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Jenna hated Mondays. Monday’s were palace days, which meant endless meetings and delegating. Mondays meant having to be in long meetings with the housekeeper and butler she reluctantly employed, having to moderate disputes between the palace’s inhabitants, and the relentlessly frustrating ghost of her mother telling her how wrong everything was.
Today was a Monday- a no-fun day. It was going to be particularly frustrating because this Friday was the 3-year anniversary of her coronation a year ago, and everyone kept trying to make that a big deal. It wasn’t that Queen Jenna resented her coronation; in fact, she had looked forward to it when it happened and enjoyed having firm authority, but instead, it was the fact that they wanted to plan a party.
Scratch that. Jenna liked parties. She just didn’t want to plan them. Other people could make the choices; she trusted them. But no, she had to approve and receive every piece of coronation table setting, decoration, and dish they wanted to pull out for the occasion. She had already given a blanket okay- and Maven, the head housekeeper and unofficial party planner, knew that. But they all just kept asking and asking, and Jenna wanted to get to the fun part of her job.
She told herself that it would be over today, that this was the last day they would need anything approved or signed, that everything would go back to normal next Monday, and she would have only the usual Monday disputes. She told herself this for 4 hours at the desk on the side of the throne room where she felt with paperwork. She told herself this right up until a certain someone came in to ask if she would prefer “maroon or burgundy tablecloths, your majesty?”, at which point she chose randomly, stood up, and hid in the tiny room behind the throne until Beetle found her there an hour later.
“There’s been an argument between the cobblers and the leather workers, want to get out of here and see the sun?”
Jenna smiled. Right now, that sounded like the best thing in the world, especially compared to tablecloth colors. Beetle always knew when she needed to be rescued.
She held out her arm, and he pulled her up, catching her when she tripped into his arms.
“Thank Magyk, an actual job to do. Let’s go!”
It took until they were nearly at the makers' mile before she thought to ask, “Hey Beet, why’d they go to you?”
“I was the only one who knew where to look, Jen”, he responded with a laugh. “Your hiding places are good, but being with you means I can make pretty good guesses, I guess.”