The Queen looked at Pip’s outstretched hand and his sparkly shorts, then reached out and shook his hand as if they were two merchants meeting at market.
“I can’t believe I’m meeting a queen. This is the wildest dream-slash-hallucination I’ve ever had. Your room is incredible. And your gown. The stitching is exquisite. May I touch?”
A small sound came from the ladies-in-waiting. The blonde covered her mouth with her lace fan. I could not tell if she was horrified or biting back a laugh. Possibly both.
“You do seem to be human.”
“Yeah. Thank you. Aren’t you?”
“Of course not. Imagine.” She shuddered. “Now stop bouncing and sit.”
Pip sat beside her instead of across from her, which was technically an offense worthy of death.
The Queen merely studied him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
A maid appeared with a tray of honey cakes. Pip took one before she’d fully extended the tray, stuffed one in his mouth, and spoke around it. “It has been forever since I’ve had food. Like at least four hours. These are incredible. These taste like someone put a hug in pastry form. Do you like hugs, Your royal majestic highness? I am a hugger, myself.” He snatched another honey cake, and the maid flinched back, her eyes wide.
Frost stepped forward. “Your Majesty. The stranger arrived through unknown means, speaks an unheard-of language, and is currently nearly naked in your presence. I would suggest we consider the possibility that he is dangerous.”
Pip laughed. “Dangerous on the dance floor.”
Frost ignored him. “What if he is a spy?”
The Queen raised one eyebrow. “Frost, do you genuinely believe a spy would arrive dressed like that?”
Frost’s mouth thinned. “Misdirection is a recognized tactic.”
“Really, though,” Pip said, through a mouthful of cake. “Spying seems stressful. I’m terrible with secrets. Everything I think just comes flying out of my mouth.”
That tracked.
Though, it was an interesting thought. The most effective operatives were disarming, trained to make you lower your guard. I’d used the same tactic myself, once or twice. Well, maybe not this tactic precisely. I didn’t even know trousers could be that short. If he uncrossed his legs, I feared I might be able to tell exactly how well-endowed he was.
Not that I wanted that information.
Pip licked honey off his thumb, and turned to Frost. “You have amazing cheekbones, by the way. Do you moisturize? Your skin is unreal.”
Frost went motionless. His ice-blue eyes widened fractionally and he was, for one extraordinary moment, speechless.
The Queen raised a hand, silencing whatever Frost was about to say. “Tell me how you arrived here, Pippin Crane. From the beginning.”
Pip swallowed his cake and sat up straighter, which somehow made him look less serious rather than more. “Okay, so. I was at Club Vortex and my friend Sky and I were practicing for the opening night. We’re cage dancers.”
I understood maybe one word in ten. The Queen’s expression suggested she was faring no better, but it also looked like she was enjoying herself immensely.
“We were twerking,” Pip said. “I don’t know if you have twerking here, do you need me to show you?” Without waiting forher to reply, he stood up, bent forward, shaking his ass in a tight, rhythmic motion that was both a flagrant breach of court protocol and utterly mesmerizing. The ladies-in-waiting made twin sounds of distress. “And the next thing I know, I’ve got a mouthful of grass and I’m lying in a field while an old lady yells at me.”
He sat back down and looked at the Queen as if he’d recounted something perfectly ordinary.
“So you are a dancer. Is that a costume?” the Queen said.
“The shorts are, but not the shirt. No one wants to see a cage dancer in a shirt. Can you imagine?” Pip looked up at the ceiling with a frown. “I can’t decide if this is a dream or if I’m hallucinating, what do you guys think? Can you ask dream people if they’re dream people, or is that some sort of paradox?”
“We can assure you that this is most real,” the Queen said.
Pip laughed, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Yeah, sure, I’m in a magical land meeting with a queen. Not likely.”
Frost turned to me. His expression had sharpened, the professional mask back in place, and something cold moved behind his eyes. “Commander. You’re aware that sending agents disguised as innocents is a known infiltration technique.”
