Her Majesty The Prince

For the longest time, there was nothing else. Just her.

Lou waded through the murky fog of golden hues, a distant dawn casting everything in an eternal twilight. Though the wispy smoke obscured anything further out than an arm's length, lights flickered and sound thundered from afar.

All around, a waist-high sea of clouds that seemed to go on forever. At its center, her. Adrift.

She felt more than saw the cobblestones beneath as she made her way forward, that sensation the only confirmation that she was going somewhere. But soon, there came another: a shadow in the fog, a shape in the smoke. She approached.

The haze parted, exposing the worn stone of the upper city street, revealing the body prone on the ground.

Her body.

Cold as stone, and just as peaceful.

But from the center of the chest, a crack in the marble. Then two. Then three, multiplying, growing deeper with every unseen blow, flickering like lightning with every strike from invisible hands, every shout from unknown lips. She had heard that voice before. Heard the summons; heeded the call.

For how could anyone refuse the undeniable truth of being wanted?

As if to answer, light began to shine behind her, making the fog recede—slowly at first, then faster and faster. The sun was beginning to rise at last, putting an end to this stubborn twilight. No, not the sun; sunlight would have felt warm to the touch. Lou's back felt just as cold. This light was different, if just as bright. If just as painful to stare in the face.

The most Lou was able to muster was a peek. A sidelong glance at the edge of her vision, nothing more. But it was enough.

What shone behind her was no sun, but a silhouette. A pitch-black shape draped in shadows, surrounded by light, inherently dark yet impossibly bright.

Was the figure a towering colossus stepping over the horizon? A mere giant, lumbering too close for comfort? It was impossible to tell. All Lou saw were thick limbs wrapped in soot-black cloth leaving echoes of themselves as they moved, a head surrounded by ashen shrouds that floated in the air around a face—no, faces...

Too many faces to count, one replacing another in succession, changing anew every heartbeat. Different expressions, different visages, some too young and some too old. Some that Lou recognized from distant memories and some that she remembered from paintings, from sculptures. A rueful mercenary; a grandmother, beaming with pride; a refined noble, her somber gaze years older than her face.

Their mouths opened in unison.

The light grew brighter. The figure grew closer.

Or was Lou the one approaching it?

Her feet were gliding along the cobblestones like hands on a blade slick with blood, every attempt at holding on only resulting in more pain. But she held, and held strong. Not out of fear, but out of choice. There was still so much she needed to do. There was still so much she wanted to do!

The parted fog flowed back together in her wake, obscuring the body on the ground as she was dragged further and further away from it. She reached out to it; to the place where it had been a moment ago. But one spot in the fog was the same as any other, and all it took was a moment's inattention to lose track. Had it been here? Or over there? Her fingers sifted through the smoke with frantic abandon. She had to find it again. The body. Her body. Where? Where?

"Where is she?!"

Lou gasped loudly as the covers gave way to flailing arms. A dream. That dream. She sat up and rubbed her face as she waited for her heartrate to go down. Her hair stood on end, her throat raw. But as uneasy memories evaporated in the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the unusually quiet servants' quarters, she found herself gasping a second time.

The sun had already risen. She'd overslept! On her busiest day!

She rummaged through the small storage space under her bedside table, shaking hands knocking over half the small jars and bottles she was reaching for. She lined up the various products that comprised her meticulous morning routine as best she could, glancing up at the windows as she did so. Judging from the way the light reached down into the undercroft, she'd missed sunrise by an hour, maybe two. Precious time lost, but she'd have to make it up in other ways. Maybe there was still time to fit everything into one day if she was clever.

Or stubborn enough.

It's okay, Lou told herself as she donned her tinted glasses and backed away from the small table, jostling it almost hard enough to knock everything over. She had to calm down first. She walked over to a nearby sunbeam, shaking her arms in practiced motions to let out as much nervous energy as she could. Then she took a deep breath, let her arms hang loose at her sides, turned her palms forward, and faced the sun. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth on her body, focusing on the sensation. There's still time, nothing's lost yet.

Once her breathing had slowed and she had calmed down from the initial rush of panic, Lou sat back down on the side of her bed and proceeded to the next part of her morning ritual. She gently brushed her golden locks in long, practiced strokes, then moved on to the straightening solution—finding the jar empty. She bent down and searched the two leather cases under her bed, to no avail. Lou sighed, giving the large mass of fur and fabric inside the second case an affectionate pat before closing it back up.

"It's fine," she said aloud after a moment. "Either way, it won't matter."

A few minutes later she was in uniform. She wouldn't technically be doing any work—yesterday had been her last day—but she appreciated the practicality and comfort it gave her. Even if it didn't fit quite as well as it once had.

Lou checked the way the sunlight hit the far wall one last time as she went over the list of tasks she'd memorized. She'd have to cut some corners. Maybe she could fit something else in while she waited by the oven?

She eyed the bundled up letter paper and ink set on the bedside table. Her bedside table, next to a bed she had all to herself, in the little cordoned-off nook of the servants' quarters she only shared with two other maids. All those perks had been given to her so matter-of-factly upon her return to duty at the castle. Part of her missed the comforting presence of a bunk above her own, but she wasn't going to turn down a gift from anyone here, least of all Ribbon; especially when refusing it could risk ruffling the feathers of a new social structure she knew very little about. Besides, the new arrangements were to be temporary at best. She knew from day one that she wouldn't be here forever.

Lou picked up the writing set and headed off to the kitchen. Tonight, the half moon would rise. There was no time to waste.

Getting such a late start had its advantages, it turned out. For one, the hallways were free of maids hurrying to the location of their next shift. And though the few colleagues Lou did come across did their best to hide it, she clearly saw the glances they shot her way, and heard the hushed whispers they shared in her wake. She couldn't keep her cheeks from burning as she recalled her conversation with Sleeves two weeks prior. The possibility that her fellow maids were spreading rumors about the rather intimate reason for her prior dismissal didn't really bother Lou. The prevailing inaccuracy about who had made the first move, however...

She did her best to focus on the task at hand as she entered the kitchen, which was thankfully nowhere near as lively as it would have been had Lou gotten there during the morning rush. While most of the sous-chefs were already busy laying the groundwork for the midday meals, the lack of immediate pressure was clear in their every motion. The little flourish here, the odd joke there... it was like cooking back home at the troupe.

The thought gave her pause. There came a familiar twinge, somewhere deep down.

She quickly shook it off. There was work to do. She picked up a pair of large wooden bowls and a circular pan, then patiently queued up behind some staff members at the entrance to the pantry. She began to mentally put together the best way to ask for permission to use some supplies for yet another personal recipe, but much to her surprise, it proved unnecessary. Not only was one of the sous-chefs motioning for her to go in before him, but there was an odd hint of deference to his gesture.

Lou blinked several times, stunned. Could it really be this easy? She finally nodded, hurrying inside to get what she needed. "Uh, thank you, I appreciate it!" she said as she quickly measured out the flour, sugar, salt, and as many leftover chocolate scraps as she could get away with. She then grabbed a couple of eggs and some butter on the way out, weaving her way around the room to set up shop on a free table in the corner. Going over the recipe in her mind, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. First, beat the eggs and sugar, then...

"What're you making over there, Glasses?"

She looked up, her gaze crossing the kitchen all the way over to the other side of the large cauldron that dominated the back half of the room.

The question had come from Peeler, a stout boulder of a man, veteran of the kitchen from even before the coronation, and the most vocal critic of her culinary skills back during her first stint as a maid. The sous-chef eyed the stew with a discerning eye as he selected the next ingredients to be chopped up and added to the bubbling broth.

Lou returned to her own recipe. "Baking a cake for Casque," she replied, slowly adding the dry ingredients to the mixture.

"A whole cake!" Peeler exclaimed as he grabbed a knife and made short work of the vegetables in front of him. "And what did Casque do to earn it?" he asked with a grin. "Kept prying eyes out of the royal chambers again while His Majesty had his way with y—"

"N-NO??" Lou sputtered as she felt the blood rush to her face. Not even here in the kitchen was she safe—did everyone in the castle know? Was it still the first thing people thought of, two years later? "No! Casque just... he, uh..."

Lou forced herself to take a deep breath, wordlessly integrating the rest of the flour into the mix as she considered her options. Surely it wasn't a secret that she'd attended the moonlight banquet. She hadn't asked Casque to keep it to himself. And even if she had, she would've expected him to blab over drinks anyway. Lou nodded to herself; she could be honest about this part. At the very least, it would get people talking about something else. "He let me into the banquet the other night."

Peeler whistled as he scooped up the chopped-up vegetables and herbs to add them to the stew, maneuvering around his fellow sous-chefs with deftness and speed despite his size. "Lucky you! Did you catch a glimpse of the guests of honor? Try out the hors-d'oeuvres? Bring back something nice, maybe?"

"Something like that," Lou replied with a half-hearted smile. She gave the result one final mixing, then buttered the pan. As she looked back up, she was surprised to find Peeler looking over her handiwork.

"You're making a cake."

Lou looked up at him in confusion. "Yes? I said I was."

"Since when can you do that?" Peeler asked, taking off his hat to scratch his head.

"Since forever? It's not that complicated." Lou put the rest of the butter aside as she carefully poured the cake mixture into the pan. "It keeps well, makes a good campfire treat, it's great after a hunt..."

"Let me get this straight," Peeler said as he replaced his hat, "all those times I overheard little Glasses offering to bake cakes for favors, that wasn't a bluff?"

She shook her head, utterly baffled. "Why would I offer it if I can't do it?"

He met her gaze with a quizzical one of his own, then gave the contents of the pan—and the rest of the table—another once-over. "Neat work. No spills. You weren't this handy around the kitchen last time." He narrowed his eyes. "You really have gotten better in the two years you've been gone, haven't you? I wonder why that is."

She carefully picked up the pan, making sure to keep it level, then looked up at him one more time. "Thank you," she said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Peeler crossed his arms. After a tense moment, he grinned, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine, fine," he said with a wave as he returned to his duties. "Well, whoever it is you've been cooking for all this time, I hope they've been properly grateful!"

Lou sighed to herself as she carefully made her way to the oven and slid the cake in. Try as she might, as she returned to her table in the corner of the kitchen, she couldn't help but smile. She remembered that first time she had overheard Libellule compliment the troupe's chefs on their sweets, the many mornings and evenings Lou had snuck some quick kitchen time into her busy schedule, the support and surprising patience of Jehan and Lin as they taught her the ropes...

The way Libellule's eyes lit up as she took her first bite.

Lou could feel her cheeks burning as she retrieved the writing set she'd stashed on a nearby shelf. She'd have a bit of time as she waited for the cake to bake; time enough to write some important letters. The most important she'd ever written, in fact. She just needed to—

"You can't let it get to you, Boots," the junior maid told her colleague. "You can't let them get to you!"

"I'm trying! It's just... it's really hard."

Lou looked over to the young women who had stopped nearby on the way to, or maybe from, their latest shift: Smirk and Boots, part of the new cohort of castle workers who had joined in her absence. Two junior maids with strong camaraderie and a fondness for gossip, from what Lou had been able to observe from afar. The closest interaction she had ever had with the pair was when the two of them had helped her return the maid cart (and her socialite dress) on that busy day after the moonlight banquet. Hopefully they'd gotten the rumormongering out of their system since then.

The moment the two maids noticed Lou, their attitudes instantly changed. They stood up straight from their huddle, wide-eyed with surprise. "Miss Glasses!" Smirk said, raising a hand to cover her mouth. "It's... so very good to see you!"

Lou couldn't help but notice the two of them exchange nervous glances. She mustered an awkward smile as she put the writing set down. "Uh, good morning. What were you two talking about? Is someone giving you trouble?" Part of her wanted to get to writing already, but the rest of her couldn't just stand by and let a colleague suffer. Old habits died hard, and now more than ever she was especially protective of her juniors.

"Oh, it's nothing you need to concern yourself with!" Boots said with a dismissive wave.

"Just that silly nickname superstition," Smirk said, squeezing her colleague's shoulder in support. "You know how it is."

"I... don't." Lou quirked an eyebrow. "What superstition?"

Boots looked down at her namesakes dejectedly. "Well... Utensils go missing when I wash them. And that's whatever, you know? But yesterday a mirror fell and broke right in front of me!" She sighed. "The guards keep saying I'm cursed. Some of them started calling me a witch behind my back." She looked back up with a jolt. "N-not that that's bad!"

Lou scoffed despite herself. "A witch? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you know, of course," Smirk said. "Plural nickname and all that."

Lou couldn't tell if she was joking. "You're joking."

She was met with a pair of blank stares.

"You're joking! Since when has this been a thing?"

"Since... always?" Boots replied, her despondence giving way to confusion. "And besides, there's like... Curtains, Portals, Sleeves, and of course—"

"Haha, what? Sleeves isn't a witch!" Lou replied a little too quickly, feeling the hairs raise on the back of her neck.

But her colleagues were unfazed, to Lou's relief. "I mean, of course not," Smirk said with a wave of her hand, "but their aunt is, right? And they handle business for her! And they do fortunetelling. Isn't that witch-adjacent?"

Boots nodded emphatically.

Lou couldn't believe what she was hearing. "This whole thing is silly, and it's the first I've heard of it, so I wouldn't believe any of it." She took a deep breath, then put her hands on her hips. Back in her day, she never would've let anyone under her supervision get away with giving workers grief. "Those guards are out of line. I'll get to the bottom of this, alright?"

It was Boots's turn to put a hand to her mouth. "You will? But... oh, I don't want to cause any trouble."

"Of course!" Lou said, putting a comforting hand on her younger colleague's shoulder. "Listen, don't worry. You're not gonna be in any trouble here. I'll be the one to bear the... the consequences of my..."

She stopped, her voice catching in her throat. She'd stopped believing in her words partway through saying them.

Lou shook the intruding thoughts from her head. "I'll do everything I can not to involve you. Alright?"

Boots nodded. She reached up to touch Lou's hand, perhaps to squeeze it back... but backed out at the last moment, hurriedly returning both hands to the spot in front of her apron pocket. "Thank you, Miss Glasses."

"Of course," Lou said again, straightening out her own apron. She looked back at the writing set on the corner of the table. "It... it's been nice to chat, but I s'pose I should get back to—"

"Oh! One more thing please, if you would?" Smirk asked with sudden urgency. She turned to Boots, who was frantically shaking her head. "Shh, it's fine."

"What is it?"

The junior maid leaned in again, her colleague gingerly following suit. "Is it true what they say?" Smirk asked, sneaking glances left and right, a hand over her mouth. "You know... about His Majesty and you? Did he really—"

"This again?!" Lou interrupted, her eye twitching as her cheeks burned anew. Was there truly nothing she could do to escape being the subject of castle gossip? She snuck a glance at Peeler; thought back to the whispering maids on the way to the kitchen. Saw herself sitting on the edge of the Prince's bed that night, two years ago, as she made the first move.

A thought occurred to Lou as the junior maids stood there in wide-eyed silence. These two trusted her. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage? Set the record straight, once and for all? Surely the Prince's reputation would survive this simple correction. Surely he didn't need to come out on top in every story people told about him.

She closed her eyes, and forced a deep breath into her lungs.

No.

This was a silly thing to be obsessing about. She ought to be the bigger person, and just let it go. Besides, the rest of the staff respected her regardless. Wouldn't it be better to quietly acquiesce and let the rumor die, rather than deny it—or worse, correct it—and send it through the rumor mill all over again? Wouldn't that better serve the Prince's plans, already made fragile enough from everything that had happened? She had more important things to do. She had to look at the big picture.

Lou looked around, making sure they were out of earshot from the rest of the kitchen staff, then leaned forward. "Yes, it's true," she whispered with resignation, "but keep it to yourselves, alright? For me? For the Crown. This has to remain our secret."

Smirk's hand fell from her face as she broke out into the biggest grin, her colleague's jaw dropping in surprise; both of the junior maids' eyes practically sparkling. They looked at each other, vibrating with glee, before turning back to Lou and nodding excitedly.

"Absolutely!" Smirk said as she reached and shook Lou's hand.

"Promise!" Boots added, clasping her palms over the handshake.

"Thank you," Lou replied in a tired voice as the junior maids let go of her hand and stepped back.

"Your secret's safe with us, captain," Smirk said as she and Boots gave Lou a quick salute, then dashed out of the kitchen. Their barely-contained squeals of excitement echoed down the hall after them as they left. "It's so romantic!" yelled one. "I know!" shouted the other.

Lou let out a prolonged sigh as she sat down at her corner table. She unwrapped the writing set and opened the inkwell, getting the first piece of paper ready. It was finally time for the next task on her list. She had letters to write, and she'd need to be quick if she was going to be done before her cake...

Wait.

She looked back at the kitchen entrance the junior maids had left through. What had they called her, exactly?

Lou's heart began beating faster and faster as she went over the previous few moments in her mind. Captain, she thought. Gods above and below, they called me captain.

The pair had been talking about a different rumor the entire time.

Lou couldn't breathe. She pressed her palms down on the table, struggling to maintain her balance as her mind raced. Were they going to tell everyone? Had she royally messed everything up, on her very last day?

She shook her head. No. She could trust them with this, couldn't she? They had promised, and while they were gossips, they weren't liars. Who knows, maybe they'd inspire others to do the same. It certainly looked like they were even more motivated to help her, now. It was fine. She had to trust that it was fine. She had other things to do, and vanishingly few hours to do them in!

Lou carefully picked the quill up, willing herself to focus on the sheet of paper in front of her. Breathe in, breathe out.

Blessedly, thankfully, she started to feel herself calming down. After all, she had handled worse, hadn't she? She could handle this. She had other things to do. Letters to write, important letters, addressed to important people. The most important people.

Lou managed a smile, if a bittersweet one.

She inhaled deeply, dipping the quill into the ink, letting the tip soak up the liquid as she went over the right words to write. She knew them by heart, of course; the letters were already written, memorized over the last two weeks like so many lines of dialogue. All she had to do was commit them to paper. The hard part was over.

Of course, the day had already presented her with hardships—the oversleeping, the rumors—but she could leave them behind as she stepped onto the stage. Past stumbles were not heralds of future ones. She nodded to herself as she pressed the pointed tip of the quill to paper, scratching the words into the page.

"My dear...est... Ri—"

The quill's tip ground to a halt as Lou's fingers curled around the stem. All she could do was stare at the letters as tears began to well up in her eyes. Her heart raced as her mind scrambled to find a way around this new obstacle, to no avail.

She gritted her teeth. What else could she do? She held strong. Took a deep breath, and dipped the quill into the ink again.

The only way out was through. Line by line, page by page, as the shadows cast on the table grew shorter and shorter.

The sun was high up in the sky by the time she made it outside.

Lou crossed the castle grounds with a basket in her arms, the still-warm cake bundled inside next to a string-bound stack of folded letters. Given that the guards were scattered about enjoying their lunch break, there was ample room to make a beeline directly across to the barracks. She had a delivery to make. And more, of course; much more. But once the cake had been dropped off, Lou would be able to strike another entry from her mental checklist. Right now, she desperately needed the morale boost.

As she approached the center of the grounds, Lou was surprised to find a robed figure hunched over a large patch of dirt, waving an upside-down broom around. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Lou gently strayed from her path and approached. Sure enough, once she got closer, the person's identity became clear: the witch Maruszabelle—better known as Portals around the castle—hard at work doing... what was she doing?

Lou observed the young witch as she methodically pushed and prodded at the ground with the bare wooden handle, scratching long grooves into a deeper layer of dirt that had grown pale and dry. But as Portals flipped her broom around and began to sweep, it became apparent to Lou that she wasn't seeing earth, but stone.

A large slab lay under their feet, covered in long, sinuous, crisscrossing shallow grooves. The young witch was excavating it.

Lou lifted a foot, finding herself standing on a seam in the stone, perfectly horizontal. Was it two slabs, then, laid side to side? Or perhaps more? She looked around the grounds, following the level expanse of dirt and grass all the way back to the castle, then across, over to the far ends of the walls. How far did the stone beneath their feet go? Had it always been there?

"See? Y'got better," Portals said as she went about her task.

Lou blinked, the handle of her basket slipping down to the tip of her fingers as she loosened her grip. "What?"

"Y'were all worried, r'member?"

Lou felt her head spin. She slowly leaned forward, her mind racing as she tried to push past her bewilderment and figure out just what the young witch was referring to. Then it hit her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, almost dropping her basket as she bolted back upright. "That... that was a long time ago! I thought you'd meant—I mean, we saw each other just the other night at dinner, and I, uh..." She cleared her throat. "Yes. I did get better. Thank you."

"Told you y'were gonna be fine."

"Mm. That's why you were there." Lou looked at the way the young witch swept the dirt with her broom, her movements methodical like brushstrokes. One, two, three; always in threes. "Is that why you're here, too?"

"Hah! Y'think Boss-Guy calls me Bandages when yer not around? Nah. Healin's just a bonus."

Lou nodded. "Do you, ah, like it here? Working with him?"

Portals scoffed. "What, like it matters?" She flipped her broom again, digging up more of the shallow groove in the stone with the tip. "I go wh'rever he goes, s'the deal. Who cares if I like it or not?"

Lou bit her lip, her shoulders tensing up. She looked to the side. "Well, you know," she finally said quietly. "I care."

The witch sighed. She turned her broom upright again, running her palm against the top end to scrub some of the dirt away. "S'fine, I guess. Free room n' board, top-tier leyline access..." She counted the perks on her fingers. "I do what I want, mostly. Food's good." She looked back at the castle. "Mostly."

Lou turned to follow her gaze, up to the big balcony outside the upper hall, where the moonlight banquet had taken place. "Mm."

"You, uh..." the witch began to say, hesitating uncharacteristically. "Y'looked good in that red thing," she hurriedly added, turning around to sweep some more.

"Oh, the dress?" Lou smiled a little in spite of herself. "Thank you. I... I guess you could tell it was me. I was hoping the disguise would—"

"I helped Bren pick it out, s'all."

"You did?"

Portals let out a single, raspy guffaw. "Course I did! Y'think they came up with it by themself? They need my help with everythin'." The young witch turned around and leaned on her broom with one hand, pulling back the hood of her robe with the other. She gave the long mass of bright red hair that ran down the left side of her head a good scratching, unfurling it from the recesses of her robe in the process. Her eyes were practically alight now, her mouth in a lopsided, toothy grin. "Y'got me to thank fer not ending up wit'a side-slit up t'yer armpit, by th'way. Did y'like the whole fur-thing-o'er-the-shoulder deal? My idea. Somethin' to channel the ol' wolf head, figured it'd make y'feel all strong n' confident, yeah?"

"Yeah! I... I liked it." Lou could feel the color rising to her cheeks. She looked around reflexively, partly to make sure no one had crept up on them to eavesdrop.

"Yeah! Knew it." Portals absent-mindedly scratched her eyebrow—the one on the right, which had just begun to grow back in. "M'surprised Bren didn't like, help you fix the whole..." She traced Lou's silhouette with her hand, exaggerating the curves. "...thing. Y'know there's stuff fer that, right?"

Lou raised a hand, open-palm, the other holding onto her basket. "I know! It's okay, really. I like..." she began to say before the words got stuck in her throat. "I mean, I..." she trailed off again, the color that had begun to leave her face returning in earnest.

She couldn't understand why feelings that had been so easy to explain before were suddenly so difficult to put into words. Lou and Portals were alone in the middle of the grounds, far from even the closest guards on break, but still she felt exposed. Lou kept her gaze down out of instinct, away from the castle walls and towers, as if there was eye contact to avoid with the familiar yet featureless stone that surrounded her.

"It's fine. More than fine," she finally added, nodding resolutely. "This is how I want to be remembered."

Portals seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. She quickly returned to her usual indifferent demeanor, although there was a somber edge to her eyes that hadn't been there before. "Well, good. Glad yer fine with it." She forced a chuckle. "Can't imagine goin' through all a' that otherwise, yeah?"

Lou returned the chuckle with a weak smile. She hadn't meant to sour the mood. She looked down at the meandering grooves in the stone slab underfoot, trying not to lose herself in memories that were quickly rising to the surface. She stared at her shadow; small now, but growing longer by the moment. That's right, she thought. Her gazed drifted further down to the basket in her hands, and the stack of folded letters within. "Have you seen Bren?"

"Raidin' the upper hall's lunch plates," Portals said, stretching from side to side as she visibly contemplated returning to her task. "Oughta be back soon." There was a brief pause. "Why do you care?"

"I need their help with something."

"Heh, well, don't ask too much. They're a walkin' talkin' house'a cards lately. Perfect match for Boss-Guy."

Lou furrowed her brow. She waited a moment, taking the time to pick her words carefully. "Is he... okay?"

The young witch shrugged as she resumed digging up more of the stone slab. "He's decent, I guess, for a givin'-orders type. Knows his stuff, you don't gotta s'plain everything. Be better if he'd loop us in on what he's thinkin' every now and then tho."

"No, I mean... is he doing okay?"

"He's..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "Nah. M'keepin' my nose outta his business."

"It's your business too, you're his witch," Lou said. "On his team, I mean. Right? With a group this small for something this important, everyone's pulling their weight. He chose you for your skills. He's relying on you." This time the pause was hers. "It's what I would've done."

Portals stood back upright, slipping the tip of her broom in the crook of her arm. "Look, that stuff's above my pay grade, alright? I ain't that kind of witch yet." She put her hands together, overlapping her fingers in such a way that the runes tattooed on her hands and down her arms connected. "M'just here to open doors n' put out fires," she said as a continuous tattooed line shone bright red, tracing a path from inside her left sleeve and across to her right arm and... stopping abruptly, where the smooth skin of freshly-healed burns began. Portals frowned. "Th' ones I can, anyway."

"Mm." Lou picked her next words carefully. "You said you'd get better ones? Are they like tattoos?"

"Rune stitchin'. Same thing. M'gonna get old lady Drienne to fix 'em up on my next visit." Portals eyed Lou up and down. "Why? What do you know 'bout tattoos?"

Lou gently scoffed. "Hey! I know a little. Plenty of people in my village had them. My... one of my co-stars at the troupe gets a new one every time a play wraps up." She crouched down, undoing the buttons on her right cloth-top boot; slowly peeling it away to reveal the side of her ankle. "After the finale at the royal theater—"

"Belle, check this out!"

Before either of them could react, Sleeves was upon them with a bounty of freshly pilfered bread bowls, all precariously balanced on the sling that cradled their broken arm.

"They put the stew in the bread, this is blowing my mind clear out my—hey Glasses!" They extended their good hand. "Want one?"

"Oh, uh, thank you," Lou replied, hurriedly buttoning her boot before standing back up. She gently placed the bread bowl in her basket on top of the bundled cake. Sleeves's timing was good; it would save her precious minutes. "Listen, I was wondering—"

"Is Boss-Guy doin' okay?" Portals asked, taking a bread bowl of her own before Sleeves could offer it.

"Hey no that one's mine! Wait, what?" Sleeves quirked an eyebrow. "What are you asking me for? Why do you care?"

"She's asking," Portals replied as she lifted the cap off the bowl and dipped it all the way into the hot stew, down to her knuckle. "I jus' don't want his bad vibes stinkin' up the tent again."

Lou raised a hand. "I just—"

"Don't worry about it," Sleeves said with an annoyed frown as they sat down on a clean patch of stone, lounging elegantly on their good side, precious last bread bowl safely in hand. "Ol' iron-grip and I have it under control."

"Mm hm," Portals replied as she stuffed the wad of stew-soaked bread into her mouth. "M'that's whatcha call under control?" She motioned to the top floor of the castle as she swallowed. "He's gonna hafta come outta there sooner'r later."

Lou could feel her heartrate rising as she tried to cut in. "I don't—"

"Hey hey, Sir comes out of his room sometimes! He goes to the moonlight banquets, he's shown up to meetings at least once!" Sleeves pointed a finger at her. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Portals frowned, taking a big bite out of a load-bearing part of the bread bowl. She hurriedly tipped it back to an awkward angle, slurping up the excess stew in a desperate bid not to spill any.

"No, no, you do, you totally do!" Sleeves was sitting upright again, the biggest grin on their face. "I don't believe this, you grew a heart!"

The fire in Portals's eyes matched the bright red of her hair as she lowered her bread bowl and took a huge breath, opening her mouth to retort—

"STOP IT!" Lou yelled as she stomped the stone with her foot.

Both witches turned to look at her, wide-eyed and a little sheepish.

"Please," Lou added, gripping the handle of her basket so hard that the wicker creaked audibly.

"You okay, Lou?" Sleeves asked, a hint of genuine concern in their voice.

"I'm okay, it's just... things keep coming up! It's already past noon and I've still got so much left to do! I couldn't talk to half the people I wanted to, everyone's busy or not where they said they'd be, I'm already late for the barracks... The cake is the only thing that came out right." She let out a frustrated, shaky sigh. "It was supposed to be easy. Nothing went like I planned it."

The look on Portals and Sleeves's faces spoke volumes, loud enough to drive Lou's eyes down so she could escape it. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be pitied. She didn't want the words out of her mouth to sound so much like his.

Had she pitied him as well, when he'd said them?

She closed her eyes, straining to take the deepest breath she could despite the constricting sensation in her chest. No. All this time, while he had worked so hard to put up walls, she had been busy tearing hers down. The compassion she had wanted to show him then, she could now show herself.

Lou reached into her basket, pulling out the stack of folded letters and offering it to Sleeves. "I need your help," she said plainly, softly; honestly.

"Well yeah, of course," they replied without hesitation. "What do you need?"

And just like that, Lou could breathe again.

Sleeves stuffed their untouched bread bowl inside their sling and reached out to accept the bundle of paper. They deftly plucked a letter out of the stack singlehandedly, setting the rest down as they flicked it open to give it a cursory look.

Lou stepped closer. "I—"

"WHOA, what is this chicken scratch?" Sleeves exclaimed with a laugh. They shook their head as they brought the letter closer to their eye, making a show of squinting at it. "You want me to decipher it for you, is that it? Who wrote this?"

"I did," Lou replied quietly.

Sleeves stopped laughing. For a moment there was silence in the air, only broken by the occasional gust of wind, or by Portals loudly slurping the stew left in her bowl.

"I, uh... jeez, I'm sorry Lou," Sleeves finally said, turning away slightly; adjusting the strap on their eyepatch as they did so. "Wait, hold on. No, you can write, can't you? I've seen you write! Back in the princess days—"

"Not with these hands!" she replied, holding out the basket she was holding as she tried to contain the combination of anguish and embarrassment bubbling up inside her.

Sleeves's apologetic look instantly turned to curiosity. "Is it really that different?"

"I had to relearn a lot of things afterwards," Lou mumbled more than said aloud. "Just... not this."

"What, blood wasn't enough, you had to swear not to spill ink with those hands too?"

"I'm being serious!" Lou stomped her foot on the ground for emphasis. "It just... it never came up until now! And I don't have time to practice. Can you help me or not?"

"Sorry, sorry! Uh, help you with what, exactly?"

Lou took another deep breath to calm herself down. "Could you... please rewrite them for me?"

Sleeves blinked a few times. "That's it? Well yeah, sure thing." They scanned the letter in their hand more closely. "Shouldn't be that hard, I think I can make out the... the, uh..."

There was another pause as they read through the rest of the letter, the mirth draining from their face as they did so.

When Sleeves looked back up to Lou with a smirk, there was no humor in it. "Hey Lou, this uh... doesn't read like a 'see you soon' kind of letter."

"Can you rewrite them?" she asked again, in a more serious tone this time.

Sleeves pinched the piece of paper with two fingers and folded it back up with the other three, slipping it back into the pile. Their gaze lingered on the stack of letters for a moment. "Yes, I can."

"Can you deliver them, too? Your special leather case still works, right?"

"As long as you left it in one of your troupe's wagons, yeah, the Seven of Keys will last a while. There's enough ambient—"

"Yer welcome," Portals said, wiping her mouth on the side of the bread bowl.

Sleeves pursed their lips as they stared a dagger in the young witch's direction. "Listen Lou, this is going pretty far for—"

"Can you be there for him?"

Sleeves turned back to Lou. So did Portals, looking up from the last remaining chunk of bread in her hands. Neither replied.

"Can you be there for him if... after I leave?" Lou asked again, managing to get the words out despite the sudden wrenching feeling in her throat.

"Well... yes, of course," Sleeves replied with unusual sincerity. "I mean, it's not for lack of trying, yeah? You know how he is."

"Yeah," Portals said between bites, "y'gotta catch him one-'n-one by the fire 'fore he opens up."

"Exactly," Sleeves continued, "so the best we can... wait, what? No he doesn't."

"Yeah he does."

"Sir does not open up."

"Does to me," Portals replied with a smirk.

"You're lying!" Sleeves was back on their feet now, the previous conversation clearly the last thing on their mind.

"We have long fireside chats, me 'n him!" Portals said with a big, lopsided, toothy grin. "S'where I help him come up wit' new things t'make you do!"

"Now listen here you little rune-faced leyline goblin—"

The bickering witches' back and forth quickly faded as Lou hurried on to the barracks. That was all she had wanted: help and reassurance. Sleeves would be cross with her for a bit, but that was okay. Better that than break down in front of them and lose even more of the time she didn't have. Truth be told, she was amazed she'd kept her emotions in check that long. She still had so many things to do, and a rapidly cooling cake in her basket. First, she—

"Don't just walk away! What's wrong with you?" Sleeves chided as they rapidly caught up to her. "Didn't your troupe buddies teach you any manners?!"

"Thanks for doing this for me," Lou said, not slowing down, nor diverging from her path.

"And don't go thanking me like that! It's too early." They kicked a stray pebble aside. "Don't talk like you already gave up. It ain't like you."

Lou couldn't hold back the small chuckle, or the weak smile that came after it. The two of them kept walking side by side, the barracks slowly coming into view: a wide building, stout and fortified, older than many of the other structures within the castle walls. It, too, had been repurposed generations ago, eventually becoming the place where most members of the royal guard were housed when they weren't training out on the grounds.

"Is there a letter for me in there?" Sleeves asked.

Lou nodded. "Of course."

"What does it say?"

"You'll have to read it."

Sleeves scoffed. "I'm not opening any more of these unless I have to. Frankly I'm surprised you trust me with this. There's gotta be a ton of your little secrets in here."

Lou looked up at the cloudless sky, lowering her glasses for a moment to fully take in the view. "You've grown a lot. Taken on a lot of responsibilities. Of course I trust you."

Sleeves groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me. You overhear one little lover's quarrel and suddenly you're the apprentice spymaster."

She nearly stumbled on a patch of grass. "That wasn't... We're not... We're not lovers!" she blurted out, her assurance in her own words dwindling by the second.

"Well you sure fooled me and about half the castle!"

Lou was about to retort when her eyes went wide, a forgotten task suddenly leaping to the top of her mental checklist. "Oh no."

"What?"

"Can you, uh..." Lou took a deep breath. "I need to ask you one more favor."

Their shoulders drooped. "What is it now?"

Lou stared at the ground as she spoke. "Do you know Smirk and Boots?"

"Yeah, Smirk is an easy mark at Feathers N' Knives and..." They let out a huge sigh. "Boots is... on my aunt's list."

"Okay, because... wait, what's with that reaction? What list?" Lou furrowed her brow as she pointed at them. "Is this about that silly nickname superstition? Why are guards giving people grief over it? Why haven't I heard about this before? What's going on?!"

"Whoa whoa whoa, one question at a time!" Sleeves hovered between surprised and insulted as they parried Lou's accusatory finger with the back of their hand and gently moved it aside. "Boots is on my aunt's list for treatment, alright? She comes to me every mail call for her medicine!" They frowned, exhaling through their nose in a huff. "What superstition? What are you going on about?"

"The plural nickname thing!" Lou said, pulling back her hand. "Some nonsense about bad luck and witches? Did someone make it up while I was gone?"

"Ohh, that." Sleeves scratched the back of their head, then began adjusting their ponytail. "Haven't heard that one in a while. It started back in the princess days, with some new Crown witches I think? You knew them better than I did."

"No, I didn't," Lou replied, her tone turning sour. "We never really got along. A lot of misunderstandings."

"Oh. Well, now you know. A guard must've dredged it up to pick on some maids or something." They gingerly lifted the sling wrapped around their shattered arm. "Haven't been up to speed on castle drama."

Lou's grip on her basket tightened. "I'll find who's responsible and give them a piece of my mind. I'm going to the barracks anyway, I can—"

"Whoa, whoa, don't you have bigger fish to fry? Weren't you just saying how busy you were?"

Lou's face scrunched up. "The junior maids deserve—"

"You're not captain anymore," Sleeves said as they quickly looked around. "Alright? Frederic is. You trust him, don't you?"

There was a pause, followed by a long sigh. "I do."

"See? This stuff happens. You did your thing, now let him do his." Sleeves scratched their chin. "Boots aside, that superstition's not entirely wrong though, is it? I mean, there's Portals, me, that one maid who's learning to ward the windows, and of course there's—okay wait, to be clear, Boots is constantly asking me about... about, uh..." They trailed off suddenly, as if they'd said too much. "Witches," they quickly added.

Lou gave them a sidelong glance. If this had happened at the card table, she'd be certain they were bluffing. "What did you do?"

"Wha—nothing!" Sleeves replied, looking aside to avoid her gaze, but also to hide the color rising to their cheeks. "I resent the implication."

"Are you... blushing?"

"Okay okay, fine!" They scrubbed their free hand across their face. "She worked a moonlight banquet once and... and she got smitten, alright?"

"What? Smitten how... oh. OH." Lou couldn't hide her smile. "Really?"

Sleeves groaned. "It's ALL she ever talks about! How fashionable that witch Njalbrenna is! How breathtaking! Oh, could I get her another banquet shift soon? Could I please deliver another message for her? AUGH!" They tilted their head back, staring up at the afternoon sky. "Her letters are piling up. What am I gonna do? Break her heart? Tell her she's in love with a character I play? I'm stuck! This sucks! What would you do?"

Lou looked at Sleeves for a long moment, her lips very firmly pressed together; her initial feelings of mirth at the revelation now long gone. "I... I'm not the one you should be asking."

"Anyway. Why'd you ask about these two?"

Lou cleared her throat. "Well, they asked me if a rumor was true, and I... I assumed it was the one you keep badgering me about! So I said yes! And..."

"And?" Sleeves asked, almost cutting her off. "And what?"

"And... they called me captain."

There was a long, drawn-out, dramatic sigh as Sleeves let out every last little bit of air in their lungs.

"They promised they'd keep it secret!" Lou added in an almost placating tone. "They're telling the truth, I know they are. But still, could you... keep an eye on them? He's asked you to do this before, right?" She looked at her colleague's rapidly shrinking posture as they doubled over, their steps becoming longer, slower, more ponderous. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine!" Sleeves said through clenched teeth as they rubbed the bridge of their nose in frustration, slowly unraveling to their full height again. "What's one more person sworn to secrecy? Two witches, three advisors, a knight here, a guard there, a banker, now two maids... it's fine! Pile 'em on, by S'Yvonne's ti—"

"A banker?" Lou asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sleeves said with a dismissive wave. "It's fine. I'll take care of everything. But you?" They pointed at her with an accusatory finger. "You need to... wait. Wait, this is perfect."

Lou looked on, perplexed, as Sleeves's expression suddenly made an about-face, a grin growing wide on their face. They turned their hand over—with an almost imperceptible flick of their wrist—and produced a small, gleaming silver disc, engraved with the royal crest surrounded by words of honor and praise.

"You're gonna do something for me, alright? We'll call it even."

There was no doubt in Lou's mind what this was, or why Sleeves was handing it to her. "You want me to give it back to Soix."

"Yep. Say it fell off at the banquet, say you found it while cleaning, doesn't matter! They'll believe you, and my reputation with them won't be unduly damaged."

"Your reputation?" Lou couldn't hide a faint smile. "You care about Soix?"

"Well I don't want them to think I steal their stuff!"

"..."

"...Anymore!"

Lou turned to the medal in her hand. She was hardly in a position to bargain. If this small task was the price of her earlier blunder with the junior maids, then in the grand scheme of things she was getting off easy. She slipped it into her apron pocket.

"Thanks, Glasses."

They were almost at the barracks now. Sleeves reached out with their free hand; then, after a moment's hesitation, gave Lou's shoulder the briefest of squeezes. "Hey. Whatever it is you're gonna do out there tonight... you come back safe, alright?"

Lou kept walking, eyes forward; her gaze soft, a weak smile on her lips. "It's not up to me."

Sleeves scoffed. Then, they dove in for a big one-armed hug, taking Lou entirely by surprise.

"Wh—"

"Don't sell yourself short, Lou," Sleeves whispered into her ear, patting her on the shoulder emphatically. They gave her one last surprisingly affectionate squeeze before letting go. Without missing a beat, they turned around and walked off, leaving Lou with the two standing guard at the barracks entrance. Not that the pair had noticed either of them, their attention fully occupied by idle conversation.

“Stonework, really? I figured painting was the more popular sentence for a crime of passion.”

“I suppose he’s a practical sort! Good killers make better sculptors, as they say.”

Despite the years since Lou had seen these two guards last, their camaraderie had evidently survived unscathed. As they noticed her approach they cut the friendly chatter and pushed away from the wall, resting their halberds on opposite shoulders.

"Is that cake I smell?" the shorter guard said as he twisted the tip of his mustache between his thumb and forefinger, his teeth practically sparkling in the early afternoon sun. "A gift for the city's stalwart defend-OW!"

He glared at his colleague as he put a hand over his ribs, right where she'd elbowed him. But the taller guard's gaze was squarely on Lou, and soon after, so was his. There was a brief moment of recognition—brows raised, looks exchanged—before the two guards straightened up, squared their shoulders and leveled their chins. This was too much decorum for a common maid... but the appropriate level for a superior.

A mix of worry and frustration welled up inside of Lou. Did they know? Had they, too, heard the rumor? She didn't have time for this. She didn't have time for any of it! Every moment that passed, her shadow grew long and the number of her tasks that she had to give up on grew longer.

“Delivery for Casque and Soix… ante-Douze,” Lou said, barely catching herself as she lifted her basket, knuckles white around its handle.

The taller guard inhaled through her teeth. "Ah, Casque ain't here today. He got reassigned to upper city perimeter duty." She gave Lou a sympathetic look. "Sorry ma'am."

Before Lou had time to process this bit of bad news, however, the shorter guard held out a hand. "Allow us to deliver it to him," he said. Then, as if sensing her hesitation, he bowed his head slightly. "Please, milady. Consider it penance? For our... long-ago, ungentlemanly behavior."

The taller guard chuckled to herself, but bowed her head all the same.

Lou looked down at the carefully bundled cake. She didn't want to weigh the pros and cons, she didn't want to evaluate how trustworthy these two were. She didn't want to think. She reached into her basket and handed the dessert over. "If I hear that either of you took so much as a nibble—"

"We'll keep it safe, we promise!" The shorter guard hastily replied, handing the bundle over to his colleague. The taller guard took the cake in hand and stretched up onto her tiptoes, stashing it away atop one of the many bits of masonry jutting out from the wall.

"We'll hand it to him the moment he comes back, untouched," said one guard. "You have our word," said the other.

Lou opened her mouth to ask about Soix when a sudden commotion drowned out any sound she might have made. The three of them stepped aside in a hurry as the doors to the barracks opened, letting out a detachment of royal guardsmen who wasted no time heading out into the castle grounds. At their head, clad shoulder to toe in the same glistening plates they had worn at the moonlight banquet, Soixante-Douze led the march.

A quick bow and an even quicker goodbye later, Lou was running after them as fast as her legs would allow. It wasn't unlike chasing after the Shepherd's Troupe once the train of wagons got going, though here she couldn't bank on Soix slowing down to let her catch up.

But, of course, they did.

"Forward march, to the gates!" Soix bellowed as they stepped to the side, their voice cutting through the noise with decisive intent. They had grown so much in two short years; all Lou could think about were the words in her letter, written in lieu of being able to speak them directly. As pressed for time as she was, a meeting just hadn't been on the list. And yet, here they were.

Soix turned to Lou as their pace matched hers, their long light brown ponytail swaying in the wind. They raised their arm to their bycocket in a subtle salute that seamlessly shifted to a tip of the hat. "Afternoon, ma'am." They smiled with an earnest confidence that brought an edge to their otherwise soft features. "Busy day, innit?"

Lou nodded as she reached for the silver disc in her care, embarrassingly out of breath from the sprint. She'd need to pace herself better tonight, or else...

"I was wondering where that went!" Soix said as Lou produced the royal medal. They tucked their halberd in the crook of their arm as they removed their metal gauntlet, gently plucking the medal from her fingers and stowing it in a belt pouch for later. "You have my thanks."

"There's... hold on," Lou replied, desperate to catch her breath. The next item on her list was already calling out to her, but she could take a moment more to give Soix some words of encouragement. Whatever reservations they might have held about their own merit back then, surely they now saw themselves in a different light; saw how far they had progressed, how hard they had worked to get there. They deserved to shine as much in their own eyes as the polished suit of armor they now wore. "There's no need to thank me."

"Nonsense, ma'am," Soix said, their smile nearly warmer than the sun. "You've been working harder'n most of us."

"You really worked... Huh?" Lou looked up at them.

"I can't claim to know what you're setting out to do tonight, ma'am," Soix said as they looked out over to the castle walls, "but know you have our full support. We've cordoned off the middle of the upper city like His Majesty requested. The Guard stands with you, ma'am, even if they don't all know it." They put a hand on her shoulder, firm but with a silk touch. "Sir Frederic and I did our best to train 'em, but you laid the groundwork, ma'am. You should be proud."

All Lou could do was stare and nod, the words seemingly hovering in the air, her mind not quite ready to process them just yet.

"Gods keep you in their sight, ma'am," Soix said with a final tip of their hat before marching off to rejoin the group, double-time.

It took a moment or two before Lou had the sense to wave back; a few more still for her to snap out of it, and hurry along on her own way. There were so many things left to cross off her list before the day was up. People to talk to, loose ends to wrap up, while it was still light out. While she still had time.

She made the most of it.

The sun's last embers were peeking out over the horizon by the time she stepped into the Prince's chambers, her feet aching, her shoulders sore, her legs spent. Her list complete, save for one last task.

He wasn't there.

She sat down on the edge of his bed, defeated. She'd planned everything out as well as she'd been able to, her once-pristine mental checklist ending the day full of cut corners and compromises. Everything she'd done had been in anticipation of this moment. She'd saved the most important for last, set aside as much free time as she could, all for one last conversation with him.

And he wasn't there.

No. Allowing her thoughts to spiral would get her nowhere. He was going to return to his chambers at some point; any time he'd ever stayed up all night, it was working at his desk, right here. Lou just had to wait. And that was okay.

She'd gotten quite good at it.

Lou hopped to her feet. Her maid uniform would come in handy after all. She retrieved a cleaning cloth from the apron pocket and got to work, passing the time (and calming her nerves) by giving the room a once-over. First the sculptures, then the trophies, then the baubles. The weapons would have to wait; especially the ones mounted high up on the walls, in the shadows, beyond her reach. Kept close by, but out of sight.

Lou kept busy, stopping only to light a candle or two as the sun's last embers grew dim. She smiled in spite of herself as she found herself cleaning a set of wooden figurines. She had grown fond of carving ones such as these as a child. Her mother would keep finding them in the unlikeliest of places, some more irksome than others, but had always taken it in stride.

Before she knew it Lou was humming a familiar lullaby, losing herself in comforting memories of crackling fireplaces, roughly-cut log walls and howling winter winds.

A high-pitched reverberating noise, like fingers on wet glass, cut her song short.

She looked around for the source of the sound, unnerved. Nothing. After a long moment, she returned to her task; a longer moment later, she was humming again. Just like before, the noise returned, as if joining in—but this time her ears were ready for it. Lou went silent, tilting her head as the noise faded, the last fragments of sound cluing her in on its position. She made her way to the source, quietly put one foot in front of the other, like a hunter stalking its prey.

The Secantation hung from the wall, its web of strings and crystals deathly still.

Had she imagined it? Lou leaned in closer to look at the vial hanging at the center, and the murky grey liquid inside. She had to make sure. She filled her lungs, pressed her lips together—and then the door flew open.

"LEAVE!" the Prince bellowed as he stormed into the room, an imposing silhouette against the light that now illuminated the threshold of his chambers.

Lou's heart jumped into her throat as she turned her head to look at him, the rest of her body frozen in place.

"Walking out on open court like that, bah!" The aging advisor from the undertemple had been hot on the Prince's heels, berating him all the way to the door. "The people's patience isn't infinite. They want actions, not words! If Princess Florence—may she be remembered—was here today, she'd be telling ye the same thing!"

The Prince stopped in his tracks and turned around. Though Lou could see neither his expression nor that of the advisor behind him, she could sense the chill that suddenly pervaded the air.

"Do not presume to know what my mother believed," the Prince said, his tone measured, his anger barely restrained.

"Bah! I don't have to presume, I was there when..."

The advisor trailed off, stopping mid-sentence. The room remained in complete silence for a long, agonizing moment.

"Leave," the Prince repeated.

"Of course," the undertemple representative finally said in a somber, much more considerate tone. "With all due respect, Your Majesty."

A moment later the doors were closed, the Prince and Lou alone once more in the royal chambers. He turned to her as her eyes once again adjusted to the faint candlelight. His face was sullen, his hair unkempt, his stubble grown into a thin, scraggly beard after two weeks of negligence. His white shirt hung loose, halfheartedly buttoned, revealing a bare chest; he'd taken off the slim golden chain from around his neck and wrapped it around his hand, rolling the several-sizes-too-small signet ring back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.

"Did you come here to fight?" he asked her, his voice hoarse and low like a once-roaring fire down to its last embers.

"The fight already happened," she replied almost without thinking, her answer coming naturally to her; the words feeling familiar as she spoke them. She brought her hands together at her waist, making a conscious effort to loosen her shoulders.

"Then what's left?" he asked as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, his bare feet hardly making a sound against the stone.

"Making amends."

The Prince scoffed half-heartedly. "It's a bit late for that." Now that Lou had fully adjusted to the twilight, her eyes could see his again. They were looking elsewhere, off to the side. Anywhere but at her.

"I don't think it's too late at all," Lou said, keeping her gaze squarely on him. "I wouldn't be here if it was."

He looked at her, hesitantly, finally. "Why are you here, Loulou?"

She gently guided his eyes with hers, off to the side and up the wall, at a trophy the shadows couldn't completely hide. "I'm here for my sword." She made eye contact with him again. "I'm here to... say goodbye," she added, managing to force out the last words through a throat tightening with feelings she just barely kept in check. But she held strong.

"Don't talk like that," he said as his face grew cold. "Don't give up before the fight even starts. That's not like you."

"I told you," she replied softly, "the fight already happened."

"Then what do you need a sword for?" The fire in his voice was returning, but it was devoid of warmth.

Lou let the Prince's words hang in the air for a bit, giving his rising temper time to ease back down. "I need my sword. It's special," she said with a weak smile. "I can't tell you more than that."

"Of course not," he said through clenched teeth. "You swore an oath."

There was pain in her smile, but it held strong.

"I've started evacuating the upper city. Entire quarters, with more on the way. Half the guard is out there holding the perimeter against that invisible screaming nightmare." He walked over to his desk, putting a hand on a rare open spot; leaning on it. The sound of metal on metal filled the room as he scraped the signet ring in his hand against the golden chain wrapped around it. "I'm supposed to just send you out there alone? Close the gates behind you, and hope for the best?"

"You've done it before."

"You could handle it then!" The Prince slammed his palm on the desk, making the wood creak in protest and sending a tremor through the stone floor. "You're not invincible anymore!"

"I told you," she replied, "I never was."

He slammed his fist on the desk again, harder this time.

There was silence again. The sun was well past the horizon now, the handful of lit candles barely enough to keep the darkness at bay.

"I heard them talk back then, you know," the Prince said, his voice low, as if the fight had suddenly left him. He looked up at the sword again as it hung near the ceiling, the silhouette of its wide blade standing out from the shadows. "I make the plays, and you're the one who pays."

"We both know it wasn't like that," Lou said softly. "I made sure Alphonse knew it when he wrote the play. I swore I'd set the record straight."

The Prince chuckled ruefully. "And another one. How many oaths has it been since the one I freed you from?"

Lou looked down at her hands, one holding the other; her knuckles turning white. "At least one more."

He paused. "I swore an oath of my own that night after the coronation, did you know? When I was finally alone for the first time. When I had time to catch my breath. When I thought you were gone."

Lou looked back up again, her gaze meeting his.

"All I could think about were the times you acted as my shield, as my sword. The times you locked the door between us and asked me to wait, and trust that you'd come back. The times there was nothing I could do." His eyes were just as serious as before, but there was a burning intensity to them now. "I promised I'd never let myself feel that powerless again."

Despite the rising tide of emotion surging within her, Lou held strong. She smiled at him with as much compassion as she could muster without losing her composure. "You shouldn't make promises you're not certain you can keep."

WHAMM!

"Then what am I supposed to do?!" the Prince yelled, papers flying up off the desk from the impact of his palm. "Just accept it?! Agree to terms I wasn't party to? Say goodbye to the only—"

There was a twitch in his eye, a lurching of his chest as he yanked his hand off the desk and made a fist. He snapped his mouth shut, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and steadied himself. The sound of metal on metal became louder as his hand flicked the ring ceaselessly.

He stood up to his full height, straightening his back and letting his free hand rest at his side, unclenched. "Everything I've done," he began to say in a low, methodical tone, "since that day, was to prevent this from happening. You were supposed to be free. Safe. Happy! You... you don't..."

The Prince raised his fist to his lips again, his brow deeply furrowed as he stumbled over his words. He shook his head; slammed his fist on his desk one more time.

"IT WAS A BAD TRADE!" he yelled, any pretense of masks discarded as a mixture of anguish and frustration washed over his face. "I should've been the one to negotiate! If you'd been upfront, if I'd known, I would've gotten you a better deal!"

Lou reached out with a hand but he stepped back with a frantic, dismissing wave the likes of which she hadn't seen in years. More than a decade, even.

"You didn't have to agree to this!" he added, beginning to pace back and forth around the tidied up piles of miscellanea strewn around the floor. "It doesn't matter if it sets everything right! It doesn't matter if it lets me keep going! It's not worth losing you!"

He looked at her, wide-eyed at his own words, for just a moment. Then he turned around and kicked the nearest pile of armor plates and letters with such force that it seemed as if his entire half of the chambers became filled with dust, debris and flying papers.

Lou reflexively shielded her face. But it was all bluster and noise. Seconds later, the cacophony had died down and the dust had already begun settling. The odd unfolded letter fluttered down as the Prince stood still with his back to her, half-cloaked in shadows.

It was her who broke the silence. "I didn't make a trade, I made an offer." Lou stood straight and tall, but the look on her face was tender. "You chose to tear down the crown; I chose this. If I'd chosen anything else, I wouldn't be the person you want to keep safe."

He looked up at the sword, her sword, still hanging from the highest spot on the wall. "I could just not give it to you," he said, his voice low, broken; resigned. "It's out of your reach. What would you do then? What's your plan?"

She shrugged. "I haven't thought that far ahead."

They shared a chuckle; a quiet one, devoid of humor but not entirely of warmth.

He turned to face her, the expression on his face almost imperceptible. "Promise me," he said, in the gentlest tone he'd taken with her that day.

Lou took a step forward, then another. She rested her hands on her apron again, one holding the other, at her waist. She looked at him expectantly.

"Promise me you'll come back."

Lou paused for a long moment. She managed a smile, if a bittersweet one. "When have I ever not?"

The Prince looked at her for what seemed like an eternity. Then he let out the breath he'd been holding and kneeled down.

Lou hesitated, unsure what she should do, if anything. But as soon as she understood his gesture a battle began inside her heart as feelings—some from long ago, others much more recent—fought for dominance. But she held strong. She stepped forward, and held out her hand.

He helped her onto his shoulder and with a hup! up both of them went. He supported her seated position with a hand on her thigh as he walked over to the wall with slow, sure steps. She put a hand on his, her heart at once racing and holding impossibly still.

She had seen this room so many times over the years, from so many angles. Never this one.

Lou held her arms out to her sword, now well within her reach. She carefully retrieved the weapon from its resting place, making sure not to nick herself on the sharpened edges of the mirror-like blade. Frederic had truly outdone himself when he restored it for display.

They were soon both back on solid ground, the Prince holding Lou's hand as she found her footing. As she tested the sword's balance, its weight alone still testing her limits, the Prince reached over to grab an old cloak hanging off the side of the standing mirror. Together they wrapped the blade up in it, enough to avoid scrutiny once she made it out the door. She hadn't even thought about that part—but evidently, he had.

He was still holding onto the blade as she tried to walk away.

"If you need help, just say so," he said, his voice defeated but his tone sincere.

"I already asked for help," she replied, "and I got it. The rest isn't up to me."

He nodded. Then he let go.

She walked over to the door, letting out the breath that she, too, had been holding. Once again she was leaving this room, and once again she didn't know if she'd ever get to set foot in it again. Had she taken care of everything? Was there anything left unsaid?

She thought back to all the moments they'd shared here, took one final look around. But there was no doubt left in her mind. She'd said everything she needed to.

"Loulou, wait," he said as she put her hand on the door. She turned back to face him. "You shouldn't do this alone." Even if he had wanted to hide the concern showing on his face, Lou would've seen it.

"I can't bring an army with me for this, it won't solve anything. I already have all the support I need." She took a deep breath; pondered the stage, if but for a moment. She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye, straightening her back, standing up to her full height. Any doubt had vanished from her words; only somber certitude remained. "You told me you'd be the one to bear the consequences of your actions, remember? It's time I did the same."

His face was a mess of emotions; hers, a mask of composure. It was like looking in a cracked mirror, the jagged lines doing their best to obscure the true visage underneath. They had shared better moments, less painful ones, but that was okay. She would remember those, instead. Perhaps he would, too.

The Prince watched as she made her way to the door. "Loulou," he simply said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lou turned to face him one last time. She inclined her head in a polite bow, the same way she'd done for years; only this time, she didn't look away. "My Prince," she replied softly, resolutely.

She opened the door.

And then she was gone.

Frederic was waiting for her at the gatehouse, just liked the two of them had planned. He wasted no time barring the door behind her as she walked in, the metal plates of his armor sliding across the layer of chainmail underneath. She handed him the wrapped sword in her arms, stepping back and rolling her shoulders once she was free of its weight.

She did her best to keep her mounting anxiety at bay as she walked over to the bench facing the painting that hung in the familiar fortification, quietly sighing with relief when she found the two portmanteaus she'd stashed there earlier. She had been fairly confident they'd remain undisturbed, having made sure to drop them off after the last patrol, but there was no truer certainty than the one she could hold in her hands.

She opened up the second leather case and pulled out her cloak with a smile. "One last time," she whispered into the wolf's ear as she slung the garment over her maid uniform, then began tucking the too-long ends of the cloak into each opposing shoulder for mobility's sake. The last thing she needed was to trip over herself.

Frederic approached, sword uncovered and in hand, presenting it like one would to a superior. Like he'd done, so many years before. Like they both had. It had become a language without words, a dance of preparation before battle.

What was different this time, however, was the staring.

"What are you wearing?" they both asked each other in unison.

"You first," Lou quickly added, tilting her head to the halberd leaning against the wall, helmed hanging from its back spike. "Why are you in full armor?"

Frederic's face was a mask of decorum as he pondered a reply. "Sir—"

"Are you thinking of going out there with me? I told you, I have to do this alone! Don't follow me!" She stomped her foot on the stone floor for emphasis with a tap! "That's an order!"

Frederic tilted his head ever-so-slightly away from her as he gave her a piercing look. "You are aware I no longer have to take orders from you. Sir."

Lou narrowed her eyes, her cheeks puffing out in the lightest of pouts. "Please."

"Of course," Frederic replied, his mask of decorum slipping for just a second to reveal a hint of mirth on his face. "I felt it best to be prepared for any eventuality, just in case. That's all."

"I s'pose that's okay." Lou retrieved her sword from his waiting hands, grunting as she lifted it upright; exhaling as she let it rest flat against her shoulder. Lou had never liked comparing herself to others, but right now all she could think of was how effortlessly Ribbon had carried weapons even heavier than this one in the few times the two of them had shared a shift.

"Now, is there a... strategic element to the uniform of a castle maid? Sir?"

Lou couldn't muster up the courage to look Frederic in the eye as she felt the blood rush to her face. "I ran out of time. It fits, it's functional, and it won't... malfunction, like some of my other clothes." She sighed. "There's no dress code in battle, right? Whatever gets you to the other side."

"Indeed."

Lou waved her free arm to the side, trying to get rid of the jitters. She'd prepared for this, as much as she was able to, for weeks now. She'd done her best to plan for every eventuality. She was ready. Wasn't she? She went over her mental checklist again, her gaze drifting around the interior of the gatehouse room, ultimately resting on the painting that hung on the wall.

"You always did prefer impressionists, sir."

Lou smiled. "Is that what this is? I just like the way it looks. Makes me feel like I'm there. Did you change it since... oh." She reached up and took her glasses off, folding them with one hand before offering them to him. "Here."

Frederic took them, perplexed.

She motioned toward the portmanteaus with her head. "Can you put these in there with the rest of my things?" she asked, taking another look at the painting; at its subject, standing amid the windswept tall grass at sunset. She heard Frederic open the first case, then pause, running a gloved hand down the length of the opening, testing the leather.

"You didn't need to bring these back."

"You've given me enough already, Frederic," she said, her voice cracking as an unexpected surge of emotion shook her to her core—but just for a moment. She held strong. "Once the dust has settled, please give what's in them to Sleeves. They'll know what to do."

"Of course, sir." He was back at her side again, looking at the painting.

They stood there for a time. Enough for Lou's resolve to return, and chase her doubts away. Most of them, at least. Soon she'd be out the gate, and that would be that.

"Did you like the play?"

"I did. Very grandiose. Very over the top. The pyrotechnics were an especially inspired addition. I felt the metaphor was quite apt."

"Wait, what? No, that's how it was. I went over it with Françoise a dozen times to make sure it was as close as possible. I was there, remember?"

"I was there too, sir," he replied, looking at her quizzically. "There was a handful of embers in the air when the Witch-Fiend appeared, but it was over in an instant."

Lou blinked at him repeatedly. "Are you sure? But, the smoke, the light, the burning..."

Frederic shook his head slowly, a slight look of concern on his face.

Lou stared back at him, her mind racing. She hadn't imagined all that, had she? She had been there, from start to finish! Where else could she have gotten all that from? Where...

There came a tightening in her chest, unlike any she'd felt before—but Lou knew better than to look directly at a blinding light. She shook her head and forced herself to think about something, anything else. Took a deep breath. Held strong.

Once she was out there under the half-moon, she would need to be stronger still.

"Sorry, I'm just... I can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep, and..." She let out a loud sigh as she rubbed her face with her free hand. "It feels like today's been the longest day of my life."

"I understand, sir."

Lou tilted her head to one side, then the other. She loosened up her shoulders, adjusting her grip on the heavy blade resting against her. It was time. "I should get going," she said, taking one more look around the room, at the walls; the castle beyond, the people within. "I trust you with the rest of it."

It took a second for Frederic to register her words. He nodded, raising his hand to his head in a salute. "You can count on us, sir. May the gods keep you in their sight." He walked over to the door that led to the upper city, getting ready to open it for her, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He opened his mouth, as if searching for the words. "If I may add... take heart, sir. No matter what happens, we are cheering you on. All of us."

"Thank you," Lou said as she approached, smiling in spite of herself. A step from the door, she looked into his eyes and held out her hand. "No matter what happens... be there for them. Please."

He carefully grasped her hand, his glove a thin layer of softness around the immovable firmness of his grip. Masks, decorum, etiquette—all of them were discarded as he gave her a solemn smile.

"You have my word, Lou."

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