Book Promo and Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

Book promo

If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. I reserve the right not to run any submission, if cover, blurb or anything else made me decide not to, at my sole discretion.– SAH

For those waiting for updates on Chapter House, my serialized novels site, they’ll be done by tonight. There were…. family things in the way. (It really should be better in August.)

FROM CEDAR SANDERSON, JOHN VAN STRY AND A STAR STUDDED TEAM &MORE: Single Servings of Liberty.

Twenty stories, short and sweet, each one with the image that inspired it. Bite-sized fiction that will tantalize and thrill you.

Come, read a little, and see how it expands your dreams.

50 words, no more, no less. And the universe is at your command.

FROM DANIEL ZEIDLER: Ilse’s Game

Taking the fight to the Tyrant in the thrilling conclusion to the Sarbotel Rising Duology!

The Tyrant wants Ilse as his human pet, but she has escaped every attempt his forces have made to capture her. Ilse is through with running and hiding, now she and her Guardian ally are leading the Royal Army across thousands of miles of hostile territory in order to launch a surprise attack on the Tyrant and his mercenary forces. Success means the liberation of the kingdom, but failure may mean the end of their world. For Ilse, the stakes are far more personal and she and her allies may be walking into a trap…

FROM JERRY BOYD: Hannah Comes Home. – A Bob and Nikki book.

Jim is working hard. He and Hannah need a place to start a life together, and he has to build it. His dad has messed up, and now he has to get the company started on a way to fix the problem. Of course, it wouldn’t do if Bob and Nikki didn’t make it to Jim’s wedding. Watch Bob and Jim struggle to get it all done.

BY CHARLES ALLEN SELTZER, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: The Way of the Buffalo (Annotated): The classic pulp western.

When Jim Cameron saved a stranger’s life, he hardly expected that stranger to promise to shoot him dead.

Sunset Ballantine wasn’t bothered that a man had tried to shoot him from a distance — no bullet had ever touched him, despite living his long years in the west and getting into many a gunfight. He *was* bothered that this Easterner was going to run a railroad right past his front door in sixty days. And even more bothered that the man didn’t change his mind once the threat was issued. Ballantine’s word was iron law in Ransome, always had been. Yet this Cameron, understanding full well that Ballantine meant it, and would undoubtedly beat him to the draw in any fair fight, was pushing ahead anyway.

Would Cameron back down? Would Ballantine go back on his word? Could an old western hand face down the forces of Progress, or must he go the way of the buffalo?

  • This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving the book genre and historical context.

FROM MARY CATELLI: Queen Shulamith’s Ball.

A ball, a ball, Queen Shulamith would hold a ball. . . .

In the magical city that all kingdoms can reach, and none can conquer, filled with kings and queens, intrigues and wonders, that the reclusive queen would stage a ball was a marvel among marvels.

It will mean much to many: a young woman newly arrived in the city; a woman and a bear who dance on the street; two small orphans sent to the house of their great-great-grandfather; soldiers staging an invasion; and a queen securing her position.

FROM DAVID COLLINS: The Green Flag.

Logan Russel finds himself being transported to a different world. Now, as Lord Green, The Sage of Power, he is granted ridiculously over-the-top powerful magic.

The problem is (there always has to be a catch) that his life depends on the whims of a sketchy god, and to stay alive, he must uphold “the green flag.” Unfortunately, the god never told him what the “green flag” was. He must also avoid actions that raise either a “black flag” or a “red flag.” But, again, the god neglected to tell him what those were… There are many things they could be…

As his humorous adventure continues, he collects a bevy of beautiful, powerful, and overly friendly women. Unfortunately, without knowing what the flags are, he must tread very carefully. Before being transported, he was “inexperienced with women.” Is the temptation of the flesh one of the flags he must avoid?

[Previously released as “Green Sight”]

FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: Lunar Surface Blues

The High Frontier is no place for foolishness, but nature can always make a better idiot.

Four years ago, Molly’s parents brought her up here to the Moon when their work brought them to Shepardsport. In the time since that move, she’s earned her place here and a seat on this field trip. Only one problem — she’s been given the worst possible EVA partner.

A pencil-necked dweeb with an attitude, Benji wants to be one of the guys. But his stunts keep putting them both in danger, and the adults keep blaming Molly.

When Benji gets in over his head, can Molly save him before it costs both their lives?

A short story of the Grissom timeline.

Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.

So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.

We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.

If you have questions, feel free to ask.

Your writing prompt this week is: QUEEN

43 thoughts on “Book Promo and Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike”

  1. Tati slammed a fist on the table. “You wanted Omar and I to hook up. You wanted a breeding pair. I’d be queen to his ‘King of the Werewolves.’ ”
    Gallard laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “No, Ms. Lang. Such a thing is impossible. Fate or God has decreed that werewolves are sterile.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, interesting. Does the bite/scratch blood transmission still work? Because I can see less-than-scrupulous werewolves pulling a Fenrir Greyback, i.e. turning young children and kidnapping them for grooming purposes.

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  2. Scene at a Spacer Bar.

    “What’s the most terrifying space queen you’ve seen or heard about? I vote for the Alien Queen.”

    “Nah, the Borg Queen is worse.”

    “Nope, this one Queen was 7 feet tall, arms/legs like an ogre, hairy beard, dressed in a wedding dress and wanted me!”

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      1. “Nope, this one Queen was 7 feet tall, arms/legs like an ogre, hairy beard, dressed in a wedding dress and wanted me!”

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          1. Just listen; the lyrics are pretty clear…..

            “Her head hit the rooftree of the house, her middle you could not span.”

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  3. They told me, they did. Place this crown upon your head and you will always be Queen. I didn’t question, I didn’t wonder. Who would? To be Queen is to rule, to be safe and beloved. They lied. They lied, and I will pay the price. With my own head.

    Liked by 1 person

    2. Marie Antoinette, is that you?

      I could also see this being the last/next to last diary entry in an ancient book that some protagonist finds or buys early on in the adventure. Something leading to a track-down-the-ancient-treasure-or-magical-artifact story, perhaps?

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Great set of promos this week!

    Guillermo slumped against the wall next to the inner gate of the castle, slid his sword across his knees and pried his hand loose from the hilt, then loosened his helm and removed it. As he dropped it casually by his side and blew out an exhausted breath, he realized there was someone standing next to him. He looked up warily, seeing a court gown torn and covered in blood on one side. As he looked further up, he started. “My queen, are you…?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. “But,” said Lady Helen, looking between them, “you are the queen.”
    Ciara winced.
    “She’s the paladin,” said Autumn, with undue calm. “We saw her at the radiant chapel where she was knighted. We twain are to aid her in her quest. More important than the queen. Besides, she’s not crowned.”

    Liked by 1 person

  7. “Jesus, Victor! That’s disgusting.” exclaimed Doctor Willzen, her face scrunched up with revulsion, “It makes a digger wasp look friendly!”

    “I know Janet,” Victor replied, “but evolution is not always nice. I think it’s pretty disgusting too but it’s how a non-functional female of the Taliaden becomes a fertile queen.”

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  8. Prince Regis watched Nidol crawl around the summoning ring for the fourth time, squinting through his glasses at his painstakingly drawn runes, and decided there was a reason people didn’t do this sort of magic anymore.

    Nidol glanced up and met his eyes, the barest ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “At least the Sanctuary has a circle already in place. I know the principles of the eight-pointed star, but it’s a nightmare to draw even when one’s life doesn’t depend on it.”

    Regis smirked. “I trust you.”

    “You trust my perfectionism. And you’re right to. Unfortunately-” as if timed, the enormous clockwork doors behind them rang again, a deep bell tone humming through the air as yet another ram spell struck the ancient wards. “- our time is rather limited.”

    Regis looked down at the golden lines again, a strange weight sinking into his stomach as the phrase, “Thank you, Lord Obvious,” didn’t quite pass his lips.

    He was not thinking about the words engraved above the doors to the Sanctuary, written in ancient spelltongue. He was not thinking about what Father had said, when the King had first introduced him to the Flametouched Sanctuary. He was definitely not thinking about Nidol’s hair, sand blond instead of his own flame red.

    Nidol scooted to the other side, carefully not touching either his own rune tiles or the room’s tilework circle. “That reminds me. Should the Queen of Flames choose to incinerate me for entering the refuge of her Chosen, as is her right, you are not allowed to kill her.”

    “Who, me?” Regis tried to summon up his best innocent look.

    Nidol looked up again, grey eyes as solid as steel. “That is an order from your bodyguard, Highness. If you like, I could make it my dying wish.”

    Regis didn’t flinch. But given Nidol’s gift for reading people, it probably didn’t matter.

    “Regis.”

    Regis allowed himself to grit his teeth, looking away from his best friend to the circle again. “Fine. I won’t try to kill her.”

    Another, deeper note rang through the room. The doors were reaching their limit.

    Nidol didn’t ask for his word. They both knew it wasn’t needed. He simply went back to checking the runes. Finally, he sat back on his legs.

    “This is the best I can do. You know the ritual, I hope.”

    “Father made me recite it every time we spoke, just to make sure I remembered it. I know the words.” Regis stepped forward, glaring into the center of the star, and took a moment to make himself a promise.

    If she hurts a hair on his head, I don’t care if I have to call up her husband and sell him my soul, I will make her wish I had killed her.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Even a simple meeting with the Queen wasn’t easy.

    Before they even entered the palace proper, James, Aife, and Shuten had been completely scanned by Palace Security. It was James that got their attention, as every alarm on their panel lit up like a Christmas tree when they ran the scanner across him. “Sir,” one of the guards asked politely, “do you have implants?”

    “Yes, I do,” James sighed, carefully sliding a data card out of his pocket. “It’s an ATHENA battle management platform system, specification 212.8 with fleet legion and field intelligence upgrades. And, yes, this does include internal sensors, full wetware connectivity, and qualified security systems. All of which I noted here and was sent to you before I even walked onto the grounds.

    The guard took the data card, slipped it in a reader, and read it with a chuckle. “Much is explained,” he smiled. “Full gestalt analysis?”

    “Yes,” James nodded.

    The palace guard handed the card back. “Avoid using the external comms while you’re on the palace grounds and please don’t try to hack the security while you’re here.”

    Like

  10. “You got to see Queen Elizabeth?” Lurie demanded, eyes wide.

    “Just from a distance. It was pretty exciting, though. She’d only been Queen for five years then,” June reminisced. “She was there for the 350th anniversary of the founding of Jamestown, near Williamsburg. That was back when I was in college. She had tea with the President of William and Mary, and we were all standing outside wondering what they were having! And then she and Prince Philip went through the colonial village at Jamestown, and talked to the prisoners in the stocks.” June looked almost starstruck for a moment. “He was such a handsome man.”

    Lurie was more interested in the prisoners. “They still put people in the stocks in Virginia?”

    “No!” June laughed. “It’s one of those historical parks where they show women spinning, cooking over open fires and that kind of thing. And the stocks were always a big draw, all the tourists stop to look at them.”

    “Oh. Well, just imagine seeing the Queen!” her friend mused, and then added, “What do they serve for tea anyway?”

    “Everybody drinks tea, of course. And usually sandwiches and cake, but sometimes it’s just another name for early dinner.” June thought for a moment, then added, “Do you think the PTA would try a tea for our next fundraiser?”

    My mother did attend William and Mary and saw the queen during her 1957 visit. So there was no question what I was going to write for this prompt!

    Like

    2. Jamestown was a common destination for kids in Virginia when mine were in grade school, and it probably still is. I remember being down there with one of my daughters, who disliked the noisy musket demonstration very much!

      Kids for not-terribly-rich towns in Ohio back in the 70s didn’t get trips like that, but my family managed to visit back in ’75 or so.

      Like

    3. I saw the Queen once. It was the 50th anniversary of VJ Day, and veterans from all over the Empire were in London. From the back of the huge crowd in the plaza before Buckingham Palace, the Queen looked like a very white, ant-sized creature from my point of view.

      Like

  11. “Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, Regina Caeli, ora pro nobis.”
    The prayer rippled quietly off his tongue as he zeroed on the terrorist over the iron sights. He wasn’t sure if praying to Mary to help him kill the enemies of God was a good idea, St. Michael was probably better, but he figured she didn’t mind and would pass them over to whoever was supposed to respond. And, frankly, considering that this one was trying to shoot up her church and her city, she probably did care.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. With a sharp intake of breath, Mitchell staggered back a step. The picture on the large screen before the legal team had been pulled from his wife’s phone. They needed insight into her mental state to plan a defence after she assaulted Mitchell’s eldest daughter.

    But in his wildest dreams, he never expected the image which appeared before him. The truth sucking the breath from his lungs as he began to understand. His wife, Bethany, Queen of Trenton, was having an affair with her psychiatrist. He slumped into the nearest chair, broken.

    The High Princess, Meredith, seeing her father’s anguish, took the picture off the screen and quietly asked the lawyers to step outside. Decisions would need to be made, but they could wait. Her father needed her to protect this time, and she loved him enough to do it.

    When the room was clear, she sat down and waited for Mitchell to look up at her. She would wait on the king all night if needed.

    Like

    1. Oh, gosh. This poor guy. Hopefully he and his daughter have a strong relationship that they can each lean on. From the looks of it, they do.

      Like

  14. “At the behest of this — woman?” said Keith, with his lip curled. “Let us have no nonsense. Any woman can claim to be a queen, and we already know this one to be a witch, conjuring up things. Do you wish to be the king who remarried after promising his first wife that he would marry only a princess accustomed to living in great courts, so her position would not go to her head? And who then broke his promise because the witch claimed to have been exiled from her court? She was a misery to her stepsons thereafter.”

    Like

  15. “What’s all that commotion outside,” groused Brian, looking out the window, “and what are they dancing around that pole for?” Brian was hung over.

    “Don’t you get it?” answered his roommate, who was enjoying this a little too much. “It’s the first day of the fifth month, Brian. May Day!”

    Like

  16. “Hmph! Kelly McCoy actually condescended to speak to me today,” sneered Griselda. “Like she’s doing me a favor or something.”

    “Who’s Kelly McCoy again?” said Pops.

    “Oh, you know, popular, Homecoming Queen, all that.”

    “Did you ever want to be Homecoming Queen?” asked Pops.

    “No!”

    “Then why are you sneering?”

    Like

  17. Max had figured when he picked Cari up for the annual Sports Ball, she’d be wearing a dress she already had. She had a penchant for understatement.

    He was unprepared for the periwinkle satin gown. He wasn’t ready for the long silk gloves.

    Max gasped. “I’m consort to a queen!”

    Like

  18. Going back to my first world for this one!

    “Hail, Noah!”

    The man who spoke those words approached the Emperor of Argyros and the warrior in black samurai armor next to him with a casual grin. His sun bleached hair and deep tan even by the standards of his homeland clashed with his light blue eyes and marked him as a man of the sea even more than his outfit did. He was dressed the part of a captain in an elegant blue coat over a white buttoned shirt with matching pants and black boots with brown cuffs. Perhaps the most striking thing about him, however, was his weapon: a wicked-looking scythe that he kept on an elegant patterned strap across his right shoulder when it wasn’t in use.

    “Hail, Victor.” Noah said with a smile, not bothered by the newcomer’s lack of formality.

    “The Hell took you so long?!” the black samurai snapped.

    “It’s quite the journey to get here, Blaze, and that’s before I had to track your motley crew down.” the man replied with a grin.

    Diane and Violet stood a little ways back, enough to catch the exchange. The red-haired huntress turned to the elf and said “I’m surprised you haven’t zapped that guy yet, Lady Violet. Who is he?”

    “Lord Vittorio Arlotti, youngest son of Marquis Federico of Aquitaine,” she answered with a sigh, “He prefers Victor to that, though, as he says his given name makes him sound like a fey courtier rather than a man of action. Regardless, he has been nothing but trouble for his family since the days when he was one of His Majesty and Sir Blaze’s upperclassmen at the military academy. He was, however, one of their few friends back in those days and has no love for Duke Torcuil. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

    “Well, that explains that at least,” Diane said, chuckling at the animated yet friendly exchange between the three men. She was glad to see that Emperor Noah had someone else to relax around. “But what’s he doing here?”

    “I suspect that he is the only help Queen Marilena can offer us,” Violet stated. “He commands a privateer fleet, having chosen that path rather than started out with a commission in the Aquitaine Royal Navy, as per his family’s tradition. We get an effective force while Queen Marilena gets plausible deniability. It would not be the first time Lord Vittorio – pardon me, Captain Victor – has taken on an extremely dangerous assignment on a whim after all.”

    “Sounds like we’re coming out of this pretty good on the whole,” the huntress said with a smile. “But I’m guessing two guys with that attitude is a bit much for you, huh?”

    “It is not that,” the elf clarified, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her left ear. “Victor may be crass but he can behave himself when circumstances call for it. Not all of his family’s lessons were lost on him. Rather, it is the girl who charged our location who concerns me.”

    “Oh yeah, the pissed-off blue-haired girl with that huge flaming sword,” Diane grumbled. “Who is she and what’s her problem?”

    “Lady Katarina Ashley, of one of our more prominent priestly families,” the elven chancellor answered. “She and His Majesty have a…complex past and he will readily admit that much of it is his own fault. Yet for her to have not only joined Duke Torcuil but to be wielding a weapon such as that… That is worrisome indeed. You see, her family is gifted with the ability to create weapons out of magical power. Each one is unique to the warrior who wields it. Lady Katarina is wielding a sword of pure, fiery rage and I am afraid it will not be extinguished so easily.”

    “Oh, I think I can put it out just fine.” Diane said, looking over the plains in the direction where the girl and her retinue retreated after Victor and his men showed up.

    “I do not doubt that you can best her in combat,” Violet concurred. “You are more experienced and disciplined than she is. However, if you kill her we will certainly make an enemy of her family and their followers at the temples they preside over. That is not something we can afford.”

    “Oh yeah. Politics getting in our way again,” Diane sighed. “I hope you’ve got some ideas brewing, Lady Violet.”

    “Some, yes,” the elf stated. “They still require quite a bit of refinement, however. Until I can formulate a proper plan, join Sir Blaze and Captain Victor in keeping His Majesty safe from her.”

    “Now that I can do!” the huntress said, giving the Imperial Chancellor a salute.

    Like

  19. Gwendolyn returned from Scheduled Maintenance with a software patch and a new maid’s uniform. “Quite handsome and becoming,” said Nigel Slim-Howland.

    “Thank you, Sir,” said Gwendolyn, marching regally out of the parlor.

    How peculiar, thought Nigel. I’ve never seen her strut like that before. Did she get a new module?

    Like

  20. In a lull, as they walked from one shelter with peasants to another, he eke out time to tell her of Grace’s request. Florangela scowled and shook her head. As regally as a queen, she decreed, “A wizard, or a knight, capable of using a simulacrum would have the wits to stay hidden from a flying knight. It would need a spell, or more likely a prowess, to find her, and there are few that can do it.”
    A tree sent the spent raindrops splattering over them. Florangela sighed and went back to healing the injured and warming the chilled.

    Like

  21. Lisa leafed through the catalog of novelty chess sets. Some of them were drawn from various media franchises, but she found it more interesting to look at the historical ones.

    Her high school history teacher, who was also chess team sponsor, always had the Revolutionary War set, with George and Martha Washington as the white king and queen, and George III and Charlotte of Mecklenburg as the black king and queen. Her enthusiastic chatter about it at a family gathering had led her uncle the Civil War buff to show her his civil War chess set, with Abraham and Mary Lincoln opposing Jefferson and Varina Davis. It was interesting to compare the modeling of persons known from photographs versus those know only from paintings.

    And here was the one for the Bolshevik Revolution. At the UC-Berkeley Slavic office, she had been used to seeing it arranged with Nicholas and Alexandra as white king and queen, but the photographer had arranged it with the Reds at the viewer’s right, such that Lenin and Krupskaya had the honors. Was it evidence of Communist sympathies, or just ignorance of chess?

    At Sparta Point, she would have had no doubt of its significance, just as she knew how unwelcome the next one would be. Klim might address his boss as “Spartan,” but there was no doubt in Lisa’s mind that this man was in fact Leonid Gruzinsky — and he would not appreciate a chess set based upon the Lanakhidzist Revolution, in which he’d played a less than glorious role.

    Like

  22. “I’m no more queen than you are king,” said Nell, more gently.
    Will turned to face her. “You know what happens when we have no defenses. You heard all the tales of that land of necromancy, where they still haven’t restored it so plants will grow. Or controlling men’s bodies.”

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  23. The Queen paced the floor, grinding her teeth. Not again! How many times would James defy her? And yet, how could she resist him? A kingdom so small was not worth the game. She would throw it all away if the aliens were not even now landing in the desert.

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  24. The fluttery, buffeting sound from the left front of the antique autocar grew rapidly louder, after an introduction by an even louder, ruder sound very much (if one dared to perceive the obvious) like a fart.

    “I’m so sorry, Lady Cynthia,” said the girl in the strawberry dress and off-white blouse, sitting in the magnificent back seat. “I have to assume we’re to be stopping here for awhile, now, marooned in the depths of the bush. I’m… well, mortified.” She hadn’t quite leaned in close or cupped a hand to her mouth to say it; but her voice had gone quiet-soft.

    The dark-haired one at her side smiled, with a carefully moderated dash of genuine puzzlement. “Why? Sentiments joyfully noted and appreciated, but surely you’re not in any way responsible for the failure of an old-style pneumatic tyre, are you now, Princess Alicia?”

    Meanwhile in the back of Cynthia Willebrodt’s mind, half-felt instincts watched and evaluated, though it was little or none of her concern in any direct sense. Reading the situation intuitively; finding little or no hint or indication this was a tactical overture instead of a fluke. Wishing, if only a little, she was not on a state visit to another world entirely, so her only immediate weaponry was a pair of automatics in the inconspicuous side-saddle pockets of her not-quite-1860s, slightly-belled skirt.

    Noting the shadows fall differently, as two of the outriding contragravity armored aircars swooped and began to settle to either side of the 1920s(?) touring car she and the Princess of Grand Orsay were riding in, hopefully still on their way to that scheduled picnic by the waterfall.

    “Will be a delay, your highnesses, of five to fifteen minutes while we go change the tire. And, Heiress Willebrodt, I’m supposed to reassure you our threat condition remains at yellow.” He didn’t wink, but it was clear by his expression he might as well have. And she smiled back, the nearest thing to a full acknowledgement their protocols seemed to allow…

    (Yellow, second-lowest. Till they were in a controlled and contained area, it would not re-descend to green. To her mind, only right and reassuring.)

    “So, Alicia, you want to get out and watch them change the tyre? I know it could’ve been avoided by mounting run-flats, but those things still ride like rocks and wear like cotton candy, even a couple of centuries on.”

    And Alicia’s blue-gray eyes actually widened, under her (and don’t think mop lest you say it aloud, Cynthia)… bright cap of stylishly-short straw-blonde hair. “Get out and… watch them unbolt the tire, or do what so-ever it is they do to get us going again?” She did not sound in the least scandalized or censorious; but almighty puzzled.

    And somewhere in the dark back rooms of her mind, guidance was received and deciphered; and Heiress-Designate Cynthia Maria Theresa Willebrodt found herself in (figurative) motion. “Unless you have something far more interesting to do, Princess Alicia? It might make for a fine diversion on our intimate little mini-holiday… and surely you’re not allergic to such practical things. Elizabeth Second of Britain herself worked on ‘tank’ engines during their Second World War, and went on to become their longest reigning monarch and one of their best-loved.” And she smiled, far more overtly than her protocol officer (fuming somewhere up far above now, no doubt) would’ve been remotely happy to see.

    Alicia’s eyes went wide, again, but only for an instant. “Since we’re all alone here, no paparagazzi or newsdrones, maybe we could. Or should, it’s a beautiful day out there after all.” And her companion noted the subtle, quick little exchange, as she looked to the security officer on the front right seat; noted, with approval. (Never a good idea to make such people’s jobs harder… without proper reason, of course.)

    “You really do have a good-looking team here, Alicia. Orsay isn’t exactly the Central Worlds and neither is my New Gwynedd, but I know just a bit of such things and I approve. And,” (her voice grew a little louder and a touch better-projected) “that Steyer and Greyhame MR-704 your middle-ring team is packing today is one sweet bit of kit; never yet had enough of a chance to get to know it quite properly, but if our twenty-third century has an answer to the nineteenth’s Whitworth rifle, there’s the one.”

    Which earned her a briefest flash of a smile from the woman holding one, at ease but with readiness; and a vague puzzled frown from Alicia who’d followed her out of the car. “Oddball rifle of about 1860 vintage, not yet smokeless powder then of course, but eldritch accurate. Hexagonal barrel, not rifled but polygonal. Guess what happened to the Union general who was so sure he was out of range?” She felt a smile light her own face.

    “It… sounds like his comeuppance was not a pleasant one.” There was the palest ghost of an answering grin on the Princess’ face, too.

    “Not a survivable one, either. Though of course such things happen even if you’re as careful as may be. If there is a next visit and you’re in too good a mood some night, I’ll tell you all about the Jackals’ Putsch in my parents’ youth. Some relatives I’d dearly love to meet, I’ve never got to and never will in this life… thanks to that bunch.”

    Alicia’s eyes went wide again in a very different way. “I’m sorry, I do mean it. We’ve not had any such… trouble here in Orsay in generations. And if you’re not comfortable, out, we can go back inside.”

    Cynthia was laughing out loud before she knew it herself. “You know what happens if, say, someone lobs a shaped-charge missile at us, Alicia, and I’m the one unluckily deceased? My brother Matthias succeeds to Heir, so that’s covered, and Marcus VI and his lady wife Nadyezhda mourn in high state style their lost oldest child. And I’m somewhere else, doing some likely very different thing else, just like the Tibetans say.”

    She felt the old smile on her face, again. “Life is so a fleeting thing, Alicia Idina Dubonnet heiress to the throne of Grand Orsay. We’re not only expendable, each and every one of us, we’re all destined to actually be expended in service, once per each lifetime, guaranteed. Like the man said, who ended up falling in the fading twilight of the war he’d stoked to a hot blaze, it’s not the years in your life, it’s the life in your years.

    “And my apologies to you, your highness, if I’ve overshadowed your bright and sunny day with my country’s and my family’s old darknesses.” She did not sound, of course, overly contrite.

    Alicia actually reached and caught both of Cynthia’s hands in her own, an unreadable but intense expression on her face. “My mother died when I was a couple of years old, I barely remember it. In childbirth, of all things these days; my brother-to-be did not survive either. In its own way mayhap a mercy to him, not to live to be the one who’d killed her, as many would think it. Or say it.”

    And Cynthia could not, could not refuse to speak the words in her heart. “This is the time not to be timid, this time of our life, Alicia. Now I’m only our Heiress, not yet the Queen. It’s not a new ascension and a new reign, if somewhat does befall me. Now is my chance, to do things in the best way I can and ought. They do say noblesse oblige, nobility obligates; and they’re not wrong. But it’s our family business I’ve grown up in the middle of, all the costs and all the benefits alike, and I need to do my best for us and all our people, whether I’m wearing the ‘suit’ of royalty or putting on my other work clothes.”

    Alicia’s eyes… sparkled. “Finally, someone who… understands. Finally and at last, Lady Cynthia of New Gwynedd,” she said, very quietly. “Looking forward to that picnic by the Foss Glorieux, yet all the more.”

    And Cynthia felt herself, or so it undeniably seemed… beaming. “Yes, I have a good feeling about it too.”

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