Page 26 of Make Me Bee-lieve

“Caretaker?” I wobble to the side and shake my head. I can’t break free from the dizzy spell. “Caretaker? Did you hear me?” Majordomo Elza’s voice rings into focus. Blinking, I snap my attention back to the majordomo and frown.

“What do you mean, it’s been moved?” I ask, panic rising along with the bile in the back of my throat. I’m going to be sick. This is what I was afraid of, and now it’s coming true. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “This is exactly what I thought would happen. This is why I wanted to go back as soon as possible.”

Majordomo Elza holds up her satin-gloved hands and winces. “Now, let’s not panic. I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. I have already sent a team to scout the area. We will get to the bottom of this, Caretaker. In the meantime, we still have our ball! You will love the refreshments the chefs are preparing, especially for you.”

I clench my jaw. Ser Beatrix must sense my unease, because she flanks me and places her hand on my shoulder again, a protective shield against the tidal wave of pain crashing over me.

“I think it might be best if we wrap up training for today, Caretaker.” Ser Beatrix’s face is impassive. She must have years of experience honing her emotions like a finely crafted blade. Sylvie, on the other hand, has had no such experience, judging from the way she’s literally buzzing off the walls right now.

“I will go and find your shrink ray myself!” she crows, flying up toward the ceiling. Ser Beatrix lets out a long, resigned sigh and shakes her head. “I’m great at finding things! Let me go! I’m ready!”

“Sylvie,” Ser Beatrix’s voice pierces the air. “Cease and desist at once.”

Majordomo Elza does one of her little faux-coughs into her fist. “Ahem. As I said, our scouts are already out searching the area for any signs of your Shrinkatron, Caretaker. But we have the ball later tonight, and everyone is getting ready. There is nothing else we can do. Our wings are tied.”

Her dark lashes flutter as her red lips pull back into a tight smile. If I was on the fence about this woman before, I’m not anymore. I don’t like Elza. I’m pretty sure my pinky finger contains more empathy than she has in her entire body. Ser Beatrix turns back to her recruits and shouts at them to clean up and get ready for the night’s festivities. They all do, except for Sylvie, who hovers near me like a mayfly at a picnic.

“Caretaker?” Her little voice cracks. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I let out a sobering sigh and stare down at my mismatched socks. “No. But thanks anyway, Sylvie. Guess I should go get cleaned up for tonight, then, huh?”

“That would be best,” Elza says, then sharply turns around so the loose strands of her hair whack me in the face. I flinch from the sting, but as Elza strides out of the room, she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

My money’s on the latter.

POLINA

My dress is all wrong. My hair is also all wrong, but it’s too late to fix any of it now. Helena, my newest handmaiden, dithers around the room as she grabs combs, hair accessories, anything she can to minimize the damage. When I glance in the mirror, my soul dies a little inside. My normally sleek, lovely brown hair is … purple? How did that even happen?

I suppress the urge to scream, because Helena is still new, I remind myself. She’s new. But tonight is my coronation ball and … I feel the fire rising in my belly. My cheeks flush scarlet, and my hands ball into tight fists.

“I look like a blueberry!” I shriek.

Helena winces and dives under the bed. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness! I used too much lilac dye and blueberry powder in the poultice!”

“No shit!” I whirl around, unable to look at myself a second longer, and throw my arms up in the air. “Turn it back! Turn it back now!” Tears stream down my cheeks. My coronation ball. The ball that is supposed to honor my impending reign is about to be ruined, all because my regular handmaidens were supposedly indisposed and unable to help me get ready. And Calvin is going to be there – what is he to think of me, seeing my hair in such a state?

“I-I can’t.” Helena’s voice quavers like that of a strangled duck. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, but we don’t have any hair powder left. The royal alchemists ran out this morning.”

Great. Just great. Not only is my dress all wrong, with its blocky silhouette that makes me look like a … literal box, but my hair is also ruined. Without warning, I rip off my blocky, copper-colored dress and toss it onto the bed. “Forget it. I’ll wear my usual,” I say, and rush over to my closet to pull out one of my golden silk dresses. One of my favorites. It slides over my body like a glove and clinches my waist, accentuating my hourglass shape.

My abdomen sticks out the back comfortably, and I twirl around in front of the floor-length mirror. That’s much better. For an event like this, the dress is inappropriate—my abdomen should be hidden away during such an extravagant ball—but it’s more important to me that I feel good.

“Your Highness?” Helena squeaks out from underneath the bed.

I shoot her a look of pure exasperation. “What? Oh, for pity’s sake. Get out from under the bed. You’ll get covered in dust gremlins,” I chide.

Helena crawls out from beneath the bed and pushes herself up to stand. “Your Highness, your … your abdomen is showing,” she says, pointing a finger at my butt.

I roll my eyes. “Yes. I’m well aware, thank you. See yourself out. I’ll do my own hair.”

Helena arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue with me, thank goodness for that, and hurries out the door, slamming it shut on her way out. I narrow my eyes. What is with my staff lately? They’re not usually in such a state of disarray. Perhaps it’s the pressure of the event that’s throwing them off-kilter, along with Calvin’s presence.

Calvin. I wonder how he is getting on, if he is able to get dressed in something comfortable as well. I sent the royal tailors to his quarters earlier to find him something suitable to wear so he wouldn’t stick out like a grasshopper on an anthill.

I sit down in front of the mirror and get to work on my hair. Perhaps I can salvage it after all. After all, I want to look my absolute best. Not only for my own people, but for my – I’m not sure what Calvin is to me. Not yet. Paramour? Yes, I suppose he is. My thoughts drift back to our moment in the library, and I feel a blush creep across my cheeks.

The ball is as opulent as one would expect, with the spacious room covered in wildflowers gathered by my foragers. They brought in poppies, goldenrods, daisies, and my personal favorite, forget-me-nots. They hang from the ceiling in loose strands, making the entire ballroom look like a living fairy tale.

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