Dryad Mated

ALETHEA

It was the middle of the afternoon and Alethea’s head was still stuffed full of clouds and cotton. After taking a sip of tea she put the cup down as gently as she could to avoid hearing the high-pitched clatter of it touching the saucer. She’d partied a little too hard last night.

On the one hand, her father was glad that she’d managed to not duck out of the date early. On the other, Pavel’s driver had dropped her off in the early morning and if she hadn’t been told that, she wouldn’t have known how she got home. In the entirety of her life, she’d never had that much to drink.

Perhaps she should have told him that she’d never done shots before, only seen it done in movies and on television. They made it look fun. The reality was less pleasant.

Even sitting up on her couch was a chore. The room was spinning, her head hurt, and there were substantial portions of the night missing. Her phone rang, and the loud chiming made her groan and put a pillow to her ear as she dug around the room to find it and shut it off.

The number displaying on the front wasn’t one she recognized. Pavel, perhaps? She answered and collapsed into a fetal position on her floor with the phone pressed to her ear.

“Hello?” she mumbled.

“Is this Princess Alethea Spiros?” the stranger asked. It was the voice of an older woman, an American if she had to guess.

“Yes…”

“Wonderful. This is Euphrasie Hudson. I’ve read your…spirited request for a match and I would like to meet in person to see about taking the next step.”

Alethea’s mouth dropped open and she tried to understand what was happening. She remembered saying no to hiring a matchmaker, famous or not. But a nagging memory was dancing in the background of her thoughts. Her. Pavel. Vodka. More vodka.

“I think there’s been a mistake.”

“I don’t make mistakes. If you’ve changed your mind, that’s your choice. If not, there’s a cozy little hole in the wall that serves fried sardines, and I’m curious to try them out.”

The image of the battered, salty fish made Alethea’s stomach churn and she couldn’t answer.

“If you come, I’ll give you my secret remedy for hangovers,” Euphrasie promised. “And it’s not something I offer lightly.”

“Where?”

“Dear, I can’t pronounce the name of this place to save my life. I’ll send you a message once we hang up.”

“Sure.” The line clicked, and the phone vibrated against Alethea’s cheek. She rolled onto her back and checked the message. It was a place she recognized. But first.

She scrolled through and sure enough, Pavel’s number was now programmed into her contacts list. A few taps and she closed her eyes to listen to it ringing. He picked up and she cursed at how sober and clear he sounded.

“Pavel? What in the name of the gods happened last night?”

***

The sun reflected off every surface in the casual restaurant, determined to catch Alethea’s eyes in just the right way to multiply the pounding in her head. Across the table, the infamous matchmaker chewed and swallowed a bite of food with enthusiasm that Alethea scorned. Hangovers ruined everything, even food, it seemed.

No matter how many lessons and how many coaches had passed through Alethea’s life, she’d never managed the easy refinery of many of her noble peers. But now here she was, hungover and probably looking like a pauper, next to a mysterious American with a carefree—or perhaps nonexistant—fashion sense and the self-confidence to be chowing through fried fish as if she weren’t rubbing elbows with royalty. Alethea envied that level of comfort.

“You should have something. Your body is starving for nutrients,” Euphrasie said and sipped her wine. As she put her drink down, the multiple bangles around her wrist slid down and chimed against the glass, making Alethea wince.

“The smell is somehow both alluring and repulsive at once. I’m not sure my stomach can handle it.” Alethea pinched the bridge of her nose as the room spun. “You said you had a remedy.”

Euphrasie’s wild dark hair bobbed as she nodded enthusiastically. She swallowed a gulp of wine and her sparkling gray eyes scanned Alethea head to toe. “The cure for a hangover is to get back to life and deal with it.”

The brazen attitude stunned Alethea momentarily. Aside from her cousin and a few other friends, she was used to being fawned over. Euphrasie’s tone was refreshing, albeit unexpected. “You realize I’m a princess, and you’re in my territory?”

Euphrasie flipped over her phone, which until now had sat face down on the table between them. Her glossy, black-painted fingertip swept across the screen and then she read aloud, “I want someone to make my father furious, someone who doesn’t give a flying eff about protocol.” She met Alethea’s eyes. “When you compose a drunk email requesting revenge on your oppressive father, I suspect that the princess card goes out the window.”

Alethea rubbed her temples and stared at the lime floating in her water glass. “This isn’t some fantasy world of nonstop perfection and we aren’t the royal family everyone knows and loves.”

“Honestly…titles aren’t my concern. I would like to help you just because. But first, I’m going to need more than this rant.” Euphrasie wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin and turned her plate so that the untouched seasoned french fries were within Alethea’s reach.”

“I don’t know if I should waste your time. My father won’t approve of anyone, and in the harsh light of day, I’m not sure I still want to just grab a random guy to grate his nerves.” Alethea took a fry and bit the end off. The salt was perfect, as if she’d never had a fry before. Her brain started to clear. “I know a guy who could use your help though, maybe⁠—”

“I would never hook you up with a random guy, and my purpose has nothing to do with upsetting your father.” Euphrasie reached across the table and took Alethea’s hand. “Between the lines of rambling about politics and requiring a lumberjack who knows how to haul his wood⁠—”

Alethea groaned.

“—there was a clear communication of raw honesty and passion,” Euphrasie continued. “I want to help you. Beneath the façade of not wanting a man and claiming that you’d ever let your father dictate who you date, I can tell you want something real.”

Pursing her lips, Alethea pulled her hand back. When she was young she’d watch her parents and believe that someday she’d have that. The way they would stare into each other’s eyes and smile gave her a warm feeling inside, and yes, it was the type of moment she’d wanted for herself. But that was the dream of a little girl.

“I don’t know if I can expect something real.”

“And why not?”

“Because men have an idea of what a princess is. Perfect and demure. I feel like a mess in expensive clothing. A tiara’d bull in a china shop,” Alethea admitted.

“I don’t see that when I look at you. I see a lovely young woman who perhaps can’t handle her drink, but otherwise…” Euphrasie went to her phone again and after a few moments slid it across the table.

An article was pulled up on the device, one of her standing before a crowd with a caption of how much time and effort she’d contributed to a historical festival last year. She remembered that day. Most of her life was about sitting and smiling, but occasionally she got the chance to do something.

“That’s a rare one. Usually, they call me a fat disgrace.”

Euphrasie took her phone back and scoffed. “Jealousy is an ugly thing. You’ve got a colorful personality and amazing curves.” She leaned back in her chair and tucked a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. It promptly sprung back out, but Euphrasie ignored it. “I can’t force you to use my help, but I have staked my reputation on finding true love for the most stubborn of men and women. Tell me what you want, and if he’s out there, I’ll find him.”

Alethea ate another fry and shrugged. “I just need someone who is willing to put up with the downsides of being with a princess.” She tilted her head back subtly to the left, indicating the well-dressed couple at the table behind her. “Like armed babysitters.”

“I thought I smelled hired muscle,” Euphrasie joked.

“I don’t think what I want in a match is anything incredible. I want someone fun but proper, I guess. Just someone who can keep me from falling asleep during boring engagements. And yeah, if he can give foot massages that would be great.” Alethea sipped her water. “Did you know I’m required to wear at least three-inch heels for any event outside of the charities I personally manage? I love my heels but if it’s an all-day affair I would gladly switch out.”

“That’s it?”

“Can’t you guess the rest? The problem is gaining my father’s approval. Because the perfect guy for me has to be good for the entire country.”

“Ah. Thrust into the spotlight of royal politics, royal culture, royal etiquette. What is the usual flaw in the men of your past?” Euphrasie asked.

“Either we don’t click, or my father disapproves and then there’s no point continuing.”

“You won’t challenge your father to give your dates a chance?”

Alethea half-chuckled. “I challenge my father at every opportunity. But the men won’t. I suppose I understand. He’s their king. A bit more intimidating than the usual grumpy father.”

“The right man wouldn’t give up that easily.”

“Yet that’s why there aren’t many men in my past. Usually, a first date weeds out everyone, and very few have gotten past that.” She’d had one long-term relationship in her life, but it had been with a man who’d proved to be a nightmare. Thankfully, she’d snapped out of it just in time.

“Really? I swear I’ve seen running tallies of your exes,” Euphrasie said with a hint of suspicion.

Sighing, Alethea tapped the excess salt from a fry. “Nothing better to do with their time, paparazzi. Basically, if a guy looks at me, stands next to me, et cetera, he becomes my boyfriend. If it happens more than once, he’s my fiancé. They craft sordid relationships out of thin air. Trust me. I’m a relationship bomb.”

Euphrasie tsked. “A shame. I’ll ignore everything that I’ve overheard, but I still need to know. If you aren’t getting past the first date, why not?”

“Let’s see…discovering unfavorable past relationships of the scandalous type. Questionable finance choices. Too outspoken on outrageous political views.” Alethea waved a hand. “I’m not a saint but I’m the heir. The public will be much harder on whoever ends up in a relationship with me. I need someone with a squeaky-clean past.”

“Okay. Someone with no red-flags in his history, who can charm the paparazzi, remain politically neutral, and fit in with the polish of the palace.”

Alethea nodded. “And…I mean, let’s not toss away the uh…” She lowered her voice. “Since you asked, I mean. I would like someone with a certain amount of enthusiasm and stamina behind doors. Someone who won’t just treat me like a fragile princess.”

Euphrasie leaned forward. “So you need royal consort material with a little something extra.”

“A big something,” Alethea corrected.

Beaming, Euphrasie sat back and tapped the table as she seemed to think. “Most of the men I work with are shifters, but I suspect this will require something different.”

“I can’t lie, a part of me thinks there’s no way you’ll find someone. But even if not, thank you.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I enjoy doing it. And when I saw that email, well. Who can pass up the woman bold enough to put dick size in her perfect match criteria?”