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Her Majesty The Prince XXV
🕑 Added 2023-10-27 21:06:47 +0000 UTC"Was he able to find her name on the list?"
"He's still looking. I'm sure it's just further down."
"They really ought to find a better way to organize these things."
"I know! I'm sure His Majesty is excited for the rest of the guests behind us to join the party as well."
The socialite hovered by the guard at the entrance to the castle, under the arching stone of the main gate, beckoning her two friends to come closer. But the guard shook his head once more.
"I'm sorry milady, I can't find—"
"We were promised a plus one," she said, putting a finger to her lips as she tilted her head, eyes looking upward, her expression magnified by the dazzling makeup of leafy branches that framed her face. "I distinctly remember the exchange of letters."
"Oh, it's a shame we didn't bring those with us," the second socialite said, pressing the back of a gloved hand against her forehead, careful not to touch her own makeup of spots in constellations of warm greys. "You all are usually so good about this!"
"Exactly, we didn't feel the need!"
Despite already being under many protective layers of armor, the man held up the thick guest list as a shield between himself and the three women before him. For a moment it looked as if he was going to flip down the visor on his metal helmet, but he ultimately chose to leave it up. "Now, I've already told you, there's no—"
The first socialite snapped her fingers. "I think I know what happened." She put a hand on the second socialite's shoulder. "I bet they misspelled your name."
"It is a rare spelling. Much like yours is!"
"I know! Our curse to bear."
The guard sighed, becoming increasingly anxious at the growing line of people waiting to be let in. "I've told you milady—miladies—all I have on the guest list is one entry, 'Natalie & Elizabeth'." He looked from the first socialite to the second, then to the third. "Two people, not three."
"Ah ha, that's what happened!" the second socialite exclaimed, gently putting her hands on the third socialite's shoulders and ushering her forward. "You see, her name is Lise. I'm sure someone at some point—not you, of course—misunderstood that as a nickname for Elizabeth, and just wrote down two people instead of three."
"That's what happened!" the first socialite repeated. "A simple misunderstanding. In your colleague's admirable quest to keep redundancy out of the list, our friend's name was omitted. I'm sure we could beckon one of our good friends to confirm this?" She leaned in close, looking up at him with a half-pleading, half-knowing look. "Sir Frederic, perhaps?"
The guard was silent as he stared at the list in front of him unblinking, as if trying to see through it. He looked up at the three socialites in turn, visibly weighing a number of options in his mind, the muscles of his cheek tensing as he did so. Then, as if banishing a thought from his mind, he shook his head. "Step back. I need to check in with my superior."
The three socialites returned to the front of the line, the first two pursing their lips in a veiled mix of irritation and disappointment. The third, however, looked on impassively. Then she glanced at her friends, held up a hand, and walked right back up to the guard.
"Lieutenant," the armored man called out as he attempted to get the attention of one of the other members of the royal guard on duty, "Lieutenant, we—hm?" He looked down at the third socialite. "Milady, please wait with the others."
But the socialite held her ground. She retrieved a pair of tinted glasses from her dress and put them on with one hand, using the other to move a lock of hair over the side of her face.
The guard furrowed his brow. "What's the meaning of this?"
"Casque, it's me, Glasses," Lou said in a loud whisper. "I took the day off, I'm here with my friends. Just let me have this, okay?"
What felt like an eternity passed by as the guard simply stared at her, his jaw hanging loose. "Glasses?" Casque finally said, lowering the arm he'd been holding up to hail his superior. He pointed to Lou's forehead and cheeks, tracing a circular path in the air. "I didn't recognize you at all, what with the hair and the, uh, the horns... Wow, did you draw those yourself?"
"I had help," Lou whispered self-consciously as she glanced to the side, making sure the socialites were still out of earshot. "Please let me in? I'll bake you a cake later."
Casque blinked, straightening up as he held the guest up once again. "Oh! Uh, yeah, sure thing. Chocolate? I like chocolate." He gave her face another once-over. "The makeup at these banquets is really getting elaborate."
Lou gave him a polite bow as she tucked the loose lock of hair back behind her ear and waved the two socialites over. She tried to hide her satisfaction at seeing the surprised looks on their faces as they approached.
Casque cleared his throat as the three of them were reunited. "On second thought, no need to trouble Sir Frederic over this." He motioned them through. "Apologies for the error, miladies, please go on ahead."
"Thank you," the first socialite said with a curtsy, "we are in your debt!"
"Oh absolutely, we'll be sure to sing the praises of your excellent judgement."
"Yes, thank you!" Lou said before stepping through the door after the others, the three of them briskly making their way down the guarded and guided path leading to the upper hall.
The stairwell finally affording them some relative privacy, the first and second socialite turned to Lou with catlike smiles.
"Imagine running into you here, of all places!" the first socialite said.
"Indeed, hello!" the second added with a wave of her fingers. "So lovely to see you again!"
"It's nice to see you too!" Lou replied with a sheepish smile, her cheeks burning. She'd been nervous about whether or not she could pull off her disguise for the evening, so receiving approval from the people she was emulating meant a lot. "Thank you so much for helping me back there."
"Don't mention it," the first socialite said, dismissing the mere thought with a wave of her gloved hand. "Besides, you're practically family!"
"Oh, absolutely!" her friend added. "We were just discussing how disappointed we were to have missed out on the post-curtain chat after the final show."
"I know! The upper tier was packed like you wouldn't believe. By the time we got down there, everyone had already left!" the first socialite said with an exaggerated pout.
"Though to be fair," the second added with a raised finger, "there were exhausting circumstances that may have made us a bit tardy."
"I think you mean extenuating."
"Oh, that too, I suppose."
A far-off look came over the two socialites for a moment as they both nodded to themselves, a coy smile on their lips and a touch of color on their cheeks, barely visible through their elaborate makeup.
"Which is why we're so happy to see you here!" the first socialite abruptly said with a clap of her hands. "Look at us, sneaking a friend into the castle!"
"So tell us, why not just walk in yourself? An alumna such as yourself shouldn't have any problem getting an invitation. Is someone giving you the cold shoulder?"
"Speaking of cold shoulder, that dress looks amazing on you, dear."
"Oh, I know! And those lenses you're wearing, such a lovely color!"
"Ah, thank you!" Lou said, touching her glasses self-consciously. She had intended to take them off again, but judging from Casque's reaction, the makeup was doing the trick on its own.
"But really, why not just waltz in? We could've done your makeup once we were inside."
Lou took a deep breath and forced herself to think before speaking. "I couldn't, it had to be a surprise. It's really important that, ah... a specific someone doesn't know I'm here tonight."
"Well well well, isn't this a spicy premise! Is it an old flame? An advisor, perhaps?"
"Oh! A member of the royal guard?"
Lou shook her head. "Someone... higher up."
The first socialite rubbed her hands together. "Ohoho... Wait, it's not Sir Frederic, is it? I mean, aside from the whole 'out of commission' rumor, from what I hear he's not exactly the type who—"
The second socialite snapped her fingers. "What if it's that fetching new second-in-command of his that everyone's been talking about?"
She shook her head, then leaned in close. "Higher."
"Higher still?"
"But who's higher in rank than Sir...?"
The socialites gasped in realization. Their smiles grew wider as their eyes lit up in tandem. One put a hand on Lou's shoulder, the other quickly following suit.
"Leave it to us."
"We'll make sure you end up by his side tonight."
"If you're lucky, maybe all night!"
A torrent of whispers later, the upper hall's doors lay open before them.
"Ah, the moonlight banquet!" the first socialite announced as they all walked through the grand entrance. "Here, you can be whoever you want to be: Lise, or Lou, or someone altogether new!"
"But of course you can still call us by our names."
"Oh, uh, of course!" Lou looked from one to the other; from leaves to spots. "Um... I'm sorry, but... which one is which again?"
The two socialites stared back unblinking. Then they joined each other in a loud guffaw.
"Oh, you!" the first socialite said with a flick of her wrist.
"As though you don't even know our names!" the second exclaimed, patting her on the back.
Lou smiled awkwardly as the three of them began to mingle with the crowd. She had to focus on the task at hand, and get a good look at the rest of the room.
Lou had never gotten used to seeing the upper hall so full of people. While the crowd had its share of dignitaries, it seemed tonight's event was primarily for socialites and other upper class people to share drinks, snacks and stories—at least on this side of the room. Tonight, the hall had been separated in two by a velvet rope.
Part of her had hoped she'd be assigned to clean this hall during her first two weeks back here, but sadly it hadn't been in the cards. She'd have to get used to the new layout quickly. "Did they push the royal table back?"
"Oh, it's been that way for ages!" the second socialite answered. "Ever since His Majesty started having monthly banquets, the royal guard cordoned off that whole end, balcony included."
"Used to be you could just walk up with a drink in your hand and hobnob with the highest echelons directly," the first socialite lamented as she motioned to the velvet rope that bisected the hall. "Now you need to sweet-talk your way past another hurdle."
Lou squinted, pulling down her tinted glasses for a moment to get a better look at the far table. The fanciest seats in the hall had been lined up around it, upon which sat three royal advisors on one side and a trio of people in full witch regalia on the other. While two of the witches seemed to be around Lou's age, the third one was a fair bit older and seemed to carry an air of authority. But the highest authority here sat beyond them at the head of the table, in an ornate chair that seemed both bigger and smaller than Lou remembered.
There he was: the Prince, disheveled and brooding, a wine glass in his hand and a barely-touched plate in front of him.
It suddenly hit her that she hadn't seen him here, in this room, since before the coronation. A thousand pictures in her mind failed to live up to the sight itself, or the feelings that came with it. Here they were again, in the space where they had stood together countless times before, now separated by a velvet rope and several armed guards.
"Who are they?" Lou asked as she nodded toward the guests at the far table, her voice barely above a whisper. She had to remained focused.
The first socialite looked over. "Ahh, His Majesty's guests of honor. The silver-haired witch in the tall hat, the one with the fancy robe and the high collar, that's Lady Katerinannora, right?"
"That's right! Oh, I do love witch names, they're so fun to say." The second socialite leaned closer to Lou, pointing discreetly at the two witches flanking the first one. "Those are Lady Nora's daughters—"
The first socialite clicked her tongue. "You chat with her once and you're on a nickname basis? Also, those are her nieces, not her daughters."
The second socialite made a show of shrugging. "Well I can't help if it the witch-mother saw something in me, can I? Maybe I have some magic blood in me!"
"That's just a myth."
"Well, even so... they're not her nieces either. The mentor-apprentice relationship goes beyond mere words when magic is involved. It's a witch thing, you wouldn't understand."
The first socialite narrowed her eyes. "Is that so? What are their names, then, Milady the Expert on Witches?"
"Well, I'll tell you!" The second socialite scratched her chin. "So the one in the sexy dress and the dark hair over one eye, that's... Brandy? Brenna, something-Brenna... Njalbrenna! And, ah, the short one, with the red hair down one side and the tattoos? That's..." She furrowed her brow as her voice got lower. "I want to say Marie? Marie-Belle? No, that's not right..."
The first socialite gave her companion a pat on the back. "I guess we both still have a lot to learn about witches, hmm?"
"Hmph, I suppose you're right. Truce?"
"Truce. Let's get ourselves a drink. Then we can figure out how to get you"—she pointed at Lou—"past the heartthrob at the gates over there."
"I'll, uh... I'll be right here!" Lou said over her shoulder as she looked at the guard in question, the last obstacle remaining between herself and her objective. Standing tall on the spot where the velvet rope parted, they kept one arm rigid at their side, the other holding their halberd up straighter than a tentpole. While most royal guard members did no more than meet the high standards of the office uniform, this one had gone above and beyond, polishing to a sparkling shine the layers of metal plates over leather that barely contained the body underneath.
By the time Lou added up the rest—the soft, spotless features, the billowing ponytail of light brown hair, the blue bycocket hat brimming with medals—it dawned on her just where she knew this particular guard from, and how much they'd changed in just over two short years.
More importantly, if the epaulettes on their armor were to be believed, tonight Soix was the acting captain of the guard. And they were turning to look in her direction.
She quickly turned her back to them, focusing her attention on the large terrace that spilled out of the upper hall onto the roof of the rooms below. Some of the guests had already gathered out there, a few of them shooting glances at the balcony extending out of the cordoned-off part of the hall; perhaps hoping to catch an unobstructed glimpse of the Prince if he happened to wander out to get some fresh air.
Separating the upper hall this way had crossed Lou's mind, years ago, but the idea had been shot down along the way. Perhaps now, an extra layer of safety was finally needed. Or maybe the Prince didn't want his negotiations with the witches to be overheard by just anyone.
She dared to glance back. Soix's attention was elsewhere, thankfully.
Lou breathed a sigh of relief. She doubted they'd be able to tell it was her; she'd gone to much greater lengths to disguise herself this time around. But still, being recognized here would be catastrophic. She knew Soix. There was no way they'd ever agree to sneak her in. She would have to find a different way to gain access.
As she pondered this, a waiter walked up to Soix, who briskly stepped aside to allow entry into the restricted side of the hall. Lou began fussing with her nails, wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a drink or something else to hold that would help her look busy.
Her eyes followed the waiter as he circled around to the witches' side and walked up to Njalbrenna—the apprentice with the hair over one eye and the sexy dress, as the socialites had put it. The dress certainly was something, to be sure: asymmetrical with a stripe of checkerboard fabric over the bodice and a prominent single pearl on the collar, one arm almost completely exposed and the other fully concealed. Or was the limb missing entirely? The tint of Lou's glasses made it just a little too dark to tell.
The witch in question was attempting to eat the thick bite-sized hors-d'oeuvres single-handed with a rather dull fork; a tricky proposition, as the other guests had the benefit of using a knife as well. No sooner had the waiter stepped up with a replacement than Njalbrenna dropped the fork and snatched the chopsticks from his hand, flicking them a couple of times to test them before beginning to eat with a vengeance.
Lou could have sworn she saw something else in the exchange, but it all went by too fast. Perhaps...
Thwap!
The elder witch had produced a thin ornate wooden baton from her sleeve and lightly rapped Njalbrenna on the knuckles with it.
The younger witch flinched, then rolled her eye, pouting like a child caught in the act. She flicked her wrist; down along the chopsticks rolled a silver ring, which the witch had concealed in her palm. She twirled the piece of jewelry around the tip of the pair of utensils a few times, then snapped it up and returned it to the waiter—who was visibly stunned it had come off his finger. Njalbrenna, unrepentant but sulking, scanned the room self-consciously.
Lou couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity with the trio of witches. Had she met them somewhere? She'd heard the words 'witch-mother' before; perhaps there had been someone with that title in the countless meetings where she had stood next to the Prince, head in the clouds, hands on her sword? Lou wouldn't have forgotten a hat quite so tall and pointy, but then again, maybe the elder witch simply hadn't worn it to court. Lady Katerinannora carried herself with the fearsome confidence and indomitable dignity reminiscent of the village grandmothers from Lou's youth. The northern winds had a way of eroding all but the most tenacious.
The third witch still had her head down, her nose almost touching the plate of food she was voraciously devouring. The more Lou looked at her, however, the clearer her identity became. Lady Katerinannora's second apprentice was the witch from the theater balcony, months ago; from the bakery safehouse, years earlier. Her hair and her tattoos had changed, but her robe and mannerisms had not. Besides, it wasn't exactly common for witches to wear magical writing like a second skin.
Lou's gaze wandered back to the other guests. It was then that she realized that Njalbrenna was staring directly at her. May have been for some time, too.
A chill went down Lou's spine as she suddenly felt very exposed. Did the witch have some sort of sixth sense? Or was Lou just sticking out like a sore thumb? A quick glance left and right told her that no one else seemed to have noticed her; just that single witch, whose expression was growing more and more displeased by the second.
"There you are!" the first socialite said as she walked up to Lou, her companion in tow.
"Thank the gods for that gorgeous low-cut number you're wearing," the second socialite said as she handed her a drink. "It sure makes it easy to spot you in a crowd! And the fur stole over the one shoulder? So daring!"
"Oh, uh, thank you?" Lou said as she accepted the drink, a bright golden concoction that smelled of oranges, in a clear glass with sugar around the rim, garnished with a twist of lemon. Lou picked up the fruit peel, getting a better look at the intricately-carved sliver of wood that had held it in the glass. It was a heraldic toothpick, featuring a horned sheep's head; Lou hadn't seen those in years. The Prince had never been too fond of the royal coat of arms, so anything bearing its symbols had been left to languish. Maybe he'd changed his mind recently? Or, more likely, an enterprising member of the staff had decided to improvise some visual flair for the food and drink served tonight. If that was the case, they'd better make sure none of it reached the Prince's table.
The first socialite gently bumped shoulders with Lou to get her attention. "Lucky you, I think one of the witch-mother's apprentices is trying to catch your eye."
"Oho!" the second socialite exclaimed, "charming people at the Prince's table already?"
"Wait, what?" Lou snapped out of her sudden reverie. She looked back up, only to find that Njalbrenna had progressed from mere disapproving looks to emphatic gestures. No matter the regional differences, in these parts there was little ambiguity about vigorously shaking your head. Or holding a finger up to your pursed lips, for that matter. "Oh no, I think she's... angry?"
"Wait, really? How did you manage that?"
"We were only gone for a few minutes!"
"I don't know!" Lou looked back at the socialites and pointed to the Prince's table. "I was just wondering how to get over there, and then I realized that third witch looked familiar, so I—"
The socialites' wide-eyed gasps caused Lou to immediately turn around again. The witch was no longer sitting, instead stomping angrily toward the balcony while pointing an angry finger at Lou, then out at the terrace on the public side of the hall.
"Uhhh... stay here, I'll be right back," Lou said as she hurried outside to where the witch had directed her. Whatever was going on, maybe she still had a chance to deescalate it before drawing any more attention.
"Okay! Gods keep you in their sight!" the first socialite called out.
"Yeah! Break a leg!" the second added.
Lou stepped outside and walked over to the side railing, looking out over the wide gap that separated the public terrace from the Prince's balcony. Both structures were close enough for the people on them to see each other, but much too far for anyone to leap across.
She looked up.
The witch was leaping across.
Lou scrambled back a step or three as the part of the terrace where she'd just been standing was suddenly filled with a swirling cloud of dark fabric, the witch's boots making contact with the stone floor without a sound. Nearby party-goers clapped and cheered at the display of magical acrobatics while the figure in front of Lou dusted herself off, standing up to her full height.
The distance and dim lighting of the upper hall, coupled with the slight tint of her glasses, had previously obscured many details. But now, under the brilliant glow of the full moon, there were no more secrets.
The witch did everything with her right arm, itself bare except for where her asymmetrical dress wrapped around it between shoulder and elbow. She adjusted the slit down the side of her dress and tightened the sash that held her other arm at her waist like a cocoon. The sling, crafted from the same dark green cloth as the rest of the outfit, was hardly noticeable at the base of the garment's multi-layered bodice. She lifted her hand up to her pointed hat, pushing up the edge of its wide brim to reveal a very frustrated and flustered face that Lou found hauntingly familiar, even with half of it camouflaged behind long dark locks. The brightly-glowing green highlights in the witch's hair slowly faded in intensity as she took the Three of Feathers out from between her teeth and poked Lou in the chest with it.
"I told you not to come here!" the witch said, almost spitting out the words. "Can't you read?!"
It took a few moments for Lou's mind to reconcile the person in front of her with the voice that had just spoken those words. "...Sleeves??" she finally muttered incredulously.
"Obviously!" the witch said, dragging Lou over to the corner of the terrace for a bit more privacy. "And keep it down, for gods' sakes! What's wrong with you?"
"What... I just..." Lou blinked repeatedly, looking her friend and former colleague up and down several times.
"You can stop playing around now, alright? You clearly knew it was me."
"I didn't!" Lou loudly whispered, stomping the stone floor with one foot. "I'm just... is this a disguise, or...?"
Sleeves blinked, staring at Lou in sudden confusion. "No. No, you absolutely knew! You were gonna tell your friends over there about me, I saw you!"
Lou looked over toward the party, where the two socialites were still holding down her spot at the velvet rope. One waved; the other gave her a thumbs-up. She turned back to Sleeves. "I was telling them about the other witch! You know, the one from the theater balcony?"
Sleeves's frustration abruptly shifted into disbelief. "You... You were looking at Portals?"
Lou nodded. "I swear. Her hair looked different, so it took me a while to—"
"This is all YOUR fault!" Sleeves said as anger took over once again, holding up Lou's tinted glasses with one hand and turning them over with shaking fingers. "I couldn't see your eyes, so I just assumed... oh Rose-Mère tupping Sainte-Lumière, I could've just stayed put!"
"I mean, I probably would've figured it was you once I made it to the table and I heard your—wait where did you get those?" Lou quickly felt around her face with her free hand, keeping her drink close by. "When did you take them off? How?!"
"Listen, I am very stressed out right now! And you're not helping." Sleeves grudgingly handed Lou back her glasses, letting out a long, drawn-out, exasperated sigh. "You look fantastic in that dress, by the way."
Lou gently took her eyeglasses back, careful not to put her fingers on the lenses. "I, uh… Thank you. I really like it." She wanted to adjust the bit around her chest again, as she’d done many times already that day, but she was running out of hands. "Though it's a little snug in a couple places."
"Yeah, well, just avoid swordfighting in it and you'll be fine."
"Mm," Lou said, suddenly solemn. She looked out over the railing. "I don't do that anymore. I haven't held a blade in years."
"That's fair, I... Hold on, what? You? Not even for a play?"
Lou shook her head, holding her arms up to the moonlight. "I made a vow, the night that intruder got in the castle. I promised myself I'd never spill blood with these hands."
Sleeves looked at her for a moment. Then exhaled in a chuckle. "You knights and your oaths, huh?"
"I'm serious."
"I'm sure, I'm sure! Listen, I respect it. I respect it a lot." Sleeves leaned back against the railing, pondering. "I remember that night. That was the first time I ever saw you angry, wasn't it? You stomped off in the middle of the third or fourth game after I switched the... the... oh. Oh, you were the one who caught him, weren't you."
"...No I wasn't."
Sleeves grinned. "Yes you were."
"No I wasn't!" Lou repeated, unsure why she was putting up a fight about something that had happened so long ago but unable to stop herself.
"Oh, that's great. That's diamond. It explains so much!" Sleeves traced an invisible path in the air with the lemon twist. "That's why Frederic was so cagey about the whole thing, why you suddenly became little miss overachiever, why I had never seen a single member of the guard look more guilty to receive an award."
Lou seethed silently. It took her a moment to realize the garnish was missing from her drink. "Hey."
"Sorry, sorry." Sleeves put the sheep's head toothpick back into Lou's glass, chewing on the lemon peel absent-mindedly, giving the balcony a glance now and then.
"I s'pose Soix made it pretty far while I've been away." Lou looked back toward the velvet rope.
"Bless the Merchants Guild, eh? Their little stunt created two overachievers."
"Mm," Lou said, contemplating the tinted glasses in her hand. She looked up at the colorful highlights in Sleeves's hair, their magical glow having long since faded. She kept her eyes on them as she put the glasses back on.
"Are those working out for you?" Sleeves asked, a little quieter.
"Yes, they are, thank you." Lou leaned back against the railing as well. "I didn't know they made these."
"They don't, not yet," Sleeves said. "A bit experimental still, but my coven has connections. The result of a special order made by the Crown a long, long time ago. Very hush-hush."
"That sounds… expensive. I appreciate the dress, but are you sure this is okay?" Lou asked, looking up at the rest of the castle and its decorations, her gaze lingering on the blue and gold banners set against the full moon sky.
"Sure I'm sure. Consider it..." Sleeves sighed. "Consider it the second half of my apology, yeah? For taking advantage of you at cards that night. A fitting gift for the inheritor of the royal bloodline."
"The what?"
"Oh it must have come up, right?" Sleeves pointed toward the restricted side of the upper hall. "Yeah, he's the Prince and all, but technically you're the one with the royal body."
Lou blinked. "What are you saying?"
Sleeves poked her gently. "You're the last remaining heir, Lou. For however long that matters, until he finishes turning this place into a republic."
Lou could feel her heartrate quicken. "No, no, we talked about this, it was just his excuse for keeping tabs on me! He's got the crown already. Is my body that important?"
Sleeves shrugged. "The crown was someone else's, before it was his. Some people care less about your body than the blood that flows in it."
Said blood was quickly draining from Lou's face. Then and there, she wanted nothing more than to sink right through the stone floor. Her eyes reflexively scanned the crowd, suddenly very aware of how exposed she was; how even the most unassuming partygoers towered over her.
"Hey, relax, alright? You're safe." Sleeves patted her on the shoulder. "Nobody knows, nobody cares. Just sit tight till he finishes tearing up the ritual. Enjoy your drink, work on your next play."
"I... I s'pose." Lou took a sip of her drink to calm her nerves, surprised at how good it tasted for a fancy soirée cocktail. She'd have to ask the socialite what it was called. But as welcome as it was, the taste was no match for the twisting sensation quickly taking hold in the pit of her stomach. "He'll get there, right?"
"Huh? Oh, sure." Sleeves coughed. "I mean, you know. Yeah."
Lou took a deep breath that came out shakier than it went in.
"Hey, don't worry," Sleeves said. "I made the situation out to be scarier than it is in my letter, alright? I was just trying to keep you away from here. He's got this under control, don't go and do something foolish like—"
"You need to get me to his table. You can do that, right?"
"Like that." Sleeves sighed, stealing another glance at the balcony. "Listen, it's... it's complicated."
Lou looked over as well. "Lady Katerinannora... she's the aunt you told me about, right?"
There came a second sigh, just like the first one. But no answer.
A question had been burning at the back of Lou's mind the whole time that she and Sleeves had been talking on the terrace. She looked over to the arm in the sling. "She is going to heal you, right?"
"What do you mean, going to?" Sleeves followed Lou's gaze. "Oh, this? She already did. Frederic got the fancy reassembly treatment, but yours truly? No, I got lucky. I made it out in one piece, which means I get to heal the normal way, like a normal person. There's no justice in this world, I tell you."
"Wait," Lou said, furrowing her brow. "Can't she just, you know, draw some words on it and make it better?"
Sleeves looked Lou eye-to-eyes for a moment, then laughed. "Look at you, you did your research, that's cute! But no. Rejuvenation runes are just for soft tissue injuries, wear and tear, that kind of stuff. This?" Sleeves gave the cocooned arm a couple of light taps, eliciting a faint glow from under the fabric. "We're talking shattered bones. Even magic can't stitch it all back together in an instant. It's fine though, just means I'm stuck using my off hand for a few weeks. Part of the deal."
"She's taking good care of you?" Lou asked, still doubtful.
"What? Of course she is, she's my... Listen, Lou, I'm in good hands, alright? We all are. You don't need to worry." Sleeves blew a stray lock of hair aside. "She even said she'll let me pick my replacement eye. Maybe I'll get one from a cat, I've always wanted to see better in the dark. Or maybe a wolf, eh? We could be twins."
"Mm." Lou looked over to Sleeves's dress again, her eyes focusing on the angled stripe of checkerboard fabric that went up to the neck; on the pearl attached to the collar, right in the spot so commonly used for personal identifiers. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sleeves spotted her—followed her gaze and cut her off before she could get a word in.
"No. Don't even start." They yanked the pearl-tipped pin off their collar with a single motion, pointing at Lou with the pointy bit. "I am not having this conversation with you."
"I was just wondering! If something changed, I wanted to make sure that I, you know, addressed you..." She looked them up and down again, trying not to let her gaze linger too long on their chest.
"Nothing’s changed," Sleeves said, voice dripping with irritation as they tugged at the fabric of their bodice. "You think you're the only one who's good at makeup and costumes? I manage appearances, it's what I do. It's what I've been doing since before I even met the old you. See, this is what you missed out on! I could’ve made Glasses shine any way you wanted, if only you’d asked."
"Mm," Lou said. "Well... you look really good in that."
"Of course I look good in this! I picked it out!" Sleeves pushed themself off the railing and struck a pose on the stone floor of the terrace, to the oohs and aahs of the people in the nearby crowd. "I look damn good in my witch regalia. Everyone else knows it. Everyone else compliments me on it."
They leaned out over the railing, supporting themself on their free arm. "Now obviously, I wish my coming-of-age self had opted for a style with a bit less leg and a lot less gender, but what are you gonna do? You play the hand you're dealt, even when you're the dealer. I should've known I wasn't done figuring everything out, that's on me."
Lou turned around, mimicking their posture on the railing. Some things were beginning to add up, and she couldn't help but poke at the question in her mind. "Sleeves, have you not told her?"
"I love this conversation we're not having! You're really good at following instructions, you know that, Lou?" Sleeves chuckled through clenched teeth. "No wonder Frederic laughed at me from his infirmary bed when I told him about the letter in my little care package. 'I'll just tell Lou not to come here, really scare her off,' I said like a complete and utter buffoon."
Lou could have been insulted, or frustrated, or taken Sleeves's abrasive evasiveness any number of other ways. But in that moment, her heart flooded with care and worry for her friend.
Judging from the look on Sleeves's face, her concern was visible, even under her layers of artistic socialite makeup. The irritation drained from their face; they looked over their shoulder briefly, back toward the balcony. "You have no idea how much she's given me, Lou. The only reason I'm here is because of her. She found me, she raised me, she trained me, and... and I am rapidly running out of goodwill with her. You think she enjoys buying me back in bits and pieces every month? I don't even know why she keeps coming back at this point, and I don't wanna push my luck."
Sleeves turned their attention back to the horizon. "So until I find the right words, I'm gonna take my lumps, alright? I'm okay with this. It's just part of the deal. No matter which way I'm feeling, when she visits, she gets to have dinner with her favorite..."
They trailed off again. Flicked the pin in the air, and then caught it as it fell.
"Anyway. The rest of the time, I decide. That's the important part. It's like they say around here, you know? When you work at the castle, you get to be whoever you want."
Lou looked out into the night sky alongside them. Things clicked into place in her mind; not the ones she'd expected, but ones that suddenly made a lot of sense. "Your castle."
"My castle," Sleeves said quietly.
Somewhere in the crowd behind them, a conversation rose to a crescendo as people began to laugh and clink glasses. The other guests on the terrace had evidently had their fill of seeing a witch among them, giving Lou and Sleeves a respectable berth as the party carried on away from them.
"Alright, convince me. What are you bringing to the table?" Sleeves asked in an uncharacteristic monotone.
"I love him," Lou said without hesitation, a bittersweet smile spreading across her face as she held back an unexpected rush of emotion.
Three little words, so powerful once spoken aloud; so deceptively easy to say when someone didn't stop you halfway through.
"I'll find a way to help him, however I can," Lou continued. "By his side, or from afar. I will move mountains, if that's what it takes."
Sleeves examined her face for a long moment. "You would, wouldn't you. Lou, you're sure you want to be here? After everything he did?"
"He's in pain," Lou replied. "I could see it at the theater and I could see it in your letter. I don't know if I can heal him, but... you have to let me try." She gripped the railing with her free hand. "Besides," she added quietly, "I'm not doing this just for him. Not anymore."
"Hmm." Sleeves let out a long, pensive sigh. "What are the odds you'll just give up if I say no? Zero? Less than that?" They backed away from the terrace railing and reached for the collar of their dress, sticking the pearl pin back into its spot in one decisive motion. "C'mon. Dinner's almost over. The real negotiations are gonna start any minute."
Lou took a step forward, her heart beginning to race. She didn't even want to risk asking for confirmation. "Thank you," she said with a steely resolve and a decisive nod.
"Don't thank me until we're past the velvet rope," Sleeves said, doing some quick limbering exercises with their free arm.
"I can manage." As the two of them walked back into the castle proper, Lou’s eyes found Soix—who was just now being accosted by two very chatty party-goers. "And I've got help."
"And what about this shining little number? Was it for bravery as well?" the first socialite asked, pointing to the next medal on Soix's bycocket hat.
"Oh! I bet you've had plenty of close calls in your line of work!" her friend added, giving Lou a conspiratorial glance.
"Nothing so heroic I'm afraid, milady," Soix humbly answered, perfect teeth sparkling as they reflected one of the myriad flames and witchsilver lights that surrounded the banquet hall. The acting captain of the guard turned the hat over in their hand. "Ah, this one's more recent, innit? From that night one of the former regional lords paid an impromptu visit..."
"She's with me," the witch said, walking up to the velvet rope, making sure to stay between Lou and the gatekeeper.
"Of course, enjoy the rest of your evening." Soix stepped aside to let the returning witch pass through, eyes not straying from the hat in their hand. They gave the pair an absent nod as they went through the gap in the velvet rope. "Milady. Ma'am."
"There, you're in," Sleeves said a few steps later, their demeanor shifting somewhat on the way to the Prince's table; their hand flipping and turning a small metal disc that hadn't been there a moment before. "Please don't embarrass me."
Lou's stance changed as well, days of quiet rehearsal finally coming to a head. She folded up her glasses and tucked them away, trusting the makeup on her face to do its job. The grip on her drink loosened as she held it to the side, putting her other hand on her hip and letting her steady steps give way to a sashay. Then a question occurred to her, moments before it was too late to ask it. "What should I call you?"
Sleeves adjusted their hat. "No castle nicknames around her." There was a pause. A breath, a sigh. Then a rare, soft smile. "Brenna's fine. Or Bren. Whichever."
Lou returned the smile. Then Bren gave her a pat on the shoulder and a gentle push and off they went their separate ways. Lou approached the table from the left, watching her former colleague go around the right and take their seat next to Lady Katerinannora. The witch-mother seemed unusually pleased at her apprentice's return.
"You're back," the elder witch said with a sidelong glance before focusing her full attention on Lou. "And you made a friend! Good, good. Enjoying the festivities, dear?"
Lou raised her glass with a toothy smile, pushing her accent as far into urban territory as it could possibly go. "Oh, it's been a pure delight so far, m'lady!"
Lady Katerinannora toasted with Lou before returning her glass to the table. "See? Hobnobbing isn't too bad, now is it?"
"Mm," Bren answered, picking up the chopsticks to tackle what was left of the hors-d'oeuvres on the plate. Portals, meanwhile, had just finished spooning a large helping of a sticky rice dish onto her plate. A single bite was more than enough, however; she pushed it back toward the middle of the table, her face scrunched up in disgust.
"Maruszabelle," the witch-mother said sternly, "finish your food."
"S'bad." The younger witch shook her head. From this close up, with eyes unobstructed, it was unmistakably the witch Lou had encountered twice before. Except now the right side of her head was strangely bare, both of hair and markings. Perhaps the runes inscribed into her skin hadn't been as permanent as Lou had surmised.
"You will watch your manners, young lady," the elder witch said, tapping her thin baton against the table. "This is one of the foremost kitchens in the nation. I'd visit more often, if it weren't so politically ruinous."
"She's right," the Prince said.
Up to that point, Lou hadn't dared to look at him. She had found a gap to lean on between the advisors on her side of the table, all of whom had decided to ignore her just as much as she had been ignoring them.
But there he was, a mere few steps from her once again. He was seated like a weary warrior, his left arm up and around the back of his chair, the other hand loosely holding an empty wine glass. Lou had just noticed the open cask of wine sitting on the ground next to him when the Prince plunged his hand into it, filling his glass to the brim before bringing it to his mouth. He put it down on the table in front of him, half-empty, and wiped his hand on a towel that a waiter had just hurriedly replaced.
The Prince was a mess. He hadn't shaved for days, hadn't had his hair tended to for even longer. His eyes had a hard time focusing, but when they did, his glare still burned.
"I had the best chef between crown and city. A miracle worker who brought tastes back from the dead. A perfect fit for the royal table." The Prince drained his glass. "And now he's gone. I've held back monsters twice my size. Couldn't hold on to one man half my height."
The table was silent.
"No one in the kitchen knows their roquefort. That risotto's a mess of flavors fighting among themselves. It's an embarrassment. This table's full of them." He dipped his glass in the wine cask as his advisors gasped. "Except the desserts," he added, pointing to the small three-tiered stack of pastries surrounded by various plates of sweets and cakes. "Take your fill. Let's get down to business already."
"Very well," Lady Katerinannora said. "As we discussed, Njalbrenna is not to use her arm for a month. Moreover, I shall need her home for a week to make sure the new eye takes. Same for Maruszabelle; her burns have healed but the skin needs time. I'll have to send her out for a re-stitching of her runes once she's ready."
"V'got diff'rent ones planned this time," the younger witch said as she heaped pastries onto a new plate. "Better'n what I got b'fore."
The Prince's advisors passed around one of the small dessert platters. The one next to Lou hesitated, then lifted it up to her, his eyes focused on her—or rather, a specific part of her dress. She picked one of the tiny fruit tarts with her free hand and nodded politely. "Much appreciated," she said as the platter continued on its way down the table. The advisor's attention lingered on her for a long moment before finally returning to the conversation at hand.
Gods, why did it have to be him? He and Lou had worked together countless times; he was the pompous advisor with the good memory for names and dates. Three years ago she was staring him down during strategy discussions, three days ago she was staring down at the floor of his quarters with a broom, and now he was the one—
"What about Frederic?" the Prince grunted before taking another drink.
"Your man will be returned to you by morning. There is, however, the matter of his arm."
"Intact?" the Prince asked, not even looking at her.
"More than intact. But the treatment required was in excess of what we had discussed. As the moon watches over us, let us bargain." She steepled her fingers. "One year."
"Seven months."
"Shall I take the arm back, then?" the elder witch said, raising an eyebrow. "One year is generous, considering it's his dominant arm. Or do you not care about the person it's attached to?"
"He's my best man," the Prince said, his voice like gravel. He swirled what was left of the wine in his glass, not taking his eyes off it. "Two moons ago. Crushed shoulder on my former shield. You said the arm may as well have been a total loss. Quoted me six months."
Lady Katerinannora sighed. "A heavily discounted price, considering you practically left your handprint on the poor boy's shoulder. I told you as such then, or do you not remember?"
"Eleven moons ago," the Prince continued, his tone reaching even lower depths. "Quote, 'a discount is possible, but as we are bartering the life of my flesh and blood, a single month is all I'll ever take off the price', end quote." He didn't even finish his wine before reaching into the cask again. "Therefore, undiscounted full price, seven months for an arm. On top of a price I had already paid." He took a long sip before setting the wine glass down again and wiping his hand on a fresh towel. "One of us is being generous."
The elder witch took a deep breath, her eyes as narrow as they would go. "The moon as our witness, the bargain is concluded," she finally said, shaking her head. "All that wine and that edge of yours hasn't gone dull, has it?" She motioned to Lou with a gloved hand. "Have a seat, will you dear? You'll make Brenna nervous."
Bren tried to say something in protest, but instead almost choked on a macaron freshly pilfered from the central tray.
"A seat at the royal table? What an honor!" Lou said with a nasal twang as she stepped over to the one remaining seat at the table: next to the Prince himself. She had been hesitant to sit down for this very reason, but now there was no—
"Hup!"
The dizziness only lasted a second, but her heart kept on beating at its frantic new pace once Lou realized what had happened.
The Prince had pulled her onto his lap.
"Alright. Now the city," he said, carrying on as usual. "The monster on the loose." He shifted his glass to his other hand, tapping it against the table. Within moments, someone had moved the open cask of wine to the other side, within arm's reach.
Lou sat there, frozen in place. Her glass empty, its contents on the floor. Her makeup holding strong, masking the blood rushing to her face. His hand on her hip, keeping her snugly in place. Not uncomfortably so, but that was the last thing on her mind.
"We've discussed your 'mysterious haunting' already," the elder witch said. "Are you starting to forget? Perhaps we should adjourn after all."
Lou's new vantage point gave her a much better view of the advisors, and vice-versa. She tried not to look. Gods, why were they even here? She had worked with them for years; they were always shadowing the Prince, but never to events like this one. Normally it was just him and her, or... Frederic.
Ahh, Lou thought. It all made sense now. They weren't there to fulfill a need; they were there to fill a void.
Lou tried to take a sip of her drink, having momentarily forgotten that her glass was now empty. It didn't stay that way for long, however, as the Prince tipped his glass over hers, filling it with wine.
"Whoa!" Lou exclaimed as she maneuvered her glass to narrowly avoid a spill. "Ahaha, and cheers to you, Your Majesty!"
"You... didn't solve the problem," the Prince said to the elder witch. "I still can't see it. Still can't cut it. Still can't stop it from eating my city."
Lou tried to focus on the conversation instead of the hand on her thigh, hard as stone and hot as fire. She brought the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip. It... wasn't bad, for wine.
"It's that foul mist that's making the main thoroughfare of the upper city so dangerous!" The pompous advisor rapped his fist against the table. "Animals attacked, buildings damaged, citizens missing... The mayor needs to do something to maintain order!"
"The mist is a harbinger, an ill omen," chimed in the advisor from the overtemple. "The day's holy light dissipates it, but to banish it completely will require a valiant sacrifice."
"Bah! It's clearly a vengeful phantasm," countered the advisor from the undertemple. "Ye cannot destroy spirits, ye have to make peace with them."
Lady Katerinannora rolled her eyes. "Are you sure you need my help? You seem to have plenty of intelligence on the matter already."
Lou could feel the Prince's grip on her thigh tighten. She took a long sip, trying to think over the cacophony of her heartbeat. This is why she'd come all this way, this was her moment to shine—but something was amiss. Why were the advisors talking like they didn't know the truth?
Had the Prince not told them?
"You know what it is," the Prince told the witch-mother as he refilled his glass. His meandering tone had become grave, the expression on his face even graver. "Do something about it," he added before taking a drink, "or tell me how." He stared down at the table with eyes clouded over.
He didn't know.
Lou sat up slightly straighter. This didn't make any sense. How could he not know? Sleeves's letter had been fairly clear on the matter. Unless it had been a lie to keep Lou away? She shot them a glance.
Bren was staring back. Lips pursed, brow furrowed, shaking their head ever so slightly. Once again, a gesture with little room for ambiguity.
A chill went up her spine. Lou knew something she wasn't supposed to know. Why had Sleeves told her and not the Prince? How did the pieces fit together?
The elder witch stood up and began pacing around the table, her cloak eddying in the air behind her, unfettered by its own weight.
Lou balled her free hand up into a fist, cursing this battlefield of wits she kept finding herself on again and again. Now more than ever, she missed the blessed simplicity of steel against steel. She had never been big on words, unlike—
"Well?!" the Prince bellowed, the frustration clear as day on his face. "You know whass goin' on. Tell me!"
The elder witch let out an infuriating chuckle. "You plucked at the strings of a web generations in the making, my dear, sweet prince. That's what's going on." She continued to pace around the table, the tips of her cloak and robe—it was hard to differentiate between the two—brushing past chairs, tugging at people's sleeves. "Braver souls than you have tried, only to find themselves trapped in it. Stronger resolves than yours have been washed away by the waves they set into motion."
"Don' question my resolve," the Prince countered, his words beginning to blend together.
"I'm questioning your lucidity. I think we're done talking for the night."
The Prince slammed his glass on the table, the wine left in it splashing upward like a fountain. "This body does not get drunk," he growled. "This body does not get hurt. This body does not know defeat."
"The same can't be said for those around it, now can it?" Lady Katerinannora said, leaning in for the length of a few biting words before resuming her walk back to her seat. "Their lives are in your hands. Without them, what do you have?"
"I have the Crown."
"Yes, yes, mana drawn from land and people," the elder witch said with a dismissive wave. "Surely you didn't believe yourself to be the only person who would benefit."
The Prince's eyes bore into her with an unsteady glare. "Until death."
"Oh, you mean our friend from the Reaches!" she said with an emphatic clap of her hands. "I really do have to hand it to him, look how far he's come! I'm sure his ancestors would be proud, if not for all the drained bodies in his wake."
"I'll kill him again," the Prince muttered. "S'many times as it takes."
"It will take more," she replied. "Unless you stem the bleeding, it will always take more."
"ENOUGH!" he said, slamming his glass down onto the table so hard it shattered in his hand. He flicked the shards away, his fingers immaculate, not a single cut on his skin. Within moments, there was a new glass in front of him, along with some fresh towels. "Do, or tell. Name y'r price."
"The price is my coven." Lady Katerinannora stopped at once, her back to him, her hand on Bren's shoulder. "I will not send my flesh and blood to certain death, especially not in this city, especially not for you."
"No," the Prince replied. "There's still six left. I need them."
The elder witch turned her head and shot him a sidelong glance. "More than a mother needs her children?"
Lou's hand gripped her glass tightly.
This was getting out of hand. Negotiations were getting personal. Her window to act was closing fast.
"Nine moons ago," the Prince growled. "You, quote. 'S'always another way.' End quote. Witches stay."
Lady Katerinannora sighed. "Very well, my prince of unimpeachable memory. Layman's terms it is. There is a festering wound at the heart of the ritual you so carelessly tore open. It cannot heal on its own. It will not heal at all, unless it has what it wants, or it grows so large that not even what remains of your precious nation can support it."
"What're... you saying?" he asked, his grip on Lou's thigh beginning to slip.
"I am saying you should find a new city," the elder witch said flatly. "I doubt we'll have much to discuss next full moon, or a place to discuss it the one after."
"M'not running away anymore," he said, reaching for the cask again. There was a wooden, resonating splash. He brought his hand back up to the table, empty, fingers wet with wine. "Monsters... can... be killed," he labored to say, gritting his teeth. "Tell me how."
"No." Lady Katerinannora looked down her nose at him. "This isn't something you can overpower, or outsmart, or talk twelve gullible fools into fixing for you, my prince in name, my prince on paper. Not this time."
The look on the Prince's face spoke volumes. It was one that Lou knew well; she'd seen it so many times, in so many meetings just like this one. There was nothing that the Prince hated more than people talking down to him, making assumptions; thinking him incapable.
No doubt he had thought those days were finally behind him.
"My coven and I are leaving. That's final." The witch-mother leaned forward with a glare so intense her eyes may as well have been glowing... accompanied by the slightest of smiles. "You don't have what it takes to fix this."
Lou had heard enough. The elder witch's expression was one that she also had seen many times: the look of someone too clever for their own good. Now that Lou knew what to look for, it was easy to read between the lines.
"Tell me, then," she said as she learned forward as well, putting her free hand on the Prince's shoulder for support.
In an instant, all eyes were on her.
Everything had become crystal clear. She knew what she had to do; she knew she was possibly the only one who could do it. All she needed to know was how.
"I beg your pardon?" Lady Katerinannora asked.
"Tell me, milady. I'll do it," Lou said with a smile as she raised her glass, fighting to hear her voice above the roar of the blood pounding in her ears. "It'll be my pleasure."
The advisors blanched; Bren stared, wide-eyed; Portals helped herself to the rest of the fruit tarts. The elder witch chuckled in spite of herself.
The Prince turned to Lou, their faces almost touching. His eyes were looking as much past her as at her. He furrowed his brow, mouthing out the syllables; his voice, barely a whisper, reaching only her ears. "...Loulou?"
Lou gave him a gentle smile and ruffled his hair. She put her cocktail glass down on the table, pushing herself off his lap and onto her feet. The Prince's hand clung onto her dress for a moment before letting go, falling limply to hang at his side.
"And why should I tell you?" Lady Katerinannora asked, bemusement turning to amusement.
Lou stepped behind the Prince, just to the side, in the place that had become second nature to her. She stood as tall as she could, her arms joined at her waist, one hand atop the other on the imaginary pommel of a sword she had given up long ago. She looked the witch-mother in the eyes.
"Because I can get you both what you want," Lou said with a serene, unwavering smile. "And I can be pretty convincing."
The elder witch's face went through a shifting series of emotions as she looked from Lou to the Prince and back. Then, a sly smile spread across her face. "Oh ho." She crossed her arms. "Then as the moon watches over us, let us bargain."
Comments
Dominique Allaire
❤ Oh ho! I love love love it all! From the roquefort, the horned sheep toothpick to the bemusement turning to amusement, the imaginary pommel and the incoming bargain!
Danielle Church
"I should've known I wasnt done figuring everything out, that's on me." ...Oh. I'd been feeling a lot of empathy for Sleeves all along, but they took the same path I did, didn't they?
