Her Majesty The Prince

Hearty shouts alongside the rhythmic sounds of battle drills filtered up from below through the windows, heralding the start of the day still better than any rooster could in these parts.

Lou opened her eyes. She'd been awake for a little while; the clouds blunted the edge of the morning light and the covers did the same for the autumn cold, but not for the snoring that roared under the covers.

She took one long breath, holding it there before exhaling softly. While her body was well-rested, her head still throbbed from the aftereffects of the previous night. Thankfully, this was a pain she knew just how to relieve. But to do so, she had to get up.

As difficult as that was right now, her arms firmly wrapped around the figure sleeping next to her. She wondered if this was how Chiffon had felt, so long ago, when she had been the one offering comfort and warmth.

Lou very methodically shifted her weight from one side to the other, rocking the two of them back and forth, gradually freeing her pinned arm and creating a way out. She gently ruffled the hair of the sleeper she had successfully extricated herself from, then slipped out of bed feet-first.

The stark feeling of the cold stone on the bottom of her bare feet did wonders to wake her up the rest of the way. Her morning routine, already in disarray, now became that much more hurried. She hopped over to the mirror, gave her tousled mess of hair some attention, and located her glasses. There was a moment of panic as she looked for her clothes, but after a flash of inspiration and a brief search, she found her uniform. She thanked her lucky stars it was still in one piece, exactly where she'd stuffed it. She carefully dug it out, gave it a good shake or two, put it on, and was out the door.

The head maid was just as surprised to see her as everyone else.

She spotted her as Lou was getting some water from the communal carafe following the end of roll call. The head maid waved her over as the other maids all went their separate ways, some exchanging glances, others hushed gossip. “Glasses, what are you doing?”

“Mm?”

The head maid put a hand on her hip. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, uh,” Lou said, holding up her hands in an appealing gesture, “I can explain.”

“I’m all ears,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger, “because if I recall correctly, you asked for the day off.”

“You’re right, you're right, I'm sorry. I am off the clock today, but uhh... something came up last night, and I improvised." She looked around, making sure no one was close by, then lowered her voice. "Call it a… special assignment? You-know-where?”

She sighed. “Glasses, the union rules are very clear on this: no work unless you’re paid. I understand things were different in our time, but this is how it is now, alright? The young ones look up to you! You need to set a good example. Especially considering what happened the last time you left.”

Lou looked back at the last few maids still in the room, who got startled and hurried off as soon as she turned their way. "...They do?"

The head maid shook her head. "For someone as good with the fine details as you are, there sure is a lot you don't pick up." She pinched the bridge of her nose, pondering for a breath, then made up her mind. "Alright. I trust you, do what you have to do. Maybe you'll actually be able to get some work done in there. Just be sure to let me or Ribbon know the specifics so we can coordinate, and try to get our cart back—the last girl who went in abandoned it when she ran out. Got all that?"

"Yes, absolutely! Thank you." Lou gave her a quick, polite bow, then she was off before the head maid could change her mind.

"Don't mention it. This still counts as a work day though, I'm not letting you off the hook! And Glasses?"

Lou stopped in her tracks, right at the door, her hand on the wall. She glanced back at the head maid.

"Break a leg."

Lou smiled, and gave her a thumbs-up.

Her next stop was the kitchen, but she could take her time. She took the scenic way there, using this as an opportunity to verify that an old secret passage was still accessible. No one noticed one more maid joining the back ranks of those awaiting their food service assignments. No one saw which shadowy nook in the wall she emerged from, either. After meals had been packaged up and dispatched—and most of the co-chefs had stopped to take a break—Lou stepped up to a free spot on the griddle.

She pointed at the cooking surface with an inquisitive expression.

One of the co-chefs looked over, then nodded.

She bowed politely, and quickly gathered up what she needed. Just some eggs and bread, and some milk, and a little bit of vanilla, and perhaps some cinnamon, and brown sugar, and had the castle's stock of syrup been depleted? Not yet! Into a decanter it went. She hummed a tune as she whisked most of the ingredients into a bowl, and got to work. Soak and sizzle, soak and sizzle, until the last slice was golden brown.

She would owe a favor to the pastry chef by the time she left, her meal plated and secured between tray and cloche. Utensils, a napkin, an upturned mug, and a fresh carafe of water completed the set.

She heard it as she turned the last corner: a low—lower than she was used to—voice singing a campfire song she hadn’t thought about in years. Though the accent was a passable imitation at best, the lyrics rang true. Hearing it here in these very halls reminded her of two homes at once in a way few things could.

The two guards at the door exchanged glances when she returned, but let her in, one of them helpfully holding it open as she made her way inside. No longer muffled by the door, the singing became louder; the feeling in each word, more tangible.

“Metté z'en plusse que po assé, s’ra bin au yâb de décider… À chasse à guerre, y’a pas d’pitié—tu rent’ sulle d’sus, ou en… ter… ré…”

The Prince went silent once he heard the door close. He turned his head to look in Lou’s direction when she approached, watching though half-lidded eyes as she gently lowered the tray onto the opposite side of the bed. He lowered the covers with one hand, just enough to give himself room to crane his neck for a better view. Then he let his head hit the pillow again.

“I thought I sent you away,” he said, his voice a raspy groan as he reached up to massage his forehead. "Years ago."

“I came back,” she said matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"Because that's what I want."

"I said no visitors." He waved dismissively. “I could order you to leave.”

She lifted the cloche, revealing her handiwork: a hearty stack of grilled, egg-soaked bread, dusted with sweet spices, ready to be smothered in syrup. With a handful of macarons on the side, for good measure. “You won’t,” she said.

He laboriously pushed himself into a sitting position, scratching several days’ worth of stubble on his cheek—which still wasn’t a lot, admittedly. “Because you brought me food?”

“Because that's not what you want." She put the metal cloche aside and unwrapped the utensils.

He looked at her with weary eyes through gaps in tangled hair. Lou had seen this face a long, long time ago: the picture of sleep with no rest. Part of her wanted to take a brush to his head and tame those locks, at least the ones that dipped down below his eyebrows. But now was not the time. One day, perhaps, she could do this for him; she let the familiar ache of that possibility blossom, bloom and fade, all within the span of a few practiced breaths.

What she could do right now was help with his headache, however. She turned over the clean metal mug she'd brought from the kitchen and poured him some water.

The Prince reached for the mug as Lou handed it, draining it in a loud series of gulps. He let it and the hand holding it drop unceremoniously on top of the covers, exhaling loudly as he leaned his head back against the padded headboard. "How did you get in this time?"

"I got hired," Lou replied, requisitioning a broom from the maid cart that had been sitting in the room for some time, gathering dust.

"Again?" He made a few attempts at grabbing the tray just out of his reach, finally snagging it with one of his fingers and pulling the whole thing close. "Let me guess, you've been here for eight months this time as well?" He frowned and closed his eyes, massaging his forehead again for a moment. "No. Can't have been that long." He got ahold of a knife and a fork. "...Right?"

Lou looked over as she made her way to one corner of the room. "I wasn't sure you were going to use those, I'm glad I brought a set."

"What, the utensils?" He scoffed. "Loulou, I'm not a monster."

She stood there for a moment. Then she returned her attention to the task at hand.

"I've just been here a couple weeks," she said. "The head maid had told me that I had a job waiting for me whenever I wanted to come back. So I did." She began to methodically clear the stone and rugs of accumulated dust and dirt, setting the stage for the rest of the work to come.

"She said that?" The Prince chuckled dryly. "Wait long enough and I'll forget about it, is that right? What else has my own staff been keeping from me?"

There was a pause.

"Does Sleeves know you're here?"

"They only found out last night," Lou said as she swept around the edge of the bed. She stopped for a brief moment. "Late last night," she specified.

The Prince grunted in acknowledgement. He piled up the butchered pieces of golden bread he'd roughly cut apart, drowning them in a torrent of syrup. Then he picked the plate up with one hand and brought it close.

For a while, the only sounds in the royal chambers were the rhythmic scraping of straw against stone and metal against ceramic.

"How is it?" Lou asked, glancing over as she swept.

"It's—hold on." The Prince pondered the remaining piece in front of him; pressed down on it with a fork, making a bead of soaked syrup come up for air before it retreated back into the bread. "Did you make this?"

"I did."

He ate the last piece of golden bread. Slowly, this time; lingering on each bite, giving the flavor and texture their due. When there was nothing left, he put the empty plate down onto the tray like one would lay a comrade to rest.

"It's incomparable," he finally said.

Lou shrugged as she circled the bed, moving on to the second half of the room. "I'm no Cleaver."

"No," the Prince said. "That's not what I said."

She looked up.

"Tell me," he said, his eyes on the last smear of syrup, his voice beginning to shake itself free of the gravel it had accumulated the night before. The muscles of his face twitching ever-so-slightly, as if he was considering the possible outcomes of a battle that was yet to come. "Tell me why you made this."

Lou propped her broom upright on the floor and placed both hands over the end, resting her chin on them. "Because I thought you'd like it."

The Prince pushed the empty tray aside. "He's the best chef in the capital. But Cleaver only ever cooked because I told him to. Because I paid him. And now he's gone." He leaned back against the headboard; let his gaze wander over the room with a sigh, before returning his attention to Lou. "I would never mention the two of you in the same breath."

For a single moment, despite the bleariness, there was that familiar spark in his eyes. Lou saw it; her heart felt it, too, letting its sudden and rapid change of pace speak on its behalf. In that instant, their eyes met.

And then the Prince looked away, leaning back even further against the padded headboard, his head slumping to the side. "Tell me why you came back."

"Because I wanted to," Lou answered, taking her broom in hand again and sweeping a clean path around the piles of miscellanea on the floor. "Because it sounded like you could use the help."

The Prince laughed in a hard, guttural way that turned into coughing, which soon led to him crawling back to the water on the tray. His fingers attempted to gain purchase on the mug, but only managed to push it back closer to the side of the bed, then closer still, and finally all the way over the edge.

Lou caught it handily, returning it to the tray, where she filled it with water from the carafe again. She handed the mug to him before returning to her work.

He stared at the mug full of water in his hand for a while before taking a drink.

"My witch was burned," he said after one gulp. "My shadow, shattered. My shield, torn to pieces. And last night's negotiations to bring them all back? Went so badly that I drank half the cellar and left the banquet with one of those socialites who are always hovering around me. I already have the help I need. I have the best help Crown and City can buy." He drained the mug in his hand; looked at it for a moment, before throwing it at the wall of trophies. "And it's still not enough!"

Lou looked up at the resounding metallic clang from her vantage point on the other side of the bed. The mug, twisted and crushed from the impact, had embedded itself in the hole at the center of the hundred-handed sculpture with enough force to send it teetering. It tilted backward, hit the wall, lurched forward, and then...

WHAMMM!

"And stay down this time," the Prince said to the fallen sculpture.

He leaned back again, looking up at the canopy above his bed. "This was supposed to be the easy part. The diplomatic visits, those first few years? Every person with a name and a scrap of power, from every region, just waiting to see me slip up? All those people looking down at me, seeing another ignorant, spoiled child they could nicely fit into their plans..." He laughed. "I was going to show them. I was going to show them all, every last one, how rotten the walls of their mighty house had gotten. I was patient. I was smart. All I needed was to wait for my chance."

Lou walked back to the entrance of the royal chambers, placing the broom back in its place on the cart. She picked up a pair of cleaning cloths, stuffing the more delicate of the two in her apron pocket, before walking away with one of the bottles of cleaning solution.

"And what did I do with that chance when I got it?" he asked, then added more quietly, "When I took it from you?"

"You did your best," Lou said, reaching the wall of trophies; stepping over the fallen sculpture as if it weren't there. She picked up the heart-shaped cup and began to clean it in earnest.

"It wasn't enough. It's never enough," the Prince replied, his voice falling back into a hoarse monotone. "There's always more that needs to be done. The goalposts are always moving further away. All I have to do is convince twelve people, right? No!" He slammed his hand on the bed. "Of course not! Eight of them have to force my hand." He turned to the fallen sculpture once again. "They can't let go. Even when it defies all logic, they can't let go."

Lou put the cup down, watching it sparkle as it caught what little sunlight made it past the thick layer of clouds.

"Loulou."

She turned to him silently.

The Prince looked her in the eyes. "Why won't they let go? Don't they know they'll only get hurt?"

The two of them stood there for a moment. Neither budged; neither even took a breath. But then the Prince's gaze wavered—just for an instant—and by the time he looked back up Lou had already turned around and started cleaning the next trophy.

"Don't they know that's what happens when you get tangled up in the Crown's affairs?" he added. "When you get tangled up with me?"

Lou soaked one cloth in cleaning solution and pass by pass, layer by layer, worked at restoring the shine to the shield-sized scale. Even on this dreary day, it bore a spectacular rainbow shine.

"LOULOU!"

She stopped. The Prince was sitting up on his knees, bracing one arm against the bed's headboard for support. In the mirror-like sheen of the trophy, between the cascading waves of color, their eyes met once more.

"Loulou, I'm done playing games," he said, haggard and hunched over, as if he was out of breath. "Why are you still here?"

"I told you," she said to his reflection, "because I want to be. Because I want to help. Because there's still work to be done."

The Prince shook his head. His arm went slack as he collapsed onto his knees, letting out a loud, frustrated sigh that lingered until it finally broke down into drawn-out stuttered chuckles. He slammed a hand down onto the bed. "I can't even do this simple thing!" he said, repeating the motion, harder this time. "I can't even keep you away. I can't keep anyone away. I can't keep anyone from getting hurt." He hit the bed again, this time with both hands, the impact reverberating through the stone floor. "Number five fought like ten men, number six fought like sixty, and now one of them isn't even staying dead! Party's over. City's haunted." He curled up in place, bringing up his fists above his head like shields. "It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to leave. Nothing's gone as planned."

Lou stood there, watching him from within arm's reach.

It would've been so simple.

It would have been so easy to ruffle his hair, to cradle his cheek, to lift his head gently and sit down on the bed next to him, her arms around him, and just hold him there in whispering reassurance until the difficult moments passed, until the clouds finally parted. But now was not the time. One day, perhaps; if there ever came a time when he wouldn't take those little gestures as a show of obligation, rather than care. She held onto that thought, wished it the best, and then let it go. For now, she had a job to do.

She turned back to the trophies on the wall, cloth in hand.

Behind her, the Prince slumped down to his side, then rolled onto his back. "I had it all figured out," he said aloud to the canopy over the bed. "It was all there in my head, waiting to be put in motion. I had so many years to prepare. A lifetime spent in the planning stages, only to fumble the execution." He let out a tired laugh. "Have to appreciate the irony. That's how this is going to end, isn't it? The ones who remain won't waste their chance. They'll turn this around. Get the execution they wanted all along."

"The people love you," Lou said flatly, with an assurance that only ever came from truth.

"They think they do," he replied. "They won't for long. Not once they learn about what's happening in the heart of the upper city. Or once they learn what happens to everyone close to me. Did you know? None of the workers in the castle spoke to me for weeks after you left."

There was a pause.

"After I made you leave," the Prince added quietly.

"I still came back," Lou said, dutifully chipping away at the two years of dust caked around the intricate web of crystal and thread that begged for a chance to shine again.

"You still came back," he said, barely above a whisper, staring dead-eyed at the disheveled mess of cloth and furs that the bedcovers had become. He crawled back to a sitting position and smoothed out the pants he'd worn since last night; uselessly rubbed at the wine stain on the shirt he'd had on under his banquet finery. "Whoever's left among the Twelve will get the last laugh, in the end. So will all those people who knew I was too good to be true. Everyone else got tricked. At least some of them managed to snap out of it and leave while they could." He choked out a rueful chuckle. "Everyone who followed me got hurt."

"Not everyone was tricked." Lou put down the cloth for a moment; turned back to face him, against her better judgment. "There are people who do believe in you. Who care about you."

The Prince looked into her eyes with a somber stare. "I hurt them most of all."

He ran a hand through his hair, grasping at the air above his head. Holding it in front of him, as if examining something. "That's what the crown does," he added, turning his hand around. Spreading his fingers out.

A silence hung over the room like a drawn curtain, broken only by the quiet scrubbing of cloth and the occasional crystalline clinking. When she was finally done, Lou stepped aside to admire her handiwork. She reached out with a fingernail.

TINGGGGgggg

The Prince sat up with a start. He turned to look at the sculpture of crystal and thread that sang once again. His eyes honed in on its center, at the small vial of murky grey liquid still bouncing slightly in its cage of string. His expression visibly softened.

"I was still a child when someone showed me the Secantation in some trophy room. I remember pulling up a chair so I could climb up to it, and make it sing."

"I thought you hadn't heard it until fairly recently," Lou said as she stepped away from the trophies and gave some attention to the piles of assorted items on the floor.

"That's right." He smiled in recollection. "Didn't even make it up to the shelf. They pulled me off the chair, scolded me for an hour, and took the whole thing down to the vault. I never saw it again until I dug it back out myself after the coronation." He squinted at the flowing liquid as it settled in the vial. "Hard to imagine something so small eliciting such intense emotions. I still remember the yelling."

"Do you remember who it was?"

"No," the Prince said, his smile fading. "I was too young for that. Too young for a lot of it."

Lou had moved on to tidying up some of the piles around the bed when she saw a familiar piece of fabric. She lifted the old cape out from under some books and gave it a slight dusting. On a whim, she held it up to the canopy curtain; spent some time taking in the contrast between the two. "Huh."

"Are those new glasses?" he asked, turning her way again.

"You noticed." She began to fold up the cape. "They were a gift."

"The tint is nice. Adds a touch of color."

Lou gave a slight smile as she put the garment away. "I s'pose it does."

The Prince reached for the carafe, lifting it directly to his lips. "It's been a while since I heard you say that."

She let out a laugh, almost in spite of herself. "Yeah, I ain't so rough 'round the edges now. I had to learn to talk like you did. Walk like you did, dance like you did." She did a quick pirouette on the way to the dresser, letting the hem of her maid uniform spin around her as she did so.

"You gave the person I was more love than I ever did." He roughly put the carafe down on the tray, watching it teeter dangerously for a few seconds before it settled back onto its base, thankfully without a single drop spilled. "I just said a few words to the crowd. Buried an empty box. Took your body and ran."

Lou took the opportunity to tidy up around the dresser itself. She gave the drawers a once-over, as if looking for something special, or the ghost of it. "You learned my old camping song."

"I missed the feeling of hearing it."

She closed the dresser doors. "I s'pose I did, too."

Next was the standing mirror, moved a few times recently but not given the attention it deserved. It was hard to spot the changes in something you saw every day, after all. Sometimes all it took was a new perspective to make the difference clear as day. Lou set out to give it a thorough wipe down.

"All I ever do is take, Loulou," the Prince said, turning to her again. "What are you still here for? Did I ever give you anything?"

Lou took a step back, looking the mirror over; gazing at her own reflection, making eye contact with his. "More than you know," she replied softly. "Maybe even more than you can imagine."

The Prince sighed.

Then with a groan he shuffled to the edge of the bed, slinging his legs over and letting his feet touch the ground. He leaned forward, deep in thought, his elbows on his thighs, as he rubbed his hands together. "Alright Loulou."

Lou stopped what she was doing, turning to face him.

"I was ready for you to be happy elsewhere. I was ready for you to be angry at me forever." The Prince motioned to the room abruptly. He whipped his hand toward her, toward himself; to them both. "But I don't know what this is. Tell me! Help me understand! Why are you here, now?"

She ran her hands down her uniform, tidying it up a bit before looking him in the eyes. "I came here to save you."

He scoffed, smiling in spite of himself. "Save me? Loulou, I released you from your oath."

She shrugged. "You say a lot of things you don't mean."

The Prince immediately furrowed his brow. "If you—"

"I'm not here because of any oath," she said flatly. "Like I told you, I'm here because I want to be."

He stumbled over his words for a bit, beginning and then stopping multiple retorts. Finally, he shook his head. "Loulou, what... What can you possibly do?! Weren't you listening? Everything's in shambles! I'm the only one who left number six's cavern intact. And that nightmare spreading through the city? At this rate we'll have to start evacuating entire neighborhoods by next month. Not even the most powerful witch between crown and city can help—she said so, to my face, at that mockery of a banquet last night!"

The Prince slammed his fist into the bed, a loud CRACK! indicating that something had finally broken underneath the layers of fur and down-stuffed fabric.

"I drowned my sorrows in a cask of Dragonnet Sauvignon and that socialite's little red dress for a reason. Gods, how much of the negotiations was she there for?" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "The witch-mother's home by now, along with all my leverage. This whole plan is a lost cause. I'm a lost cause. And if you don't get as far away from me as you can, you'll become one too. The sooner you realize it, the sooner you can leave, and put all this behind you. For your sake."

Lou methodically walked over to the desk, step by step, the soles of her shoes against the stone the only sound.

"You used to listen to me about these things! Don't you remember? Why are you being stubborn about this now?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Because I don't think you're a lost cause."

"You don't—" The Prince's shoulders slumped as he leaned forward and laughed. "Loulou, I told you, it's too late! What are you going to do, turn back time?"

She picked a garment up from the chair by the desk, holding it in front of her as she turned around: an asymmetrical dress, one shoulder bare, the other covered in fur-like fabric. The kind of dress that hugged the body, like socialites wear. All of it a striking red.

Lou smiled.

"You don't remember what happened last night at all, do you?"

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