Princess Cinnamon and Princess Parsley tore into the room. They scrambled up Malic’s legs and clamped their fingernails and sharp bicuspids into him. He screeched and wriggled about making the two girls giggle through their clenched teeth.
Parsley and Cinnamon hung on without a problem; they had amazing jaw strength for little girls.
Malic dropped to his knees and the girls leapt off, abandoning the sinking ship. Rolling on their backs, they giggled and chattered to one another in their made-up twin language.
“Chicka chicka rattatat tat,” said one.
“Turbo tatterscat,” snickered the other.
For a brief, angelic moment they could have been considered adorable—with their clear blue eyes, dimples, and the dust of freckles across their noses.
Cinnamon and Parsley were purely primal. Their teeth were sharp and their curly blonde hair was so unkempt that the curls became knots, and the knots twisted into little hairy honeycomb formations. Their once silky and beautiful dresses were now tattered and the cloth speckled with mud (plus other better-left unidentified substances). And they never, EVER wore shoes or socks. Telly was just thankful they seemed to be on her side… for the moment.
Madam Tubbs, a portly woman with a sweet but tired face, shuffled into the room, clapping her hands. She was the official caretaker of the savage Princesses.
“Girls! Girls! Come, now. Come to Nanna Tubbs… Please?” She sounded desperate.
“Madam, I had hoped you would have a better grasp on these two… children,” Malic spat that word like venom, “by now. They are unruly, unseemly, uncultured, and undisciplined. If you don’t get a better reign on these girls, you might find yourself without a job, or a head.”
All color left Madam Tubbs’s puffy cheeks and her eyes softened with dampness.
“C-Cinnamon, Parsley come,” she pleaded again while withdrawing cookies from her pockets. “Look, sweets for sweet girls. Be sweet girls and you’ll get your sweets,” she added redundantly. “Come, come now.”
Their eyes did not leave the treats in her hands. Like trained animals they scampered after her as she left Meg’s room, alternatively chanting, “Tubbs! Tubbs! Tubbs!”
Rubbing his sore spots, Malic forced a smile at Telly. “The King wishes to see you in his hall.” Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the room, but not without tripping over the box the maid had dropped on the floor. It broke and he swore. Telly waited until he had limped out of sight, grumbling curses under his breath, before she followed.
Warren was in the hallway too, counting his steps as he walked the length and back again, mispronouncing each number. Telly gave him a double glance. Red marks covered Warren’s skin, like he’d been attacked by some angry bird. As she passed, he spun around and followed her all the way through the castle to the closed double-door entry to the King’s main hall, where two guards stood at each side.
