As royalty it was our job to watch the battle from the cliff. Everyone else strode elegantly along, knowing just what to say, while I tripped over my lines and my long ridiculous robe.
We had to walk past so many poor people on the way there. They glared at us and I wanted to explain that I didn't really belong to the royal class, it was a mistake. But I knew I didn't belong to the poor either. I didn't know what to do except try to keep up with the dutchess. I couldn't fucking stand the dutchess.
When the others reached the right spot on the cliff, the one chosen for correct resplendence of silhouettes against the sunset, I was still catching up. So I wasn't one of the bodies tossed aside by the lion who came bounding over the rocks.
There was screaming and fainting, not just among the ladies. I was so sick of this crap and I could see that the lion was old, clawless, mangy. He hadn't really hurt anybody and I couldn't blame him for knocking the dutchess down.
I said, You guys go on. Film it without me. They didn't know what I was talking about, but they did go away, and I walked the poor old lion back to town. The commoners scattered and left me alone, which was all had ever wanted from them. We sat in the middle of the enormous hotel lobby, a great cold stone floor that stretched out around us for miles, alone, just me and the lion. His head was warm under my hand, and he purred and purred.
