Twelve

  Praise for Twelve

  Amy H says:

  I loved this story. It was a unique take on the Twelve Dancing Princesses story, but this isn't your mother's fairy tale. This story took a darker…look at the story. I read it in one sitting and couldn't bring myself to put it down.

  DMCI says:

  Twelve is certainly is a fractured retelling of the Dancing Princesses tale. It’s a unique perspective, told well and combines the elements of classic fairy tales and contemporary romance. I was drawn into the story and couldn’t put it down. I look forward to reading more.

  The Naughty Librarian says:

  Twelve is a really sad story with a cute ending. The story begins with a young boy… Years go by. The twist is part of what made this little story endearing.

  Casey L says:

  Twelve is a quirky twisted tale of the Twelve Dancing Princesses. Raised in an unconventional manner, these strong princesses take their destined fates into their own hands and live their lives how they want. Family can be a strange concept to many - loyalty and honesty vie against duty and power.

  This story is a daring look at what a family can be.

  Twelve

  A Flip-Flopped Fairy Tale

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Savannah Verte

  Twelve

  A Flip-Flopped Fairy Tale

  By Savannah Verte

  Published by

  Eclectic Bard Books

  USA

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased is coincidental. The characters, names, plots, or incidents within are the product of the author’s imagination. References to actual events or locations are included to give the fiction a sense of reality.

  Copyright 2018, Savannah Verte.

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, by any means without written consent from Savannah Verte.

  Cover design: Funky Book Design, 2017.

  Dedication

  For My King…

  For understanding that who I am is who I am.

  For giving me free reign to let my crazy out.

  And,

  For supporting my journey, wherever the road goes.

  Lonely Boy

  Lyford Rousseau was anointed King at the ripe old age of ten. The only child of his parents, their premature demise left him with no choices, few allies, and one sprawling kingdom to run, with no understanding of what that actually entailed. He was only a boy after all.

  His father’s vizier, Armen, was his only influence as he assumed his future. Then again, he’d been one of the few people present in his life before that fateful day as well. It would be ages before Lyford learned that the accident that took his parents was planned, and at the direction of Armen, but that’s another story. Lyford ascended to the throne oblivious to the deceit.

  Lyford got a crash course in what it meant to be king. Soon enough, he found that he resented the responsibility, longing for the days when he could be a child. They were long gone. What he missed most, was sneaking away to the kitchens to play with Bryn. Their days of cobble-skip were the only happy memories he could recount.

  His parents had never really been affectionate. Fully consumed with their status, and the trappings of wealth, they’d had little time for Lyford. He was heir to the throne, and a token of the kingdom, but not a beloved child. Armen, though the sole permanent adult fixture in Lyford’s young life, was a poor substitute. His role was as an educator, counselor, and guide, not parent, friend, or confidant.

  The early years of his reign became an unpleasant blur. Until he was of age, Armen had responsibility for all of the decisions. Lyford was merely a figurehead. Upon his eighteenth birthday, he would be expected to fully embrace his role, and the responsibilities it entailed. If he could be ready by then was anyone’s guess, though if any would ask him, he was certain the answer was no.

  Reviewing the scrolls, it seemed to Lyford that the coffers were thin, though who, or what, was to blame for that, he could not ascertain. It could easily have been the result of his parent’s lavish lifestyle. He remembered well the evenings when he was left in his quarters with instructions not to emerge. Watching from the window, he saw the line of carriages as they arrived, people emerging in smart and sparkling finery. He couldn’t help but hear the parties he was never allowed to attend.

  Armen’s counsel now was that he would need to endeavor to refill the funds if he were to entice a bride someday. Alone in his room later, Lyford’s stomach turned as he thought back over the conversation.

  “Why would I want to entice a bride?” He’d moaned.

  “You are young yet, but one day you will not be, and the future of your kingdom depends on there being an heir to ascend to the throne after your time. Do you believe they grow on trees?” Armen chided, clucking his tongue at the young king.

  “But do I have to have a bride for that? Isn’t there another way?” Lyford complained. “If my parents are any example, I don’t want what they had.”

  Armen laughed robustly. “One day you will change your mind. One day, it will be exactly everything that you think of. Not perhaps…” He paused with a wry grin, “for the public display, but more so perhaps for the private moments.”

  “Private moments?! Private, as in, alone?” Lyford groused, uncertain what exactly the implications were.

  Armen did his best to hide his amusement. His best wasn’t very good. “Yes, alone. You will understand better when you are older. For now, take my word for it, it is something that you will want.”

  Years later, Lyford recalled the conversation clearly as he struggled with himself. Since his ascension, he’d had next to no interaction with most of the staff in the castle. When he was younger, he didn’t care, or recognize, that there was a difference between them. The line between royal and non—royal was made exceedingly clear soon after his anointment and crowning. He’d been all but forbidden from seeing Bryn, actually the only one he missed. He hadn’t realized how much so until he saw her again.

  Passing a doorway, he caught a glimpse of her as she spoke to someone else. He would have known it was her, even if the other party hadn’t addressed her by name. She was changed, but in many ways, she was the same. Her long, flowing golden locks nearly reached her hips, even in the braid that bound them. Her dimples too, were exactly as he remembered them, though he didn’t remember noticing them so much before. Even her voice was familiar to how he had recalled it in his mind.

  The rest…the rest was a very different person than the girl he remembered. She had grown up. She was still shorter than he was, but her form was no longer similar to his, like it had been so long ago. She had curves. He stared far longer than he probably should have, but still managed to make his escape before he was noticed. Several steps down the hall, he was uncomfortable to realize a physical response to seeing her.

  Pausing his retreat, he took account of himself. His palms were damp, as was his brow. His heart-beat was accelerated, and his breath was short. Most disconcerting was a stirring, an uncomfortable stirring at the apex of his thighs. His thoughts were a whirl as he set out to find Armen.

  “What is this madness?” He demanded as he burst into the vizier’s quarters.

  Armen turned slowly, looked the young king up and down, noticing the flush. “Madness? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. Have you been running?”

  “No. I have not been running. Don’t be funny. You are not the Jester.” Lyford retorted, trying to keep his panic from coming through his words. “I was standing still but my heart is racing, my breath is short, and my palms are wet as though I did not dry them after washing. What. Is. This. Madness?!” He enunciated his perplexing predicament.

>   Armen tilted his head. “Where were you standing when this happened?”

  “In the hallway.”

  His brows furrowed as he considered the information. “By yourself?” He asked, certain that he was missing a piece of the puzzle.

  “Yes! I was by myself.” Lyford grumbled.

  “Then I don’t know what this could possibly be. If you weren’t alone, I could possibly glean more from knowing whom else was present, or what was happening. But, alone, solo? No, there is no explanation.” Armen countered, returning to his tables on the desk before him nonchalantly.

  Lyford debated before releasing an exasperated sigh, stomping his foot to draw the vizier’s attention back to him. “Fine. I was alone, but I could see other people. Does that change your answer?”

  Armen smirked to the desk before schooling his face and turning back to the young king. “It might. Who did you see?”

  “Members of the staff.”

  Armen nodded. “I see. Anyone specific?”

  “Kitchen staff.”

  Armen’s snort was muffled, but audible. “So, you saw women.”

  Lyford was already tired of the interaction, wishing desperately that he had not asked, and was now ready to be finished. “Yes. I saw women. I saw Bryn.” He finally admitted.

  Armen nodded knowingly. “Then I would say that this madness you speak of is your primal self, trying to tell you that you are approaching when the ‘private moments’ we spoke of once upon a time, might be more important.”

  “I’ve already told you that I am not interested in those.” Lyford asserted defiantly.

  “I know you did. I also know that one day your body and your mind may not agree.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Lyford spat before spinning on his heel and leaving the vizier’s quarters. He was furious that Armen was so arrogant about potentially being right. He was more determined than ever to prove him wrong.

  Thirty Years

  Over the next years, Lyford became more and more reclusive. He had seen Bryn multiple times, always from the distance. Each time, his reaction was the same. If anything, only the veracity of it was different, growing more profound each time.

  Any hope that he would one day prove Armen wrong was dashed, and dashed again. All he needed to do, to know that he was not going to contradict Armen, was see Bryn. He soon learned that distance did nothing to erase her influence either. He was waking from sound slumber, his body contorting in response to dream images of her, night after night. Detestable as the ideal was, he needed to find a way to deal with the situation. Hating to have to ask, Armen was the only one he could query.

  “Tell me about the private moments.” He opened abruptly.

  “Tell you…” Armen managed before his laughter broke loose. “I see. What do you want to know?”

  “Do they hurt?”

  Armen fought valiantly to keep his features neutral. Mostly he managed. “Hurt? No, they hardly hurt. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because my heart is thundering and feels like it’s trying to break loose of my chest. I can’t breathe. And…” Lyford hedged.

  “Go on…” Armen encouraged, fairly certain he knew what was coming, but unwilling to miss Lyford’s description.

  “And… I know I’m not coming undone, but part of me really hurts.”

  Armen swallowed hard. He was aghast that this had not come up more, before, or sooner. “Have you never taken one of the staff girls for a toss?”

  “What’s a toss?” Lyford asked, completely befuddled.

  “A toss. A roll in the hay. Bumping uglies. Getting your rocks off. Nothing? Do these phrases have no meaning to you?” Armen listed, growing more and more surprised as he watched the confusion play across the young king’s face.

  “Why would they?!” Lyford demanded. “All I have done since my parents died was learn how to run this kingdom. A toss? Bump uglies? Where was that in the lesson plan?” He challenged.

  Somehow it had never occurred to Armen that he would be the one to have the sex talk with Lyford. Why it had escaped him, was anyone’s guess. He himself had not had the conversation so to speak, but gone out into the world to learn what he wanted to know. Lyford’s rigorous and regimented upbringing for the first ten years, and subsequent crash course in ruler-ship over the recent ones, had left him lacking. Armen was still struggling with the reality as his next question tumbled out indelicately. “Have you never touched yourself then?”

  Lyford thought he might be sick. “Touch… Myself…” He stated as much as asked. “To bathe, yes. To relieve myself, yes. What are you asking?”

  Armen was nearly certain that the latter was to void, not relief the way he was thinking. “No, I mean when it is changed, hardened, and elongated. Have you ever touched yourself?”

  “Great Goddess no.” Lyford nearly shouted. It was one of the few things he remembered his mother for, her explicit instructions never to touch that for anything else.

  “You should.” Armen replied matter-of-factly, obviously shocking Lyford. “Try that first. Then, we’ll talk about what comes next.”

  Permission given, Lyford was a quick study. Before long, he knew exactly how to relieve his angst, and need, after an encounter with Bryn. Armen was amused often by Lyford’s abrupt excuses to leave a room. The young king was more than ready. And, it was time.

  When he returned from his latest personal escape, Armen launched without preamble. “We need to discuss the future of your kingdom.”

  “How so?” Lyford asked, convincingly more relaxed than he’d been when he left, as he returned to his seat.

  “The registers have regained much of their former numbers. You are in a good position now to consider taking a queen. Your subjects have been patient, but will begin to rumble if there is not a plan for the future. You have no heir. You have no queen. If anything would happen, as did with your parents, who would govern? You need to consider your subjects.”

  “But I don’t want a queen. Is there a way to go forward without one?” Lyford complained, his agitation returning.

  “No. Not really. A legal heir to the throne is necessary at some point.” Armen leveled.

  Lyford huffed in exasperation, pushed back his chair, rose, and began pacing. “I suppose you have a plan.” He challenged on a turn back from the far side of the room.

  “I do.”

  “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  Armen shrugged. “I don’t know that you will dislike it. What I have in mind would expand your kingdom twofold.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Coeur d’Alene kingdom across the northern border might be an option. We could perhaps propose a merger as a way to plan for the future of both. The king there is older, and has only daughters. He has no male heir to succeed him. A wedding between the families could solve that for him, and provide you a wife of your stature.” Armen detailed carefully. In fact, he had been laying the seeds for this plan for many years.

  “Do I have another choice?” Lyford lamented, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You always have a choice. The more important question is do you have a better choice? In my opinion, you don’t.”

  “But what if I don’t like her? What if she doesn’t appeal to me?”

  Armen chuckled. “I see your priorities have shifted. What you need to understand is that this is not about what you like or don’t like. It is about strategic decisions, and how best to secure the future of your kingdom, as well as satisfy the curiosities of your subjects.”

  “But you’re saying I would be required to bed her.”

  “Yes. For as much, or as often, as would be required to conceive.”

  “Somehow it sounds like my parents’ relationship.” Lyford replied before realizing his thought had escaped.

  “In many ways, it is just that.” Armen defended, trying to remain neutral. “Your parents’ marriage was also one of convenience. They did not have other children after you because yo
u were a son. I would tell you otherwise if it would make it more palatable, but truth is truth.”

  “The truth is unpleasant.”

  “As you say. What would you like to do?”

  Lyford paced back to the far wall, bracing his hands against the windowsill. Looking out across the lands, he knew he had no alternative. What he wanted, was almost certainly not an option, so he did not give it voice. Raising to his full height, he did not turn before speaking, trusting the words would carry across the space. “Ask the question. Maybe they will say no.” He silently hoped.

  The dispatched courier returned so quickly that Lyford thought his head might spin. Then again, he did not know that Armen had been priming the situation behind his back. The resounding acceptance of the offer left Lyford in a funk. The Coeur d’Alene king, Leopold, accepted, pledging his daughter Grace with one amendment. If no male heir was born to ascend over both kingdoms within thirty years’ time, the bargain was void.

  “Then what?” Lyford demanded. “What if there is no son? What if there are no children at all?”

  Armen bit hard on his tongue to stay his grin before looking up to respond, scanning the scroll as a diversion. “According to this, in that event, your kingdom would become his.”

  Reinforcements

  The marriage between Lyford and Grace was celebrated, but only attended by a small handful of witnesses. Once the nuptials were complete, the documents merging the two kingdoms under the agreed-upon terms were signed by the couple, as well as by her father Leopold on behalf of his kingdom. The wax seals were still setting as the couple retired to their quarters.

  Keeping with an ancient tradition, a crowd gathered in the courtyard below the window, waiting for the bloodied bedsheets. The couple fumbled their way through the consummation of their union, handing off the linens for display before parting company. They had been some of the most awkward moments of Lyford’s life.