were sightseeing at the castle. There might even be some incognito paparazzi types hanging around trying to get another embarrassing glimpse of “America’s Future Princess”.

The sensible thing to do was to take the less traveled path left and go out the original front of the castle complex—which was a long narrow drawbridge suspended over a gaping chasm.

Facing mythical paparazzi didn’t seem quite so bad.

But then my common sense kicked my butt and reminded me that C.J. and I had ridden on his motorcycle across that bridge yesterday. If it could withstand that it could withstand the weight of me a titanium framed bike.

Unless the cycle’s weight and vibrations had shaken loose the old wood and iron that held up the bridge.

I let out a miserable sigh and hung my head. What was wrong with me? It was like I’d become some timid mouse in the few days I’d been here. It made no sense. In school in London, I lived to be up close and personal with medieval history and architecture. While here I was as up close and personal as one could get with free access to go anywhere on the estate or historical section of the city below, and I was suddenly too afraid to do anything.

If I didn’t know better I’d think I was stuck in one of those weird chick-flick movie marathons I used to watch with my step-mom and sister—the creepy Gothic ones where the woman moves to a new place and becomes the victim of choice for spirits from the past who want to possess her to live their lives over again.

* * *

 The others participating this time are:

Vanessa Barger
Traci Kenworth
Rebekah Purdy

My Treat is a free read called SATANSTORM

The members of the metal band Satanstorm have been trying to put their days as child singing senasations “Band of brothers” behind them. They hope their next video will propel them to the top. All they need is the right spooky place to film it…

Mark would be  a bit younger and lankier than the singer here, but yeah, the voice and emotion work for me. ^_^

You can come back and thank me later ^_^

Rebekah Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

Edit 11/13/2011 Noble Young Adult has accepted my proposal for a shared world series set in this world with Theo & company. The series will be called Order of the Dragon and the first story features Theo in the present.

The awesome Shayne Leighton  is working on an installment. And Kimber An is cooking up a little something that ties in to her Ophelia Dawson books.

The Young Dragon

1448

Wallachia (Romania)

The day had started badly enough and got progressively worse the moment I made it past the treeline to see the blockage in the road up ahead. I had to get this load of grain delivered and get back home to look after my mother and sister before nightfall. The last ting I need was to be held up by an egotistical aristocrat and his band of brainless henchmen.

Seeing the problem, I tethered the horses, jumped down from my wagon and approached the group, my hands held at my sides to show I was no threat. Not that that would make much difference if they wanted to kill me for no other reason than because they could. “Forgive my interference, but I suggest a redistribution of weight. The wooden chest should be placed farther back, closer to the horse’s rump to counter the weight of the leather sacks on either side. The animal won’t continually balk if he doesn’t feel off balance.”

The fattest of the nobles looked down his big nose at me. The animal is stubborn and should be beaten like a peasant who doesn’t know his place.”

I’d had more than enough of their kind bleeding the country dry on the backs of it’s people and lining their pockets with our sweat and blood. “Perhaps the animal is not the only stubborn one.”

“You impudent piece of dung.”

The boyar pulled his sword. I refused to give him the satisfaction of so much as a single flinch.

“Enough!”

I was surprised to see the noble quake in his boots and I turned to see who’d caused such fear in the big man’s eyes. It was another nobleman but hardly beyond my own seventeen years.

But when he dismounted and came toward me I understood why the fat noble had backed down as quickly as he had. This man radiated power and brute strength with each step he took.

The fat boyar bowed is head. “Forgive me, Voivode, but this peasant has the audacity to say my servants did not arrange the provisions properly on that useless animal.”

So the young one was a prince no doubt come to scavenge what was left of Wallachia after the murders of Vlad Dracul and his heir.

The prince stood within arm’s length, those green eyes of his boring into me. I refused to avert my gaze but granted him a quick bow of my head.

“Not a common peasant, but not of the highest class. Who are you and how do you know Miscu’s horse is not simply being difficult?”

“I am Theodore Petru. I know the horse is not being difficult because I’ve bred and used them to transport marketable goods my entire life. I own the land the other side of the forest that was granted to my grandfather by order of Mircea the Great for service at the battle of Rovine and in helping him reclaim his throne from Vlad the Usurper. And of course for his service in battling the Turks.” The last I said casting a glance to the two Turks in this prince’s traveling party.

The nobleman stepped away as if I was of no consequence and began speaking in low tones to one of his Turkish minions. I looked to the sky, gauging the sun’s position. I was hopelessly late and had no time for this needless delay.

Impatience overrode any common sense I might have had and unleashed my tongue. “Will you please take my advice and distribute the load of your goods or at least have the decency to make enough room for me to pass?”

Sharp intakes of breath and the quick attention of the young prince hammered home that I had signed my own death warrant.

The prince laughed and strode forward to clap me on the shoulder. “One would have to be a fool or very at peace with God to take such a tone with the son of Vlad Dracul.  However, I will not make the mistake of taking you for a fool. I will overlook your tongue—this time—for I agree with you. You will take these supplies in your wagon and follow us to Târgoviște.”

“But Voivode, I must deliver— “ My words died beneath the weight of Vlad Dracula’s  stare.

He gave me a cold, cruel smile. “I have need of your services, Petru. Now.”

“But—“

He turned his back. “But nothing. Come.”

~End~