The Royal Treatment (5 page)

T
he room’s mirrored walls made it very unclear where anything began or ended. And even without the reflections, I imagined the effect would be the same, because the shelves of makeup wound endlessly around the glittering space. The color came mostly from the makeup itself, all organized by product—creams for every skin color, polishes in purples, metallics, and reds. Crystal bottles of perfume caught the warm, subdued lighting. Women in head-to-toe black, all with pink hair cut into blunt bobs, hustled around the counters.

One of these girls dabbed foundation on Meredith’s forehead. Meredith snapped her fingers and the employee supplied a compact. My feet sank into the shag carpet as I crossed over to my agent, who saw my reflection in her mirror. She turned around and beamed.

“I love showing my subs this place. I won a trip to Bloomingdale’s in New York when I was eight, and it didn’t even begin to compare to this.”

The idea that Meredith had ever been eight, or had childhood memories, was too weird to consider.

“So,” Meredith said, “are you going to say anything, or are you too awestruck?”

“When Lilith mentioned eyeliner, I had no clue you guys took this stuff so…seriously.”

Meredith laughed. “We make a quarter of our revenue here. This isn’t your average makeup. There is a reason some royals look particularly put together and others are, well”—she shuddered—“a prime example of what generations of keeping a tight bloodline will do to you.”

She motioned to the woman behind the counter, who brought out a basic makeup kit consisting of four shades of eye shadow, one blush, two tubes of lipstick, and some loose powder. Meredith pointed at it. “This starter kit would put you back about fifty thousand U.S. dollars.”

I sputtered. “For MAKEUP?”

“For eye shadow that never wears off until you want it to, powder that fills in every crease and pore, and blush that makes you look like your natural glow comes from inside. It all has a touch, just a touch, of the Egyptian silt we use in the rouge.”

“So you
do
use magic on other stuff. You use it on makeup?”

Meredith shut the case. “We use it for the same purpose we use the rouge and bubbles and subs and everything else. To make the royals happy. And when royals are happy, they pay.”

“So it’s about money.”

“You can’t hand out a commodity like magic for free. Façade is a business. Its purpose certainly isn’t about spreading good cheer. But they do include the starter kit in our agent’s benefit package, along with our hair dye of choice. I’d say that’s rather charitable.”

I looked around the room some more. In the far back was a more antique counter. Rich mahogany, vintage powder puffs, scrolling details. Total glamour. “What’s that?” I wove around the other displays.

Meredith followed and pointed to a sign written in cursive. “That’s our Hollywood line. Most expensive products we have.”

I picked up a bottle of
Some Like It Hot
nail polish. “This is great! It’s like, the perfect red.”

“I prefer Swan Princess Pink.”

“You like Grace Kelly?”

“
High Society
is my favorite old movie.” Meredith sighed. “Witty banter, a love triangle, snappy music. Plus, Frank Sinatra is an absolute dreamboat.”

I set the makeup down. Did Meredith—
Meredith
—just say
dreamboat
? “So where do they make this makeup?”

Meredith pointed to a door in the corner. “In our lab. They’re geniuses in there. The newest creation is a serum that keeps you frizz-free for weeks.”

“Do they test out anything besides makeup?”

Meredith shrugged. “I’m an agent. And you’re a sub. It’s not our division, and thus not our concern. What we
do
need to worry about is getting you briefed for your first Level Two gig. You’ll have more material to go over now, so I want to make sure you get enough time. To the bubble!”

Once we’d made it back to the main lobby and safely into her bubble, Meredith sat me down. “I need to make some phone calls. We’re not traveling far, so I’m setting the bubble to hover until you’re fully briefed.”

I waited until she’d slipped into her office before leaning back in the chair and staring at her ceiling. Crown moldings…that’s new. Crown molding? Who cares about that—I’d just had the most glamorous day of my life! Was I ever going to get used to this? I had, after all, worked here before, yet every time I learned something else, it felt like I knew nothing at all. How far and wide did the abilities of my employer stretch?

At least the princess profile was in a familiar format:

PRINCESS MILLIE
(Mildred. But who wants to be called Mildred?)

Age:
13

Hometown:
Leichemburg (Although I’m doing a tour of Europe with Auntie Oksana right now, and it’s been a longggg trip.)

Favorite Book:
War and Peace.
I haven’t read it. I just like how thick it is.

Favorite Food:
French vanilla cupcakes with purple sprinkles

Anything Else We Should Know:
Hi! I’m Millie. You’ve probably heard of me before—not that I’m bragging, but I’m royalty and I figure with the job you have, you know about all of us, right? So sorry if some of this is review for you.…You’re only my second sub. I turned thirteen two months ago, and it couldn’t have come at a better time, believe me.

I’m supposed to go to this art exhibit thingy with my great-aunt Oksana, the Duchess of Leichemburg. Social events to her are always a super big deal, so I’m sure she’d KILL me if she knew I was using a sub. I need you to be really, really good, okay?

Now, the exhibit itself is going to be cool. It’s a costume party, so I had an adorable dress made—you’re welcome! I’m kinda sad I’m missing it, actually, but then I found out that the Earl of Nortenberg is bringing his son, and I about DIED. See, two years ago, at boarding school, I got in a fight with this girl named Lynette, who thinks she’s better than me just because her dad owns an island. Hello! Ninth in line to rule my country over here.

Anyway, she pulled this nasty prank where she told Lord Gavin that I LIKE HIM. I don’t know if you know Gavin, but he is not my type. At all. So as if it’s not embarrassing enough to have a guy I don’t even care about thinking that I have a crush on him, then he goes around telling everyone that:

A. I’m in love with him.

B. He totally doesn’t like me.

C. I’m trying to use my family connections to get him to date me.

It was, to say the least, the worst thing that could ever happen EVER. I begged my parents to let me take a term off and travel with Auntie Oksana, at least until this blew over. I also promised myself I would never talk to that jerk again. EVER.

So I need you to do two things. First, be me. I mean, as me as you can be so that my aunt doesn’t get suspicious. Because she will. The woman can spot a cubic zirconium tiara from across the room and I’m sure she’s way familiar with Façade. I’ve added enough here so you can get an idea of who I am. Please read and remember it all. Also, don’t talk to Gavin if you see him. Like, don’t say a word! He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. You can nod, I guess. Maybe grunt. But, really, just stay away.

Okay now, they gave me this application thingy to fill out, but I’m not sure it covers everything. So I made some notes for you. I figure you’ll be glad—the more you know, the better, right?

There was twenty pages of everything, and I mean
everything
, that I would ever need to know about Millie. Her school, her friend’s names, her family history, the music she played at her last violin concert, how she liked her toast buttered…

The Level One princesses had provided simple fact sheets that had done little to prepare me for their situations. This was the opposite—there was so much information it was hard to decide what was relevant, although I could see how the BEST would help on the job. The manual had a highlighting feature, and I went through the letter and underlined all the important points. I’d have my manual with me if I needed to know how Millie liked her meat (medium-well—no pink in the middle!) or her uncles’ names (Hanover, Ulysses, and…Greg? No, Craig).

After an hour of memorizing Millie’s favorite shoe designers, I’d stored everything I possibly could. Then I looked her up on the chat rooms and was hit with a new wave of details and facts.

But it didn’t take learning her favorite zoo animal to understand the message: Don’t change anything. In my previous jobs, I’d tried to figure out the princess’s hidden wishes, and then fulfilled them. Millie, however, didn’t want me to stand up to her sister or land her a boyfriend. On the contrary: she wanted me to be as Millie as possible, right down to her beverage choice.

I got out my Royal Rouge compact, smiling at my reflection. Fatigue and pages of memorization was so much better than being clueless. This job would be more what I’d initially pictured subbing to be—a long event with important people. Like in
Roman Holiday
, where Audrey Hepburn plays a princess so tired from standing in a reception line that she takes off her shoe under her dress and nearly falls. Funny, but not catastrophic.

I stood and stretched, calling Meredith’s name but stopping mid-word when I saw that her door was slightly open. The temptation to eavesdrop was too great. I crossed the room in silence, standing just close enough to hear her muffled voice.

“—sub will be gone in a few minutes. I have another drop-off in an hour, so…I don’t know. I might have some time.”

She giggled. Her voice lowered and I couldn’t hear anything else. Then, after more laughter, her voice rose. “You know I do. I’m just trying to make this work. Ah, you’re cute when you’re needy. Sure…okay…talk soon.”

I bolted over to the couch and grabbed my manual, forcing a look of boredom onto my face. So Meredith
was
talking to her prince again! I knew it was a possibility but…how did she swing it? That must be why she was less edgy. I definitely supported anything that promoted Meredith Zen.

Meredith opened her door and cleared her throat. “Did you say something?”

“What?” I looked up from my manual. “Oh, yeah, I’m about done here.”

“Great.” She punched a button on her remote, and the bubble hummed. “Sorry, I had a confidential phone call.”

I hid a smile. “No worries.”

“Are you all read up? Rouged up?” she asked.

“Put on my Rouge a few minutes ago. I should be Milliefied in a bit.”

“Go ahead, I know you probably have loads of questions.”

“Actually, I think I’m good.”

Meredith touched my forehead. “Really? Are you feeling all right? Is that you in there?”

“Funny.”

“Well, darling, out you go, then.”

“But you just started the bubble.”

“We didn’t have far to travel. And if you get a chance, do stop by and see the
Mona Lisa
. She used to work for the agency; hence the secret smile.”

I stepped out into the night, onto a shining wet street facing a large glass pyramid surrounded by a breathtakingly prodigious fortress. I’d seen this place in enough movies to know where I was. The Louvre. Millie’s “art exhibit thingy” was at the Louvre in Paris.

Meredith wasn’t kidding. I hadn’t traveled far from Façade’s headquarters, but, man. I was a world away from Sproutville.

I
paused outside the translucent structure, watching myself transform.

Millie was short and scrawny, but her fingers had the long elegance of a violin player’s. My little black dress became a powder-blue period piece, tight around my chest and waist, flowing down in yards and yards of fabric. No, tight isn’t the word. Restrictive. Stifling. With each breath I took, I could feel the bodice cut into my ribs.

Agh, I had a corset on! Who wears corsets, even for a costume? Not to mention the lace. Oh wow, was there lace. I patted my hair—a wig arranged in a white powdered updo. No tiara on top, though. I still hadn’t been able to wear one of those yet.

I never thought I’d be grateful for the one pageant prep workshop Mom had made me do with Celeste. We’d put on six-inch heels and too-tight dresses and teetered back and forth across the room until our feet blistered. Mom claimed walking with poise in those outfits could prepare us for anything. And it was true—even in this corseted poof factory, I was able to glide into the top of the see-through pyramid, which was empty except for two security guards. One nodded at me. “Did you get that fresh air you needed, Your Highness?”

Clever, Millie.
“I did. I don’t know how my ancestors ever dealt with corsets!”

“Your aunt is waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase.”

My head wobbled from the wig’s weight as I descended the spiral stairs. The expansive lobby was quiet and softly lit, although music and voices drifted from the Sully Wing. An old woman stood at the base of the winding stairs, her chin high and her patience low.

She wore red lipstick and a frown that made her millions of wrinkles sag even more. Her features, which at one time had no doubt been striking, were now sharp and birdlike. The feathers shooting out of her white wig only added to the fowl motif. Auntie Ostrich. But her brown eyes were intelligent and bright. They narrowed at me. “Millie. I do not like to be kept waiting.”

“Sorry, Auntie Oksana.”

“Tell your country you are sorry. It is them you are representing every minute you exist.”

Her accent was subtle—refined and precise. I immediately rolled my shoulders back when she spoke. “Yes. Of course.”

Auntie Ostrich leaned on my arm as we walked into the exhibition hall. Music from a string quartet drifted in, playing Bach’s Minuet in G Major. I personally preferred Handel, but Bach did have some skills…Hey! Look at that. All those hours listening to classical music came in handy after all. I hoped my knowledge wouldn’t need to stretch beyond recognition to actually playing. Having pyramid glass rain down on the partygoers due to my violin skills would not look good on a Princess Progress Report.

The guests matched our period-style costumes. I knew from my studies that the style was eighteenth-century baroque, probably around the time of Marie Antoinette. The monstrous cake on the dessert table confirmed my guess—a nod to the Marie Antoinette misquote, “Let them eat cake.” Which was odd—we were in Paris, after all, where the French Revolution took place. Why have a party here with royals in attendance, celebrating a time when they
did away
with royals?

A man approached Auntie Ostrich and gave her a fluttery bow. “Thank you so much for coming, Your Highness. Have you had a chance to see the exhibit?”

“We’ve just arrived. Millie, this is the painter, Christian Mercier.”

I dipped my head. Not a bow—I was the royal, after all.

“It would be an honor to show you my work personally, Your Highness,” Christian said.

“As you wish.”

We followed Christian past socialites sipping champagne. His paintings were hanging in a dark room with red lights illuminating each one. The pieces bore a stark similarity—red shapes and lines slashed onto white canvas, all dwarfed by boisterous gold frames (baroque style—go, me!).

Auntie Ostrich plucked cat-eye glasses from her clutch and peered at the paintings. “Yes, I see the juxtaposition you were going for. Wonderful hue you chose—something more rich would have been vulgar. The message comes off vaguely forced, though.”

Christian’s face reddened. “That was intended, Your Highness.”

“Hmmm.” Auntie Ostrich cast me a glance. “Millie, what do you think?”

My heart jumped. This was where all my studying and training came into play. Anyone can walk around in a ball gown, especially when that ball gown was the result of the Royal Rouge. Now I needed to remember everything I’d learned over the summer and add that to the information Millie provided for me.

I studied the paintings. The frames were a symbol of the extravagance of King Louis XVI’s reign, and encased the much bleaker artwork, which symbolized…rage? Simplicity of the common man? Er…freedom? I could say any of these things and sound smart enough. But Millie didn’t strike me as the type to dig up art metaphors, regardless of the top-notch education she’d received. Plus, I knew her aunt made her nervous (how couldn’t she—Auntie Ostrich was going to peck me any second), so even in her best moment, Millie wouldn’t come up with any of those ideas.

Millie had written something else, though: right between her ring size and the secret confession that she hated oranges—her favorite shape was a circle.

“I think you’re right about the shade. If it was pinker, it would take away…the meaning of the piece. And I like the circles in that one.” I pointed to the painting on the end. “It makes me feel…It makes me feel,” I ended lamely.

Auntie Ostrich gave me a long stare before turning to Christian. “I agree. Pink would have been a disaster. I’d like to purchase the one with the circles for my niece, along with the one with the mid-line slash. The vertical one, not horizontal, of course.”

“Wonderful.” Christian glowed. “I’ll let the curator know. Of course, it means far more to me that the pieces spoke to you. If you’ll excuse me, I see my wife has arrived. She’ll want to meet you both. Thank you, Your Highness.”

Christian scurried away. I wanted to pump my fist in the air. My first Level Two obstacle equaled success!

Auntie Ostrich rubbed her arthritic knuckles. “I’ll put my painting in the east wing. Third hallway…will complement the Degas I have there.”

“Thank you for the painting,” I said.

Auntie Ostrich began hobbling away from the exhibition, back to the festivities. “I’ve told you many times, it’s important to begin your collection early—this piece will speak to you in a different way when you are older. I’ve always found that to be a wonder.”

“Yes.”

“You’re rather quiet this evening.”

Oops. The nerve-racking art discussion made me forget something vital about Millie: based on her bio, the girl probably spoke a mile a minute. I offered a feeble smile. “It’s this corset. I’m sorry.”

“I prefer it. Your usual prattling grates on me. But see to it that you engage in appropriate conversation with the guests. A tight corset hardly stopped your ancestors. You can start by thanking the Earl of Nortenberg and his son, Gavin. His wife sent us a lovely crystal vase from, I believe, the nineteenth century.”

Wait. Red alert. Red alert. I had two jobs here—one was to be as Millie-like as possible so Auntie Ostrich didn’t get suspicious. Millie talked all the time. My other job was to avoid speaking to the blond-haired, droopy-eyed boy in tights and lavender
knickers
now approaching with his father. The two commands completely contradicted each other.

“Earl William. You remember my niece, Millie.”

The Earl bowed. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. I do believe she attended school with my son.”

“Hey, Millie,” Gavin said, bored.

“Hello, Gavin,” I said back in the same tone. Two words. Millie wouldn’t give me a bad PPR for two words, would she?

Auntie Ostrich glared at me. “Millie was just telling me how much she loved your gift.”

Earl William I could talk to. I positioned my body so it was clear who was being addressed. “Yes, it’s a lovely vase.” I paused, flashing again to Millie’s profile. Talk fast and a lot. “We have it in our main sitting area. It catches the light perfectly and makes a pretty double rainbow on the wall. I love rainbows, don’t you? I use to have this wild dress when I was little that had all these colors—”

“Now, child,” Auntie Ostrich chided, “let’s not bore the earl with unnecessary details.”

The earl chuckled. “I have heard of your…how do they say it…gift for gab, Your Highness. And now that I know how much you appreciate our country’s fine crystal, I’ll make sure to take note for future gifts.”

“Oh, you are too kind, Earl William,” Auntie Ostrich said. “Now, let’s leave these schoolmates to their youthful conversation. I’m sure they have much to talk about, and I must show you my recently purchased paintings.”

Earl William escorted Auntie away. Gavin rubbed his nose and yawned.

Ahhh!! The warning bell rang over and over in my head. Yes, I’d managed to become chatterbox Millie and still avoided talking to Gavin, but now it was just the two of us. I so wanted to do this right, and Millie had been clear in her profile. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say—

“So someone said you were taking fall off to travel the world or some such?” Gavin asked.

I did a halfhearted shrug.

Gavin scratched his chin. “I get so tired of traveling sometimes. Museums can be so tedious. Same with monasteries and castles and vineyards. And yes, I
know
my family owns a large Renoir collection, but do I need to
see
it? You’ve seen one famous old painting, you’ve seen them all. Right?”

I readjusted my wig. Genevieve said if I tuned in to my magic, it would be strengthened. Was there an internal switch inside me that made it go on? Or did I first have to figure out the special emotion she was talking about? If mine was boredom, then magic would have been swirling out of my ears right then. This guy went on and on and on and.…

“Now, I did travel to Greece this summer. Excellent cuisine there in Greece. Doesn’t quite compare to some of the costal towns in Italy, but what does? I had this prosciutto in Sicily once that was divine. Perfect amount of marbling in the fat.…”

Good gravy. Now would be a fabulous time for that magic to kick in. Any minute. Just zap this kid away. And…go.
ZAP
.

No wonder Millie was so annoyed that Gavin thought she liked him. If I could talk, I would yell at him to stop telling such pompous snories. Sorry, stories.

“…and then I said, I don’t care if you’re the Duke of the Whole World, I still want a rematch!” He burst into laughter and slapped his knee.

I smiled weakly at his lame joke, scanning the crowd for a getaway. Technically, I was still in the clear. I wasn’t speaking. But at some point he was going to expect a sound from me. I had to escape.

“You know, I always thought you were a tad chatty for my tastes. But you’re actually quite agreeable. Lynette told me you fancy me. Maybe if we spent more time together, something could…blossom.”

I tensed. Talk about backfire. All this guy wanted was someone quiet so he could listen to himself talk. But being quiet was my instruction. What was I supposed to do? “Er…”

He stared at me expectedly, like of course Millie was going to jump at a chance with him. I’d rather jump off a bridge.

This was not something BEST prepared me for. But as much as I hated to admit it, someone
had
groomed me for this situation during Level One training. Lilith.

Wait, this WAS the situation I’d practiced with Lilith! Art museum with a great-aunt. Had she known then that I would be here now? No, of course she couldn’t have. Besides, the strategies she’d taught me would work at any time. Like now.

Show him my jewelry? No, he wouldn’t care.

Change the subject? He would be more encouraged to ramble.

Laryngitis! That’s it.

My resolve wavered. All during Level One training I’d been so set on impacting these princesses. As Meredith suggested, I had used my MP to guide my choices, even when the choices had been out of character for the princess. Now I was doing exactly as Lilith instructed—I personified Millie. Full Method. I had to get Millie out of this situation
without
breaking character.

I grabbed my throat and made my voice sound hoarse. “Sore.”

Gavin stepped back. “Oh, don’t get me ill. I have to speak at an orphanage tomorrow because my family is an important donor. We donated
quite a bit
of money to those urchins. Quite a bit. Not too much, naturally, but enough to warrant recognition. Orphanages are rather passé, though, so when I’m in charge of the family holdings I’d like to concentrate instead on—”

I pointed to my throat. “Water.” I rushed across the room to the bar, and asked for a glass of water. Why did it always seem like I was running away on this job? Gavin blinked at me, surprised that someone he thought was so enamored with him would leave so quickly. I raised my glass to him as if to say,
See? Can’t talk. Gotta drink.

The orchestra broke into a waltz. Couples filled the dance floor. I almost choked when Gavin began to make his way over to me. Sweat trickled down my back, which might’ve had something to do with the corset. I took another sip of water and steadied myself against a table before barreling ahead to the bathroom. I was almost there when a girl around my age with a yellow dress and hair curled like Goldilocks attacked me with a hug.

“Millie! Where have you been? I love, love, love your costume. Isn’t mine the best? I want to bring corsets back into fashion and I’m also thinking these wigs are…Hey, did I see you talking to Gavin? Is it true that you like him?”

I shook my head and pointed at my throat, glad my idea could carry over to another conversation. “Can’t talk. Laryngitis.”

“Then don’t talk. Listen. Did you hear who is coming tonight? Princess Elsa. She’s from that country that ceased to exist after…oh, I can’t remember what war. She’s still royalty, though. Her grandmother has insulted every royal in this room, and then some. Have you heard of her?”

“Hmmm…” I squinted at the ceiling like I was trying to place her name, when really my insides were doing the chacha. Elsa? Here? I might meet a former client? How surreal would that be? Even more, what if she was here with Karl?