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The Perfume and The Lady By Presley Acuna
After many hardships and sacrifices, I realized with a heavy heart that my long quest had come to a calamitous end. I now knelt; weary with defeat, before the indelible Fetamina Chancha, the Executrix of Entropy, the Countess of Confutation, the Magnate of Mobocracy and undisputed Ruler of the 11 Dimensions of Existence. She was resplendent in her towering headdress and incandescent frippery. Her awesome presence was indisputable, as was the redolent bouquet of her royal fragrance. It was not perfume. I wriggled my nose discretely as I extended a leg forward and curtsied before her, laying aside my staff and worm eaten fedora. “You have thwarted my quest, my Queen,” I said in a low drone. ”I kneel before you in supplication and ask for merciful judgement.” She laughed maniacally, throwing her head back and draping an arm across her forehead before re-arranging herself on her throne to glare at me. “You think you are deserving of mercy? Your objective was nothing less that my destruction. A painful death would seem fitting.” Breathing heavily, taken by her own drama, Queen Fetamina regarded me through inch long, lacquered black lashes that had been tinged with gold flake, awaiting my reply. I looked up from my genuflecting position, and I sneezed. Fetamina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She slowly rose from her throne and descended from the raised dais on which her magnificent throne was perched and approached me purposefully. “What was that, knave?” she snarled, like an aroused panther. I did my best to grovel. “My apologies, my Queen. It was an involuntary reaction.” “Reaction to what?” she demanded. With my nose pressed against the cold black marble of the throne room floor I pondered my next words. Perhaps groveling was the wrong approach? I looked up, craning my head to lock eyes with her. “I was reacting to your, eh, exalted essence, Resplendency. She glared at me, but her mouth betrayed a small dimple of amusement. “’Resplendency’. Very good, knave.” “Words do not suffice…” “But you need them to suffice now, scoundrel!” she suddenly shouted, alarming the guards at the back of the room and causing them to snap to attention. “Reaction to what? I won’t ask again!” Bracing for my imminent expiry, I stood slowly and took a deep breath, which was a mistake. I sneezed again. “Stop that at once! Why do you sneeze?” “It is. It is simply because of your royal, eh, bouquet, your Grace.” “Bouquet? What do you mean, wretch?” “It is a, shall we say, queenly aroma. I would even say a Royal reek.” Someone surrendered a chuckle in the back, causing Fetamina to snap her head in the direction of the guards. “Who amongst you just laughed?” Her guards stood at attention, in determined deadpan, none revealing any culpability. “Guards!” she shouted. The guards marched forward, spears and swords at the ready. “I mean the other guards, the ones outside!” The throne room doors burst open and more guards entered the throne room. “Outside guards! Arrest the inside guards!” she demanded, and instantly a struggle ensued. Ignoring the grunts and groans of men against men and the clang and clatter of metal upon metal, Fetamina returned her attention to me. “A Royal reek, you say, miscreant? Are you saying I smell bad?” “You do. Sorry.” I tried to look meek. She blanched. “I do?” I nodded. “Yeap. Some soap would help.” She blinked rapidly, raising her lacquered fingernails to her mouth. “No one has dared say this to me before.” “Because they fear you, Majesty,” I answered gravely. “But YOU dare!” she shouted. “Because I have nothing to lose. And, well, you need to know.” She scanned my face for a long minute and finally said, “You are brave, knave.” “That rhymed, your Grace.” “I know.” Again the dimple. “And daring.” “At times.” She tapped a finger against the side of her head. “Perhaps I am being too hasty in demanding your demise. I could use a truth-sayer in my court.” I decided to go for the kill. “I’m pretty good with a bar of soap, too, your Highness.” Fetamina pondered this as she observed the carnage of guard on guard violence taking place behind me. Then she turned to me and looked me up and down. “You are fair of face and form, rogue. Perhaps this is a pleasing idea to me.” “Take me to your bathtub, my Queen.”
THE END
Presley Acuna is a writer, musician and technologist. He is an Ecuadorian-American, born and raised in New York City and currently living in Brooklyn. He writes genre fiction as well as stories based on his own life experiences. His stories have appeared in The Rockvale Review, Bewildering Stories, Underside Stories and The Raven’s Perch.
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