Even teen evil queens need love. Right? (Or at least a handsome sword-fighting minion to do their bidding!)
***
Bad things happen when Rowen is around and the worst part is, she has no idea why until a massive family secret sends her on a fantastica...
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You know that moment in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy picks up a bucket and tosses the water at the scarecrow to save him from burning to a crisp, but ends up accidentally melting the Wicked Witch of the West instead, and at first the queen's crew of green-faced minions seems kind of upset, but then they yell: "Hail, Dorothy, the Wicked Witch is dead," and they bow and victorious music plays, and then the locals pretty much give Dorothy whatever she wants?
She asks for the witch's broom, but while she had their appreciation, she could've aimed higher, in my opinion! Who hasn't always secretly dreamed of owning a pet flying monkey?
Anyway, that was what I was thinking about when I gently lowered my sister to the floor and stood, ready to bask in the gratitude of my future subjects.
It never occurred to me they'd be anything but grateful because the alternative, evil Olivia, had threatened to turn them into statues for her garden. Who wouldn't be happy not to spend another five hundred years under the oppressive thumb of a despot?
Certainly, they'd kneel, shout: Hail Rowen, the Wicked Witch is Dead!!! Can someone get her a sparkly crown, a throne, and maybe a bucket of French fries with ranch dressing? (I was starving. Also, ketchup sucks as a French fry dip.)
But that's not what happened—another example of how Hollywood has recklessly misrepresented the world of fantasy.
So, what did transpire?
Patience!!!
Here we go ...
Everyone pretty much just stood there, mouths (or, in some cases, what I assumed were mouths) hanging open. You could feel the questions hanging in the air. Also, you could see questions hanging in the air, like literal questions in gold letters with golden question marks. Sadly, they were in another language, so I didn't know what they meant.
With all those eyes on me and no clue whether they'd turn into an unruly or even a ruly mob, my neck heated, and I secretly scanned the ballroom for possible exits. Why weren't they asking me if I wanted fries with that throne? Instead, they waited. For what?
Blade sidled up beside me (in human form and fortunately—or unfortunately—in his usual minion robes) and whispered in my ear: "You should probably say something?"
I spun on him. "You!" I yelled. "I have plenty to say to you! You, you, you, cat! Luckily, you have nine lives because you're about to use up so, so many of them!"
"Maybe we should have this conversation later? I mean, not with an audience that might turn unruly without a queen," he whispered.
"Ugh!" I said, clenching my fists so hard my nails would leave marks. The only thing worse than a boy who was a cat who knew all your secrets was a boy who was a cat who knew all your secrets and was also right that now wasn't the time to punish him. That's okay. Taking my time to devise the best and most painful punishment was probably better. "Fine! Let's do this oath."
