Alex Zandra

(continued from Part XXV | Act I | Act II | Part XXVII)

"...And then we worked everything out. When Lady Katerinannora comes back next month you'll be able to pick up right where you left off. I'll take care of the rest."

The Prince listened silently. He'd been slowly making his way forward, from his bed to his desk, the entire time Lou had been retelling the events of the night before. With the speed at which he'd been dragging his feet forward, the stone floor of his chambers may as well have been made out of mud. But just as Lou's story ended, so too did the Prince's journey; he finally let his full weight come crashing down onto the chair, one arm resting on the paper-strewn surface of the desk, the other hooked around the backrest.

She looked at him expectantly, a faint smile on her lips as he raised his head to make eye contact.

"That was you," he said, dumbfounded.

"That was me," Lou replied.

"...You're saying it's not over?"

"Nothing's lost yet." Lou broke into a self-satisfied grin as she held the red dress up in front of her, looking at her reflection in the standing mirror. "Did you like my performance? You recognized me right at the end there, but I guess you were too drunk to remember."

The Prince shook his head, reaching up to rub his temples. "I don't get drunk."

She laughed. "You absolutely did! I'm impressed. But to be fair, you had a lot of wine."

WHAM!

Lou stopped. She looked over at the spot where the Prince had slammed his hand on the desk, the impact making a few loose sheets of paper take momentary flight. He was staring daggers at her through the meager gaps in his thick mass of dishevelled hair.

"I asked you," he said. "I asked you many times. I saw you drink with the lieutenants, year after year, outlasting every single one. You told me you never got drunk."

She looked at him as emotions swirled within her, each one fighting for dominance; in the end, concern won out. "I told you the truth," she answered, exhaling the breath she'd been holding in without realizing it. "I knew my limits. They were high, but they were there." She gave him a joyless smile. "I always made sure not to push that one, even when I wanted to. I had a job to do."

His demeanor softened; so did hers.

"Hm."

Lou folded the dress in her hands with great care, putting the garment down on the corner of the bed, near the serving tray. "Maybe it's a matter of drinking enough water?" she mused aloud as she picked up the carafe from the tray and brought it over to the desk. "That's one lesson my mother made sure I'd never forget," she added thoughtlessly before stopping in her tracks once again.

She turned her head to look at him, almost dreading the expression she expected to see on his face. But his mask had returned. His eyes—what could be seen of them through the curtains of unkempt hair—had been carefully stripped of emotion as he stared through the papers on his desk.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she said softly, a knot growing deep inside her chest. She gently put the carafe down on one of the last remaining free spots on the desk.

"It's alright, Loulou. It's no longer a sore topic," the Prince replied, picking up one paper seemingly at random from the pile. He covered his mouth with the back of his free hand, attempting to clear his throat but having little success. "I forget if we even discussed it. Did they brief you about it in the guard?"

"No, our village got the news. Back when it happened." Lou walked over to the chamber's entrance as if by instinct, picking up the pile of fresh letters that someone had left on the table while she had been off making breakfast.

"Is that right?" the Prince asked in a raspy monotone, searching around under the papers for his quill. "Word traveled far, even back then. Did the messengers truly bother going that far north? Or was it musicians, merchants, perhaps? What did they say?"

Lou paused in her approach, leafing through the letters in her hand, both out of curiosity and to give the Prince time to decide whether or not he truly wanted to hear her answer. Sometimes his questions were just for the air, and not for the ears. Especially when it came to this topic.

"I'm curious, Loulou," he added, pulling the quill out from under a half-written memo and dipping it in the inkwell.

"They said La Pieuvre did it," Lou answered, choosing her words carefully. "That her crew sank their ship."

The Prince let out a dry chuckle, not even looking up from the letter he was signing. He let the quill's tip rest where it lay at the end of his signature, watching the remaining ink flow and pool around it. "Legends never truly go away, do they? Larger than life, larger even than death."

Lou stood there patiently, letters neatly stacked and held at her waist, heart beating away in her chest.

"They never found the ones responsible," the Prince finally said. "I had plenty of time to look. Plenty of time to think, from this big empty room." He folded up the letter, the still-wet ink blotting into the paper. "I could have let it destroy me, but I didn't. I learned from it. I needed to become stronger, so I did. Strong enough to take the throne..."

He reached into his shirt and pulled out his signet ring, staring into the reflections in the metal as it slowly twirled on its thin golden chain.

"Strong enough to give it up."

His other hand grabbed for the sealing candle, knocking it over. He stared at it, finding it unlit.

"Right." He sighed, and searched for a match. But Lou was prepared: she held one out, having already retrieved it from the shelf. "Thank you," the Prince said with a nod as he struck the tip against his palm.

He looked at the budding flame on the candle, waiting for the wax to melt, impatiently tapping his hand against his thigh. "So what happened after that?"

Lou blinked, a little lost. "After...?"

"After you spoke to the witch-mother. After you stood up from..." His hand stopped tapping. He glanced down at his leg. "I made you sit on my lap."

"You made me sit on your lap," Lou repeated, turning away to look at something else in the room. She settled on a random shelf. "I just figured that was a thing you did, and went with it," she added softly, her voice as steady as she could make it. "You know, stay in character and all that."

There was no immediate reply. The Prince picked up the carafe, water audibly sloshing as he drank directly from it again. Lou's eyes searched for a clean mug, but there were none close by.

"So," he said, putting the carafe down. "After you stood up. You said you worked everything out. What happened then?"

Lou shrugged. "We talked. She told me what I needed to know, and we came to an agreement. Lady Katerinannora's intimidating, but she can also be pretty reasonable." She was glad to return to this topic, feeling the tension slowly leave the air as her self-assurance returned.

"What's the agreement? What did you need to know?" he asked, leaning forward on his chair, making the wood creak.

Lou crossed the remaining distance to the desk and quickly leafed through the letters she was holding, handing one over to the Prince. "Here. Virgule wrote up the terms. All that's left is your signature and your seal."

The Prince grunted as he unfolded the piece of paper, his eyes quickly scanning the meticulous writing. "This doesn't explain anything. What about my witches?"

"I don't think they'd like you calling them that," Lou said with an amused chuff. "Njalbrenna and Maruszabelle are still here, don't worry."

He let out a long breath, weight visibly lifting from his shoulders as he did so. More of the Prince—the real one, the one Lou knew—was emerging from under the neglect of the previous weeks. His finger tapped the paper in front of him, on the final sentence before the signature line. "So what about your negotiations? The thing tapping into the ritual, making my enemies stronger, eating my city?"

"I'll take care of it," Lou said with a dutiful smile as she tidied up the side of the desk. It was easy to settle back into this cozy routine, fleeting as it was.

"That's it? You'll take care of it, just like that?"

She nodded.

"How?"

Lou she deposited the rest of the morning's letters on the open spot she'd created. "I can't tell you."

The Prince frowned. "Come on, Loulou. Did she say what it is? Did she give you a way to deal with it?"

Lou took a deep breath, her smile enduring somehow in spite of how much she wanted to break her silence. How much she wanted to share everything, to prepare together, to tackle this head-on like a team, like before. But he wasn't ready. She knew it now, just like she knew it the night before when she bargained under the full moon. The witch-mother had known it too. "I can't tell you."

He stared at her, a look of dawning comprehension taking over. "Don't tell me you—"

"I swore an oath," Lou said, her tone having suddenly turned firm.

The Prince groaned loudly as he let out a long, frustrated breath. He gritted his teeth. "I really wish you hadn't done that."

Lou steeled herself as she shrugged her shoulders. "My lips are sealed." She reached across the desk to gently lift the burning candle from its base. "Now for your letters."

The Prince slid the first letter over, his fingers pressing down on the paper hard enough to make the desk tremble. Lou gently dipped the candle above the fold, just long enough for the dripping wax to bind the paper together. Wrapping his hand around the long golden chain that hung loosely from his neck, the Prince leaned forward and pressed his signet ring into the wax, cementing the seal. The two of them did the same with the second letter, the process going a little more smoothly as the royal temper subsided.

"I'm surprised you didn't have it resized," Lou said as the Prince tucked the ring back into his shirt.

"I keep forgetting to." He looked at his hand, turning it over; splaying his fingers apart, drumming them in the air. "But this works just as well. Besides, these hands feel nice this way, unburdened. Maybe I'm not one for rings after all."

"You are doing a lot of work to get rid of a single piece of jewelry," Lou joked as she slid over the next letter that required the Prince's seal.

He chuckled. "I won't miss the crown," he said as he tapped his finger over the form in his hands. He dipped his quill, then signed the page. "I won't miss the paperwork, either. The hands do feel nice, but they're completely different. Do you know I had to re-learn how to write? The muscle memory was completely off. Took me days. I barely slept."

Lou nodded, finding herself struggling to breathe for an instant as a powerful twisting sensation took control inside her chest, almost knocking the wind out of her. "I remember," she said quietly. "I read your letter."

He shook his head. "I had to become an expert at forging my own signature, can you imagine? The entire nation would have ground to a halt otherwise. My own fault for putting so many checks and balances into place."

"Mm."

"So tell me, Loulou, why are you still—"

"Your Majesty!" a voice interrupted as the chamber door flew open and one of the Prince's advisors barged in—the pompous one, much to Lou's displeasure. She reflexively retreated into the background with her hands at her waist and her eyes on the floor.

The man stomped his way to the center of the room, his robes fluttering in his wake. "Good, good, you're alone. The temples haven't bothered you yet, have they? I insist you look at my proposal to enjoin the mayor to take action against the rampant crimes committed in the mist! Surely doubling the guards and adding lights will... will, ah..." The advisor trailed off.

Lou felt the man's eyes on her. She glanced up, as if by instinct, and was proven right instantly. He was looking right at her, growing more and more aghast with each passing second.

"You," the advisor said, visibly searching for his next words as he stepped closer, tilting his head to the side, his stare burrowing into her layer by layer. Mentally undressing her in a wholly new, yet equally uncomfortable manner. Lou straightened her back, clenched her fists, and matched his gaze.

— end of preview

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this robot has more swag then i will ever have in my life and i'm working hard to accept that

Raindrops trickled down the window in crisscross streaks that joined together and split apart on a whim like so many bad decisions. She absent-mindedly stirred the coffee in her cup, the sugar having long since dissolved but the motion offering just enough comfort to perpetuate itself. Her eyes searched out into the night, across the quiet street and up the buildings on the other side, the speckled pattern of half-lit windows masquerading as stars in the midnight sky. But just as no starlight could hope to pierce the soot-stained blanket of clouds, no answer awaited her on the other side of the rain-slick window. Just a pretty face, looking right back at her, raindrops streaming down her cheeks.

"Is that gonna be all, babycakes?" the waitress asked as she leaned on the booth seat opposite hers, pulling a beaten and battered notepad out of the apron pocket of her frilly maid uniform.

Lou snapped out of her reverie and dug into the purse at her side, half for show, half to give her another chance to familiarize herself with it. She knew it was practically empty. She knew her fingers would find nothing more than a single bill and a weathered coin. But if the last few days had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected.

And be disappointed.

"Mm," Lou finally answered, leaving the folded bill on the table. She had intended to use her last coin to make a phone call, but she realized now that she would need it to cover the tip. She could show gratitude, or she could call home. She couldn't do both.

Lou sighed and reached back into the purse. Maybe it would be better to show up unannounced after all. She didn't want to contemplate what a sorry sight she'd be, rain-soaked on her childhood home's doorstep, pleading to be let back in. Assuring the confused couple that the person in front of them was their flesh and blood, if only in spirit. But that was a problem for her future self; presently, she needed to get that stubborn coin out of whichever damned pocket it had lost itself into.

After too many fruitless seconds she lost her patience and flipped the whole bag over, shaking the purse over the empty half of the booth seat until at last the metal disc shook itself free. She wordlessly placed it on the table atop the folded bill, giving the waiting waitress a polite nod.

She leaned down over her cup. Maybe her coffee had finally gotten cold enough to drink.

"Well I didn't mean to shake you down there hon," the waitress said, putting a hand on her hip. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Lou replied, her eyes not leaving the comfort of the cup between her fingers, her drink having long since settled into a still sea of murky brown. Chestnut, just like her hair used to be. His, now.

Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could still smell it.

"Well far be it from me to pry," the waitress continued, "but you don't exactly look fine to me. Something happen between you and the big guy?"

"You could say that," Lou said as she raised the cup to her lips, taking a tentative sip, expecting the worst. But a burn on the tip of your tongue was only unforgettable as long as it lasted. Other wounds weren't so lucky.

"His loss," the waitress said, leaning a bit closer. "From what I hear, you were the brains of the operation."

Lou's fingers gripped the cup so hard her knuckles became the same shade of white as the ceramic. "You heard wrong..." She glanced at the waitress's nametag. "...Dusty. He's a one-man show."

"Eh, that just means some of your smarts finally rubbed off on him. I heard the way you two talked whenever you dropped by here on a case." Dusty gave Lou a pat on the shoulder as she pocketed both her notepad and the money on the table. "And from the looks of it, his good tipping habits finally rubbed off on you, too."

"Mm."

"Well, keep your chin up, hon. I'm sure you'll bounce back. Kind of ironic when you think about it though, him switching up his brand the moment he goes solo. 'Lone Wolf' was right there."

"He what?!" Lou said, a little louder than she had wanted to. Loud enough for the bartender to stop in their tracks and glance in her direction.

Her heart skipped a beat; the last thing she wanted was more trouble, she already had that in spades. Clubs like this one were diamonds in the rough.

She didn't want to cause a scene, or worse, lose another home away from home. "He what?" Lou repeated, quieter this time. "What did he do?"

"Oh, nothing major, don't worry about it sweetpea! He just cleans up real nice."

Lou nodded, each tilt of her head bringing her chin closer to the table. She needed some time alone. She needed the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She also needed a place to stay the night. But that part could come later; closing time was still a long way off.

"Speaking of cleaning, I ought to get to my rounds before I get fired. Not that they'd dare, short-staffed as we are. You gonna be alright there hon?" Dusty asked as she headed over to the counter.

"I'll manage," Lou lied, writing yet another check for her future self to cash.

The waitress wasn't buying it. Dusty rolled up what little there was of her sleeves, coming back with a broom. "Far be it from me to hassle a paying customer, but I am on bouncing duty tonight and I'd hate to send a pretty little thing like you out all by her lonesome in the middle of a stormy night. You do have a place to stay, right?"

"I'll manage," Lou repeated. For some people lying came easy, but for her it was like starting your life over: always harder the second time.

"Mm hmm." The waitress walked up to Lou's booth again, leaning against the seat opposite hers. She nodded toward the entrance. "What does it say on the door?"

Lou sighed and glanced back. A patron was coming in, whether to feed a late-night addiction or to get shelter from the rain—leaving the door open long enough for the neon letters to sear their way into Lou's eyes.

"The Castle," Lou answered.

"No, below that."

Lou looked again. Under the name of the club slash diner slash whatever passing fancy the city felt like funding that month, there was a small sign taped against the glass of the door.

"Help wanted," Lou said, reading off the words like an umbrella dealt with raindrops: wanting as little to do with them as possible. But double meanings had a way of soaking through even the slickest defenses.

Dusty grinned, uncannily sharp teeth glinting in the flickering lights as thunder roared in the distance. "I'm just saying, babycakes." She put her arm forward, putting the broom's handle within Lou's reach. "Any port in a storm, eh?"

Lou gave the cleaning implement the long, hard look she wasn't quite willing to give herself yet. There were still lots of things to plan for, lots of consequences she hadn't even begun to consider yet. Lots of ways her luck for these past few days could still turn around, if she was only clever enough to really think things through.

But those were problems for her future self. Presently, she needed a warm bed and a paycheck. If the way out of her predicament would need her to be in the right place at the right time, she might as well pick the place, and stay put. Old habits died hard. He'd be back here, sooner or later. All she had to do was wait.

Lou nodded, to herself more than anyone else, and reached for the broom.

She'd get used to this, too.

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(continued from Part XXIV | Act I | Act II | Part XXVI)

"Was he able to find her name on the list?"

"He's still looking. I'm sure it's just further down."

"They really ought to find a better way to organize these things."

"I know! I'm sure His Majesty is excited for the rest of the guests behind us to join the party as well."

The socialite hovered by the guard at the entrance to the castle, under the arching stone of the main gate, beckoning her two friends to come closer. But the guard shook his head once more.

"I'm sorry milady, I can't find—"

"We were promised a plus one," she said, putting a finger to her lips as she tilted her head, eyes looking upward, her expression magnified by the dazzling makeup of leafy branches that framed her face. "I distinctly remember the exchange of letters."

"Oh, it's a shame we didn't bring those with us," the second socialite said, pressing the back of a gloved hand against her forehead, careful not to touch her own makeup of spots in constellations of warm greys. "You all are usually so good about this!"

"Exactly, we didn't feel the need!"

Despite already being under many protective layers of armor, the man held up the thick guest list as a shield between himself and the three women before him. For a moment it looked as if he was going to flip down the visor on his metal helmet, but he ultimately chose to leave it up. "Now, I've already told you, there's no—"

The first socialite snapped her fingers. "I think I know what happened." She put a hand on the second socialite's shoulder. "I bet they misspelled your name."

"It is a rare spelling. Much like yours is!"

"I know! Our curse to bear."

The guard sighed, becoming increasingly anxious at the growing line of people waiting to be let in. "I've told you milady—miladies—all I have on the guest list is one entry, 'Natalie & Elizabeth'." He looked from the first socialite to the second, then to the third. "Two people, not three."

"Ah ha, that's what happened!" the second socialite exclaimed, gently putting her hands on the third socialite's shoulders and ushering her forward. "You see, her name is Lise. I'm sure someone at some point—not you, of course—misunderstood that as a nickname for Elizabeth, and just wrote down two people instead of three."

"That's what happened!" the first socialite repeated. "A simple misunderstanding. In your colleague's admirable quest to keep redundancy out of the list, our friend's name was omitted. I'm sure we could beckon one of our good friends to confirm this?" She leaned in close, looking up at him with a half-pleading, half-knowing look. "Sir Frederic, perhaps?"

The guard was silent as he stared at the list in front of him unblinking, as if trying to see through it. He looked up at the three socialites in turn, visibly weighing a number of options in his mind, the muscles of his cheek tensing as he did so. Then, as if banishing a thought from his mind, he shook his head. "Step back. I need to check in with my superior."

The three socialites returned to the front of the line, the first two pursing their lips in a veiled mix of irritation and disappointment. The third, however, looked on impassively. Then she glanced at her friends, held up a hand, and walked right back up to the guard.

"Lieutenant," the armored man called out as he attempted to get the attention of one of the other members of the royal guard on duty, "Lieutenant, we—hm?" He looked down at the third socialite. "Milady, please wait with the others."

But the socialite held her ground. She retrieved a pair of tinted glasses from her dress and put them on with one hand, using the other to move a lock of hair over the side of her face.

The guard furrowed his brow. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Casque, it's me, Glasses," Lou said in a loud whisper. "I took the day off, I'm here with my friends. Just let me have this, okay?"

What felt like an eternity passed by as the guard simply stared at her, his jaw hanging loose. "Glasses?" Casque finally said, lowering the arm he'd been holding up to hail his superior. He pointed to Lou's forehead and cheeks, tracing a circular path in the air. "I didn't recognize you at all, what with the hair and the, uh, the horns... Wow, did you draw those yourself?"

"I had help," Lou whispered self-consciously as she glanced to the side, making sure the socialites were still out of earshot. "Please let me in? I'll bake you a cake later."

Casque blinked, straightening up as he held the guest up once again. "Oh! Uh, yeah, sure thing. Chocolate? I like chocolate." He gave her face another once-over. "The makeup at these banquets is really getting elaborate."

Lou gave him a polite bow as she tucked the loose lock of hair back behind her ear and waved the two socialites over. She tried to hide her satisfaction at seeing the surprised looks on their faces as they approached.

Casque cleared his throat as the three of them were reunited. "On second thought, no need to trouble Sir Frederic over this." He motioned them through. "Apologies for the error, miladies, please go on ahead."

"Thank you," the first socialite said with a curtsy, "we are in your debt!"

"Oh absolutely, we'll be sure to sing the praises of your excellent judgement."

"Yes, thank you!" Lou said before stepping through the door after the others, the three of them briskly making their way down the guarded and guided path leading to the upper hall.

The stairwell finally affording them some relative privacy, the first and second socialite turned to Lou with catlike smiles.

"Imagine running into you here, of all places!" the first socialite said.

"Indeed, hello!" the second added with a wave of her fingers. "So lovely to see you again!"

"It's nice to see you too!" Lou replied with a sheepish smile, her cheeks burning. She'd been nervous about whether or not she could pull off her disguise for the evening, so receiving approval from the people she was emulating meant a lot. "Thank you so much for helping me back there."

"Don't mention it," the first socialite said, dismissing the mere thought with a wave of her gloved hand. "Besides, you're practically family!"

"Oh, absolutely!" her friend added. "We were just discussing how disappointed we were to have missed out on the post-curtain chat after the final show."

"I know! The upper tier was packed like you wouldn't believe. By the time we got down there, everyone had already left!" the first socialite said with an exaggerated pout.

"Though to be fair," the second added with a raised finger, "there were exhausting circumstances that may have made us a bit tardy."

"I think you mean extenuating."

"Oh, that too, I suppose."

A far-off look came over the two socialites for a moment as they both nodded to themselves, a coy smile on their lips and a touch of color on their cheeks, barely visible through their elaborate makeup.

"Which is why we're so happy to see you here!" the first socialite abruptly said with a clap of her hands. "Look at us, sneaking a friend into the castle!"

"So tell us, why not just walk in yourself? An alumna such as yourself shouldn't have any problem getting an invitation. Is someone giving you the cold shoulder?"

"Speaking of cold shoulder, that dress looks amazing on you, dear."

"Oh, I know! And those lenses you're wearing, such a lovely color!"

"Ah, thank you!" Lou said, touching her glasses self-consciously. She had intended to take them off again, but judging from Casque's reaction, the makeup was doing the trick on its own.

"But really, why not just waltz in? We could've done your makeup once we were inside."

Lou took a deep breath and forced herself to think before speaking. "I couldn't, it had to be a surprise. It's really important that, ah... a specific someone doesn't know I'm here tonight."

"Well well well, isn't this a spicy premise! Is it an old flame? An advisor, perhaps?"

"Oh! A member of the royal guard?"

Lou shook her head. "Someone... higher up."

The first socialite rubbed her hands together. "Ohoho... Wait, it's not Sir Frederic, is it? I mean, aside from the whole 'out of commission' rumor, from what I hear he's not exactly the type who—"

The second socialite snapped her fingers. "What if it's that fetching new second-in-command of his that everyone's been talking about?"

She shook her head, then leaned in close. "Higher."

"Higher still?"

"But who's higher in rank than Sir...?"

The socialites gasped in realization. Their smiles grew wider as their eyes lit up in tandem. One put a hand on Lou's shoulder, the other quickly following suit.

"Leave it to us."

"We'll make sure you end up by his side tonight."

"If you're lucky, maybe all night!"

A torrent of whispers later, the upper hall's doors lay open before them.

"Ah, the moonlight banquet!" the first socialite announced as they all walked through the grand entrance. "Here, you can be whoever you want to be: Lise, or Lou, or someone altogether new!"

— end of preview

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