Horns for the Harem Girl by Lynn Red Page B

sisters. Even her brother bothered to come, which was a bit surprising. “He came?” she asked Alara.
    “He heard there were jobs for the family in the royal palace and somehow, he brought himself down to showing up. He’s changed a lot though,” her sister whispered. “I think maybe he’s come down about fourteen pegs in the ego department. But that’s enough about all that. I guess I was wrong about the whole prince thing, huh?”
    “I’d just about given up too,” Helena said. “But... yeah, I guess in the end, hope won out.”
    “It always does, child,” Maret said. “I told you not to lose faith.” The old woman looked ten years younger than when Helena had last seen her. There was a glow about her face, her cheeks were pink and flushed. It was very, very hard for Helena to keep her mouth shut, but remembering the promise she’d made to Arad about doing that very thing, she managed. “It worked for me,” she finally said, with tears running down her cheeks. “Looks like it worked for you too.”
    “Where’s the lucky groom-to-be?” her father asked, breaking the tearful reunion. “I haven’t seen him since he swept by to pluck you from the house last night.”
    “You know,” she answered, “in all the hubbub I kind of lost track of him. And to be honest with you, I don’t have any idea what’s happening. We came to town this morning, and on the way into the palace, he dropped down on one knee and proposed to me.”
    “Sounds like my son!” Maret said. “For all his strange quibbles, he’s got the heart of a romantic. I gave him that, you know,” she said to Helena’s father, “that’s where he got all his good traits. His father is a lump of an ibex.”
    There was a lot of snickering and a lot of smiling, and then before she knew what was going on, really, all the lights in the ceremonial hall – which was almost the size of a football field, with magnificent stained glass framing either end, and a tiered dais on one end – where everyone’s attention was turned, dropped out completely.
    The only light in the entire place was the multicolored disco-ball of dancing light from the stained glass with enough torches behind it to make the whole thing shine like an acid trip music video. Helena’s head swam, just a little bit, from the combination of the lights and the incense that met her nose. It was sweet-smelling, but not cloying; spicy but not overwhelming. There was frankincense in there, she thought, and maybe a touch of patchouli in the background. Fixating on dissection of the smell kept her from falling too far into her own head.
    I’m marrying a prince. No! He’s the king. I’m marrying a king! What the hell is going on? Two weeks ago I was a harem girl failing totally at the harp and now I’m marrying a king? Oh goodness .
    “Queen?”
    It was Maret’s voice calling her attention, but that was the first time she’d heard anyone call her that. It was... not a pleasant feeling that overwhelmed her poor stomach. It twisted, it turned, and wrenched up in a knot. It was a fairly pleasant knot, but still, it was a knot.
    Aside from the knot, there was a lump down there somewhere that felt like it was tugging her stomach toward her feet. But then he appeared on the dais, and all that unpleasant sourness in the pit of Helena’s stomach seemed to dissipate like a cloud of smoke wafting off into the atmosphere.
    “Queen!” Maret said again, grabbing at Helena’s sleeve. “I think someone is asking for you to go up there.”
    “Up there?” Helena whispered. “In front of all those people? Oh my God what if I throw up?”
    Maret stiffened. “A woman of the harem never vomits in public,” she said sharply. There was a smile behind her words though. Her old, plump face lined with a grin. “Go on, all you have to do is say a few words and then get out of here. It’s a small price to pay for being the queen, don’t you think?”
    She felt her knees go all wobbly. Damn