Not Your Average Princesses

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  SPECIAL THANKS to Erin Stein, rock star editor and collaborator (Sonny to my Cher, Simon to my Garfunkel, Donny to my Marie, Keith to my Mick, Hall to my Oates…), and to Michael Bourret, our very own Chamberlin

  * * *

  A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM EMPRESS GEELA:

  This greeting is for all citizens living, working, and whining on the planets of the Pentangle: I am GEELA, and as of this moment I declare myself your new EMPRESS!

  Henceforth, the planets of the Pentangle—Lunaria, Junoia, Rhealo, Heralda, and Athenia—will be under my control. The glorious, magnificent, and most adored Dark Empress of Evil has taken over.

  Any questions or complaints should be directed to a member of my faithful Android army, who would be happy to find a new home for you in the DUNGEON OF DARK DOOM.

  * * *

  “And … cut!” Geela—the self-appointed Dark Empress of Evil—smirked as she finished recording her special announcement for the galaxy. “That should get the message across.” She turned to a guard and ordered, “Play that for the people of the Pentangle after we rid them of their filthy royalty!”

  With a casual flick of her wrist, Geela dismissed her Android army. “Now, go! Go forth and take the royal families of the Pentangle prisoner. It is my turn to rule the Galaxy!” The imposing metallic troops scattered quickly. No one who worked for the evil empress ever wanted to be left alone with her. Geela had a creepy habit of melting creatures with her eyes when she was in a bad mood. She had also been known to wrap her tongue around her victims’ necks and squeeze them to death. Her razor-sharp fingernails could shoot out at 452 miles per hour to stop an enemy dead in his tracks. In short, she was not the kind of lady anyone wanted to mess with … not even heavily armed guards.

  Geela stroked her small, winged sidekick. “Ah, Tibbitt,” she crooned, her face morphing into a gruesome smile. Tibbitt stood dutifully by her side. The dragon-like creature—with a disturbingly humanlike head—had been in Geela’s service for years. The empress’s late father passed him down to Geela, and during his years with the family, Tibbitt had become an expert listener and sounding board. “The time has finally come for my complete takeover of the Pentangle Galaxy.”

  Tibbitt sighed happily in response.

  “As soon as I’ve had my coffee and a doughnut,” she crooned. “I will attack each of the five revolting planets of the Pentangle, rule their people myself with a long magnificent reign as empress, and—just to make sure no one bothers me—I’ll lock the royal families in…” Geela paused dramatically, lifted her arms into the air and screamed, “… the Dungeon of Dark Doom on Sector Nine!”

  She tipped back her head and laughed—a horrible, honking sound that almost made Tibbitt flinch. Geela sneered, “Oh yes, that’s right. All five of the ridiculous royal families are going down. The time for ‘getting along’ and ‘living in peace’ is over. Royalty-schmoyalty!”

  Beside her, Tibbitt carefully matched his expression to Geela’s and snickered.

  The empress switched over to a nasal, whining voice and went on. “All these silly princesses and kings and queens, who think they’re so special just because they were born royal. Ha!” She shook her fist in the air. “Royal blood doesn’t make you more deserving, more beautiful, or more loved. I’ll prove to all of them that I am a better ruler than any of them, even though I have no royal blood running through my ice-cold veins. Let’s show the planets of the Pentangle who their new ruler is.”

  Tibbitt cocked his head curiously.

  Geela violently twisted his ear and laughed her savage laugh. “I’m talking about me, you fool. After today, the new leader of the entire Pentangle Galaxy will be meeeeeee!”

  PART ONE: THE ESCAPE

  LUNA

  The planets of the Pentangle were in grave danger, but Princess Lunaria de Longoria was still in bed. “Hello?” the princess called out in a soft, expectant voice. When there was no response, she raised her voice and hollered, “Hel-lo! Is anyone going to bring me my juice? It is now one full minute after nine.”

  There were no sounds from the hall outside her royal bedroom. That was odd. Usually, the palace was bustling with the swish-swish and spritz-spritz sounds of cleaning, or the quick patter of servants hustling to and fro, or her mother’s firm voice barking out a list of daily tasks for the palace employees. But this morning, the halls of the Palace of Lunaria were still and strangely silent.

  Princess Lunaria pushed back her smooth satin sheets and flexed her buttery-yellow feet. She inspected the elegant designs painted on each of her big toenails. She wasn’t due to have her weekly pedicure for two days, but she wasn’t sure she could stand to wait that long. A tiny fleck of polish had chipped off when she stepped out of the shower the previous morning, and she was growing tired of the color on her toes. It felt dated—very last week. She made a mental note to have someone call down to the palace spa later.

  With a heavy sigh, the princess craned her neck and waited. She blinked her eyes—one a bright yellow, the other vibrant orange—impatiently. Usually, all it took was a simple call and someone would come running. She clanged the little bell she’d had installed by her bedside, then listened intently. Nothing. Frustrated, she opened her mouth and released a loud scream that spanned eight octaves. Her pampered and loving pet, Adora, snuggled deeper into the covers beside her, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. The cuddly pink and red creature groaned, irritated at having been disturbed. Then, with a soft sigh, Adora tucked all four of her delicate paws under her soft body and fell back to sleep.

  A moment later, Lunaria heard an unfamiliar thump-thump-thump coming from somewhere far below her bedroom in one of the palace’s great rooms. Out the window, a strange buzzing sound drowned out the usual birdsong in the gardens.

  The princess pressed a button on her bed’s headboard, and the sweet sound of her own singing floated out of the speakers that were hidden around the room. Much better.

  After another quick peek at the time—nine-oh-four!—Lunaria flopped back onto a heavenly stack of pillows and growled. Where was everyone? Like a true princess, Lunaria de Longoria did not like to be kept waiting. And she usually refused to get out of bed in the morning until she had nourished her body with a tall glass of green juice pressed from the palace’s garden vegetables. She set her mouth into a firm scowl, but relaxed the muscles into a soft pout when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror hanging over her bed. Scowling didn’t suit her lovely features.

  Lunaria dropped her legs over the side of her round, floating bed and landed gracefully on the plush carpet below. She wanted juice! It was highly unusual to do something for herself. She tiptoed to the door of her bedroom, cocked her head, and listened hopefully for the telltale sound of a servant’s footsteps in the hallway. She smiled when she heard someone approaching her door. About time, she mused. She would have to give this se
rvant a little talking to. A wait this long was totally unacceptable. The door of her room flew open, and Lunaria jumped back.

  “Excuse me,” she snapped, glaring at the intruder. “I believe it is best to knock before entering a princess’s quarters?”

  The unfamiliar man standing in the doorway arched an eyebrow and bowed—but only slightly. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

  “That’s better,” Lunaria said stiffly, arching one of her own perfect eyebrows back at him. “And next time, I expect you to present yourself with a proper bow. That little curtsy, or whatever it was—weak.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied the servant more carefully. The princess had never seen this guy before. He was old—really old. Display-in-a-museum old. Lunaria suddenly felt a little bad for picking on such a frail creature. The man was breathing heavily, as if he’d run to her room in a hurry. As he should have—she had been waiting for her juice for six minutes already!—but the hustle had clearly winded the old guy. She hoped he wouldn’t die from the effort. Juice was important, but probably not that important.

  Studying the man more closely, Princess Lunaria had a sudden realization that the guy might not be able to bow. If he bent over, he might never be able to stand upright again. He’d just fold in half and stay that way for the rest of his life. Which probably wasn’t much longer, to be honest.

  “Or perhaps you can’t bow?” Lunaria asked the servant, loudly and slowly. She wondered if he was so old he couldn’t even hear anymore? It was actually quite generous of her parents to employ someone so ancient. It bothered her that she had to deal with the old geezer, but she was willing to do some charity work now and again. So she made her voice even louder and asked, “Does it hurt your old frail joints to bow?”

  The man cleared his throat. “Your Highness,” he said in a surprisingly commanding voice. “Your planet is in danger. Your people are in danger. You are in danger. We must get you out of here immediately.”

  “You, sir, are the one in danger,” Lunaria scoffed. “In case you hadn’t noticed: I. Haven’t. Had. My. Juice.”

  There was an enormous crash somewhere in another wing of the palace. Adora gave a short yip of alarm. The old man stepped into Lunaria’s room and closed the door quickly. “If you please,” he said warmly, though there was a nervous edge to his voice. “I am Chamberlin, the senior butler in Athenia’s royal court.”

  “You’re Chamberlin,” Lunaria echoed, putting one hand on her hip. She batted her golden eyes and said, “And I am waiting. For my juice.”

  Chamberlin heaved a sigh, then rustled around in a small spacepack that had been strapped to his stooped shoulders. With a grim smile, he pulled out a wrinkled silver drink pouch. He thrust it at the princess. “Drink up and let’s go, Princess.”

  She stared at the container of orange liquid, horrified. “What is that?”

  “Juice,” the old man grumbled. “Sort of.” With a subtle roll of his eyes, Chamberlin pulled a small straw off the back of the juice pack and pushed it into the pouch. He held it out in front of Lunaria’s face again and said, “I always keep one of these with me in case of emergencies. Drink, Your Highness.”

  She reached forward, offered him a small, inauthentic smile, and took the juice. A moment later, she shrieked and shoved the pouch back into his hands. “It’s cold!” she said. “I don’t hold cold things. I need you to wrap it in a cozy. Or you must hold it for me. My hands are delicate.”

  Chamberlin closed his eyes as another crash rang out somewhere below them. He muttered, “I will not hold it for you. Unless your hands are broken, you can hold your own juice. My service to the galaxy is keeping you and four other princesses safe, not feeding you. I am your bodyguard and your guide. And you are not a baby.”

  Lunaria’s mouth flew open. “How dare you speak to me in such a way! I’ll have you fired.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Chamberlin said curtly. “Your Highness, you and I will be spending quite a lot of time together whether you like it or not. I have been given the rather, uh … unpleasant … task of ushering you to safety. So-called Empress Geela is coming for you at any moment. As the senior butler in the Pentangle court, your parents have charged me with the task of getting you and the other four Princesses of the Pentangle somewhere safe.”

  Lunaria took a small sip of juice. Then her face dropped. For a moment, it seemed as if she felt somewhat bad for her stubborn attitude. But a second later she whispered, “I’m supposed to share a butler with four other princesses?”

  Suddenly, thundering footsteps filled the hallway outside the princess’s chamber. As Chamberlin peeked through the crack in the door, his face paled. He reached out and locked the door. “We must go. Now. All the servants are fleeing—if we don’t go immediately, while there is a good amount of activity in the corridor, we will be noticed.”

  “Chambermaid…” Lunaria said, holding up a hand. “Or whatever you said your name is? Hold on a sec. I just need to pack.”

  “Pack?” Chamberlin coughed. “There isn’t time. You could be captured.”

  “Captured?” Lunaria asked. “You are so dramatic.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear: Your parents have already been taken prisoner. If we fail in our escape, Empress Geela will also take you—and me—prisoner.” The butler looked around Princess Lunaria’s room, taking in the lush decor, three walk-in closets filled with elegant fashion, and a small fortune worth of lotions, powders, and makeup. Thinking quickly, Chamberlin said, “If you are caught, you will be forced to wear a shapeless jumpsuit, fed grilled space sardines, and locked in a dry cell … without moisturizers or lipstick.”

  Lunaria choked back a sob as loud voices echoed in the front hall of the palace below. Chamberlin had finally gotten through to her.

  Adora hopped off the bed, scampered over, and weaved in and out of Lunaria’s legs. The princess picked her up and nuzzled her face into the soft fur. She whimpered, “Geela took my parents? She is here now?”

  Chamberlin looked nervously toward the door, then nodded. “Now, Your Highness. I am sorry to deliver such difficult news.”

  “What should we do?” she asked, panicking.

  The butler looked around Lunaria’s chamber, searching for some way to hide the princess. His eyes finally settled on an enormous rolling laundry hamper tucked into the far corner of the room. “In here,” he said, pushing the hamper toward the door. “Hop in here and hide beneath the dirty clothes.”

  The princess’s eyes bulged. “Never.”

  Chamberlin gulped as someone pounded on the door. “You must.”

  “I won’t!” The pounding got louder. Someone rattled the latch. Then the door began to shake and vibrate—someone was slicing through the lock on Lunaria’s beautiful, hand-carved mahogany door with a laser cutter. The princess looked from the door to the laundry hamper, her eyes wild. Adora hopped into the hamper without a second thought. She was a creature that didn’t handle danger (or dirt) well.

  “Would you like one more sip of juice before we go?” Chamberlin offered generously.

  Lunaria reached out and grabbed the juice pouch. Then, just as the door was blasted open, she launched herself into the hamper full of dirty linens. Chamberlin dropped the lid closed just as two of Geela’s soldiers raced into the room.

  “Have you seen the princess?” Lunaria heard one of them bark out as Chamberlin rolled her toward the door and safety.

  “She is in the spa,” Chamberlin said, his voice shaking slightly. “Getting her nails done, I believe.” Then he tipped the hamper, rolled it into the hall, and hustled toward the exit as fast as his creaky limbs would allow.

  Inside the hamper, both Adora and Lunaria whined quietly as Chamberlin whisked them toward a waiting escape ship. What the precious princess and her pampered pet had yet to realize was this: hiding inside a basket of dirty linens was bad … but what was to come was much, much worse.

  JUNO

  On the other side of the Pentang
le Galaxy, Princess Junoia Atley-Wolford was just finishing up her morning run along the cliff’s edge when she sensed danger. Slowing to a jog, she tilted her head to one side, listening intently for unfamiliar sounds. There were low booming sounds coming from the other side of the forest—near the capitol. Junoia’s pet and running companion, Skitter, stilled beside her and sniffed at the air.

  Junoia listened, her ears picking out all the strange sounds. At the age of ten, Junoia had spent a month learning to survive—and thrive—in the barren outlands on her home planet. As was the custom on the planet Junoia, the princess had been forced to earn her independence by living on her own with no supervision or support. During that time, she had developed excellent instincts and a fighter’s strength. Now, at fifteen, those instincts often proved helpful. Later, her strength would be a true asset as well.

  The booming continued. It was unfamiliar to hear such a mechanical sound in the forested landscape. “What is that, Skitter?” Junoia asked, narrowing her dark violet eyes.

  Snort snort, Skitter replied. Then the purple fluff ball held its breath and began to grow. When shy Skitter felt threatened, the little critter could puff up to twenty times her usual size.

  “Hold off, pal,” Junoia cautioned her. She patted Skitter on the back. “We don’t know what those sounds are, and I don’t want you calling any unwanted attention our way.”

  Skitter stopped growing and released little pfft-pfft sounds from her backside. With each little puff of air, the critter began to shrink again.

  Suddenly, a form stepped out of the swirling morning mist. It approached the princess and Skitter slowly, but with purpose. Princess Junoia’s body tensed, ready for a fight.

  There was something about the way the stranger moved that told her to hold off from attacking. Although it was difficult, she kept herself from lunging at the stranger. She had a sense that whoever it was did not mean to harm her. She stepped toward the stranger cautiously, and a moment later the stooped figure called out, “Princess Junoia Atley-Wolford?”