She introduced herself as Queen Briana. I didn’t ask which court she belonged to. Timothy and Ben probably would have known, but I really knew nothing about the Fae, except that Timothy didn’t want me to visit here.
But Queen Briana had made that a done deal for some reason. I was itching to ask her why, but, despite the long gown she was wearing with sleeves so long they touched the ground and the drape of her dress, as far as I could tell, the perfect broom for dusting as she swept along.
She asked me nothing as we sped along into the castle/palace, which was a good thing, since I was out of breath and panting slightly. Part of that was because I’d been captured by her guards and hustled through space and also because the queen walked faster than I normally did.
It took us a good twenty minutes to arrive at the place she wanted us to end up at. Surprisingly it wasn’t the throne room, either, but instead, the banquet room with a long wooden table set with metal plates and platters. The latter were piled high with fruits, nuts, and strange-looking flowers, that were either for decoration or part of the dinner.
“Help yourself,” the queen instructed, but I’d just filled up on a lovely meal of pasta with mushrooms, sour cream, pieces of carrots and peas. My tummy was so full I couldn’t even have been persuaded to nibble on cookies if I’d seen any being offered.
I explained that I was stuffed at the moment, thank you, and the queen shrugged, picked up what I think was a carrot, although its peel wore a mottled purple and pink outer skin. Queen Briana then ordered one of the guards, the one who had clamped on my wrist as if his hand were a police cuff, to pour us a couple of drinks.
I shook my head, fearing that the beverage would be something alcoholic, which was the last thing I needed, having just been kidnapped by Viking-looking, Vulcan-eared he-men. Did I mention their ears? Spock would be jealous. (Yes, I’m a Star Trek fan. Isn’t everyone?)
Anyway, that’s the reason when the heavy handed, vise-like jerk tried to hand me a metal goblet, I declined with a shake of my head. Then, feeling rude, I added, “No, thank you.” (Isn’t there a requirement that one must be polite to kidnappers?)