Annie, the Princess
RESTLESS, Sophie absently twirled the tablecloth with a gloved finger. She sat down, then shot back up—that painting is crooked! She approached it and paused—no, wait, it was perfectly straight after all.
“Please relax, milady,” Martha said.
“I am relaxed,” Sophie replied.
If only she were.
She returned to the table, her fingers finding the tablecloth again. Martha sighed.
Since that day in the meeting room, the Olzon sailors had spread tales of Sophie’s salon wherever their travels led them. At first, their efforts seemed in vain. Reactions were lukewarm at best—many dismissed it as the setup to some sailor’s joke or a laughable novelty. But that all changed when a letter arrived, unexpected and weighty, addressed to the Olzon estate.
It was from a certain foreign dignitary from a distant southern kingdom. They would be visiting the port on business and, in an unusual detour, planned to stop by Sophie’s salon. The letter was cryptic at best—no name, no hint of their reason for visiting, just a proposed time and date scrawled with a surprising air of finality.
Sophie had written back to the sender right away, confirming the appointment.
In anticipation, she had cleaned and organized the room allocated for the salon, transforming it into a haven of curiosities. She scattered it with souvenirs her father and his sailors had brought from every far-flung corner of the world: smooth stones in unexpected colors, bones from unidentifiable creatures, and books penned in indecipherable scripts. Intricate lacework draped over tables, while seashells in every hue glittered in clusters, resting against astonishing nut husks as large as fists and worn wooden masks that, though worn and faded, surely once boasted brilliant colors.
Game pieces and sets carved so finely that they looked like sugared sweets were in a corner with rolls of exotic woven fabrics. Then there were coral fragments straight from the sea, dark glass perfume bottles from distant lands, and quills and glass pens of every shape and size filling every bit of remaining space. For evening visitors, she’d arranged the strangest assortment of lampshades and ancient silver candlesticks.
This mad, mismatched collection of oddities—something straight from the back shelves of a foreign bazaar—seemed at odds with the room’s stately surroundings. Yet, it was exactly what Sophie had envisioned. If she’d so wanted, her father would have gladly transformed the room with the finest furnishings, dressing it in elegance fit for a noble salon. But that wasn’t what Sophie had in mind.
Not for a place meant to be a refuge, a hideaway where those weary and self-conscious could find some small comfort. People had come here, after all—willingly—knocking at the door of a “monster” in hopes she could ease their troubles. The last thing Sophie wanted was a formal, imposing space that might make them hesitate at the threshold.
That cozy-looking kettle, belching steam in that doctor’s office—that was the feeling she aimed to conjure. A space that felt worn, lived-in, comforting, brimming with curiosities to catch the eye and spark questions, even from the shyest of souls.
Afternoon sunlight poured through the windows. On the table where Sophie sat, a vibrant bouquet of tropical flowers stood beside an assortment of Raymond’s finest treats. Each small confection, topped with jewel-like candies gleaming atop golden dough, invited guests to pause, linger, and contemplate which one to try first—a miniature treasure chest of sweets promising a moment’s delight.
Ding, ding, di-ding! The gentle tinkle of a bell sounded. That was Claire. To avoid the need for knocking, Claire stood outside to announce each guest with a soft shake of the bell. This time, though, the chime wavered, cut short—perhaps nerves over this first visit, Sophie mused with a smile.
“Enter,” she called, blushing beneath the wrappings and veil that covered her face. She had thought it fine to meet her guest bare-faced, given her open advertisement as a monster, but Martha had been rather adamantly against it.
“Pardon me,” came a soft, polite voice from the doorway. Then, the door swung open with a plap.
With a plap?
A wet, dark gray—almost green—scaly hand appeared gripping the doorknob.
Plap. Plap. Plap. A crocodile walked in on two legs.
“You’re a crocodile,” Sophie said.
“I am a crocodile,” the crocodile replied.
“You can speak,” Sophie said.
“I always excelled in foreign languages in school,” the crocodile replied.
Despite the bipedalism, despite the gown draped over its body, despite the shiny red ribbon tied around its neck, a crocodile had unmistakably just walked into the room.
“Well met, Miss Sophie Olzon,” it (she?) said, bowing. “My name is Annie Crocodile, of Crocodilia, the Crocodile Kingdom. A pleasure.” It (she?) then tilted her head and gave Sophie a coquettish, sidelong look.
Snapping out of it, Sophie quickly returned a perfect, Martha-approved bow, then came back up. “I’m Sophie Olzon. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Silence. Then suddenly, she whisked the platter of treats off the table. “Martha, these won’t do! Fetch Raymond—get the fresh meat he was going to serve for Father’s dinner tonight! We need it for tea!”
“Please, no need for that.” Annie elegantly raised a stubby, clawed hand. “I happen to be rather partial to baked goods.”
“Oh, I see,” Sophie eased the platter back onto the table, only to reach for the teapot next. “Will tea suffice? Or would you rather prefer, ah…raw blood?”
“Tea will suffice,” Annie said. “I’m quite fond of the blend your father supplies us with. May I sit?”
“Please. Make yourself comfortable—the sofa is wonderfully soft.”
“Then I shall lie down. It’s more comfortable for me to stretch out my body. Would you join me?”
“On the sofa? Won’t I be in the way of your tail?”
“Then you may sit in front of it.”
“Thank you. Might I ask—are you rather partial to people as well?”
“If you mean as a delicacy, alas, no. I haven’t yet had the pleasure.”
“Not even a teeny-tiny, eensy-weensy nibble?”
“No. Not even a teeny-tiny, eensy-weensy nibble.”
With that, woman and crocodile sat side by side on the sofa, an odd but companionable pair.
“Surprised?” Annie asked.
“A bit,” Sophie replied. “I hadn’t expected things to get off to such a scaly—I mean, rocky start.”
“Hah! Indeed.” Annie laughed—the crocodile laughed. Then, they took a quiet moment to enjoy the treats. Annie ate elegantly, her clawed fingers handling each morsel with an almost impossible grace.