The Elysian Prince

Chapter II: Elves Working Hard (Or Hardly Working)

Martha burst through the door of the Staff Quarters, breathing heavily, broad chest heaving, moon face red and glistening with sweat. Her Matron's cap was like a tiny drunken sparrow clinging for dear life atop her head, all lopsided from the dash she had made from the Upper Atrium.

"Her Majesty's returned!" she gasped. "Everyone to your stations, quickly!"

Exactly nobody present appeared to share in the Matron's panic, or indeed pay her much attention at all. Not the court musicians sprawled out on designer cumulus lounges; not the Horticulturists sitting cross-legged in the bright blue-and-green grass, eyes closed as they engaged in vacate et videte; not the long-legged dancers picking at the snacks bar, with its mountains of fresh salads flavoured with all manner of far-flung spices and sauces, bowls of candied fruits sculpted into the shape of cranes and snow bears, and even a fountain of golden ambrosia wine bearing a small sign that read: PROHIBITED DURING WORK HOURS— YES, YOU WILL BE CAUGHT.

Martha's attention zeroed in on the woman lying on the floating cumulus lounge nearest to the door. She noted the graying hair done up in a loose, messy bun; the blue satin shirt left untucked, smeared with unidentifiable stains and with one too many buttons not buttoned; saw the open packet of ambrosia sticks on the handcrafted tree stump-qua-coffee table next to her; observed Hyacinth opposite her tuning his lute, which was— well, there was nothing really wrong with what he was doing, except that he was one of Agnes' most frequent accomplices, and the two of them seen together was rarely a good thing.

Finally, she noted that the barrel she had left for them all to fill with paper swans, as part of the decorations for the upcoming Anniversary of the Inverellian Handover, was barely even half-full.

"Are any of you listening to me?" Martha cried. "I just said Her Majesty is—"

"We know, Martha," Agnes said, letting loose an obnoxious yawn. "Everyone else here saw the lightning too. Not like we're blind."

"Then what are you all just lounging about for? It's only a matter of hours before the Queen arrives. We need to prepare for the ilae-remigra—"

"Give us a break, Matron," said Jasmine, spinning herself slowly about on a hanging tree-swing. "We already spent all of yesterday afternoon and all this morning folding all those stupid paper swans. We're exhausted."

"You've been working us so hard Lily's got half her hand sliced open," Florian said accusingly from the snacks table. "Look!" He thrust out his fellow dancer's slender open palm for the Matron to see.

Martha squinted down at the tiny, wet spot of red across the girl's pinkie. It looked suspiciously like pomegranate juice.

"I've already put in my application for compensation, Matron," Lily informed her, batting artificially long, purple-tinted eyelashes. "It'd be good if you could get that back to me by the end of tomorrow. There's a sale on at Una's this end-week and I've got my eye on the new Brimstone Brogues."

Florian let out a gasp. "I love the Brimstones. They're so risque. Trust Una to do something as outrageous as making shoes out of faux dragon leather—"

Martha's eyes looked about to pop out of her head. "I have better things to do than fill out pages of paperwork for a claim that is dubious at best so that you can go out and buy a pair of—"

"I don't see why we should have to go to all this bother for Dominion Day, anyway," Agnes complained. "What use have we for humans? They're barbaric, the way they all scratch and claw over one another just for a few bits of coin. No morals, no culture, no class."