Join Queen Mother Marguerite, her companion made Uppsola Pumba, and palace staff for revelations about youth and a lesson on the history of Enlightenment. When the Fearlings invade Tolerance, Abundance sends in troops. Whether Understanding and Forgiveness will join the war effort, your guess is as good as anyone’s.
Princess Princilla wants it all, and she usually gets it. This prompts her stepsisters, non-royals Possessa and Gezealous, to agree upon a pact sealed in blood—whatever it takes to escape the palace and spinsterhood.
“This book was so funny I died laughing.”
~ George Mayer, retired 103-year old diplomat.
ExCerpt
Long ago, on a different plane, subjects of the United States of Consciousness fought their inner demons together, but separate, from banks of river two sides of the Black Snake River, dividing the continent. Subjects on the west bank had been taught to stay away from Fear and Terror—both eastern bank states. One wrong word could send either back on the warpath, a fate everyone wanted to avoid.
On the throne sat Pristine Goldspinner, Queen of Entitlement, regent of the state of Abundance, doing her best to oversee the stability of this delicate imbalance. At her Majesty’s side stood consort Godwyn Bonheur, Prince of Grace, Defender of the Faith. To Godwyn Bonheur, nothing was more important than the happiness of his Queen. To his Queen, Her Majesty, the only thing more important than her pursuit of comfort was her attendance to the affairs of State.
Nanny Needlepinch stuck her nose out over the threshold. “What are you doing here, Sir?”
Consort Godwyn returned to the door. “What are you doing here, Needlepinch?” he asked.
“This is my work domain.”
“Where are the maids?”
“They are off duty. Sir”
Godwyn pushed on the door. “Move your foot, Needlepinch. Let me in.”
“It’s not my foot, Sir.”
“Whatever it is, Needlepinch, move it.”
“It’s a chair, Sir.”
“Move it.”
“Show me your hands.”
“I will not. Move the chair.”
“I take no chances with the princess, Sir. I do not care who you are. If you want to enter my domain, you will show me your hands.”
Godwyn held out his hands. “You are a bossy old broad, Needlepinch.”
“Um-hmm—turn them over.”
“My hands are clean.”
“I will determine that.” Nanny examined his fingernails. “As I suspected—go wash up.”
“Let me in, Needlepinch.”
“Your hands may look clean to you, Sir, but I assure you, they are covered in germs. Go wash up.”
“Enough of this.” Godwyn gave the door one powerful push, and it opened. He walked into the chamber, and saw his Queen, asleep in her canopy bed, gently snoring. “Why is Her Majesty not awake?” he asked.