What Comes of Attending the Commoners Ball

by Elisabeth Aimee Brown

The man is still considering me. “Does Miss Smith have a first name?” “No,” I blurt. “My parents couldn’t afford one—commoners, you understand.”

“My middle name is Lucas. Did you—did you really name a pig after me?” “Not just any pig,” I assure him. “He’s a woolly hog. They’re quite intelligent.” “Ah.”

I step closer to him and the brass switch. “Can I try it? Please?” “You want to turn the light on?” He sounds faintly confused.

Somehow, the word man sounds even worse than leprosy. I didn’t realize that was possible.

“I’ll have to send her a present. What sorts of things do peasants like, I wonder?” Cheese and vampires, I nearly say, as the ghost of a smile twitches across my face.

“What does this young lady look like?” “She has primarily been described this evening as filthy and wet, Your Majesty.”