King Francis had insisted he allow one of his hair dressers to work on Elizaveta.
After showing her and Gilbert the entire castle, all the brightly colored rooms, and the many courtyards stuffed with gorgeous plants, and the dining room which had so many windows surrounding the glossy oak table, and the chambers both of them would be staying in, King Francis insisted that he allow one of his hair dressers to work on Elizaveta.
He set her inside a small room, one with a huge, gaping window and an enormous mirror facing a polished chair. There wasn't much to it; the set up was about as simple as a pin cushion. But this place likely served one purpose and one purpose alone.
It was the second time in a couple of days that someone took a silver pair of scissors and cut away pieces of Elizaveta's golden brown locks. Except they weren't really locks any more.
The hair dresser had to cut away the split ends Gilbert had left with his inexperience and testosterone.
And now, The Queen looked like a cute anachronism, with what was left of her tresses curling onto her cheeks, and a fresh set of bangs sitting right before her eyebrows. There was something still incredibly boyish about her, but something girlish too.
But no matter what you did, you couldn't take away her glow and the scent of aristocratic money that lined her flesh. No matter how much dirt you slung, or how much shit you stuffed into her heals, it was there. Glowing like a light house so the raven king could come crashing into her.
They were looking at one another from different parts of the room.
And when the haircut was over, Gilbert walked Elizaveta back to where she would be staying. They fell down a hallway lined with family portraits. All of blond men and women with their heavy blue eyes pointed at one another.
"I guess I really fucked up your hair."
The Goddamn Dumbass Flapper Queen just grinned with her fat pink mouth.
"I wanted you to fuck it up."
They had reached the door and Elizaveta pulled Gilbert into the chamber with her. Immediately, the servant could see the special treatment his companion received.
Her room was at least twice as large and came with a grander bed, plush sheets, and a place for her to sit and fix her face. There was once again a silver and shining window so Elizaveta could look out and see the entire kingdom, all the way out to the black and green forest she and Gilbert had only just escaped. There were also the customary works of art that lined just about every wall in this castle, and each looked like different entrances to different dimensions. Some like running into worlds of landscapes and lovely women—where love stories began and ended in bitter tragedy. And some imitated the life they were living now, with King Francis Bonfeuille the Third wearing his military uniform. The same one that never once got a spot of blood on it.
He had left an ornate, pink gown for Elizaveta on her bed.
"I can see why they say King Roderich is cheap. I had no idea anything could be this ridiculous."
Elizaveta didn't have a response. She just sat down at the edge of her overly rotund mattress, where the corner of her gown brushed gently across her thigh.
The picturesque woman glanced out the widow.
"Gilbert, I'm so sorry. This wasn't part of my plan."
A silence, as the shimmering clock spoke in riddles on the southern wall.
"Now I'm sure—within at least a few days, Roderich will come and try to get me back. With the ruckus Francis made in town today…"
A sigh.
"I really just wanted to stay at an inn for about two weeks. Go explore the town, maybe even go off to another kingdom nearby and do the same thing." For a moment, her words were silent as they fell from her tongue.
Gilbert didn't really know what to say, so he stood by the window a moment, looking further into the mess of enormous homes that surrounded the castle.
"Don't worry about it. Even if Roderich does come storming up here, King Francis won't give you up. If you haven't noticed he really seems to hate your husband. We can stay here a few days and escape like we did the first time. And if anyone has anything to say about that, I'll beat the shit out of them."
The servant looked back to his Queen, who looked a little relieved and a bit happier.
"I hope Francis bought you a stupid outfit too."
Gilbert smiled his crooked smile, the one that tilted at one side of face. The one that made him look like a crazy dumbass. But Elizaveta smiled the same sort of smile back, even if it didn't look as natural on her. Because some part of her rose petal heart held the markings of a crazy dumbass too.
"You better go find out. I have to get dressed for dinner anyway."
Elizaveta stood up and wrapped Gilbert in an embrace. It was tight and friendly. Like some stupid sweater she knitted out of fire red yarn.
"I'll see you soon."
"For sure." Then Gilbert slapped Elizaveta on the arm like a bro and left, hoping to find a stupid outfit waiting on his bed too.
Elizaveta watched him go, some kind of shiny pink optimism rising into her throat, where that rotten black sunflower used to sit. Now it was more yellow and green—all the colors it was supposed to be.
She could feel a golden petal sitting on her tongue right now, rid of the cancer that used to make her petals dark.
And for some reason, she was looking forward to dinner with King Francis Bonfeuille the Third.