Her Majesty The Prince

"Were you able to watch the coronation?"

"No, thank the gods. I had to cancel—luckiest migraine of my life! The undertemple fellow I was seeing had front-row seats. Can you imagine if I'd been there when that... witch-or-whoever attacked?"

"Well I'm glad you're okay. I do wish we had more to go on, though. Have they said anything about what happened? I heard there was a stampede afterwards!"

"You heard right! But no, the Crown is still all tight-lipped about it, even three days later. Her Majesty's doing fine, apparently? I keep hearing the strangest stories about that."

"Haven't you asked that guy you're seeing, from the undertemple? He might have some inside info."

"What? No, like I said, I was seeing him. He's going to be recovering from all the being-stepped-on for the rest of theater season and my tickets are non-refundable."

The two socialites at the next table merrily chatted away over their colorful drinks of infusions and foam in the most unusually-shaped glasses the café would stock. Lou kept to herself, alone with her back to them, drumming her fingers on the table. Frederic had arranged to meet her here, so she kept her attention squarely on the street, scanning for his arrival. She couldn't wait to be home already.

The fact that it was getting late only served to make Lou more antsy. She was also starting to feel bad about taking up a table by herself without ordering anything, which was a new sensation all on its own. The many times she'd come here while escorting the princess, the two of them had always gotten something right away. Today, however, she didn't want to linger any longer than she had to.

Lou idly wondered if she'd get mistakenly recognized, but the odds of that were slim. While the princess had always been very laissez-faire when it came to fashion choices, all the outfits in question had always been quite stylish. Which is not something anyone would say about Lou's current look: a very plain shirt and sturdy trousers to match, with a pair of rugged boots. All safehouses were stocked with clothes that would allow its occupants—especially Her Majesty—to go incognito, but finding pants in her size had been unexpected.

Lou was grateful there had been outfit choices at all. She'd been confined to that apartment to rest as Frederic and the tattooed witch had directed. The same witch whose patchwork job on the princess's coronation dress had fallen apart as promised the moment Lou had taken it off. What a mess.

But at least it would soon be over. Lou finally relented—ordering her usual cup of black coffee—which at least gave her conscience some respite as she waited. She did like this little café on the edge of the upper city, despite how popular it tended to be with the city elite. Hanging out with that particular class of people had never been her forte, despite how often it came up in her line of work. That said, she'd gladly suffer through an all-night upper hall banquet filled to the brim with aristocrats if it meant Her Majesty was there as well.

The wait was getting to be too much for her.

As if on cue, she saw him. Or rather, his silhouette as he walked toward the café with the setting sun at his back. They'd been comrades long enough for Lou to instantly recognize him by his frame and mannerisms alone. She couldn't wait any longer; she leapt to her feet and ran over to meet him.

"Frederic!" she shouted, giving him a big hug.

Ah?

Lou took a giant step back, arms still outstretched, blood rushing to her face. What was that? "I'm... I'm sorry, I don't know what—"

"Sir!" Frederic said, immediately setting down the wooden chest he'd been carrying under his arm. He bent down on one knee and looked closely at Lou, a rarely-seen look of worry on his face. "I'm sorry sir, I came here as fast as I could. Are you all right?"

"Uh... yes, I think?" Lou replied. Was Frederic just going to gloss over the whole hug thing? Also, why was he out of uniform? It was rare to see him in anything other than the standard royal guard outfit, even on the few occasions he did socialize or go out on the town.

But the knight seemed preoccupied by something different altogether. He raised a gloved hand before Lou's chest, near her solar plexus. "May I?"

Lou's eyes went wide. "I... I s'pose so??"

Frederic gently applied pressure on the center of Lou's chest, through her shirt, where the lowest of her ribs met. "Does this hurt?"

She shook her head, wildly confused.

The knight pressed again with his fingers, higher this time, repeating the motion up and down the middle of her ribcage, then once on each flank. With each touch, he repeated his question, and every time her answer was the same.

"How about breathing, sir? Can you take a deep breath? Does it hurt?"

Lou furrowed her brow in baffled frustration. "Frederic, what's this ab—fine, fine." She took a deep breath, then exhaled. Twice, for good measure. "I'm okay, see? No pain. I followed instructions and it healed right up. Can't this wait until we're back at the castle?"

Frederic leaned back, resting one arm on his knee. Before, he'd looked like he had just stared death in the face; now, it was as if a colossal weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He let out a long sigh of relief, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Thank goodness, sir," he finally said, a smile almost peeking through his usual stoic mask. "I don't know what I would have done if... so the witch's apprentice came through, then?"

Lou crossed her arms. "Yes, she did. And she was really rude about it! Ruined Her Majesty's coronation gown, too." She looked down at herself, shifting her hands to her hips. "Thankfully we stock clothes in her size at the safehouse."

"Good, good," Frederic said with a nod. He picked the wooden chest back up and rose to his feet, giving Lou a firm pat on the shoulder. "Let's go and sit, sir."

"No, we're going back to the castle. You can give your report along the way. I've been away from Her Majesty long en—"

Lou stopped mid-step. Frederic's hand was still on her shoulder; his grip now firmer. She glared up at him. "Frederic. What's this about?"

The knight nodded toward the café. "I must insist we talk things things out here, sir. It's a Crown matter." The relief on his face had been short-lived, once again replaced by an impassive mask.

Lou glanced at the hand on her shoulder. Then she sighed. "Fine, I s'pose. But let's not waste too much time, alright?"

The knight let go. They both walked back to the café, sitting down just as Lou's coffee was being brought to the table. Frederic took a seat, setting the wooden chest down by his feet. The two socialites had gone up and left, making this little part of the upper city terrace all the more private.

Lou looked into the inky depths of the liquid in her cup. She had almost forgotten she'd ordered it. "Out with it, Frederic. I haven't seen Her Majesty in three days. I'm itching to get home."

Frederic pulled at the base of one of his gloves—still wearing a pair of them, despite being out of uniform—tightening its fit as he considered his next words. "The situation back at the castle is... volatile."

Lou immediately sprang to her feet. "Then what are you making me wait around for?!"

The knight raised a hand, motioning downward with his palm. He sighed. "Please, sir, sit. It's volatile, but manageable. Safe. That's why I'm here."

Lou sat back down, not breaking eye contact. "Where is she?"

Frederic sat up slightly straighter upon hearing those words, looking off to the side for a moment before turning his gaze back to Lou. "Safe, at the castle, sir. May I explain?"

She nodded, her face scrunching up. "Yeah, go ahead."

"Very well. After the coronation was interrupted by the Witch-Fiend's attack—"

"THAT was the Witch-Fiend?"

Frederic tried to hold back a glare at being interrupted. "Yes, sir."

"Huh. After all the stories, I just... thought she'd be taller."

The knight quirked an eyebrow. "She was taller than me, sir."

She shrugged. "Still. Go on, sorry."

Frederic took a long breath. "As I was saying. The attack interrupted the ceremony and, ah... had the unfortunate effect of... well. You are aware, sir." He gestured at her.

Lou rubbed one arm self-consciously. "Yeah, I'm aware. Do you know how it happened?"

Frederic shook his head. "The Crown's considerable resources are looking into it. But on that note, how have you been adapting, sir? Convalescence notwithstanding. You seem to be moving about well enough."

Lou slumped back down in her chair. "I mean... I guess? I... I didn't really train for this. I haven't been this small since I was a kid, and even then. Everything's different. Everything's more... sensitive," she said, gesturing to herself with arcane motions. "I'm really doing my best to keep Her Majesty's body safe and healthy, but there's just so much I don't know about it! I didn't..."

She sighed, glancing at the people just outside the café, on the street, and beyond. The sun was setting further, past the trees, past the city walls; it would be dark soon. She hugged herself as a cool breeze blew through, making the fabric of her outfit flutter. An errant leaf got stuck in her shirt collar, carried there by the wind.

Lou looked back to Frederic, a slight look of worry in her eyes. "I didn't know the world looked so different to women."

Frederic leaned forward slightly, reaching over to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Sir, that may be unfortunately true, but I'm told it's better now than it used to be."

Lou tilted her head quizzically. "Yeah? Well... okay. But Her Majesty's gotta be in the same boat as me, right? How's she handling it?" Lou took a sip of her coffee. "BLEAGH!" she yelled as she recoiled from the shock, spilling some of it onto her shirt. She stared at her cup, absolutely gobsmacked by the sudden betrayal. What foul thing had the café put in it? She'd just ordered a black coffee!

"Are you alright, sir?" Frederic asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Lou said as she grabbed a nearby cloth napkin in the vain hopes of soaking up the stain before it became too apparent. "It's just... more embarrassing than anything. Sorry. You were saying?"

Frederic reached into the inside of his shirt, pulling out a folded piece of paper bearing the royal wax seal—if a bit askew. He slid it over, keeping a finger on it until Lou could retrieve the letter. "I suppose it would be faster if I just gave you this, sir. It would have gotten to you earlier, but I insisted on delivering it myself. My apologies for the wait."

Lou broke the seal and unfolded the letter, immediately recognizing Her Majesty's writing... although it looked slightly off. As if it had been written while wearing a glove a little too thick for this kind of precision work. Still, the calligraphy seemed to improve slowly but steadily, becoming more readable with each word. Lou barely made it two sentences before looking back up. "Frederic, what is this?"

"I didn't read it, sir. But I have been briefed." He put his elbows up on the table and steepled his fingers. "The Crown has been able to establish a narrative following the attack. It's very fragile at the moment, but it is holding. The best thing we all can do right now is maintain the status quo, and that means—"

"I can't go back to the castle?" Lou asked, her pulse quickening rapidly. Already the embarrassment from the coffee was a distant memory.

"I am sorry, sir. The coronation has not been finalized yet, which makes the situation extremely delicate. The dignitaries have rallied around a ruler—"

"In my body!" she said, with a few hearty taps on her collarbone for emphasis. "In my... Wait, is that why I can't be there with Her Majesty? Will they think I'm her or something? I'll just explain! We can just explain what the Witch-Fiend did to us!"

"There is no record of this happening before, sir," Frederic said somberly. "Explanations may not be enough. And, if I may be honest, some of the people who hold the keys may not want explanations. There are some who will rally around the face they know, regardless of who is behind it. Especially if they feel it is to their advantage."

Lou slumped down in her seat. She had always hated politics. You couldn't cut your way through politics.

"As I understand it," Frederic continued, "right now those who have a say in the coronation are all in supportive agreement, but it is tentative. We are all at their mercy until the process can be completed, in a more secure location this time."

"I tried to tell them!" Lou said, getting more upset by the second. "But no, they wanted to make a parade out of it! Turn the entire upper city into a defensive weak point!"

"I know, sir, I know," Frederic said, in as reassuring a tone as he could manage. But it was clear the situation was wearing on him as well. "Be that as it may, we have to play the hand we have been dealt. The risks will diminish greatly once the coronation has been completed."

"Then once that's done, I can come back to the castle, right?"

Frederic weighed his words before replying. "It is... uncertain, sir. It will depend on a host of political factors. People may move fast, but nations move slowly."

Lou's heart began to beat even faster. She hurriedly scanned the rest of the letter. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, no, this isn't right." She looked back to him. "Once it's done, I can see her, right? She needs me, Frederic, I'm her bodyguard!"

"My apologies, sir. Truly." He pushed his chair back and stood up, eyes downcast still.

Lou's eyes followed Frederic as he rose, taller than she expected; much taller than her. The difference between them, though it had made itself known when he gripped her shoulder earlier, hadn't quite hit her fully until this moment.

"We all have our orders," he said as he bent down, reaching for the chest at his feet.

"Frederic," she said, hands shaking as she reread the same lines over and over again. "These don't sound like orders. They sound... like..." She looked on as he lifted the wooden chest onto the table; looked at the box, then at him.

"It's a care package, sir," he said, answering the question that was on her lips. "From the Crown, and the royal guard. Some supplies, and... gifts from us, to help you with the road ahead."

What Lou had thought to be an obstacle had turned out to be a wall. What she thought to be a pause, turned out to be an ending. It was starting to sink in that she wouldn't be going back to the place she'd called home for so many years.

She was starting to realize that she wasn't in charge anymore.

Lou looked at the next sentence again, as if by rereading it enough times she could change what it said. "You're... you're just..." She looked up at him, unable to mask the anguish washing over her. "You're just going to... leave me?"

Frederic, on the other hand, was able to hold back most of his feelings from showing on his face—most, but not all. He stared intently at a spot just below Lou's nose, not looking away but not making eye contact either. His hands closed into fists on the table. "I am truly sorry, sir."

"But... but what about the royal decoys?" Lou asked, grasping at any possible chance to turn this around. "They all look like Her Majesty too! If they're allowed in the castle, then shouldn't I also—"

"They have been escorted out to secure locations, sir. Just like you. The message is the same; the Crown is taking no chances."

She looked back down; back at the letter. Back at the words that were turning her world upside down.

No. This wasn't happening.

Her Majesty wouldn't do this. Her Majesty wouldn't do this to her! There must have been a misunderstanding, or some extra meaning Lou couldn't figure out. Was this another one of Her Majesty's plans? Was Lou just not able to see enough moves ahead? Or did Her Majesty know something she didn't?

Oh, gods. Did Her Majesty know?

That in just a few short days, Lou had already been tempted? Tempted by the smallest things, the moments in the margins? The warmth of the kindly old woman's hand when she patted her on the head. The smile the baker's granddaughter gave her when she went up to bring her food. The way the light hit her body when she changed in the morning. All of these moments and more, telling her that this curse might be a blessing in disguise?

That maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this, even for just one more day?

No. Lou shook her head. It had only been three days. There was no way anyone could know. It had to be something else. It had to be. But an undeniable part of her knew where to place the blame. A part of her knew that—

"Sir," Frederic said.

"Huh?" Lou replied, snapping out of it.

"It is getting late, sir. Please, allow me to bring this to your lodgings."

Something inside of her grimaced at the idea. This evening had already gone so much worse than anything she had expected, but she wasn't going to let it end that way. She was going to go back with her head held high, and fall apart once no one was looking. She slammed her hand down onto the chest before Frederic could lift it. "I'm fine," she lied.

"But sir—"

"I'm stronger than I look," she lied, regardless of whether or not she was right. "I'll take it back to the safehouse myself. Besides, it's not far."

It almost looked like there was disappointment on Frederic's face, but a moment later it solidified into concern. "Are you sure, sir? It's a bit on the heavy side."

Lou stared him right in the eyes and slid the chest closer to her, then lifted it. She held it for a moment, then put it back down on the table.

The knight nodded. "Very well, sir." He took a deep breath, pulling at the base of one glove, then the other. Taking his time with this moment; as much as etiquette would allow. Then Frederic straightened up, bringing his heels together and raising his arm in a salute. His face was devoid of emotion; he stared ahead, at a point off in the distance only he could see. A point he focused all of himself into, at the expense of everything else. "It was an honor working alongside you, sir."

Lou braced herself on the table, trying to hide the fact that her knees were nearly buckling. She hadn't been ready for that. Her entire body was nearly shaking itself apart from the sheer effort required not to break down in tears right then and there. She wasn't ready for it to end like that. She wasn't ready for any of this. But no matter what, she couldn't let Frederic see it. She wouldn't let that be the last memory her second-in-command would have of her.

She reached for her cup and drained it, choking down the bitterest swill she'd ever put in her mouth. Anything to drown out these feelings, no matter how vile the aftertaste. She tried to raise her hand, but immediately knew she wouldn't have the strength to return his gesture. She gave Frederic a nod instead. "Yeah. You too."

There were so many other things she wanted to tell him, about himself, about the tasks that awaited him, about the things that needed to be done, but those three words had been all she could manage. It would have to be enough.

Lou grabbed the chest with both hands, lifted it off the table, and walked away without looking back.

The first step was hard, but the second was even harder. Though her body began to scream and her muscles strained, she kept going. Sheer force of will had gotten her this far, and it would get her a little further. She would keep putting one foot in front of the other. She would endure this, too.

As soon as she rounded the corner, as soon as she was absolutely certain that she was out of sight, that Frederic hadn't followed her, she lowered the chest back down and collapsed on top of it.

Gods above and below, what had happened to her endurance?! She'd have to start over from day one.

No. No, that would imply accepting this situation. That would imply just rolling over and following Her Majesty's words to the letter—if they even were her words. Lou wasn't convinced. Anyone could have written that. Anyone could have learned the telltale way she worded her missives, the familiar tone she used with Lou. This could still be forged. This could still be one big mistake.

Her muscles aching, Lou wormed her way into a sitting position on top of the chest. She leaned back against the wall, watching as the sun went down below the horizon. It had all been a big mistake; that was the truth of it. It was a mistake, and she'd made it.

She hadn't gone on the offensive quickly enough. No one appears wreathed in fire and smoke with good intentions. She should've known that. She should've acted sooner, even before the Witch-Fiend's form had fully emerged from the flames. And if she hadn't made that battle cry such a reflexive part of her combat style over the years, she would've closed the distance in one less breath. Maybe that would've been fast enough.

Lou could only laugh. Even with so much practice, even with so much restraint, the one time she used her abilities to the fullest... it still hadn't been enough. She'd come up short. The Witch-Fiend had doomed her with the most wretched curse of all:

Solitude.

It took her a while to catch her breath. Then Lou gingerly stood back up and lifted the chest off the ground, walking another block before having to stop. But that was fine. She'd take all night if she had to. What else was there to do? Where else would she go?

She looked down the street, to the embers of the sun just barely glowing at the edge of the night sky, still visible through the open city gate. An intrusive whisper in her ear told her she could just leave, if she wanted to; start walking, and never look back. But she wouldn't. That's not what she wanted. She needed Her Majesty. And there was still a chance that Her Majesty needed her, too.

All she could do was sit back down on the wooden chest, look up at the sky, and wonder how things might have turned out had she acted differently.

Lou closed her eyes. If she could go back to the coronation, live that moment again...

Would she avoid the same fate?

Would Her Majesty?

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