Page 2 of The Dandelion Princess
ELLA
“The princess is the worst,” I insist. “She should get a job, contribute to society, and maybe rescue herself for once.”
The voice of Staggering_Indifference, an American graduate student, comes through my headset. “Without the princess, we have no game,” she insists.
“Yes, but a princess?” I scoff. “In the year of our Lord—”
“A princess trapped in a garden is an archetype. She’s not helpless if she’s able to inspire the worthy to perform noble sacrifice.”
No one can see my eye roll to this Medieval Studies monologue. I could teach my own college course on what a flaming pile of garbage the idea of princesses are in the modern era. “Yes, but—”
Staggering_Indifference squeaks her surprise when we are suddenly ambushed. “Maybe let’s cut the philosophizing?”
I unleash a wave of arrows and, once I find a rhythm, my attention bounces across several screens. Dialing the volume of the game down, I boost a playlist featuring the music of BLUSH, a favorite Seongan girl group. I sing along, too low for my headset to catch it.
Kiss me like you mean it…unintelligible Seongan lyrics…Kiss me like you mean it
“On your left,” I say, guiding my squad through the ruins of a castle.
The members fall into formation, sights trained on the dense tangle of briars. LoveShush is on my right hand while Staggering_Indifference, dragonslayer2, and BeastlyDutchOaths guard the rear flank, firing as needed.
“Panda,” LoveShush shouts, her avatar crumpling to the flagstones. The skintight bodysuit with strategic cut-outs was not, it turns out, as strategic as my flak jacket and tactical gear.
The ruins erupt in fire and my eyes dart across the screen. “Follow me to higher ground.”
BeastlyDutchOaths is fatally hit during the retreat, but we all respawn on the top of the rise, watching clouds of smoke between us and the horizon, our avatars bouncing gently on the balls of their feet. For today, the princess is on her own.
A notification pops up on my screen. “Group Torture, 10 AM.”
I frown, tapping it closed. I’ve got at least fifteen minutes before the weekly Wolffe family meeting, and our life points are in the red zone. “We have to do a side quest,” I suggest.
BeastlyDutchOaths has a hard timetable he can’t squeeze another minute out of.
“Sorry guys,” dragonslayer2 says. “My sister is going to rain hellfire on me if I don’t clean Boris’s enclosure. I’m out.”
I roll my eyes. Boris the box turtle would be thrilled to paddle around in his own waste for the next hour, whereas our team will have to disband and go through the hassle of reorganizingif we don’t at least make it back to our raiding ship—part Viking longboat, part time traveling device. “Dragon—” I plead.
“I’m gaming before noon, Panda. She hates that. If I can’t contribute to the ‘health and wellbeing’ of my family, she’ll confiscate my best controller andSquadRunfigurines.” He aims at me, delivering a kill shot to a lone knight just over my shoulder. “Again.”
Staggering_Indifference pops in. “My boyfriend has a paper due about constitutional monarchy for his civics class and I promised to help. Panda, can you proofread it? You said—”
I try not to think of how many campaign points we’re shedding as we speak. “Of course. Send the file over the Friction server when you finish.”
Their avatars shimmer on the hilltop, disappearing as their life points are drained from our stats.
“You have somewhere to be, too,” LoveShush reminds me. She’s the only one of our squad who knows who I am beyond my gamer tag. In real life, she’s Alix, my oldest friend who actually thinks skintight bodysuits with strategic cut-outs are reasonable fashion choices. She knows me as Her Royal Highness Princess Ella, Duchess of Sorstorm who showed up to kindergarten with monogrammed bib overalls and a security detail.
I glance at the clock and swear under my breath. “I’m not bailing on our team.”
Sometimes I worry that people onSquadRun—and a whole fetid raft of tabloid reporters—will find out who I really am, but I need this outlet. Half the team is American, I reason. I’m not sure they could find Sondmark on a map.
“You go,” Alix says. “I’ll stay behind and pick mushrooms and sorrel until our life points are restored.”
Tedious. Glacial. And Alix has enough to do, keeping her family’s stately home afloat in the absence of her family.
“No,” I decide, “we’re going after the abbey. We’ll grab a relic—in and out.”
“There is no in and out with murder monks,” she warns.
