Imperia Encanto, the oldest daughter of Prince Charming and Cinderella, can’t stop the girls at her exclusive private school from picking on her sister Grace. In her home Kingdom, Princess Imperia merely frowns to make everyone do her bidding. But in Beverly Hills, no one believes in fairy tales.
Too young to have magic, unable to charm like her father does, Imperia relies on something strictly American—her fists. But the punch heard round Los Angeles only makes matters worse. Imperia must make things right—even if she doesn’t want to.
“Standing Up For Grace,” the first Imperia Encanto adventure, showcases the difference between our world and the fairy tale world. The adventure stands alone, but fans of Kristine Grayson’s novel, Wickedly Charming, will note that this story takes place while the divorced Prince Charming falls in love—illustrating the difference between what kids tell their parents and what actually happens. Much like the difference between the fairy tale and the story behind it.
“Standing Up for Grace” by bestselling author Kristine Grayson is free on this website for one week only. The story’s also available as an ebook on Amazon, Kobo, iBooks, Barnes & Noble, and from other online retailers.
Standing Up for Grace
An Imperia Encanto Adventure
Kristine Grayson
ONE
Here, in the Greater World, the kids think that fairy tales are all hearts and flowers and unicorns and pink ponies. Everything has gold glitter and with the wave of a wand, every wish comes true. The Greater World includes LaLa Land, a place that prides itself on making up all these lies.
Until she actually moved here, Imperia Encanto thought LaLa Land—Los Angeles—was this wonderful mecca. But now that she lives here, she’s been discovering the truth. Los Angeles isn’t a mecca—at least not the mecca she imagined from the books she read back in the Kingdom.
Los Angeles is hot. It’s in the desert. It does have some lovely flowering plants, but the sunlight is harsh. And the people have really, really rough edges.
No wonder they want to believe in fairy tales.
Too bad the fairy tales are all lies.
Imperia Encanto wants to tell those kids about all the lies, but her dad won’t let her. Her dad is one of the Princes Charming. Out here, they call him Cinderella’s Prince Charming, but he calls himself Dave Encanto. That last name thing took a while to get used to, but not as much as the way people think about Imperia’s other life, calling it a fairy tale, like that’s a good thing.
In a sideways way that fairy tale thing is how Imperia ended up in the principal’s office. Imperia is nursing a sore hand, and hoping her dad won’t be upset at her when she gets home. Dad doesn’t scream or yell. He frowns.
And when a man whose greatest magical ability is charm frowns, you know you’ve done something bad.
Imperia does not have the ability to charm. Or, at least, she doesn’t have much of it. If she had it, she wouldn’t have had to punch Skylar Kennedy Campbell to get her to leave Imperia’s little sister Grace alone. But Imperia couldn’t stop Skylar with talk, so Imperia had to resort to violence.
And Daddy is going to hate that, especially since he thinks Imperia has charm and just refuses to use it.
Everyone in her father’s side of the family is supposed to have some charm. That’s just the way things work in the Kingdoms.
There are many Kingdoms, and they overlap with the Greater World which, Daddy says, is the real world, although Imperia isn’t so sure. Imperia was born in the Kingdom—the Third Kingdom, to be precise—and it always seemed pretty real to her, especially when Mom took her and Grace and dumped them on the castle steps like so much flour.
Your granddad will know what to do with you, Mom said, with that flat look in her eyes. Mom had that flat look for weeks before she dumped the girls. It was like Mom didn’t care about anything except this toothy guy she met in a pub. But that was weird, even for Mom. Because Mom did care about stuff. It was just usually stuff that no one else in the family cared about.
Fortunately, Mom didn’t say any of this stuff to Grace. Just to Imperia. Because Grace wouldn’t’ve been able to deal with it.
Grace is four years younger than Imperia, but Grace at eight is a lot younger than Imperia ever was at eight. Maybe that’s because Imperia had to deal not just with Mom, but with Grandmother as well—not Grandmama Lavinia (she loves Grandmama Lavinia, Mom’s stepmom) but Dad’s mother, the Queen, who is Very Proper. But it must be said in Grandmother’s favor that she did cry when she found out that Daddy was bringing the girls to the Greater World, because Grandmother cannot easily come here. Grandfather hates it here, even though he’s never left the Kingdom.
He thinks that Daddy is running away from his responsibilities. Daddy says he has no responsibilities except waiting for Grandfather to die.
Imperia wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation—although it wasn’t a conversation, it was a fight, and they had it just outside the throne room, which she had been exploring because there was nothing better to do, and besides, one day All This Would Be Hers, or so her grandmother told her in a whisper, as if that excited Grandmother a lot more than it excited anyone else.
The problem with the Kingdom, according to both her grandmothers, is that women get no respect there. In fact, Grandfather wouldn’t let Daddy fight the divorce with Mom even though Daddy wanted to, because Grandfather didn’t believe in fighting over girls (Imperia wasn’t supposed to have heard that either, but she did, and she didn’t tell anybody, not even Grace. Especially not Grace. Grace would’ve cried. Imperia never ever ever cries. Crying is for babies). So Daddy had to do what Grandfather said because, even though there are courts in the Kingdom, Grandfather is the Ultimate Authority, and he can overrule anyone.
Daddy says giving up the girls broke his heart. He said that in the fight Imperia wasn’t supposed to hear. Then Daddy said, You make it sound like I shouldn’t even love my daughters to Grandfather, and Grandfather said, You can love whomever you want, but you still have to follow the rules, and the rules say that the Kingdom goes to the male heir. And Daddy said, Unless there is no male heir, and after me, there isn’t. My daughters deserve to rule. And Grandfather said, That Greater World has corrupted you more than you know.
Which is why Imperia thought the Greater World would be better. She thought it would be hearts and flowers and unicorns and pink ponies and wands with gold glitter. But it isn’t.
Some things are better here. There’s no Grandfather for one thing, and Daddy’s around all the time, and he loves being a Daddy, even if he’s scared he’s doing it wrong. And the weather isn’t bad, it’s just different, all that sunshine and no forests and lots and lots of buildings.
Imperia loves Daddy’s new house, which isn’t a castle at all, but something called a Tudor, and you can walk from one side of it to the other in less than five minutes, and she loves the bookstore that Daddy is building, and she thought she’d love school.
She really thought she’d love school.
But she was wrong.
TWO
School is Warren Excellence Academy of Beverly Hills. Warren Excellence Academy of Beverly Hills is the place to send your children to school, or, at least, that’s what its website says. The website doesn’t give an address or even list staff, although it does mention the school’s founder, Ansible Warren, of the Los Angeles Warrens—an old, old LA family (that goes back more than 100 years, which is younger than Daddy is, but is old for the non-magical, at least that’s what Imperia has learned). Ansible Warren believed in Education, and more importantly, apparently, Education Without RiffRaff—at least that’s what the spoof website says.
The spoof website also has a tab for tuition, which the real website does not. The spoof website’s tuition page says simply, If You Need to Ask About Tuition, You Cannot Afford Excellence.
Which makes Imperia a little uncomfortable. She has learned in the short time she’s been visiting the Greater World that royalty here isn’t hereditary (although she hears there are a few places in the Greater World where it is), but is based on how much money someone has.
Fortunately, Daddy has lots and lots of money because gold is really valuable here, and the one thing the Kingdom has a lot of is gold. So Imperia is royalty in both places, and she thought that would get her an advantage in school, but she was wrong.
Seems she’s missing one other thing that makes for royalty in Southern California. Fame.
Everyone has heard of Prince Charming. No one, it seems, has heard of his oldest daughter Imperia. Apparently, no one has heard of any part of the so-called Cinderella story after the “And They Shall Live Happily Ever After” was recited at her parents’ wedding. Apparently, no one here knows that happily ever after doesn’t always work for the folk who inspired fairy tales or that her parents were the biggest mismatch of their generation or that her parents finally had no other choice except to get divorced.
Anyway, Imperia couldn’t wait to go to Warren Academy, and then she did, and it was awful because on the first day, the very first day, the girls there made Grace cry.
And because Grace has cried every day since, Imperia is in the principal’s office, with her hand bandaged, because she had to visit the school nurse before ending up here, and she has discovered that Greater World nurses don’t have magic wands, they have antibiotics and bandages and they say things like “It’ll take some time to heal” and “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything” like they can’t fix anything at all.
The principal’s office has wood paneling and a fireplace even though Imperia’s pretty sure that’s for show, since they’re in Los Angeles (pardon: they’re in Beverly Hills. Los Angeles is a different town—a poorer town) and Los Angeles (Beverly Hills) is really hot and Imperia can’t imagine ever using the fireplace.
There’s a receptionist in this front room, and a beautiful carved door leading to the actual principal’s office, and another door—not as beautiful—with a sign on it for the assistant principal. But Imperia will have to deal with the real principal because Daddy’s been dealing with the real principal.
Daddy’s come in here a couple of times to complain about the way that Grace is being treated, and he’s done everything, including threatening to take the girls elsewhere, although no one really knows where elsewhere is. Finally, he talked to a friend of his who has a lot of kids and that friend said that maybe the girls were picking on Grace because they were too scared to pick on Imperia and Imperia should just stop them the next time they picked on Grace.
Imperia and Grace were both raised to fight their own battles, so Imperia standing up for Grace was a pretty revolutionary idea. Or at least, to Daddy it seems revolutionary because he doesn’t know about all the things that Imperia does behind the scenes for Grace, how Imperia protects her and makes sure she doesn’t hear anything, and makes sure she has a good book to read and a quiet place to be. Imperia always stands up for Grace, but usually not against bullies, because in the Kingdom, no one bullies the Prince’s daughters, even if they don’t like the Prince.
Here, though, here is different, and no one seems to care who they all are, not that Imperia can tell them, because everyone here thinks fairy tales are make-believe. So Imperia can’t say, I’m next in line to the throne, and expect it to mean anything, and she can’t threaten them with her grandfather’s Ultimate Authority, and her glares don’t seem to be working either.
She has no real tricks any more and she tried to tell Daddy that, but he didn’t understand. Daddy’s a pacifist, and he’s probably not going to like the way that Imperia defended Grace—Daddy’s going to hate the idea of fists—and Imperia doesn’t want the principal to say anything. Imperia’s been sitting on the expensive leather chair next to the reception desk, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her face against her knees, wondering how she’s going to manipulate this conversation.
After all, Imperia doesn’t have charm and she’s too young to have magic (Girls don’t come into their magic until they’re too old to have children), and so she’s just going to have to wing it. And time has proven that Imperia isn’t good at winging things.
“Miss Encanto,” the receptionist says, putting a hand on the little thing that looks like an earbud jutting out of her ear. “Principal Daley will see you now.”
Imperia takes a deep breath but through her nose, a trick she learned a long time ago. If she takes it through her nose, no one knows she’s trying to calm nerves. Grandmother taught her that and a few other tricks, all designed to show how strong she is even when she’s not feeling strong at all.
Then Imperia puts her feet down decisively and stands up straight, raising her chin just like Grandmother taught her to do. It makes her look regal, or so Grandmother says, and right now, Imperia needs regal.
She doesn’t have anything else to help her. She can’t even rely on clothes to help her (which is Mom’s best way of coping) because she has to wear the stupid school uniform, all black and gray with a white shirt that inevitably get covered with food stains, and a coat over it all that’s really hot, especially at moments like this. She also has to wear knee socks and the most uncomfortable black shoes ever invented.
No one looks good in this outfit which, Daddy says, is the point.
But Imperia is trying. She walks to that ornate door, pulls it open, and steps inside.
The principal’s office smells of lavender and old wood. Normally, Imperia would like those smells, but this moment isn’t normal. She stands with her hands behind her back because she knows better than to sit uninvited. Not that the chairs in here are comfortable. They’re wooden chairs with red leather seats, designed as miniature torture chambers (as Daddy said after he sat in one), but they do match the couch off to one side.
Principal Daley sits behind her desk. She’s a tiny woman with a pile of black hair. She gets to wear whatever she wants, which is usually something silk and expensive. Even her glasses are expensive. Right now, they’re perched on the edge of her nose, a chain hanging from the earpieces on either side of her face. The chain glitters in the overhead light. Principal Daley is reading a piece of paper and doesn’t even look up as Imperia stands there.
“Don’t hover, child,” Principal Daley says, immediately putting Imperia on the defensive.
She’s not hovering. She’s standing, waiting like she was trained to do. But she forgets: No one in the Greater World knows the finer points of etiquette. (If they knew the finer points of etiquette—and they knew who she was—they would all bow their heads as she passed.)
Imperia moves toward the chair slowly because, after all, Principal Daley didn’t tell her to sit, just told her to stop hovering. Imperia’s beginning to figure out how elliptically conversation works in the Greater World, and assumes that a command to stop hovering is also a command to sit down.
So she does. Gingerly.
Principal Daley sets her paper down, takes off her glasses, and lets them fall against her chest. “How is your sister?”
I don’t know, Imperia wants to say. Your goons dragged me off before I could check.
But she knows better. Daddy said to treat Principal Daley the way Imperia would treat Grandfather because Warren Excellence Academy is Principal Daley’s little kingdom. So Imperia knows better than to mouth off.
But she isn’t quite sure how to answer the question, so she falls back on the cliché about honesty and the best policy.
“The last time I saw her, she was standing with her hand over her mouth,” Imperia says.
“Hmm.” Principal Daley’s lips twitch. Imperia wonders if she’s hiding a smile, then decides that’s not possible. Principals and kings don’t smile, at least not involuntarily. “I see you took the matter into your own hands.”
Imperia doesn’t answer that. It’s an incriminating—if true—statement that’s better left alone.
“Your father has been quite angry with us about the way Grace has been treated,” Principal Daley says.
“He’s not the only one,” Imperia blurts, then bites her lower lip.
“He calls it bullying,” Principal Daley says.
“It is bullying,” Imperia says. “They’re calling her names. She cries every day, and you’re not doing anything.”
So much for watching her tongue.
“That’s why you decided to do something on your own.”
Imperia sits tall in the chair, keeps her shoulders back and meets Principal Daley’s gaze. Imperia is not going to admit she’s wrong, because she’s not wrong, no matter what the rules are, no matter what Daddy says about violence. Skylar Kennedy Campbell wasn’t listening to reason. Skylar Kennedy Campbell wasn’t listening at all.
And besides, nothing can compare to the feeling that Imperia had when Skylar Kennedy Campbell toppled backwards, her nose gushing blood all over her white shirt, and her eyes filling with tears.
“You do realize that Skylar’s parents are going to want an apology,” Principal Daley says.
“They’re not going to get one.” Imperia crosses her arms.
“No, I suppose not.” Principal Daley sighs. “So I’ll give you a choice. You can apologize or I can talk with your father.”
“Talk to him,” Imperia says. “He’s the one who told me that I should stand up for Grace. Someone has to and it’s clear this school is not going to.”
Principal Daley’s mouth thins, just like Grandmother’s when she’s trying not to speak her mind. “I can also write you up. In this school you have three warnings before you get expelled. If you get expelled, you will be part of a list sent to other exclusive schools in the area notifying them about problem children.”
“Is a write-up a warning?” Imperia asks.
“Yes,” Principal Daley says.
“Then give me a damn warning,” Imperia says, hearing an echo of her grandfather’s voice in her own. “And if swearing gets me another warning so be it. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. I think you people play favorites here, and because my family is unknown and Skylar’s isn’t, you’re favoring her. My father will understand and he and Grace are the only people I care about.”
The principal’s eyes brighten for just a moment. It’s almost a twinkle. Imperia has the distinct impression that she’s both amusing and impressing the principal, but the principal can’t say anything because she’s afraid of Skylar’s family.
Which makes Imperia even angrier.
“For the record,” Imperia says as she stands up, “I really don’t care if you expel me. I thought school would be wonderful here, but it’s not. It’s all about who you are, not about what you can learn. So expel me. I’d rather be home-schooled anyway. And it would certainly be better for Grace.”
“Hmm.” Principal Daley says, picking up that paper and putting the glasses back on her nose. “Would it be better for Grace? After all, if you get expelled, she won’t have a protector here.”
Imperia straightens. “She’ll leave with me.”
“Ah, but your sister is getting marvelous grades and behaves beautifully, even when faced with difficult circumstances.”
Principal Daley’s twinkle suddenly reveals itself as something evil. She isn’t admiring Imperia. Principal Daley knows she has Imperia beaten.
“If you get expelled, your sister will remain,” Principal Daley says.
Imperia opens her mouth to say, Daddy will take her out of school, and Daddy probably will, but Imperia doesn’t know that for sure, and besides, why continue to argue with Principal Daley? The woman is the king here, and kings always win when they fight on their home turf.
Even if Imperia and Grace leave, especially if they leave, Principal Daley will still think she won.
“Am I excused?” Imperia asks.
“You’re not excused, child, but you may leave,” Principal Daley says.
Imperia stares at her for a moment, but Principal Daley studies the paper in front of her as if Imperia doesn’t exist. Which makes Imperia even angrier, just like it’s supposed to.
Finally, she turns, leaves, and concentrates very, very hard on not slamming that carved door shut. She doesn’t want Principal Daley to know just how mad she really is.
Imperia doesn’t want Principal Daley to know that she’s won.
THREE
At least Grace is better. Imperia finds her in the crowded cafeteria, which is more like a restaurant, with potted plants and more damn wood, as if this stupid school was in some snowy mountainous region instead of one of the hottest places Imperia has ever seen.
The cafeteria smells like hamburgers and pizza, but it has a huge salad bar and a low-fat menu that rivals some of the area’s most exclusive restaurants. A lot of kids are supposed to eat only from the low-fat menu, and there are employees here who actually enforce parental food decrees.
Imperia is glad she isn’t under a parental food decree, but she does think the food in the place could improve. There is no mutton, for example, nor is there any stewed pigeon, both favorites of hers. The game meats are frowned upon—she isn’t supposed to admit that she’s eaten wild boar, apparently—but bland chicken breast is okay.
She thought the food would be better here in the Greater World too, but she was wrong about that as well.
Fortunately she and Grace share a lunch period so Imperia’s been able to defend Grace. Most of the trouble happens at lunch, although this morning’s trouble happened before class even started. Then Imperia spent two hours in the principal’s office which, even she has to admit, hadn’t gone as well as she would have liked.
After leaving the principal’s office, Imperia hurried to the cafeteria only to find Grace sitting calmly at one of the back tables, having a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich, something she’s fallen in love with. Imperia hasn’t found anything to love yet on the menu, but she hasn’t really looked, as busy as she’s been defending Grace.
This lunch period, though, Grace is happily munching away, a closed book beside her. The closed book is odd too (Grace usually reads in crowds) but even odder is that Grace is grinning—at a gaggle of girls who are sitting with her.
Imperia doesn’t recognize any of them.
Her stomach clenches and she wonders what these girls have planned for Grace. Especially since Grace is looking particularly relaxed, and when Grace looks relaxed, she also looks pretty. Normally, everyone agrees that Imperia is the family beauty, much as she resents it since her so-called beauty comes from Mom. (In fact, Imperia looks exactly like Mom did at the same age, minus the ashes and the dirt, of course.)
But Grace looks like a blond version of Dad, all square-jawed and blue-eyed. Grandmother says Grace will grow into her looks, but that’s not a phrase that anyone likes, especially Grace, who wants to have her looks now.
It’s hard to be the duckling in a family of swans, particularly a somewhat chubby duckling with a square jaw and a shy manner. Shy chubby ducklings usually get ignored, which Imperia is beginning to think preferable to this relentless bullying that Grace has endured since they’ve come to the Warren Excellence Academy.
And Imperia is afraid the bullying is going to start again.
Imperia stalks over to the table, her hands already clenched into fists. The bruises on her right hand ache as she does this, but she tries to ignore it all.
Grace looks up as Imperia gets closer and smiles as if she’s really, really happy. Now Imperia is very worried, because she knows how this stuff works: Get the victim to go along, thinking that she’s in the group now, and then say or do something so crushing that it destroys the girl’s spirit.
Imperia wants to say she’s never done anything like that, but of course she can’t. She’s the second in line to the throne, for heaven’s sake. If someone needed crushing—and a few kids did back at the palace—then Imperia found it best to do the crushing herself.
“Grace,” Imperia says with some caution in her voice. All the other girls at the table look up, and Imperia realizes they’re Grace’s age. The girls who’ve been picking on Grace are older.
Some of these girls are a bit portly and a few wear somewhat hideous glasses. One girl has a French manicure—or would if she hadn’t chewed off the tips and the cuticles—and another girl has braids that are coming loose.
“This is my sister Imperia,” Grace says with pride.
The girls murmur and nod and look away. Imperia recognizes their response. They’re in awe of her.
That makes Imperia’s brain hurt. No one has been in awe of her here in the Greater World. No one at all.
She wants to ask, Is everything okay? but she isn’t sure how to do it without embarrassing Grace. So Imperia thinks about another gambit which is How did this happen? but that gambit is as bad as Is everything okay? because if she says it, it’ll sound like Grace doesn’t deserve friends, and of all the people Imperia has ever known, Grace is the one who deserves friends the most.
But Grace knows her, and Grace gets this smug little smile on her face, like she understands Imperia’s struggle.
“They all wanted to meet you,” Grace says. “They’ve never seen anybody deck Skylar before.”
Good, Imperia thinks. Great. I’m a hero to eight-year-olds.
“Somebody probably should’ve decked her a long time ago,” Imperia says.
The little girls giggle, then cover their mouths as if laughing at that sentence is forbidden. Maybe it is. Imperia doesn’t get all of the rules in this place yet.
“Nobody stands up to Skylar,” says one of the little girls. She has glasses so thick that her eyes look like huge on her tiny face. Everything else about her is perfect though, from the knot on her little bowtie to the layered cut of her red hair. “Her Mom is the biggest box office star in the world.”
Imperia frowns. “Her mom? I don’t know a movie star named Campbell.”
“Because that’s not her last name, silly,” one of the other little girls says. She’s a thin thing with a chin so pointed that she looks like one of the drawings in those fairy tale books Daddy doesn’t like.
Imperia doesn’t want to know who this famous mom is because if she knows, she’ll have to hate her, and she doesn’t want to hate any movie star for any reason except a bad movie. Movies are still too new and precious to her to risk on a personal problem.
“I don’t care who her mom is,” Imperia says. “People should be judged for who they are, not for who their parents are.”
All of the little girls stare at her, eyes as huge as the glasses-girl’s. The little girls are quiet, and then Imperia realizes that they aren’t the only ones. Everyone has gotten quiet. There isn’t a single conversation in the room, and almost all of the tables are full.
Not even the adults are talking. One of the cafeteria monitors—the people who keep track of the parental food decree—crosses her arms and leans back as if she’s expecting a show.
The hair on the back of Imperia’s neck rises, and she knows without anyone telling her that someone is standing behind her.
She turns around slowly.
Four of Skylar’s friends stand in a half-circle, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back. These girls are big, with something Daddy calls gym-muscles, because he says people here in the Greater World don’t have weapons practice or know how to ride horses or understand the importance of walking everywhere. Daddy says gym muscles are almost like fake muscles because they don’t deliver the way that real muscles (properly worked out) do.
Still, Imperia’s heart starts beating really hard, and she knows she’s in for it. She wonders if the grown-ups will step in to stop the impending fight. Probably not, if Skylar’s Mom is rich and superfamous. The grown-ups will probably wait until the fight gets underway, then take some cell phone pictures to sell to the tabloids (or to Skylar’s mom), and then maybe someone will step in.
Imperia knows all about the tabloids. Principal Daley warned her about them before Imperia even had a day of classes, saying that a kid could get expelled for selling pictures to a tabloid. And since Imperia didn’t (at that moment) know what a tabloid was, she assured the principal that she wouldn’t do anything of the sort.
At the moment, however, tabloids are the least of her worries. Imperia is outnumbered and probably outclassed. And in no way are Grace’s little friends going to help her.
So Imperia has to take the offensive.
She summons the part of her that’s most like her Grandfather, stands as straight as she can, looks down her nose at Skylar’s friends (even though most of them are taller than she is) and says in her most condescending voice, “I see that Skylar couldn’t be bothered with defending herself.”
“She had to go to the hospital, you freak,” says Mikayla Aberdeen. She’s the tallest girl, and pretty athletic. She wants to play professional basketball, and the gym teacher says she might have a shot if she continues growing.
She’s also the daughter of some super agent, whatever that is, and thinks she’s super important herself because of it.
“The hospital?” Imperia says, impressed despite herself.
She punched Skylar hard—she knows that by how bruised her hand is—but she never thought that punch would do more than hurt Skylar’s pride. “That little tap sent her to the hospital? Really?”
“You broke her nose,” says Rose Browning. Rose is more hanger-on than important, even though one of her two moms is some kind of bigwig lawyer. Rose is too thin—Imperia has caught her puking up her lunch in the bathroom more than once—and Imperia knows she can take her if she has to.
“She’s going to have to have plastic surgery,” Georgia LaCrosti says. Georgia is the one to watch. She’s the one with all the gym muscles and she’s Skylar’s right-hand girl.
“Well, good,” says a voice from behind Imperia. “After all, Barbies should be made of plastic.”
Imperia’s heart is really pounding now. She turns just enough to see who is behind her. She doesn’t know the girl’s name, although she recognizes her. She’s watched this girl from afar, admiring her courage. Her white shirt is one size too big and she leaves it untucked. She rolls her skirt up so that it’s a mini, and her socks down so that they hug her ankles. She has two jackets for her uniform. She’s ripped the sleeves off one jacket and she wears it as much as she can. Sometimes the teachers make her wear the other jacket—the one with sleeves—but even that she’s managed to customize by ripping the school’s logo off the pocket.
“Shut up, Janie, this isn’t your fight,” Mikayal says.
“It isn’t yours either,” this new girl, this Janie, says. “I’ll bet that Skylar told you to do this, told you do something nasty that’ll embarrass the crap out of Empire here, and then put it on YouTube or something.”
Imperia doesn’t want to correct her over the name, because this Janie seems to be on a roll.
“You’re just little Skylar suck-ups,” Janie says. “Which is so stupid, since my grandfather can buy and sell her mom if he wants to—wait! He has bought her, like a half dozen times.”
Janie put her arm through Imperia’s, startling Imperia. She can’t remember the last time anyone who wasn’t family touched her.
“C’mon, Empire,” Janie says. “Let’s have lunch.”
And then she leads Imperia toward the burger side of the cafeteria, the area that Skylar’s friends usually ignore.
“Thanks,” Imperia says. She wants to slide her arm away, but she doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. “You didn’t have to stand up for me, but I’m glad you did.”
Janie grins at her. Imperia’s surprised to see that her teeth aren’t perfect. They have gaps along the bottom. Her haircut looks hand-done.
“Of course, I had to stand up for you,” Janie says. “You punched Skylar. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
Imperia swallows. She knows there’s an ebb and flow here she doesn’t understand. “You seem like the kind of person who does what she wants.”
“Oh, I wish,” Janie says. “I’m already in it with my grandfather. Imagine if I showed up on YouTube punching out Skylar Kennedy Campbell. God, the press would love that.”
“Um.” Imperia winces because she knows she’s about to ask a stupid question, but she does anyway. “Am I supposed to know who your grandfather is?”
She also wants to ask why he can buy and sell people. Imperia thought that was illegal in the Greater World—it certainly is in the Third Kingdom (although not in all the Kingdoms)—but she’s willing to concede she can be wrong about what’s allowed here and what’s not.
“My grandfather owns the biggest studio in Hollywood,” Janie says. “Or at least, he’s the majority shareholder. He used to run it, but now my dad does, not that it matters.”
“Why wouldn’t it matter?” Imperia asks.
“My dad’s on his fifth wife,” Janie says, as if that explains it all.
“So?”
“Jeez,” Janie says, “You are new, aren’t you? My mom was wife number three.”
Imperia is still frowning. She knows she should understand this, but she doesn’t. After all, her parents are the only divorced people she knows personally. And all of her friends in the Kingdom—well, she doesn’t have friends there, but all of the kids her age, the ones she’s allowed to play with, those kids come from intact families, as Grandfather loves to point out.
“God,” Janie says, clearly recognizing Imperia’s silence for what the confusion that it is. “Wife number three means there are two families after mine. I’m not even sure Dad knows what my name is, not that it matters. He sends checks every month, which keep Mom in clothes and clubs and me and my brother in this hellhole.”
“And your grandfather?” Imperia asks, not sure if she should.
“He knows who I am. He makes it his business to know everything about everyone, and he’d kill me if I show up in the press or on YouTube or cussing on my Facebook page. He has minions to keep track of all of that stuff.”
“Sounds like my grandfather,” Imperia says, only she doesn’t add that her grandfather doesn’t even know what Facebook is.
“Your grandfather has a studio?” Janie asks.
“I wish,” Imperia says, not willing to say much more. “Having a studio sounds cool.”
Janie grins. “It can be. But mostly, it’s just—you know, like his job. But it impresses the masses.”
Then she looks over her shoulder at Skylar’s friends who are still clustering as if they can’t believe that Janie took Imperia away from them.
Imperia’s heart starts to pound again. “You don’t think they’re going to go after my sister again, do you?”
“Naw,” Janie says. “Your sister is too easy. You’re the challenge. And with that punch, you made sure they’re going to go after you.”
“Goodie,” Imperia says without enthusiasm. “By the way, my name is actually Imperia.”
“Imperia Encanto, I know,” Janie says. “But I like Empire better. It’s a statement.”
“I don’t need to make a statement,” Imperia says.
“That’s probably true,” Janie says, clapping her on the back and propelling her toward the food. “Your fists were pretty damn eloquent.”
“My fists are pretty damn sore,” Imperia says.
“Small price to pay for breaking Skylar Campbell’s nose,” Janie says. “Too bad we didn’t get a video of that. That would’ve been epic.”
“I prefer to work in secret,” Imperia says.
Janie laughs. “Well, you failed at that part. But who cares? There’s a new Queen in town. Long live Empire Encanto.”
A shiver runs through Imperia. Is her royal blood that obvious? Or is Janie just making some kind of joke?
This time, Imperia doesn’t ask. Instead, she steps up to the counter, orders a cheeseburger, and hopes the conversation goes a whole new way.
FOUR
Not only did the conversation go a whole new way, but so did the day. She didn’t have to keep as close an eye on Grace. Skylar’s friends just glared at Imperia for the rest of the day but didn’t approach her, and Janie promised lunch again tomorrow.
None of that, though, cheered Imperia up because she doesn’t want Dad to know about the punch heard ‘round Beverly Hills.
Nor does she want Dad to know about her bruised hand or the confrontation in the cafeteria or the warning(s) she got from Principal Daley. The hand is the biggest problem, because either she wears the bandage which will guarantee that Daddy will ask, or she leaves the hand unbandaged, and then he can see the bruises on her knuckles.
Finally, just before the day ends, she borrows (well, steals, really) some fake tan stuff from one of the girls in the bathroom. She takes the tan stuff out of the girl’s gigandous purse as she heads into a stall, and then replaces the tan stuff as the girl leaves. By then Imperia’s hands are darker than the rest of her, but not that noticeable.
And if Daddy asks about it, she’ll show him the tan spray on her left hand, not her evil right hook.
She decides not to ask Grace to keep quiet, because if she asks Grace, then Grace will concentrate real hard on not saying anything, and will eventually blow it because she’s thinking about it rather than thinking about other stuff.
So after the last bell, they hurry out to the parking area, where Dad’s waiting in his silver Mercedes. At first, Imperia loved it that Daddy came to get them from school, but now she hates it.
All the other kids get picked up by their parents’ chauffeurs or their au pairs or someone who works in the house, not by the parents themselves. Because, Imperia has learned, if the parents show up that means the parents have nothing better to do, and if they have nothing better to do, then they’re not important.
At least Daddy is on the phone as they leave school. Every real parent who shows up is always on the phone, because that shows how important they are too. Daddy has been talking on the phone a lot lately, and actually smiling again, which he didn’t do when he learned that Mom just dumped Imperia and Grace with his parents.
Grace runs to the car. She’s smiling, which is a first as she comes out of school, and Imperia has to hurry to catch up to her.
Daddy folds his phone closed, gets out of the car, and lets Grace hug him. He looks over her shoulder at Imperia, silently asking her what’s changed.
She smiles too, and says, “Your idea worked. They won’t pick on Grace any more.”
Daddy opens his mouth to ask what happens, when Grace leans back and says, “Imperia impressed all the girls in my class, and they like me now, and we had lunch together and everything.”
And then she starts to chatter about her new little friends. Daddy puts his hand on Grace’s shoulder, leading her to the back seat where she’s safer (at least, that’s what all the experts say) and help her adjust her little book bag.
He looks very suburban Dad-like, with his black and silver hair and his laugh lines and his glasses. He doesn’t look like that Disney prince much—or maybe he looks like an older version, but not as old as Grandfather, who just looks scary even with the same square jaw and blue eyes.
“So it worked,” Daddy says as Imperia gets into the front seat. Grace has taken a breath, but it’s clear she’s not done (thank heavens), so Imperia just nods, and lets Grace dictate the conversation.
Daddy gets behind the wheel and heads home, and he’s smiling a little too, and that’s when Imperia realizes that Daddy’s relieved. This is the first time since school started that Grace has chattered. Up until now, Grace has been really really quiet, even for Grace. Imperia just hadn’t realized how quiet.
“What exactly did you do?” Daddy asks Imperia as they pull into the garage at the house. He hits the garage door remote, which brings the door down kinda like magic, although their housekeeper, Ruthie, explained it as something do with signals and technology and stuff, not that Imperia understands any of that either.
“I told Skylar to leave Grace alone,” Imperia says, which is true. Imperia did tell her that first thing in the morning, and it didn’t work.
“That was it?” Daddy asks as he shuts off the ignition.
“Actually,” Grace says, “she—”
“I got some help from this girl named Janie,” Imperia says. “She says that Skylar’s mom is some famous actress, but Janie’s grandfather runs the studio so Skylar has to listen to her.”
“That’s who Janie is?” Grace asks. “I knew she was somebody important.”
Imperia sighs silently. Grace is already moving into Hollywood speak, which is probably better than not talking at all.
“So you’ve made a friend too,” Daddy says.
Imperia shrugs, then opens the door. The garage is really clean and smells of exhaust. She heads to the house, hoping she doesn’t get any more questions.
“Janie’s really tough,” Grace says behind her. Grace is clearly talking to Daddy. “But even she wouldn’t take on Skylar without Imperia.”
“That’s good, right?” Daddy asks.
Imperia pulls the door open. The scent of chili wafts over her. Apparently, Ruthie has been cooking.
“That’s really good,” Grace says. “Together, they’re like super tough chicks.”
Imperia goes in the door. The garage door leads to an entry where she’s supposed to hang up her coat, if she ever needed a coat, which she hasn’t so far. The smell of chili makes her stomach growl.
“Super tough chicks,” Daddy says slowly. He’s suddenly right beside Imperia. “Is that hyperbole?”
“Of course it is, Dad,” Imperia says before Grace can answer. “What do you think we’re doing? Kicking butt like those girls in the urban fantasy novels from your store?”
Daddy frowns at her. “You’ve been reading those?”
“A few of them,” Imperia says, working hard to suppress her smile of triumph. Topic of conversation successfully changed.
For the moment, anyway.
FIVE
Imperia counts the entire evening as a win. Daddy doesn’t notice her darkened hands, which means he hasn’t noticed her bruised knuckles, and he gives her The Lecture on reading books that are too old for her, which she can recite in her sleep (and which she’s been ignoring for years) and Grace actually mentioned at dinner that she’s looking forward to school the next day.
Can’t get better than that.
Or so Imperia thinks. Then she goes to school.
Skylar’s there. White tape makes an X across her nose, her eyes are black-and-blue and her face is puffy.
Best of all, she won’t even look at Imperia. All Skylar’s little minions just glare at Imperia whenever she walks by, but they keep their distance.
“I thought she’s having some kind of Barbie surgery,” Imperia says to Janie at lunch. They’ve hooked up for hamburgers again. Grace is sitting with her newfound friends and actually holding court.
“I guess she can’t,” Janie says. “Apparently you can’t have plastic surgery before you stop growing.”
“But she’s all black-and-blue,” Imperia says.
“Well, duh,” Janie says. “You broke her nose. They had to reset it. She’ll have a crooked nose for years. Good job.”
But is it a good job? Imperia wonders that in class after class. She’s a little appalled at the way Skylar looks. So appalled, in fact, that she actually thinks of apologizing, at least for a minute, until she remembers how mean Skylar was to Grace.
Imperia’s keeping an eye on Grace, but mostly, she’s keeping an eye on Skylar’s friends. Because Imperia doesn’t trust them. They’re being too quiet.
Something bad is going to happen: she just knows it.
And of course, something bad does happen. Just not in the way she expects.
SIX
“Imperia!” Daddy says. He has a sound in his voice she’s never heard before. In fact, if she had to guess who was talking, she might’ve said it was Grandfather, not Daddy. She never realized that they had similar voices before.
She’s doing some math homework at the dining room table. She has a desk in her room, but she doesn’t like being alone there. The dining room table is in one of the prettiest rooms in the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the patio and an amazing garden.
Plus, the dining room always smells pretty good after dinner, and the best part of all is that she’s not alone.
She doesn’t really like being alone any more, not after all that weird stuff with Mom. Imperia just doesn’t want to lose sight of Daddy or of Grace.
She likes to think she’s protecting them, even though she kinda knows she’s lying to herself. She’s been lying to herself a lot, especially when it comes to how she feels about things.
“Imperia!” Daddy says again.
“Coming,” she says, and stands up. She puts her pen in the middle of the textbook, and sets her tablet on top of it all. The pen isn’t really a pen, but something that works on the tablet. She has the answer sheet there, and when she finishes, it uploads directly to her math teacher.
See, this stuff is like magic to Imperia, but she doesn’t say that. She just acts like she’s used to all this tech stuff, when really, it freaks her out.
She heads to Daddy’s study, her stomach clenching. Daddy’s study is off the dining room and has the same floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden. The rest of the walls are covered with books, and the shelves go so high that Daddy can’t even reach the books on the top. He has a ladder so he can climb up and get them.
Daddy is all about books, which Mom used to hate (probably still does, but Imperia tries not to think about what Mom likes and dislikes any more). Usually Imperia finds this room really comfortable but right now, she doesn’t want to go in there.
It’s like going into the principal’s office, only scarier. She can’t walk away from Daddy. (She doesn’t want to.)
He’s standing up behind his desk. She hasn’t realized how powerful Daddy can look. He has Greater World power, like the men on TV, with his suit coat draped over the chair, his silk shirt a bit rumpled, and his tie loose around his neck. But he also has Grandfather’s fierceness, which scares Imperia more than anything.
But she’s learned through Grandmother that she should never show her emotions. So she doesn’t. She just straightens up and pretends like there’s nothing wrong.
“I just got off the phone with a man who claims he’s the attorney for the Kennedy Campbell family. You’d know the woman as—”
“I know who they are,” Imperia says. She’s going to work as hard as she can to never know who Skylar’s mother is.
“I suppose you do,” Daddy says dryly. “I take it that his allegation is true then? You broke their daughter’s nose?”
Imperia can’t quite control her lips. They want to smile. She knows it’s wrong, but dang, that moment still feels good. And so does that look Skylar keeps giving her, like Imperia’s going to haul off and hit her all over again.
“She wouldn’t listen to reason,” Imperia says.
“So you hit her.” Daddy’s tone has a bit of wonder in it, like he can’t imagine anyone doing such a thing.
“Actually, I punched her. I made a fist and everything.” Imperia raises her hand to show that fist. It makes her feel powerful all over again.
“Imperia,” Daddy says in his most disapproving tone. “You know we don’t condone violence.”
She has two answers for that, both guaranteed to make Daddy mad. The first—Grandfather does—doesn’t really put her on the side of good. And the second—You’re the one who told me to defend Grace—won’t stop the anti-violence lecture. It’ll just raise the lecture’s volume.
So Imperia raises her chin slightly and says nothing.
“Imperia,” Daddy says, “this lawyer wants us to pay for the girl’s surgery.”
Imperia lets out a small sound despite her best intentions. “It’s plastic surgery, Daddy, and she can’t have it for years.”
“I know,” Daddy says. “The attorney also wants pain and suffering fees, whatever that means. I’m going to have hire an attorney of my own.”
“What about Grace’s pain and suffering?” Imperia asks in spite of her best intentions to keep quiet. Because—jeez—this just pisses her off (pardon her French, whatever that is. [“Pardon my French” is what Janie says whenever she swears]). “Grace was crying every day. Now she’s happy. That’s gotta count for something.”
Daddy softens, just like Imperia knew he would. Mention Grace, mention Grace happy, and Daddy kinda melts. He sees Grace as a kindred spirit and maybe she is. Although Imperia doubts that Grace can ever get as fierce as Daddy is right now.
“This is one of those fights that can go on for years,” Daddy says, but he’s speaking quieter now, as if he’s talking more to himself than to Imperia. Now she can see just how worried he is.
“No, it won’t,” Imperia says. “Just tell that lawyer guy that you have evidence of how mean Skylar really is and how it was only a matter of time before someone gave her a dose of her own medicine.”
“She hits people?” Daddy says, with a little hope in his voice.
“No,” Imperia says. “What she does is worse. She says really bad things about them, and that destroys them and then she makes everyone else act mean to them.”
Daddy glances at the door, and Imperia can tell he’s thinking about Grace and how sad she was. “I don’t know how telling this attorney that Skylar is mean will help.”
“You tell him you have proof that she’s mean, and if they decided to do this legal thingie, you’ll take the proof to the tabloids. Tell him it’ll embarrass the whole family.”
Daddy looks at her as if he’s never seen her before. He frowns just a little. “Do we have this proof?”
“I think my friend Janie does,” Imperia says, “but if she doesn’t, I can get it no problem.”
“How?” Daddy asks.
“I can video Skylar on my phone. It won’t be hard.”
“She’s that mean that often?” Daddy asks.
“She’s horrible,” Imperia says.
Daddy sighs. “Poor thing.”
Which throws Imperia completely. “Poor thing? How can you say that? She nearly destroyed Grace.”
Daddy looks at Imperia. “She had to learn it somewhere, Imp,” he says. “Kids tend to learn that kind of stuff at home.”
It takes Imperia a minute to understand him. “You mean somebody’s doing this to her? At home?”
He nods and sits down. “Probably a parent.”
Or a grandfather, Imperia thinks. But Grandfather never said any of that horrible anti-girl stuff to Imperia’s face. He would just frown at her or command her to leave his presence