Kristoff had obviously believed that he had hidden his stash so well that even an airborne molecular sampler, or 'sniffer' could not find it. He was wrong. As the first guard returned with a clear plastic evidence bag, the smaller bag of stash clearly visible inside it, Kristoff's jaw dropped comically, and I stifled my snort of laughter.
Kristoff sprang to his feet, and started down the hall, but the second guard unholstered his weapon and warned him, "Young sir, His Excellency's orders were clear. You are not to leave this area."
"I'm just going to—." the boy began.
"I have an impulse scrambler, young sir." The guard aimed it.
"But I have to—." Kristoff tried again.
"Please wait for the Master, young sir."
Kristoff sat back down, and glared at me again.
We waited while the first guard entered Cynthia's rooms.
I had a moment to reflect. After three years (and five days) of very carefully redirecting Victor's impulses into constructive, rather than destructive, action, manipulating one fourteen year old boy was ridiculously easy. Even manipulating the impostor Doom wasn't that hard, but I was using a different and new—new for me, anyway—technique. I was flirting with him.
I had never tried that on Victor, back before we were married—it never would have occurred to me. I would have thought him immune, for one thing, and for another, I was not confident enough in my attractions as a woman.
No doubt this substitute for Victor had women flirting with him all the time. With the face he had, they were probably chasing him into dark corners! But I was doing so on an intellectual level near or equal to his own (Perhaps even higher. The impostor wasn't as keen-edged of wit as my Victor.)
I knew he was thinking of dropping the 'artificial' part of his plan to artificially inseminate me with his child when he asked me if my fiancé was as handsome as he was.
The doors to Cynthia's suite flew open and banged against the walls when the impostor burst through them. "Cocaine!" he shouted, his face red and the cords of his neck standing out.
"Father, I can explain—," Kristoff tried, but the false Doom interrupted.
"Am I your father?" he asked, rhetorically. "Would a son not listen when his father spoke of the evils of such filth? Would a son lie to his father?"
I idly wondered what planet the impostor thought he was living on. It wasn't the same one as the rest of us, that was for sure.
"But I swear, it was her fault!" Kristoff pointed at me. "I don't know how, but—."
"Whose fingerprints were on the package?" the impostor asked the guard.
"Prince Kristoff's, sir. And in the drawer where they were concealed. No one else's."
"And still you lie." The pretender turned to the guard. "Have him give urine, hair, and fingernail samples to a lab technician. I want to know what else he's been up to. Then escort him back to his room and place him under house arrest. He is not allowed to leave it except at my orders—no one else's. Nor is anyone else to enter—except for his mother."
He turned back to Kristoff. "You will obey, or you will be in even greater trouble than you are now. Do I make myself clear?"
"Okay, okay! Yes, the coke is mine, but I swear, I never told her about it! How could she have known? I never asked her to come to my rooms with me, either! Please, Father, you've got to believe me! And she called me a vicious phlegm wad!"
"That is not entirely correct." I said. "I did call him a vice-ridden gob of phlegm. I was upset."
"I don't wonder." grumbled the impostor. "Nor is the description entirely inaccurate. Take him away." He waved at the guards.
"But, Father—!" wailed Kristoff.
"That will be quite enough out of you. Every word you say only puts me more out of temper with you. A more intelligent boy would know to be silent—but then, the fact that you possess and use cocaine is proof you are not a more intelligent boy."
Kristoff was marched off.
The impostor turned to me. "I am sorry you had to endure that. Please accept my apologies."
"They are accepted." I said, and added, "How is your mother? I am very sorry she was taken so ill. From how you spoke of her, I know she must be very dear to you."
"She is unconscious but stable." He rubbed his hand over his face. "Thank you for those kind words. The boy has been…overindulged. I shall correct that, see to it he learns better manners and better morals. I had thought to reprove him before this, but—as you heard yesterday— his mother wouldn't hear of it. She is—very fond of him."
"It is not my place to comment on that," I said, my eyes downcast.
"He is not our son by blood, but by adoption." he explained. "It is my great regret that we were not able to have children of our blood." Ah, he was laying groundwork for his proposal that I should help with that.
"And your lady wife's great regret as well?" I asked.
"Yes. I should have said, 'our regret'."
"I am sorry for that. My lord, may I be excused?' I asked.
"Why?" he asked.
"My skirt has flame-retardant foam on it. I want to change before I go down to Doomstadt to look for lodgings." I replied. "I cannot stay here."
"Why not?"
"I never meant to stay for very long. Your mother is too ill to begin the book you proposed, and is likely to be a long time recovering. When she is better, I would be honored to be considered once more, but as it is, I have no right nor reason to impose myself on your hospitality."
"You need not go." frowned the pretender.
"I beg your pardon, my lord, but I feel I must." I responded.
"I do not wish that you should do so."
"What can it be to you where I live?" I asked, reasonably. "In any case, I have no real reason to be here."
"I here create you my court calligrapher." he stated firmly.
"I have made myself objectionable to a member of your family. I would rather not live here in his eye." I said, just as firmly. Avoiding his gaze, I turned and began gathering up my flame-retardant covered examples.
I didn't mean it, of course. It was part of my plan to spread discord. Perhaps the impostor Doom and his Valeria were better suited to each other than the real Victor was to his, but they had been married for eighteen years—since they were nineteen. He was still only a kid then, and surely he had wondered if he made the right decision. By nightfall, if I played him correctly, I would have him half-convinced that he had just fallen in love for the first time—with me.
When his hand came down on my shoulder, the little jump I made was genuine. I hadn't expected that. As I turned to face him, I heard Valeria's voice ask, "Just what is going on here?"
Whatever was about to happen, it was bound to be interesting….