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1
Jazz
Adjusting the pink pig’s snout strapped to my nose, I throw a sideways glance at my best friend. “Was this really the only Halloween costume left?”
Rhea’s lips tug into a shit-eating grin. “You flaked on me at the last minute to go shopping, so I guess you’ll never know the answer to that question.”
“I was working. You know I leave for the royal tour next week.” I touch the snout again, pulling the elastic digging into my cheeks as it holds the snout in place. “I’m the youngest journalist on tour, Rhea, and the only one who’s come out openly against monarchy in Nord. I need to be prepared for everything. I’m not expecting Prince Wolfe to be friendly with me when we get on that plane.”
“Yes, Jazzypants, I know. How could I forget that my best friend is the badass known as Jacinthe Crawley? The journalist who takes no prisoners and says exactly what she wants with no fear of retribution.” Rhea reaches over to pinch my bony hip. “The woman who somehow forgets to eat, which is entirely beyond my ability to comprehend.”
I dodge her hand and swat it away. “I eat plenty. Maybe I forget to have lunch once in a while when I’m busy with work.” I stare pointedly at my friend. “Like when I’m preparing for the biggest assignment of my career, for example, and don’t have time to go costume shopping for a party I never even wanted to go to in the first place.”
“Sounds horrible. All the more reason to take an evening off and come out with me. You’ll be gone for three whole months. How will I cope?” My best friend pouts at me in the mirror, putting a hand on her wide hip. No boniness there, only lush, womanly curves.
Rhea’s been by my side since we were college roommates at eighteen, and every Halloween she seems to somehow convince me to dress like an idiot. I turn back to the mirror hanging by my front door, checking how my black, slinky dress looks in the back, then grimacing when I see the way my spine protrudes, every vertebrae clearly visible all the way up to my neck. Maybe Rhea’s right—I need to work less and eat more. I shift my cheap, synthetic wig so it falls in shiny yellow curls halfway down my back. At least that’ll hide the worst of the boniness. Huffing, I scratch my scalp. “This wig is itchy. I don’t think I’m meant to be a blonde.”
“Do you ever stop complaining?” Rhea laughs, adjusting her bra to make sure her generous chest is on full display. Dressed as a sexy version of the Queen of Hearts, Rhea is a total knockout. Her tight leather miniskirt hugs her in all the right places, complemented by the strategically placed playing cards glued to her bodice.
At least I know I’ll be able to follow the trail of male drool to find her if I get lost at this dumb party.
“Ironic that I’m the Queen of Hearts when you’re the one who keeps screaming, ‘Off with their heads.’” Rhea’s eyes twinkle as she meets my gaze. “I saw your article online today. You made the homepage of the Stirling Times website.”
I wave a hand. “The monarchy is an outdated institution, and I’ll never stop talking about how it should be abolished.” Letting my gaze drift from her costume to mine, I frown. “I find it hard to believe there was no sexy Alice costume to match yours.”
“I find it hard to believe you would disrespect Miss Piggy by being so upset about representing her,” Rhea counters. She arches an eyebrow, light twinkling off her glittery red eyeshadow. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find your Kermit tonight.”
I snort, the sound more pig-like than I intended. “Doubtful.”
“With that attitude, it is.” Rhea hooks her arm through mine, laughing. “Come on. No more grumpiness. You’re done working for the day. Leave all your stress at the office, Jazz. It’s Halloween! We’re dressed up, on our way to the wildest party in Nord. You can hook up with a man dressed up like a Smurf and wake up covered in blue body paint, then go back to work on Monday and pretend it never happened. You can live tonight.”
I grumble in response, but a hint of a grin tugs at my lips.
Rhea doesn’t miss the half-smile. She laughs, nudging me with her shoulder. “See? I knew you needed a night out. You can go back to being the serious journalist when you get on that royal jet for the tour. Your boss has been too hard on you lately.”
“He’s just doing his job.”
“He’s treating you like a robot instead of a person. You’ve written more articles about abolishing the monarchy in the past six weeks than any other journalist has in their whole life. I think it’s affecting the way you look at this country. You think it’s all going to fall apart just because our head of state is the Queen.”
“If we were a republic, we could govern ourselves.”
“Ugh, forget I said anything.” Rhea flicks the tip of my pig’s snout. “Tonight, we focus on finding you a man with a very large, thick, throbbing—”
“Rhea!”
My best friend laughs as a car honks outside. “Cab’s here,” she says, tugging my hand toward the door. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“For what?”
“For pulling you away from your computer, for once.”
I let Rhea lead me outside, knowing what she’s actually doing when she’s dragging me to this Halloween party. This weekend is the anniversary of my father’s death, and every year I bury myself in work to forget how much it hurts. Somehow, Rhea always manages to pierce through my shell. This year, it was the promise of a massive Halloween party and weeks—weeks—of pestering me to go with her.
As we step outside, a blast of cold air makes me hug my jacket tighter. I exhale sharply and shuffle to the waiting taxi. The weather has already turned in Nord, and soon the whole kingdom will be covered in snow.
Nord is an arctic country, north of Canada. Winters are long here, but they’re beautiful. There’s something special about the silence of a land smothered in snow for months at a time, the life that thrives in a place as inhospitable as this.
Right now, my existence feels less like thriving and more like clinging on for dear life.
