Staying clean in the middle of filth always felt like a Sunday School metaphor—until now. My clothes are self-cleaning, and apparently, they’ve decided I am too. Which sounds lovely in theory, but dear Goddess, it’s more embarrassing than stripping naked and washing in a fire hydrant on Main Street.
The moment a smear of muck or dust touches my skin, the nearest scrap of fabric wriggles loose, bares whatever part of me it needs to, stretches like Gumby, scrubs me raw, and then snaps smugly back into place. Every squeak and snap feels like Inanna herself is giggling in the background. I don’t know if this “upgrade” counts as a blessing or just divine slapstick, but I’m leaning toward the latter.
Jenny smiles, petting the strip of lace that’s currently scrubbing a bead of sweat from my waist. “Don’t frown, Lizzy.”
“I can’t help it.” I tug at the corset. “How would you feel if your panties went larking about like mice in a cheese drawer?”
“You’re clean—”
“How? With my pretty bits on display every other blink?”
“They are beautiful—”
“Jenny! That’s not the point!”
“It’s exactly the point.”
“We’re in this simulation to learn to survive on a new planet. Clothes are part of that education. Damn thing, get back where you belong!” I wrestle the corset back over my nipple—the dumb thing is stretching for a drop of sweat under my arm.
“No,” soothes Lenora from across the campfire, “we—Tess, Frankie, Lenora, and me—are learning about clothes. You need an entirely different lesson.”
I glare at her until her gaze lifts from my exposed breast. “I don’t need to learn to be—”
“Unashamed,” offers Jenny softly.
Lenora nods. “You have a beautiful body.”
“Aye,” says Frankie with a wink.
I blush and sigh.
Jenny pets my arm. “Inanna is wise—”
“She’s an advanced AI.”
“In the beginning, yes. Now? She’s self-aware, alive, and holds the intelligence and wisdom of an entire world. She doesn’t do anything without a reason. So think—why?”
“She hates me. I come from a different swarm. I grew up in a conservative culture, one with opposite beliefs…”
Frankie coughs into his fist. It sounds remarkably like “bullshit.”
Lenora motions me to her side. I sit and slump under her arm. “Bluebell. That’s what your dad calls you, right?”
I nod but don’t meet his eyes.
“It fits you,” Lenora says. Her finger lifts my chin.
“I used to run and dance through the bluebell meadows near my home. Daddy always warned me about the fairies…” I chuckle and wipe a tear from my cheek. “Don’t wander into the Bluebell Woods or the fae folk will steal you away from me!”
Jenny leans in, sandwiching me between her and Lenora. Warm. Peaceful. I relax.
“I never got to play with my father,” sighs Jenny, with a hint of… remorse?
I wrap my arm around her. “Did he die?”
She huffs and snuggles closer. “I wish.”
“Huh?”
“Tell her, lass,” says Frankie. “She’s your teammate, friend, and the only family you have.”
Jenny shakes her head. “It’ll just make things weird. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore…”
Frankie sits up straighter, voice suddenly a touch deeper and formal. “Lasses and occasional lad, may I present—”
“Please don’t—” Jenny squirms.
“Her Most Gracious Majesty, Jennifer Kelly Windsor, Queen of Great Britain, Sovereign of the Commonwealth Realms, Defender of the Faith, Keeper of the Royal Line, Last Crown of Albion, and—at least until some cousin crawls out of drowned London—the last crown left standing.”
“Right.” I snicker and tickle Jenny’s ribs. She doesn’t squirm. Her eyes meet mine, teeth worrying her lower lip.
“You’re kidding…” My voice fades. “You’re the Princess Jenny?”
She nods, soft and hesitant, and burrows closer against me. Her eyes scream with anxious fear and the silent plea: please don’t run.
My corset stretches up my back, greedily soaking the stream of sweat beading from my neck. I’m snuggling with the bloody Princess—no, the fracking Queen. We’ve snogged and a hell of a lot more…
“I told you,” Jenny groans, all the sparkle draining from her voice like bathwater down a cracked drain, “but you had to tell her—”
“They have a right to know,” Frankie defends, arms folding tight across her chest.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“To know what? That I’m the Bloody Queen of a sunken kingdom? Three quarters of jolly old England is underwater. The rest is swamps and mountains.”
“You are still—” Frankie begins.
“Royalty? England is gone. Drowned beneath the Atlantic.” Jenny’s laugh is sharp, brittle. “Do you see the King of Atlantis putting on airs and demanding obeisance?”
Frankie bows anyway, lowering herself to her haunches with exaggerated solemnity. “Yes, Ma’am. Apologies, my Lady.”
“What the hell…” I whisper.
Jenny lifts her gaze and meets mine. I don’t know what she sees, but inside I’m a stew of confusion—half awe, half disbelief, and more than a pinch of why didn’t anyone warn me I was kissing a queen?
“I’m the fourth daughter,” Jenny sighs, “the youngest of eight children. Daddy spent all his time trying to save the kingdom.”
“Your brothers died in the Nanobot Wars,” I say, half-absent, memory tugging me toward grief. “My brother served under Prince Alfred.”
“I know,” Jenny says softly. Her eyes flick to Frankie. “That’s why…”
“Why what?” I demand, looking between Jenny, Frankie, and Lenora. They trade a sheepish glance, a nod.
Frankie clears her throat and meets my eye. “His Royal Highness—”
“My overprotective Daddy,” Jenny cuts in, dry as sand.
“—commanded me, with input from Her Majesty and the Princess herself, to select a team to accompany the Crown Princess.”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t the Crown Princess. I wasn’t Queen. I wasn’t anything when we left. Hell, Daddy had to be told it was his daughter on the podium when I won my first Olympic Gold.”
“Wait a second.” I glare between Frankie and Jenny, heat rising in my chest. “I’m sorry your father was an ass.”
I shoot to my feet, crossing to the far side of the fire, my boots crunching hard against the gravel. “I earned my place on this ship. My degrees. My fitness. My experience. My marksmanship. Hell, I won a pile of medals on the road to my spot here!” My hands jab the air with each word, my voice tight, fierce.
I spin back on them, my stomach knotting. “How dare you tell me you picked me?”
Jenny snaps to her feet, tears sparking in the firelight. Pride stiffens her spine. “Yes, I picked you! I picked all of you! Not because you’re perfect—even though you are—but because you’re you.”
My hands fling wide. “What the frack does that mean?”
Jenny spins on Frankie, finger stabbing the air. “Why did I pick you?”
Frankie throws his hands up. “Because I remind you of Gimli—the bloody dwarf from that story you love.”
“And Doc?” Jenny presses.
“Oh, come on,” groans Frankie, dragging a palm down his face.
Jenny’s glare sharpens, but there’s a flicker of a grin under it.
“Elrond,” he mutters.
Lenora hides a chuckle behind his fist, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Jenny points to Tess. “Galadriel.”
I try to glare and fail. “You’re insane. The Crown Princess—no, the fracking Queen—picked her companions like it’s a fan-cast of Lord of the Rings?”
Jenny whirls on me. “Don’t start.”
“If you say I’m anyone but Legolas—”
“He’s a boy,” she groans.
“He’s the best archer in Middle Earth, and he’s got a bottomless quiver!”
“Tauriel?” Jenny offers, wincing even as she says it.
“Tauriel?” I throw up my hands. “She’s not even canon! Tess gets to be the most powerful woman in the books, and I don’t even make the table of contents?”
“She’s incredible with a bow,” Jenny offers, trying for innocence.
“And,” Lenora adds lightly, “very pretty.”
I roll my eyes.
“I can see the resemblance,” snickers Frankie.
“Oh, come on,” I sigh — but a smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. The heavy panic that’s been sitting on my chest begins to ease.
“It’s the nose. I love that nose,” Lenora whispers conspiratorially to Frankie.
“Aye, and those ears,” moans Frankie, “have ya seen how she wiggles when ya nibble her ears?”
My hands fly to my ears and nose. “What’s wrong with my—”
“Nothing,” interrupts Lenora.
“Nay, Lassie, you’re perfect.” Frankie leans toward Lenora and stage-whispers, “That hair. Miles of copper—”
“I could run my hands through her luscious red locks for days…” Lenora sighs dreamily.
I blush, heat flooding my cheeks.
They both laugh, the sound rolling warm around the firelight, chasing back some of the cavern’s chill.
Jenny takes a hesitant step forward and extends a hand. “Friends?”
I grab her hand and yank her into an embrace before she can finish the word. “Gods, Jenny… friends? You’re more than my friend. I don’t know what, but…”
“Yeah,” she whispers into my shoulder. “I know.”
The fire crackles between us, sparks drifting up into the shadows overhead. For the first time since the fight, the air feels steady again, like the five of us are back on the same side of the line.
I gaze into Jenny’s eyes, and she mine. I don’t see a queen, but a woman I… love—is that the right word? My gaze sifts between my companions. I have the same feeling for each. Is that okay? A piece of me whispers “Having feelings like this with more than one person is dangerous. Be careful you’re going to get hurt.” But… these people are my team, my friends, my… family. They would never hurt me.
I lean in and rub noses with Jenny. “So… can I kiss my queen?”
“No,” Jenny giggles, “but you can kiss me.”
Our lips press, and all the worries and confusion and concerns melt.
Then Tess speaks, or her body speaks, because the chant, or maybe prophecy, that rolls from her still form certainly is not her. We freeze, cheek to cheek and listen, silent save for the crackling fire and roaring waterfall.
“Ló’-vaen ul DRá-tha—
"TéYR-Reina shal VéY-ran,
“DRA gen’THáR en’THáR.
“LAOch-i Nó-ran thra’MáER—
“En shal VéY-ran HéL-dor,
“Vey-DRáL: VéY-rahn, GAR-diel, PAETH’-fyn.
“SHáEN-la TRAI-na Laoch-i,
“DRA’tir en’THáR-mi-ra,
“UL dra’SHá-len KRY-sar,
“Shal RéY-nar en’Vó-ran.”
Jenny whispers, “Did you understand what she said?”
“No. What about you?”
She shivers. “No. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“I have…”
Her eyes widen. “When?”
“A few hours ago.” A chill runs through me. “She spoke something in the same language while I was digging her out.” I recount what fragments I can remember. “Does it mean anything to you?”
Jenny shakes her head. “No. And I speak a dozen languages, maybe more. That sounded like… a mash, what happens when cultures grind together for centuries until the words are something new.”
“How would you know?”
“I grew up surrounded by diplomats and politicians, with more tutors than you can count.” Jenny tries to make it light, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth. “It’s the life of a Princess.”
“Can you figure it out?”
She shrugs and glances toward Tess. “The bigger question is—what now?”
I turn to Lenora. “Can we move her?”
“I wouldn’t,” he says, voice grim. “Not until she wakes up.”
I crouch beside Tess, staring down, though I have no idea what I’m looking for. “Why? We used healing potions.”
Lenora’s expression hardens. “Those only mend the VR shell. What’s happening to Tess… it’s in her Core.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look closer,” he says. His voice drops into something between doctor and priest. “Not at all of her. Choose one. Focus.”
My gaze settles on the Star of Inanna etched just below Tess’s collarbone. At first it looks like ink—flat, ornamental. But when I really look, the rays begin to glow, faint as breath on glass. A thread of light runs each line in turn, round and round, counter-clockwise, pulsing with a rhythm deeper than blood.
My stomach flips. It isn’t just a tattoo. It’s moving—alive. The rhythm thrums beneath my skin, tugging at my own heartbeat, daring it to sync. It doesn’t. Or maybe it refuses. The dissonance hurts—not flesh and bone, but deeper, somewhere soul-deep. Something is happening to Tess, something vast and unreachable, and I can’t follow her. Not there. Not yet.
A hand clamps my shoulder and jerks me back.
“Lizzy!” Jenny’s voice cracks sharp against the cavern walls. “We need you—something’s in the passage!”
The air shivers. A low, dry scrape ripples through the stone. Then another. A skittering chorus, too many feet moving at once, clicking over rock. Dust drifts from the ceiling. The shadows in the tunnel writhe like they’re alive.
