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What the fuck is going on with my stupid brain? Why can’t I remember? And why can’t my fingers just do what I tell them to do?
Something moves in the corner of my eye. A white cloud rolls along the beach in my direction, though there’s no sign of rain in the sky.
When the fluffy white object gets closer, I realize it’s a person.
It’s Kala St. Rain, and she’s heading toward me in an impossibly massive hoop-skirted wedding gown, the tulle of her skirts and veil trailing behind her for kilometers. Literally kilometers.
The trains of her gown and veil are so long that they completely cover the entire beach. I watch, dumbfounded, as she approaches, a knowing, serene expression on her face.
Kala stops a few feet away, and her lips curve upward in a familiar smile that I never found all that appealing until this moment.
Somehow, she knows how to make my phone work.
I feel relief when she takes it from me.
Without warning, Kala turns from me, facing the sea, and winds up like one of those American baseball throwers. Pitchers? No, throwers.
My phone morphs into a baseball and skims across the sea's surface until it finally disappears, sinking into the vast blue.
I feel…nothing.
“Finally, we’re alone,” I find myself saying, surprised that I was content to be the only person on this island just a minute ago.
I’ve been too keen to stay away from the palace and all of its hangers-on to have noticed Kala — really noticed her. This moment, when I’m far away from all the muck, baggage, and shouting, it’s just…us.
Taking a step closer, I reach out to touch a lock of her soft brown hair that the sea breeze has loosened from the pins and combs and whatnot.
“Sigurd is gonna owe me big time for this,” she says with an uncharacteristic grunt. She stands still, staring at the waves, but her voice is straining with effort. Her voice doesn’t sound like her at all.
I balk at the mention of my brother’s name on Kala’s lips.
“What did my brother do to you?” I growl.
Kala turns to face me again, and suddenly I realize it’s not Kala, but my sister.
I rear back in revulsion.
The slight headache becomes a brain-searing throb and a jolting slap to my face.
“Wake up, idiot.”
I open my eyes to find my angry, slightly disheveled sister, Princess Flora, looking straight at me. When she shifts her head to examine me, the movement causes the sun to blast my face. I groan, shutting my eyes again, holding a hand up to block the light.
“Aw, what’s the matter, brother? Did I disturb your little death-wish nap?”
“Death wish…what the bloody hell are you babbling about?”
“I should have just left you here, but I won’t let that poor girl endure another rejection by one of my brothers. Sigurd should be here to rescue your dumb ass, but no one can find him. I refuse to bother Torben and Hailey on their honeymoon.”
That still doesn’t explain the death wish thing.
I slowly peel my crusty eyes open again and take in my surroundings. I’m lying on a metal platform, my arms wrapped around…a homemade rocket. What? Oh…something is coming back to my memory now. But it’s tough to explore that while there’s an outrageous kink in my neck to go along with the pounding in my skull.
Flora’s disapproving gaze is inches away, looking over the lip of this metal platform. I must be somewhere high in a tree, on a building ledge, on some scaffolding, perhaps, and she’s been sent to get me down.
All right, fine. I’ve ended up somewhere I shouldn’t be after an all-night bender. Or a three-day bender, I’m not sure.
Alas, no hammock. But wait.
