Aubergine St. Valentine, the Queen of Romance, although Queendom was not a divine birthright in her world and like Alice in Wonderland it took a lot of running to stay in place or get a little bit ahead, faced the same ticking biological clock her former agent faced. If she was the Queen, where were the princes and princesses to come from?

What is the surest way to fill your castle's empty bedrooms? Why you bare your soul and finances (anemic as they might be) to a social worker and the clueless bureaucracy she works for and petition them for aid. How did you best present that the man you married, whose entire possessions fit into several mismatched pieces of luggage, then, had suddenly redefined himself as a real estate mogul and was buying and optioning houses. Had turned your house, your beautiful home, empty though it still might be until your stolen furniture was returned, into a Bed and Breakfast even if that did pay the mortgage. How did you convince the social worker when she arrived, children in tow, and you were headed for the horizon and a month long meet and greet business trip that couldn't be canceled, that it was temporary and you were the upstanding reliable person she was looking for.