The Opal and The Genie

Prologue

(This is an excerpt/beginning sample of the published book, "The Opal and The Genie" by T.S. Lowe (me). It can be found on Readict.)

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Hope, head royal chef, was concerned about her responsibility over the princess's behavior of late. That concern made her resort to desperate measures when she caught the princess in peasant drab, golden hair covered in a dirty rag, sneaking through the back door of the kitchens.

"Desperate measures" being to chuck a wad of dough at the princess with all her considerable strength.

Kyanna yelped as dough pancaked against the wall mere inches from her nose.

The other maids in the kitchen flinched, but they soon echoed that yelp on seeing the scullery maid in line for a violent scolding was none other than the crown princess.

"You thought I wouldn't notice you?" said Hope.

"I'm only going to watch the soldiers train again and didn't want to distract—"

"Like hell! Do I look like an idiot?"

"But you let me do it before—"

"And I regret it like a saint regrets murder. Get your ass back to your room—pah, no, I'll drag you back to your room myself and beat some sense into Baltra for not following you. Penny, take over for me."

Said cook nodded and took Hope's place as Hope flung off her apron.

Kyanna pulled at the handkerchief on her head with a loud "ugh" and threw it on the floor, releasing a few strands of blonde hair. She looked nearly as red as the cook.

"I'm not a damn child! I don't need to be followed—"

"—don't you swear at me—"

"—don't you swear at me! I'm the princess!"

"Start acting like one and I'll do so! Until then, march! Your! Ass! UP!"

"I don't even get why you're so angry. I can dress how I want!"

"MARCH!"

Three out of the four cook hands watched the exchange with their jaws dropped, faces pale. Only one, an old spinster who'd seen it all before, managed a curtsy in the direction of the princess as she passed by, harped forward by the angry, flour-powdered hands of the beefy cook behind her.

It was only once they were through the secret door that led up the servants' path and clearly alone that cook finally laid down her trump card.

"I know you're sneaking out to see that squire boy."

Unbecoming pink blotches rose to Kyanna's face and neck.

"Don't give me that look," the cook snapped. "You think you're so sneaky, but I have eyes all over the palace. The hand that feeds the world moves it."

Kyanna scowled. "Eyes all over the palace, my ass. You only have six and they're all just scared of their mommy."

"The hand that rocks the cradle moves the world, as well. My boys are good kids, unlike you, brat."

"Then why don't they be the princess if they're so great?"

"And wouldn't that be nice? They'd do twice a better job than you in their sleep! Only an imbecile would have dumped shit on the Duke of Bettingham's—"

"—he asked for it–"

"—NO MATTER WHAT THE HELL HE DID! You're a diplomat, not a gods-damn Soan! Though better that than a whore after some too-old squire."