Her Majesty The Prince

The princess walked a lonely path, shadow stretching far behind, an invitation in her wake… for a wand’ring beast to find. But fear was nowhere to be felt, danger nowhere to be seen, for who had been hot on her trail? Captain Le Loup, senses keen.

Among the drapes and tapestries, safe from any errant peek, she could entrust her hand to his—knight and princess, cheek to cheek.

Her breath held still as his went hot, nothing keeping them apart. Her cause had drawn him close to her; closer even to her heart.

He parted fabric with his touch, nimble hand in armored cuff; obeying every breathless word, fingers questing t’wards—

“ENOUGH!”

Lou pulled her half-opened bodice back together as she turned to the side, staring flustered daggers at the costume rack nearest to her. The tent was full of them, draped with clothing pulled from the travel chests lying open on the floor. All that fabric worked wonders to muffle sounds, making this particular nook of the Shepherd’s Troupe a popular choice for those desiring a little privacy, even this early in the day.

Libellule peeked her head through a gap between the robes, disguising her mirth with a mock pout. “Aw, don’t you like my lines? I never get to be in the chorus, let me enjoy this a bit longer!”

Roy let out a deep rumbling guffaw. His hands now unoccupied, he casually rested his elbow on the rod of another nearby clothes rack, bringing the three of them into a loose huddle. “I’m sure you can sweet-talk ol’ Alphonse into it one of these days, Lule.”

“But then where would that leave you?” Libellule replied, her grin returning as she turned her eyes to Lou. “Wouldn’t be fair to leave princess here in your hands alone.”

“Y’know what, you’re right,” Roy said, mirroring his co-star. “I reckon we ought to share.”

Lou couldn’t breathe.

She took a wobbly step back, her hand scrambling for the rack’s support rod as she maintained her precarious balance.

“You alright there, Lou?” Libellule asked, her tone a mix of playfulness and care. “We can stop if you’re not into it.”

Roy began to back off, giving Lou some space. “No pressure, yeah? If you don’t want—”

Lou grabbed one of the open sides of his shirt.

He stopped and remained still, her unsteady hand keeping him in place.

“I do,” she said, finally managing a heaving breath. “I want to. It’s just… I…”

She trailed off, mouthing words but saying none of them. She maintained her grip with trembling fingers, her knuckles turning white.

All the weeks of countless rehearsals and preparations had taken their toll, and not even last night’s premiere had been up to the task of releasing all this pent-up tension. Moments earlier, the excitement in the air had been palpable; but now, there was no denying that something was holding Lou back.

“Still thinking about him, huh?” Libellule asked gently, retreating from under the costume rack so she could lean on top of it, arms crossed.

Roy brought a hand to his shirt, right where Lou held it, and gently wrapped his fingers around hers. He tilted his head down to look into her eyes. “He doesn’t deserve all this room you keep making for him.”

Lou sighed. Of course they could tell. Despite her best efforts, it must have been written all over her face. She could feel her brow furrow in pain, helpless to stop it. She turned away from the two of them, her gaze wandering across the sea of dull golden fabric before landing on a striking outfit of brilliant blue: the coronation dress, from that climactic scene the night before. It had been the first time Lou had worn it in front of an audience; she would wear it again tonight. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the applause. She could still feel the bliss of her very first time.

“You don’t understand what we have—” she began to say, pausing to untangle the knot that had begun forming deep inside her chest. “What we had. It wasn’t like your rhyme. We just… knew each other so well. No secrets. No need to say anything. He knew my body better than anyone else.” She ran a hand down the sleeve of the dress, the tip of her fingers feeling every bump in the sewn pattern, as she struggled in vain to keep the anguish at bay. “His was the only body I knew anything about.”

Lou expected her words to be met with grumbling, an insulted scoff, or perhaps nothing at all. Instead, all she heard was laughter. She looked up in surprise.

“Lou, you don’t have to know everything. You don’t have to know anything!” Libellule said, her face glowing with the sweetest smile. “That’s not required.”

“But I… it’s not?”

“It sure ain’t!” Roy said with a guffaw. He shot Libellule a conspiratorial glance. “Matter of fact, finding out’s one of the best parts.”

Lou stood there, stunned, feeling the tension leave her face; feeling the heat return to it. Without her realizing it, her heart had started racing again. She looked from one to the other and back again, moving her lips, trying to find the words. “But… there’s still so much I don’t… so much that you don’t…”

Roy bent down on one knee, his eyes level with Lou’s chin. “You’ve been filling us in on more details than I can count for how long now? And captain of the royal guard for how many years before that?” He leaned forward with a wide toothy grin. “You can teach, can’t you?”

Lou felt Libellule’s slender arms snaking their way around her. She hadn’t even realized the taller actress had moved from her spot behind the costume rack. Despite the blood pounding in her ears, Lou heard her co-star’s words loud and clear.

“And we can learn.”

The door opened. Alphonse barged in, noisily shuffling the stack of papers in his hands.

Lou awoke with a loud gasp as the playwright’s sudden entrance shook her free from her dream. Everything caught up with her at once. The wagon, slowly rolling along the road. The well-worn canvas roof, its every rip and tear covered up with brightly-colored overlapping patches; the largest one made into a flap, left open to the stars. The costumes, boxed up and stacked in a big pile, save for the more precious ones kept on display. The thick rugs and blankets, spread out over the remaining space. Brie, splayed out and fast asleep. Libellule and Roy, lounging around her, their legs lazily intertwined with her own.

No sooner had Lou sat up than soft arms wrapped themselves around her from behind, easing her back down into the cushiest of embraces. “Shh, it’s okay,” Chiffon said softly, her smile evident in her tone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Can’t imagine she didn’t,” Roy said with a laugh before taking a swig from a small metal container. “Didn’t even wake up when I came in.”

“She does have the best seat in the house, doesn’t she?” Libellule added, her hand gently gliding across the fabric of Lou’s dress as she retrieved her flask from Roy to drink from it herself.

“Certain!” Roy grinned, his teeth almost sparkling in the meager moonlight that filtered down from above. “Alas, there ain’t much either of us can offer that’ll rival Rita’s bountiful—”

“No whining!” Chiffon teased with a possessive squeeze of Lou’s midsection. “You had her for two years! I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“And here you are!” Alphonse announced as he cheerfully shoved a handful of papers into Roy’s hands. Libellule wordlessly leaned over to follow along with him, resting her arm on Lou’s thigh.

Alphonse turned to Chiffon and Lou, holding the last bundle of pages. “Ah, I do not have that many copies.”

Chiffon cheerfully accepted the loosely-collected document. “That’s okay! We can share,” she replied with a smile, her free hand holding onto Lou just a little bit more tightly.

Lou tried to focus on the writing on the page, still groggy from her nap; heart still pounding from… from what, again?

“Your face is looking mighty red there, Lil’ Lou,” Roy said.

“Pleasant dreams, I hope?” Libellule added with a sly smile.

“S-something like that!” Lou quickly replied as the specifics of it came rushing back.

Alphonse pulled a cushion over and plopped it down on the last remaining free patch of the blanket pile over by Roy and Brie, sitting cross-legged atop it. With five blankets for the six of them, avoiding physical contact was almost impossible, but if the playwright minded at all he didn’t show it. He went to grab a treat from one of his pockets, then—upon seeing that Brie was still fast asleep—carefully pulled his empty fingers back. He instead smoothed out the pages in his lap, barely holding back his excitement as he turned to the rest of the assembled group.

“Ahh, I have been looking forward to this for so long! I do not have a title for this one yet, but, you know. There is still plenty of time.” Alphonse quickly tidied himself up—straightening the collar of his weathered sea captain’s jacket, adjusting his frizzy black curls with a hand—before clearing his throat and turning to the first page. “Are we ready to begin?”

“Hold on,” Roy said as he disentangled himself from his fellow troupe members and got to his feet. “I’m gonna give us a lil’ more light. Moon ain’t cutting it tonight.”

“Thanks Roy!” Chiffon tapped a book lying on the floor next to her. “More light would be great, I had to give up on my own reading earlier.”

Alphonse squinted as he brought the page right up to his face. “Ah, you are right. Suspense! My old nemesis.”

Lou looked up through the large flap in the canvas roof, then back down to the base of the wagon wall, over in the back corner, where she’d put the thin black leather portmanteau. In the meager light of the crescent moon, it was almost invisible. She could just as easily have left it by her bunk, but she didn’t want to let that case out of her sight. The new moon had come and gone since Sleeves had left it with her, as empty then as it still felt now. They were late.

Had the promise of a gift been a lie? Or perhaps, had something happened to delay them on the Prince’s meticulously organized path from royalty to republic? Things clearly hadn’t gone according to plan after she’d caught up with him on the balcony, despite Sleeves’s attempts to downplay it. An uneasy feeling had taken residence in the pit of her stomach, one that she didn’t dare look in the eye. If they were indeed late… was it because of her?

No.

Lou couldn’t go down this road again. Maybe this was a simple misunderstanding. She racked her brains, going over what she remembered of the instructions again and again. Don’t open it until the next new moon. Did that mean the one that had just passed, or the one after that? If the latter, then why not just say ‘in two moons’ to avoid confusion? Maybe they were late after all, but for a different reason. Maybe the dress they’d mentioned was taking longer—

“So Alphonse, what’s this one about?” Chiffon asked as Roy went about the wagon collecting the strings of fading witchsilver that hung from the walls.

The playwright grinned as the light dwindled down to only what the sliver of moon and stars could give. “It is about…” He raised one hand and lowered the other. “Above and below.”

“Ooh, another play about the gods!” Chiffon said, wiggling in place; making Lou sway side to side along with her. “I was hoping I’d come back to you putting on one of those! They always make for the best songs. And the best costumes!”

“And what costumes we have planned! I will bring the sketches next time, when the rest of the chorus is free. But yes, gods! Gods and people, actually.” Alphonse’s eyes practically glimmered in the faint moonlight. He leaned forward, his tone becoming hushed. “The Ice Huntress is forced to take human form… and during her struggles, she falls in love.”

Lou felt as much as heard Chiffon’s gasp upon hearing the magic word. Alphonse knew his troupe members so well.

“Oh, I’m even more excited now! Who turns her human? Is it another one of Rose-Mère’s lessons?”

Alphonse scratched the closely-shaven patch of hair between his ears as he let out an awkward chuckle. “Ah, yes, you are right… though I am open to suggestions. It does not feel very original. Lou suggested the other day that it could be about S’Candit atoning for something she did instead, and I like that very much.”

Lou couldn’t help but smile. Becoming involved creatively with a work like this wasn’t something she’d ever considered before, but the more she heard about this story, the more intense the feelings it brought out. She was grateful Alphonse had been so welcoming. Getting to contribute part of herself to the process didn’t just feel good; it felt right.

The playwright was deep in thought as he gently petted the sleeping Brie at his feet, his fingers sifting through the dog’s long and luxurious brown fur. “In this case, it should be someone other than Rose-Mère. Who could do it? Sernin-aux-Tonneaux? Maybe a mortal appeals to his sense of justice. They would not be the first.” He tilted his head. “But why would the Branch and Blade listen this time? The audience… they might not believe it.”

“A witch could do it,” Libellule said as she looked up at the sliver of a moon. “Few gods would ignore a last request, born of loss and grief.”

“Can witches really do that?” Chiffon asked.

“Witches are part of nature, and so are the gods below. That kind of connection only grows with age, in one way or another, manifesting in ways that get harder and harder to ignore until the very end. If a year’s training can mend wounds and a decade of knowledge can melt stone, then…” Libellule smiled. “The dying wish of a witch can accomplish miracles.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone took in the actress’s words. Lou had not yet gotten used to just how easily her colleague could capture her audience’s attention. Sometimes more than that.

“I was hoping this would be a romance,” Chiffon said with a slight pout, “but it’s starting to sound more like a tragedy.”

Roy returned to the back half of the wagon—in what little open space there was—bundle of witchsilver strings in hand. He stretched the whole thing taught, then began spinning it. “Now I love a little romance, but S’Candit sent her share of people to Dix-Parent. If she becomes mortal again, you can bet tragedy’s gonna be on the menu instead.” He grinned as he spun the bundle faster and faster, swaying side to side in a casual rhythm. “But sometimes the two ain’t that far apart.”

“Exactly!” Alphonse said, smiling widely. “Sometimes they’re the same.”

The faint circular trails of light slowly grew in intensity as Roy upped the cadence of his dance, the strung slivers of metal slowly but surely waking from their slumber. While he was nowhere near as graceful as the village grandmothers, there was an unmistakable touch of Beaver Lake technique in the actor’s movements; enough to give Lou a slight pang of nostalgia for the bygone days of seasonal festivals and celebrations. Perhaps the Shepherd’s Troupe would travel further north one of these days during the warmer months. There were faces there that Lou hadn’t seen in years. Decades, even.

Perhaps time enough that she could risk showing her own face there again. Such as it was now.

The entire wagon lurched forward with a groan as the Shepherd’s Troupe came to a sudden stop, causing everyone to sway in place as they steadied themselves. Everyone save for Roy, who used the momentum to turn a step into a full hop and keep his dance going uninterrupted.

“I thought we still had a day or two left?” Chiffon said, a bit confused.

“That is right,” Alphonse replied, a hint of concern on his voice. He hopped to his feet at once, walking over to the window to take a peek. “There is an inn on this road. Perhaps Thévenin decided we should repair that wheel on the cold car sooner rather than later?” His eyes still on the window, he then quickly moved to the end of the wagon, reaching inside his jacket with one hand as he opened the door and stepped outside.

Lou didn’t even have time to form a single worried thought before Alphonse came barging right back in, a broad smile on his face.

“A royal messenger at the inn! No wonder we have stopped. I will go get the news.” He snapped his fingers. “Rita, you wanted to see the costumes, did you not? I shall fetch the sketches from my wagon on the way back. With Françoise’s new techniques, we will finally do the gods justice! Half of them, at least.” With that, the playwright was off.

Meanwhile, Roy had been carrying on his dance. While the bundle of witchsilver was glowing brighter than when he’d begun, he wasn’t quite done yet. The process of turning motion into light took quite some time; Lou remembered her endless fascination with the treated metal when she was young. How bright it could glow once it had turned all that stored energy into light, and how lengthy that transformation could be. Even after everything had been done and every effort had been taken, sometimes the final ingredient was patience. Some changes not even the gods could hurry.

With a thunderous exhale, Roy brought his motion to a stop, eliciting applause from the rest of the group. He shifted the bundle from one hand to the other, pulling the individual strings apart and handing them off to Libellule, who had joined him. Soon all four of them were on their feet, hanging the strings of light up on the walls of the wagon. Sometimes Roy would give Lou a boost, raising her up with firm hands so she could reach the ceiling; other times Libellule would lean down as she walked by, stealing a kiss.

Lou paused as she put up her final bit of string, focusing on a single sliver of metal; watching it glow brighter with each passing moment. With any luck, once Alphonse came back there would be enough light for comfortable reading.

A stray thought popped into Lou’s head as she and Chiffon returned to the pile of rugs, their task complete. She sat down, searching for the right words, as part of her wouldn’t let her think about anything else until this particular doubt was squarely dispelled. “Did you refill the bottles?”

“Of course!” Chiffon’s answer was immediate and chipper.

“Mm.” That answer ought to have been enough, but Lou’s worry had merely been displaced to the next item in the list. “Is everyone tucked in? It’s just that… Edmée’s youngest tends to push away the covers, so—” Lou stopped, interrupted by a hand affectionately ruffling her hair.

“The little ones are doing just fine, don’t worry!” Chiffon said with a smile as she sat down next to her. “Lin took over for me earlier, she’ll be with them all night. We used to trade shifts all the time before I went to work at the castle. She even taught me how to make some of her remedies!”

Lou returned a weak smile. “Sorry. I forget you’ve done this before.”

“Longer than you have!” Chiffon elbowed her playfully. “Lou, it’s really lovely how much you care. But you can count on me! I remember these kids and most of them remember me. It’s like I never left! Well, aside from the new faces. And how big everyone’s gotten.” Chiffon picked up the book she’d put aside and opened it up, angling it to catch the light, possibly in the hopes of sneaking in another chapter before Alphonse returned.

“I’m really glad to hear… where’d you get that?” Lou asked suddenly.

“Alphonse mentioned he wanted some books from the royal library, so I borrowed a few! He’s letting me read this one first.” Chiffon smiled with her eyes shut tight, the way she always did when she was feeling playful. “You’ll never guess who the author is!”

“I… I know,” Lou answered, her voice catching in her throat ever so slightly. “I was there when he wrote it. When he wrote all of them. I remember how he… how the first copies were bound.”

“You got the Prince’s books!” Libellule said as she returned to the rugs, cozying up to them both. “Alphonse has been wanting to read those for ages. I didn’t know you were into political theory, Rita.” She squinted at the cover. “Wait, does that say… Sappy Syrups?”

“From Gathering to Gastronomy!” Chiffon beamed. “I suppose His Majesty enjoys the occasional passing fancy.”

“They don’t always pass,” Lou added quietly. “Sometimes he still cares, it’s just… hard to see.”

Chiffon’s smile instantly faded. “Oh. Oh Lou, I’m so sor—” she began to say, cutting herself off as she shot a wide-eyed glance first at Libellule, then at Roy who plopped down onto an unclaimed part of the rug pile at the group’s feet, next to the sleeping Brie.

That’s right, Lou thought to herself, this is the first time the four of us have had some real privacy together, isn’t it. She looked at Chiffon; leaned into her a bit, in a gesture halfway between reassurance and affection. “It’s okay. They know.”

“They… do?” Chiffon asked, her face dead serious. “How much of it?” she whispered.

“All of it,” Lou replied, managing a smile. She shot the wagon door a glance, just on the odd chance that Alphonse had returned, but the playwright was nowhere to be seen. “We’ve been, ah… very close.”

“Oh, was that what you were dreaming about earlier?” Libellule asked with a grin that made the blood rush back to Lou’s face. “That morning?”

“W-well… it… it was a really memorable morning.”

“Which morning are we talking about now?” Roy asked, then broke out into a grin once he got a good look at Lou. “Ohh, the morning after the premiere! Serious? You’re still dreaming about it? We’ve had plenty of—”

“It was a really memorable morning!” Lou repeated, wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation by burying her face into Chiffon’s cushy embrace… though that would probably only add fuel to the fire. Her face was burning plenty hot already.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m still a little jealous you remember your dreams so vividly!” Libellule shifted positions, propping herself up on Roy’s chest with an elbow. “I always end up forgetting mine the moment I wake up.”

“I’m fine leaving my dreams to Saint-Oubli,” Roy said as he put an arm around Libellule’s waist. “Lil’ Lou’s been having plenty of 'em for all of us lately. Jehan giving you the spicy stuff again?”

“Oh, she used to get them back at the castle too!” Chiffon said before Lou could reply. “It made for fun conversation when our shifts lined up.”

Libellule smiled, but quickly furrowed her brow as she began to visibly ponder something. “Hey Rita… how did you two meet again? I thought—”

The actress suddenly went silent as Brie shot up from his slumber in a flurry of brown fur, standing alert with ears perked. The guardian of the Shepherd’s Troupe directed a low growl at the empty corner of the wagon, over by the back door.

Lou breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the diversion. Roy and Libellule didn’t quite know all of it, as it turned out.

“What’s up, big fella?” Roy asked, turning to see. “Ain’t nothing over there. D’you spot a ghost or something?”

While the rest of her colleagues were perplexed, Lou instantly recognized the target of the sheepdog’s attention: Sleeves’s thin black case, leaning against the wall, becoming more and more visible as the witchsilver lights gained in intensity with each passing moment. Lou could’ve sworn it had been standing upright when she’d left it there earlier. She gently extricated herself from Chiffon’s embrace and walked over to the corner, keeping her eyes squarely on the portmanteau the whole time. She reached out to the handle, wrapped her fingers around it tightly, and lifted.

Lou felt the contents within shift. The case was no longer empty; Sleeves had delivered on their promise. She had been right. They had been late. But she couldn’t find any relief in the pit of her stomach—only worry laced with foreboding. She had to make sure.

“Whatcha got there, Lil’ Lou?”

Lou held her breath as she rushed back to the pile of rugs, kneeling down on the empty corner. She tilted the peculiar portmanteau this way and that, unsure, before ultimately picking a side and laying the case down flat, right on the cushion that Alphonse has sat on earlier. She frantically searched for a way past the mechanism on the side, her fingers pushing and tugging at the unusual metal clasps. Brie watched her intently throughout all of this, the large sheepdog stopping just short of snarling at the unfamiliar object.

Chiffon looked at Lou for a moment, then answered. “It’s a gift, I think? From Sleeves, when they visited last month.”

“Who?” Libellule asked, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, one of your castle friends, right? In the butler outfit?”

“I think I heard Françoise grumbling about that one.” Roy chuckled as he gave Brie some reassuring pats. “Really rubbed her the wrong way.”

“Are you trying to get it open?” Chiffon asked as she stepped closer. “I thought you said it was empty.”

“It was,” Lou said as her fingertips finally found purchase on something they could move.

Cla-clack!

The clasps’ sudden opening gave everyone a jolt, Brie included; Roy, quick on his feet, reassured the animal in record time. Lou, meanwhile, wasted no time gripping the case at the corners and opening it, lifting the heavy lid of the awkwardly lopsided portmanteau as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She looked on as the contents spilled out of the black leather case and onto her knees.

It was a dress.

At least, that’s what Lou presumed the folded mass of cloth was. She carefully picked it up, the garment unfurling as she lifted one end into the air.

“Oh, that’s such a striking shade of red!” Chiffon exclaimed.

Lou took deep breaths to calm herself down as she turned the dress this way and that, trying to figure out which way was up.

“Positively vibrant,” Libellule replied, nodding in appreciation. “You’re gonna turn some heads, hon.”

Lou stifled a self-conscious chuckle as she held the dress against her body, having at last found the shoulders—or lack thereof. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d worn something revealing, or alluring, or designed to capture everyone’s attention. But that was on stage, she reasoned; that was different. This wasn’t a costume designed to evoke the glory or glamour of someone else. This was meant for her.

And she liked it, to be sure. The fabric was light, breathable, and not too soft; the exact kind of cloth she found most comfortable. The design—what she could see of it as it hung flat from her hands—reminded her of the dresses she’d seen so many times during the countless banquets that had gone on around her over the years. The dresses that she somehow remembered, despite having forgotten almost everything else that went on during those interminable evenings. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

“Do you like it?” Chiffon asked.

“I think so,” Lou replied, turning her head this way and that as she held the dress tight against her body. “It’s just a bit hard to tell like this.”

“Oh, let me!” Chiffon said, walking a few steps over to the stacks of wardrobe boxes. She gently shifted the costumes on display—checking under the Witch-Fiend’s gown, looking behind the princess’s coronation dress—before she found what she’d been looking for. She gathered up Le Loup’s wolf pelt cloak in her arms (as much of it as she could) and carefully moved it atop a nearby chest, revealing the standing mirror that the garment had been draped over. Chiffon turned around with a flourish. “There you go! Now you can… ah…”

“Thanks Rita, that’s perfect!” Lou said with a smile, having fully disrobed in the meantime. She was grateful she’d opted for her more minimalist set of underclothes that morning. There would be little chance of anything peeking out from under the daring cut of her new dress.

“Oh yeah, forgot that was there,” Roy said as the sheepdog at his feet finally settled back down under his care.

Chiffon stood there with the most surprised expression Lou had seen on her yet. The former maid looked on, her gaze leaping from person to person, her mouth hanging open.

Roy couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You doing alright there Rita?”

“I just… I just thought she’d need a little, you know… encouragement.”

“Oh! No, I’m good!” Lou hesitated a bit, unsure whether this was a dress you slipped on or one you slipped into, but Libellule quickly offered some gentle guidance. New garments were always a challenge to put on, especially those at the forefront of fashion. She was grateful she was able to stumble through the small mistakes away from prying eyes, with the only witnesses being her closest friends.

As well as the moon, who saw everything.

Lou looked at her reflection in the mirror as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress, the witchsilver lights all around slowly but surely bringing the details into view like a rising curtain. Sleeves had outdone themself: a dress that hugged every curve—a little too eagerly in some places—and looked like it could rival whatever high society could muster. However long she’d have to wait for that opportunity, she reasoned as her gaze traveled down the hem of the dress, landing on the copy of Alphonse’s next play that lay on the floor by her feet. The next premiere was a ways away still.

“You’ve really come a long way, haven’t you,” Chiffon said as she walked up to her. She gently reached out and took one of Lou’s hands into hers.

Lou broke from the mirror and looked up into Chiffon’s eyes. For a moment it was as if the two were still at the castle, clad only in towels, the promise of warmth awaiting just beyond the threshold, beckoning them in.

She would love to visit the royal baths again, if she ever got the chance.

“I s’pose I have,” Lou replied with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here to see it.”

Chiffon returned the smile. She then released Lou’s hand and darted back to the rug pile, leaving her spot to another actress eager to get a closer look.

“Your friend has good taste,” Libellule said as she caressed Lou’s right shoulder, bare just like the other. “Daring, too! These city dresses are getting lower and lower, are you sure this is all of it?” she joked as Chiffon stepped away, heading back to the rug pile.

Lou reached up to put her hand over Libellule’s, her eyes not moving from her reflection in the mirror. A dress made just for her. Not a maid uniform or a princess costume or an outfit from the troupe’s communal wardrobe, but something that was purely Lou.

Then Chiffon was at her side again, draping a fur stole over her. Wider and thicker on one side, it fully covered her left shoulder but left the right one bare. An accessory? A statement? Lou looked past the mirror, to a chest by the corner, where her wolf pelt cloak lay bundled up and set aside.

An homage.

“Turns out there were more things in the case,” Chiffon said, beaming, as she quickly stepped away once more to go stand next to Roy. “I think it looks lovely on you,” she added, looking her up and down.

“C’mon Lil’ Lou, give us a show!” Roy cheered. “Before Alphonse is done chatting up that messenger.”

“Yeah princess, don’t leave your audience waiting!” Libellule added as she joined the other two. She put her hand out in a thumbs-up, the cracked crown tattoo on her wrist catching a stray sliver of moonlight as she did so.

Lou couldn’t help but smile at her friends’ infectious eagerness. Before she knew it, she was striking a pose. After all, who was she to refuse the undeniable truth of being wanted?

She took a few practiced steps, then broke out into a dance—her favorite from the play, during the scene of the last ball before the coronation. Her audience of three played their part beautifully, clapping and cheering as she brought her performance to a close with a twirl that sent the lower part of her dress spinning.

Lou shook her head, unable to suppress a grin. She didn’t know that style of dress could do that. Was it the short slit down one side? The type of fabric, the hidden pleats? Whatever the reason, Sleeves had gone the extra mile in a strangely touching way.

“Now that’s more like it,” Libellule said appreciatively.

“Serious! You like it, Lil’ Lou?”

Lou smiled, feeling the color rush to her cheeks. “I love it.” She then turned toward the open case on the floor, guided by a stray thought. “What else was in there?”

Chiffon handed her a small, thin box. “This! And a letter.”

Lou furrowed her brow as she opened it, then her eyes went wide. Wordlessly, she plucked the object from within: two finely-sculpted glass discs with an unusual tint to them, set in a thin golden frame. Without hesitation, she put them on. “I s’pose it’s a little dark for these, but…” She trailed off, charmed by the colorful witchsilver strings as they continued to grow brighter.

“They’re perfect!” Chiffon gasped, clasping her hands together, the biggest smile on her face. “Glasses for Glasses!”

“Glasses… for glasses?” Libellule repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“That was her nickname back at the castle!” Chiffon answered before Lou could stop her. “When we worked as maids together in… what? What is it?”

By the time Chiffon noticed Lou’s panicked look and outstretched hand, it was too late. Libellule was upon them instantly, her eyes practically alight.

“Lou,” the actress said in the loudest, most intense whisper, “you were a castle maid?”

Chiffon blanched. “I thought you told them everything!”

“Not this part!” Lou winced. At least her face was already so red that surely any more wouldn’t be noticeable. “I, uh… I mean… It happened after, um…”

Roy just stood back and grinned, one hand petting Brie, the other scratching his chin through his thick, trimmed beard. “Take your time.”

“When was this?” Libellule asked, undeterred, her lips twisting into a smile.

“You, um… remember when I told you I snuck back into the castle, after the coronation? To, uh… see… him?”

Libellule shook her head in disbelief, barely holding back a laugh. “I thought you meant literally! Under a cloak on a stormy night, hopping over the wall, that sort of thing!”

“It still counts as sneaking! It was just… the more social kind.” Lou cleared her throat. “I disguised myself, got hired as a maid, and… I worked my way up to him. Over eight months, give or take.”

Libellule’s jaw dropped. “You were a castle maid for EIGHT MONTHS?”

“Give or take!”

“Lou. Lou.” Libellule clasped both of her hands over Lou’s shoulders, her grip surprisingly firm. There was an intensity, a hunger to her stare that Lou couldn’t quite make sense of as the taller actress leaned down, eye to eye, color unmistakably rising to her face. “You have to tell me.”

“Wh… what?”

Libellule carefully measured out every syllable as she spoke. “Do you still have the uniform?”

Somehow, Lou’s face burned even hotter as she let out an involuntary chuckle. “I, uh… I think so? The last time I…” Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, gods. I left it in his chamber. After we—”

“Sorry for the wait!” Alphonse shouted as he barged in, noisily shuffling the stack of papers in his hands. “Our friend the royal messenger is headed back to the capital in the morning, they were just about to turn in for the night—what good bit of timing! You will not believe this: the lord of the Cimes Perdues has rebelled!”

“You don’t say!” Roy said, quickly walking over to give Alphonse a hearty clap on the shoulder, interposing himself between the playwright and the others in the process. “The dragon guy? His Majesty gonna do anything about that?”

“That is the best part: His Majesty already has! The news is a few days old, he must be back at the castle now. It turns out his party was in the crowd when the lord made his announcement. They fought him all the way to the heart of the mountain! The rebellion did not even last until sunrise. Oh, once we are done with this next play, I can already see…” Alphonse trailed off, having finally caught a glimpse of Lou and the others. “Ah, what is going on?”

“Oh, this? Lil’ Lou was just showing us a bundle of gifts she got from that Sleeves character who visited a while back.”

“His Majesty’s Shadow gave you a present?” Alphonse leaned over to peek past the burly actor. “I didn’t know that you… Petite Lou! By the gods above and below, that dress! It’s magnificent!”

Lou waved from her sitting position on the pile of rugs, nestled snugly between Chiffon and Libellule. “Welcome back! Ah, yeah, I s’pose it is! Did, uh, did the messenger say—”

“And that fur stole!” Alphonse rushed over, looking Lou up and down. “And those glasses, too! What a breathtaking ensemble!”

Chiffon reached over to retrieve Sleeves’s case from where it sat on the cushion, freeing up some room on the rugs.

“Ah, thank you Rita,” Alphonse said as he kneeled down, extending his hand toward the bit of dress that covered Lou’s upper arm. “May I?” he asked.

Lou nodded. There was a twinge of worry, a barb-shaped thought in the back of her mind, but she did her best to ignore it.

“Thank you.” Alphonse delicately touched a loose part of the dress with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the material; ran the back of his hand over a corner of the fur stole; looked at the golden-framed, tinted glasses up close and afar, from seemingly every angle.

Lou held her breath throughout it all. There would be plenty of time later to petition Alphonse for more details about the news he’d heard. The Prince and the others had made it back; there would have been news about it otherwise. Surely that was enough to ensure her fears faded by morning. In the end, no matter how much Libellule had helped her appreciate the night, it still gave voice to the most vulnerable parts of her.

Alphonse sat back down on the cushion, letting out a low whistle. “This is not only a gift, it is an investment! You are a lucky woman, Lou. Do you know how much all this is worth?”

Lou shook her head emphatically, both as an answer and a way to shake loose the last stubborn vestiges of her worries. “No, I don’t know how you make sense of it over here. Back home, the village grandmothers handled all that stuff. Kept everything nice and fair.”

That got a chuckle out of Roy. “Same for us!” He kneeled next to Lou, resting a warm hand on her bare shoulder. “If you took advantage, they’d drag you over by the ear so you could make it right! And if you didn’t…”

“Quin toé!” Lou exclaimed with a backhanded slapping motion. No one could put her at ease the way Roy could. “Simple, easy! Here, it’s all so complicated. I just let the bank people figure it out.”

“Ah yes, I remember now—‘I don’t know, I don’t care, I don’t want to think about it, please just talk to Monsieur Pêcheur at the royal bank!’ Every time I bring up your pay!” Alphonse laughed as he handed out some sketches with one hand while taking out his flask and popping it open with the other. Despite the late hour, he was bursting with energy. He shot Lou a glance, then another, before finally motioning to her with the small bottle. “You are not a big spender, are you Lou? Have you, ah… checked how much you have saved up? Adélaïde mentioned how all Crown staff have access to investment managers, and I—”

“Now Alphonse,” Roy interrupted with a tone as firm as his grip on the playwright’s shoulder, “we talked about this. Remember? Merchants and thieves.”

Alphonse locked eyes with Roy for a brief moment. Then he sighed and shook his head, defeated, as the two men shared a smile. “Yes, you are right. Do not mind me, Lou.” He raised his flask, as if for a toast. “Merchants and thieves,” he added under his breath before taking a swig.

Lou forced out a chuckle. “Yeah, I really don’t want to think about it. Bankers are already hard enough to understand. What does a mille-oubli or a décalumière even mean?”

COUGH!

“Alphonse, this design for S’Candit is brilliant!” Libellule held up one of the sketches being passed around. “I never would’ve—are you alright?”

The playwright was struggling to get back to his feet, wracked with a sudden coughing fit. He stoppered his flask as best he could, dropping it to the floor as it missed his jacket pocket completely.

“Al?” Roy asked, a hint of concern on his voice.

“M’okay!” he replied between coughs, giving himself some hearty slaps square in the middle of his solar plexus, in the open spot between the tentacle tattoos that framed his chest. He waved for the others to continue as he paced around the open part of the wagon.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lou asked.

“I am fine! I am fine,” he repeated, forcing a chuckle. “Do not worry. Let… ah, let me know what you think of the other costume designs!” He waved them off as the coughing resumed, repeating the hand motion until the four of them turned their attention to the sketches. Brie, for his part, remained seated but craned his neck to dutifully follow Alphonse’s haphazard walk back and forth.

Lou looked at the page that Libellule had handed to her and Chiffon, covered in sketches of possible costumes for S’Candit. Clad in armor here, gliding over the snow in a patchwork of furs there. Always holding a bow, her wild hair a billowing mass of untamed curls. Even through the tint of Lou’s new glasses, there was more than enough light to see every detail. In fact…

She looked up at the walls of the wagon. The strings of witchsilver had taken their sweet time, but thanks to Roy’s efforts they had finally returned to their full brightness. Lou hadn’t seen them shine this way in all her time here. She’d almost forgotten the patterns they could form, like a rainbow plucked from the Beaver Lake sky and frozen in ice. How long had this image slumbered in her mind? In this instant, the costume car and the wooden cabin she’d grown up in were one and the same; in this moment, Lou was at once the child and the adult gazing at the same shining lights.

As her heart began to thrum with the harmony of two moments, Lou made a mental note to ask Roy about his witchsilver ritual later on. Maybe he could do a repeat performance of his dance, or even teach her how to do it herself. The thought gave her a strange kind of comfort. Perhaps the past felt more out of reach than it actually was.

“Ooh, Rita, I want to see Dix-Parent next,” Libellule asked before turning to the still-coughing playwright. “You all really outdid yourselves with these designs!”

“Here you go!” Chiffon said as she picked the requested page up from a nearby pile and handed it over.

Lou lazily followed the costume sketch with her eyes as it changed hands—weighing in her mind whether or not to prod Alphonse about the design’s inaccuracies—but nearly jumped from her seat once she caught a glimpse of Libellule. She couldn’t help but stare at her, all brilliantly bathed in light, as if this was the first proper sight of her she’d all day. Before Lou’s thoughts could catch up, the words had already left her mouth. “Your hair’s purple.”

Libellule blinked in surprise, then let out a warm laugh as she brushed aside a wavy lock. “Lavender.”

Lou mouthed the syllables back at her, smiling in spite of herself. For a magical moment, all was still; all was quiet, save for the rustling of paper as she was handed another page, this one folded. “It… it looks really nice, did you… Wait, what’s this?”

“Sleeves’s letter! I figured now was a good time,” Chiffon chimed in with a careful squeeze, making sure not to ruffle the fabric of Lou’s dress.

Lou looked down at the piece of paper, intricately folded yet messily sealed with wax. Its mere presence ought to reassure her… so why was the sharp pinprick of worry still there in the back of her mind? Why was her stomach still twisting itself into a knot? She moved a finger to the seal. Whatever the contents, at least she’d be reading them surrounded by the people closest to her; those who could help her the most, who already knew all her secrets. Except for—

Sudden hesitation stayed her finger. Was it really safe to open this here? She lifted her head up, looking out to the far side of the wagon—directly into Alphonse’s eyes.

He remained hunched over by the door, his hand against the wall, his eyes staring back unblinking. When had he stopped coughing? Lou opened her mouth to speak, but Brie was the one to break the silence as he barked, then snapped up Alphonse’s discarded metal flask and brought it over.

Whatever tension hung in the air instantly dissipated as the playwright bent down to retrieve his flask, petting the large sheepdog in the spot he liked best. “Ah, yes, thank you Brie.” Alphonse cleared his throat and turned back to the group. Before he could say anything, however, there came a loud whine and the sound of blunt claws scratching at the door behind him.

“Now? Really?” he asked, his shoulders drooping. “Brie, we’re about to get moving again, you couldn’t have said something earlier?” But as the sheepdog’s whining intensified, Alphonse held up his hand in defeat. “Fine! Fine. Come on, let’s take care of it,” he added, glancing back at the others. He chuckled self-consciously as he waved. “Go on, do not mind me! With any luck we will return before the wagons start rolling.”

Lou stared at the door long after Alphonse closed it behind him, the uneasy tightness in her chest making it hard to breathe. Part of her didn’t want to look down at the letter in her hands. The rest of her didn’t want to wait any longer. She went to put both thumbs against the seal, but stopped.

The imprinted design was similar to the Prince’s signet but smaller, simpler, and partially obscured by a veil draped around it. She tried to remember where she’d seen it last, if at all, as she idly scratched at one of the surrounding splotches of wax. Red, the same shade as her dress. She allowed her focus to drift onto the garment again, admiring the folds of the fabric, the trim of the short slit on the side of the skirt. “It really is striking.”

Chiffon leaned forward to peek, resting her chin on Lou’s shoulder. “C’mon, what does it say?”

“Right, right,” Lou replied. No more putting it off. She pressed both thumbs to the seal and snapped it in half, then opened up the letter at the first fold. Her eyes darted over the words, the handwriting standing out to her: at once boisterous and delicate, if a bit unevenly inked. She began to read. “Sleeves…”

Lou took a shaky breath.

“…Says hi. They’re sorry for being late. They hope I like the gifts.” She let out a relieved sigh, smiling in spite of herself; a smile that barely lasted a second before her expression turned sour at the words that followed. “Well if you wanted me to open the little box first you should’ve put it on top! Jeez.”

“Hah!” Roy guffawed as he gave Lou’s shoulder a pat, leaning aside to get Chiffon’s attention. “That how she usually talks to the… Shadow of His Majesty, whatever Alphonse called 'em?”

Chiffon did her best to contain her own amusement, but her happy wiggling as she held Lou gave it away. “That’s how it was in the undercroft, there was always a lot of banter whenever we shared shifts or played cards. Lou could always see right through Sleeves at Feathers N’ Knives, cleaned them right out! They insisted we switch to Seven Tulips after that.”

“Mm.” Her face still scrunched up, Lou kept reading, squinting at the occasional word that had either too much ink or too little to be readily legible. “They’re talking about the rebellion. Same thing the messenger told Alphonse. Sleeves says that S—uh, that he… that he fought like a…” She trailed off, taking a moment to collect herself.

“Who, His Majesty?” Roy asked after a moment.

Lou nodded. The version of him burned into her mind was still the one from the theater balcony. The version of him backed into a corner. The version of him in pain.

“Sleeves says he fought like a man possessed. Started swinging and didn’t stop, from the manor to the mountain, and…” Lou kept reading, summarizing as she went. “Led the way… mountain cave… used his second sword to—second? Ugh, I told him so many times: a blade in both beats a blade in each.” She sighed, her eyes going over the lines that followed. “Then he… uh huh… powerful swings… rippling muscles…” She trailed off as she read, her expression as neutral as she could force it. She flipped open the next fold. Continued reading.

Libellule and Roy looked on from either side of her silently, expectantly. Once again the only sound in the wagon was the rustling of paper, this time accentuated by the softest of notes. Chiffon, unable to sit still, had begun humming the first few verses of Petite bergère as she slightly swayed side to side, taking Lou along with her.

“Anyway,” Lou finally said, scratching at another errant drop of wax, this one stuck to the back of the last fold. “They won the fight. Everything’s fine. I shouldn’t worry, Frederic says hi, they’re all back at the castle now.” She had been wondering why her fingernail couldn’t quite slip under the stubborn piece of wax she was fussing over when she finally noticed that it wasn’t on the paper, but in it. A darker red drop, soaked right through.

Not wax. Blood.

Lou bolted upright with a start, making everyone else lean back in surprise. She frantically pulled the letter fully open, wide eyes rushing through the next lines, trying not to linger on the few red speckled words. The fear was back, its barbs digging into her with renewed vigor, spurred on by all the efforts she’d made to convince herself it had been unfounded.

“Lou, what is it?”

“Is that—”

“They’re all back at the castle, but they… they…” Her voice got stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard. “They got hurt,” she whispered, blocking the rest of the letter with her hands to keep her eyes from reading any more. “They all got hurt.”

She felt Roy’s hand on her shoulder. Libellule’s hand on her thigh. Chiffon’s arms slipping around her waist, holding her tight.

“Everyone got hurt,” Lou managed to say, feeling Lou leaned back into her, breathing shakily. “Everyone got hurt because of me.”

The hand on her thigh gripped a little more firmly. “Lou.”

“I chased him down! I yelled at him, I said so many things! I just wanted him to… to…” Lou choked the words out as Chiffon gently ran a hand up and down her arm in a vain attempt to calm her down. “I never saw him so shaken. Sleeves said he was still upset when they visited last time. They said he was fighting angry. This wouldn’t have happened if I… if I…” She squinted her eyes shut. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything!”

“Hey now,” Roy said as he gently shook her shoulder, his gravelly tone measured, serious. “He’s a grown man. He’s been leading an entire nation for how many years now? You really think one little argument’s gonna be the thing that makes him trip up?”

Lou just sat there, eyes downcast. “It was a really big argument.”

Libellule couldn’t suppress a gentle scoff. “Lou, I know we don’t see him the way you do, but… All the challenges he faced that you shared with us, all the struggles? We’d heard about none of them. Neither had the court. Neither had Alphonse. Doesn’t that mean he’s got his own way of dealing with it?”

Lou looked up at her.

The taller actress smiled. “His own way of clearing his head, before stepping onto the stage?”

There was a pause. Then a deep breath, as Lou began to calm down again.

“Hey. Back at the theater, he got what was comin’ to him, alright?” Roy reached over and ruffled her hair. “You gotta let him fight his own battles now and then, princess. People get banged up, that’s war. If his crew got hurt? That’s on him. Part of being in charge.”

Lou gingerly revealed the next few lines of Sleeves’s letter. “And if he got hurt?” she asked, desperately trying to keep her emotions under control lest she contribute her own drops to the already-stained paper.

“What, the guy with the crown?” Roy brought Libellule’s metal flask up to his mouth, brushing aside scraggly beard and mustache hairs to clear a path to his lips. “Bet you he’s fine. He’s invincible.”

“He’s falling apart,” Lou stated, as certain as if she’d witnessed it herself.

Roy held the flask there, not taking a sip quite yet. “That what your buddy’s saying?”

Lou shook her head, not taking her eyes off the page. “They’re not saying anything. They’re telling me what I want to hear. They’re talking around it.”

Chiffon leaned to the side, giving Lou another gentle squeeze. “Just like at Feathers N’ Knives.”

“Talking around what?” Roy asked, not even resisting as Libellule lifted the flask from his hand and stoppered it.

“He’s alone.” Lou looked up at Roy, then around to Libellule, to Chiffon. “He needs people around him, people he can trust. They make him shine. Really, really shine. But they all got hurt. Even…” She sighed through the tightening in her lungs. The fear inside her was gone, replaced by a different kind of pain. Someone else’s. Yet it felt real just the same. “For the first time since the coronation, he’s alone. And he’s falling apart.”

The wagon was silent once again. Outside, some troupe members noisily walked by, the clattering of wood and metal in their wake. Somewhere a wheel was being tended to, perhaps even replaced. Lou put the letter down. There were a scant few lines left, but they could wait. She had something else to deal with first: a driving need, burning deep inside, using his pain for kindling.

Libellule sat up straight, as if to get a better look at Lou. She put her hands together at her waist, fingers intertwined. You want to help him, she didn’t say. She didn’t have to; it was written all over her face, clear enough even Lou could see it.

She was right, of course.

Of course Lou wanted to help him. He was in pain. His defenses were down; defenses that she herself had played a major role in stripping away. Part of her wanted to drop everything and do whatever was necessary to get to the castle as soon as possible, come what may. Part of her burned to be at his side, to show him the way forward. Part of her was ready to move mountains. The rest of her, however, understood just how foolish that was.

The rest of her knew she ought to gather her things first. Only fools rushed into battle naked.

Lou shook her head ever-so-slightly, a weak smile appearing on her lips. All of her was in agreement. When was the last time that had ever happened?

The theater balcony.

Her smile was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, dispelled by words coming unbidden to her mind. She had chased after him in spite of all the good sense her friends had tried to instill in her. And for what? A desperate attempt to claw back what she’d lost? Just like…

Just like the castle gatehouse.

It was like a loose thread she’d been pulling on all this time had come undone at last, unraveling far more than she’d anticipated. Of course it felt the same. She’d rushed to his side back then, too, ignoring every bit of Frederic’s advice in a vain attempt to close the widening gap between her and the Prince. She’d been making the same mistake over and over again. What made this time any different?

Because it was different. It felt different, in a way she couldn’t put into words—she’d never been big on those, anyway. This time there was no inner turmoil. This time there was no desperation, no anxious worry, no twisting grip deep within her chest making it harder to breathe. No fear of what might happen if he pushed her away again.

Because it wasn’t about him.

Lou raised her head with a small gasp, lifting herself out of her reverie. She’d lost track of time again. She looked at her friend’s faces, each of them silent, each of them looking back expectantly. Roy, who had leaped in to catch her every time she fell; Libellule, who had taught her to understand herself better than anyone; Chiffon, who had been right there behind her every step of the way. If it were any of them back at the castle in the Prince’s situation, she wouldn’t hesitate either.

Lou smiled, earnestly this time, as the realization hit. “I love him,” she stated, as certain as if it had been written in stone.

Whatever they had been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. Lou’s words were met with a wide-eyed mix of awkward surprise and half-formed replies that died on the vine.

But it only made Lou’s smile brighter. “I love him,” she repeated, barely containing a warm laugh. “I want to help him. I want to be there for him. It was never because of the strong body I wore or the oaths that I swore. It was love. It was love all along. I’m finally starting to understand.” She put a hand over her chest; over the heart that rapidly beat inside her. The heart that was his for so many years before fate entrusted it to another. Her heart, now.

And she’d prove it. To herself, more than anyone else. It was love that had brought her back to the castle, where she had become a maid and sown the seeds of her new life. It was love that had blazed a path up to the royal theater balcony and burned away the Prince’s masks, allowing her to see the truth in him that even he couldn’t. Those moments hadn’t been perfect, but they had been enough; enough to give her a foothold, enough to become steppingstones to heights her past selves could never have dreamed of reaching. Love had brought her this far; she’d trust it with more.

Lou brought her hands together at her waist right over Chiffon’s as she leaned back. She looked at her friends again: those whose counsel she trusted above all else. “Am I making sense?”

Roy chuckled. “Well… yeah, Lil’ Lou, I s’pose you are.” He reached up to scratch his chin through his beard. “It’ll be what, another three weeks 'til we’re at the gates? Something like that?”

Libellule snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Françoise and the others are meeting with the city guilds again.”

“Enough time for a visit,” Chiffon mused aloud, tightening her hold on Lou ever so slightly, whether she was aware of it or not.

Lou ran her hand up and down Chiffon’s arm gently. “You’re all okay with this?” she asked again, prodding them a little further.

“He sure ain’t gonna give us that republic he promised if he’s moping!” Roy laughed. “Besides, you see anyone in this room who’s ever managed to convince you not to do something?”

Lou wanted to protest, but no words came to mind, no matter how hard she tried. She closed her mouth, her face scrunching up into a pout. “I’m being serious.”

“It’s okay, we know!” Chiffon said, giving Lou another little squeeze from behind before peeking over her shoulder again, resting her cheek there. She hesitated for a moment, then gave her an eager peck on the side of her neck. “He’s still a fool,” she added under her breath, “but he’s an important fool. Maybe you can talk some more sense into him.”

“And if you can’t,” Libellule said, a hint of worry in her otherwise firm tone, “are you ready to walk away? Before he jilts you again?”

“He’s not gonna get the chance,” Lou replied, reaching over to put her hand over Libellule’s for just a moment, “because we’re not going to do anything romantic. This isn’t what this is about.” She smiled, her other hand firmly holding on to Chiffon’s. “It’s about comforting him, easing his pain… giving him the support he needs. Not about getting anything back.”

Libellule returned her smile, and no small amount of relief. “Then yes,” she replied after a moment. “I think you’re making a lot of sense.”

“I’m glad,” Lou said as she and Chiffon eased back into their cozy sitting position. “Thank you. Three weeks gives me plenty of time to get ready. Oh, but wait—what about Alphonse? We just got started with the new play, if I do this again… What’s he gonna say?”

Roy simply grinned his perfect smile and puffed out his chest, the pointed peak of the small tattoo above his heart peeking over both body hair and shirt collar. “Don’t you worry 'bout him, princess. Alphonse has a problem, he’ll have to go through me.”

Lou returned the grin, at least the best imitation of it she could muster. “Then I guess that just leaves how to get to him. I can’t exactly go back as a maid, I got fired from that too.”

“No, you totally can!” Chiffon said, beaming. “The Head Maid said there was a job waiting for you if you ever came back for it, remember?”

“She did?”

“Oh, did she not tell you that?” Chiffon tilted her head pensively. “She told us plenty of times. And besides, there’s been a lot of changes since you left! His Majesty doesn’t get a say in who works and who doesn’t anymore, the union does.”

“Huh.” Lou nodded, more to herself than to anyone else. “I s’pose that makes sense, it’s not his castle anymore.”

Chiffon stared at her. “It’s not?”

“UHHH,” Lou said, her eyes going wide. “Please, uh… please forget I said that! I’ll… tell you about it once I get back.”

Once I get back, she thought, repeating the words to herself. It had gone from whim to reality in the span of a few words. She was starting to believe it; she was going to see him again, on her terms. And this time, he wasn’t going to run away.

“You will come back, won’t you Lou?” Libellule asked.

Lou looked up at her. It dawned on her that perhaps Libellule had been working hard to convince herself as well. Was she worried? Were the others, whether they showed it or not?

“Of course!” Lou replied. “I just want to make sure that he’s alright, that he’s got everything and everyone he needs. In and out. Shouldn’t take me more than a few days. A week or two at most, maybe.”

“Not another eight months,” Libellule added, doing her best to smile.

“Give or take!” Lou chided, returning the smile. “Gods, no. Not another eight months.”

Libellule gently shook her head, her smile becoming less forced. She looked up at the moon for a brief moment before returning her eyes to Lou. “Promise me? Promise us,” she said, straightening her back, her smile holding strong despite the roiling sea of emotions clearly visible just under the surface. “Promise us you’ll come back.”

Roy’s hand joined theirs. So did Chiffon’s. Lou placed her second hand atop them all, holding firmly. She looked into their eyes, each in turn, then looked off to the side; at the wagon door, and beyond. Whatever discomfort she had felt inside was long gone, replaced by a familiar fire that burned brightly from within.

“I promise I’ll be back,” Lou said.

Then the hold became a squeeze, the squeeze became a pull, and before Lou knew it everyone’s arms were intertwined in the fiercest hug, everyone releasing the breath they had been holding this entire time.

Somewhere outside, troupe members put the finishing touches on a wagon’s new wheel.

Roy stood up for some stretches as Libellule leaned back, looking up at the moon once more as if in search of something inscribed upon its surface. Chiffon, for her part, was content to return to her favorite spot: right behind Lou, holding her close.

Lou put her hands over the arms wrapped around her midsection, giving them an affectionate squeeze as she looked to the side, toward the wagon door. She knew she didn’t need to ask, she knew she had nothing to worry about. But part of her insisted. “Rita?”

Chiffon beamed. “Yes dear?”

A sweet smile overtook Lou in a surge of emotion only that word could summon; one that Chiffon knew to save for special occasions. “While I’m away, can you… can I count on you to…”

Chiffon couldn’t suppress a giggle. “We’ve been doing this since before you came along, remember?” She gave Lou a fierce hug, twice as strong as before. “Of course you can count on me, Lou. I’ll take care of everything. Everyone. And so will Lin, and Edmée, and all the others. You don’t have to worry.”

“Thank you Rita, I’m glad,” Lou said, leaning gently from side to side in Chiffon’s arms. That’s when she noticed Sleeves’s letter, once again relegated to the floor in the middle of impassioned conversation.

She picked it up, finally getting to the rest of it. The last few lines had visibly been scrawled in a hurry, the ink running out in the middle of every other word. Perhaps their writer had realized how Lou would react, and tried to head her off at the pass. “You’re too late Sleeves, I’ll see you in a few weeks,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ve made up my mind! Nothing’s gonna scare me off now. No, not even a monster in the city. No, not even a ghost! I don’t care if it’s—”

She stopped as she read the final line.

The rest of the world stopped around her, if only for a moment, the same way it always did right before she stepped out onto the stage. She sucked in a breath and held it, holding everything else there in turn.

Motes of dust were left hanging in the air, hovering around the multicolored lights strung across the wagon. Roy, mid-stretch, stood perfectly still next to Libellule’s frozen form, artfully leaning back like a painting come to life. Chiffon remained still, her arms motionless like stone yet warm like a hearth. Nothing else mattered but the final traces of ink that had been left on Sleeves’s letter, shaped into words of warning, forming the answer to a question asked long ago but never, ever forgotten.

Lou’s fingers went slack. The letter dropped to the ground.

In her eyes, time flowed once more, but the calm remained, ready to propel her into her next performance like this same ritual had done so many times before. That calm was inside her now, filling her from head to toe, radiating from her very core. Justifying her every decision. Carefully she stood up, disengaging from the people around her as she stepped away from the rugs piled onto the wagon floor.

“Lil’ Lou?”

Lou stood straight with her shoulders squared and her senses keen, her mind honing in on each step of a solution like a hunter chasing its prey. In less time than it would take to draw a blade from its scabbard, she had found it: less a plan than a collection of moves, a path to victory.

“Lou, what is it?” Chiffon asked.

Lou headed for the wardrobe chests and boxes stacked to the ceiling, gathering up her discarded clothes along the way. A moment and some surprised gasps later she had changed out of her dress; a moment more, and she had retrieved two leather portmanteaus still bearing the royal coat of arms. She emptied them into a spare box. There was no time to waste: into the first one went her dress, quickly folded, fur stole alongside it. She could get some essentials from her wagon on the way out.

“Lil’ Lou? Whatcha doing?” Roy asked, concern showing in his voice.

“Packing my things. Walking to the inn. Finding the royal messenger. Getting a ride to the castle.” Lou’s tone was forged in steel, her eyes not deviating from her task. Into the second portmanteau went her wolf pelt cloak. “Change of plans. I leave tonight.”

“What?” Libellule stood up in a hurry. “Why?”

Chiffon scrambled to her feet as well. “Is there really something in the city?”

The wolf’s head stared back from within the second portmanteau. Lou fastened it shut. “Marnhilda.”

There was a pause.

“Huh?” Roy said as he stepped forward, Chiffon mirroring him. Both stopped as they reached Libellule, standing with her arms out.

Lou turned around, looking directly into Libellule’s eyes. “Her name was Marnhilda the Pattern-Breaker.”

A strange calmness overtook Libellule. She lowered her arms to her sides, her face an impassive mask as she gave voice to the words that had been burning a hole in Lou’s mind since the coronation.

“The Witch-Fiend.”

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