I'm back and so is Royal Secrets! I will be working on this until completion (about 7 chapters or so), then moving back to Dance and another AU project. Sorry for the long hiatus, it's often hard to remain motivated during a year-long pandemic, but I've done some self-care and I'm ready to get back in the saddle. Enjoy!
Eclipsa was jolted awake when the royal carriage hit another rut in the road. She heard the driver's muffled curse through the ceiling, followed by a swift apology for both the sloppy conditions and his loose tongue. The spring thaw arrived overnight, right at the moment Sagnog became Gravnogk, the month of the equinox, and the rising sun's renewed strength melted the deep packs of snow across Mewni, turning dirt roads into a slurry of mud. If it were not for the sturdy draft-warnicorns from the stables, hulking beasts as dark and thick as old wine casks, they would have gotten stuck. Eclipsa scribbled down notes about funding road maintenance on her napkin in Low Mewnian, the Queenly language, and decided to stay awake. She then stretched and drew the curtains open to get her bearings. They had just crossed into the Forest of Unlikely Spider Bites.
The Spiderbite family owned a tiny sliver of Mewni tucked away among murky pine stands, gnarled chokeberry thickets, and fetid swamps traversed by meandering rivers that rose and fell with the tides. The air was thick, briny, and dirty, leaving a faint layer of sludge everywhere the wind blew. It was an alien world compared to the green hills and broadleaf forests that dominated the Butterfly Kingdom, which were rich with arable land and game for royal hunts; land said to be blessed by magic and the gods themselves. Eclipsa could hardly believe that the same benevolent forces created these dismal coastal swamps where shadows ruled with an iron fist and dragons lurked in black waters. She spied a roebuck in the clearing, but it slipped into the thicket when it spied the carriage, fleeing too quickly for Eclipsa to admire the downy spots on its back.
If she followed the roebuck on swift feet, through the fens and flooded ditches filled with black mud, across pregnant channels of brackish water and cypress groves, she would find herself standing on the white shores of the Great Sea, where the sun sank each evening beneath the emerald waves. The edge of the known world. The last place where she saw her father before he disappeared. A thousand years ago, the Mewman settlers, their ancestors, arrived on these same shores from lands lost beyond the shadow of legend. Her father, a restless soul, left to find their homeland about ten years ago, when she was a small child, and Eclipsa always wondered what he found on the other side of the Great Sea—if he found anything at all. Would the sea call to her one day? Would it lift her on its shimmering tide and carry her to the deep mysteries hidden beyond the horizon? If only...she sighed, resting her elbow against the door. Unfortunately, the Multiverse had another fate in store for her.
The carriage hit a deep pothole and sent Eclipsa crashing into the table in front of her. She mumbled a string of curses through gritted teeth, mindful to keep her voice low, but her chaperone caught on. He withdrew the porcelain cup of muddy breakfast tea from his lips and gingerly set it on the table.
"Ah, carriages, built for practicality but not luxury." He chuckled to himself, amused as if he'd said something rather clever.
"Same with these dreadful roads, Uncle Jushtin," Eclipsa said, rubbing her bruised knee, which had already turned hideously purple against her pale skin.
"I wish we could've opened a portal directly to the castle," he said, "but you know, tradition, tradition, tradition. Since our ancestors didn't have dimensional scissors and relied on warnicorns for traveling between kingdoms, we're expected to do the same."
His smile, warm like the orange sun spilling over the sedge-grass meadows, turned into a pained grimace, one he quickly hid behind his raised teacup, but not quickly enough for Eclipsa to miss. If anyone understood the cruelty of fate and tradition, it was Uncle Jushtin Butterfly. The four-leaf clovers on his ruddy cheeks marked him the minute he was born. Royal Butterfly magic had passed from mother to her firstborn, always a daughter, in an unbroken chain for a thousand years until the day Queen Skywynne bore her first child—a son born with the ability to use magic. The matriarchy had been sullied. Traditionalists balked when Skywynne passed the wand and the Chrysalis Throne to Jushtin, and when he sat upon the Blue Chair to succeed his mother, they gave him the title of Boy-Queen for Mewni refused to acknowledge its king. But Jushtin refused to be discouraged. He fought for every ounce of respect from his lords and subjects, but the same magic that elevated his status betrayed him. Skywynne's ancient loins quickened, and she conceived a daughter three years into his reign. A so-called miracle child. Mewni welcomed Solaria with a fervor unmatched by any princess before her, viewing her as the restoration of the sanctity of the queenship. Jushtin ruled until his younger sister came of age, and he retired to the countryside. Although he certainly supported Solaria, Eclipsa wondered how he felt about being replaced so soon into his reign.
"I rather not get there any sooner than necessary," Eclipsa muttered.
Her eyes fell upon the wrinkled envelope sticking out of the Book of Spells, the one that sealed her fate. Eclipsa remembered the exact moment the Kingsguard found her three weeks ago, how their faces were caked with mud, soot, and tears; how they smelled of bitter, scorched earth; and how they limped across the courtyard, their polearms splintered and swords shattered. She must have asked about her mother—she couldn't remember if she had or not—for the captain of the guard, Solaria's personal knight, presented her the letter.
Long live Queen Eclipsa!
Her mother, Queen Solaria the Monster Carver, the Slayer of a Thousand Enemies and Protector of Mewmans, the Warrior with Endless Fury, the Terror of the Size-Shifters and Septarians, the Wondrous Miracle of beloved Skywynne, Queen of Hours, had fallen, killed in an ambush by the Prince of Darkness's high command. Mewni now turned to Solaria's sixteen-year-old daughter for leadership. The royal families admired Eclipsa's poise during her coronation and Solaria's funeral, remarking that her grace and fortitude was becoming of a young queen, especially one who inherited a thousand-year-old war, but Eclipsa had no tears for her mother. Solaria was nothing more than a flash of red hair in her memories, as distant as a lord-commander from a foot soldier. No, Eclipsa privately mourned her freedom. Her mother's sloppy cursive bound her to the Spiderbites through marriage to Prince Shastacan and forced her to continue the ruthless Butterfly conquest revived by her treaty-breaking grandmother and cemented with Solaria's
spilled blood. The royal families were itching for more territory—the Lucitors and Pony Heads in particular—and they expected Eclipsa to champion their cause. They expected her to murder monsters and raze their kingdoms to the ground in revenge. When the rising sun bled through the thin red curtains of the carriage, Eclipsa imagined bodies lying mangled on the ground. She felt the carriage walls close in around her.
Jushtin studied her sullen gaze and offered the kettle to her. "Drink, it'll clear your mind."
"Thank you, dear uncle." She nudged her cup forward to receive a spot of tea. It was warm and comforting like how a mother's embrace should feel.
"I know that look on your face," he said. "I very well remember my first official meeting with the royal families. It was a complete disaster. They ate me alive. I think King Lucitor spent more time laughing at me than I did speaking."
"Oh."
Jushtin stirred his tea. "If you think that was bad—the tabloids were even worse. They said that I could never be a real Butterfly queen, that I would never have the courage to lead Mewni, but you know what, I didn't give up. Although I only had a short reign, I made the best of it by helping the commoners and strengthening the alliance, earning some respect from my colleagues. They say now that I was a decent peacetime queen, maybe I lack Mummy's charm or my sister's spice, but I did the best job I could. I hope my story doesn't discourage you, Clipsy, but I'm trying to prepare you for the reality of being queen. The queen business is hard. You'll live your life with a thousand eyes on you—a thousand decisions and a thousand demands—but know this, beloved niece, I believe in you. If anyone can bear the weight of the crown, I know you can."
"I hope you're right," Eclipsa replied, watching the swampland thin into irrigated rice fields, the first sign of civilization.
"We're almost there, Your Majesties," the driver announced.
"You'll do just fine." Jushtin reassured her with a smile. "I'll be with you the entire time. As for the speaking part, just remember what we practiced. I liked your approach to the Monster Conflict. Hopefully, you can bring an end to this nonsense without more tragedy."
"Thanks," Eclipsa said.
Recluse Hall, the seat of the Spiderbite Kingdom, rose abruptly out of the swamp like an old tree stump, square and green with moss. It was hardly the mighty fortress described in the songs about the Spiderbite-Butterfly Independence War, the great white palace where the separatists defied the third Butterfly queen and formed their own kingdom. Instead, Recluse Hall was the color of dingy woolen socks, pockmarked where the acidic sea breeze had eaten away at the marble, and it sheltered a town of thatched-roof bungalows that crowded around its base like toadstools. The inside fared no better: the walls were plain and slick with moisture, the floors made from murky brownstone that was as lifeless as mud, and the thrones were no more than tacky golden chairs. All of the other castles in Mewni had personality: Morning Cloak of the Butterflys was regal and refined; Redmoor of the Johansens, wild yet homey; Stygian Hall of the Lucitors, handsome and hellish; Nimbus of the Pony Heads, cheerful or stormy depending on the weather; and Seabreeze of the Kelpbottoms, shiny like a strand of pearls. Eclipsa's heart sank when she realized that this was her inheritance, the new life awaiting her when she wedded Prince Shastacan in a week. How could her mother's advisors let this happen? How could they let Solaria couple this foul, miserable land to the bounty and beauty of Butterfly cornfields but eschew the useful timberland owned by the monsters around the Musty Mountains? How could they let Solaria bring these blighted people under the fold of Mewman society but expel the monsters who originally inhabited the land? Of course, Eclipsa knew the answer: her family subsisted off of a thousand inconsistencies, wanting peace, land, and corn but denying millions the same rights. She tried not to dwell on her role in the Butterfly's tangled history when the fanfare began to play.
"Hear ye, hear ye," a crier announced. "Please welcome Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Eclipsa Butterfly, escorted by His Royal Highness, Prince Jushtin Butterfly."
"I miss my old title," Jushtin whispered ruefully but put on his good-natured smile, bowing when expected of him, and escorted Eclipsa across the sea of kneeling royals to the thrones. She sat on the tallest one, and he to her left, in the place where Shastacan would one day sit as her king.
Eclipsa easily picked out her betrothed's face from the distinguished crowd. He was a particularly ugly man, small and sickly when compared to his other brothers, especially Prince Argiope II, the heir to the Spiderbite Kingdom. Shastacan was also the only prince without a wife, and at his age of twenty-nine, he seemed doomed to bachelorhood forever, a stain upon a man of his station. As a second son, the only way for Shastacan to retain a high standing in the royal court was to marry a titled wife, but his awkwardness made him a poor match. He was too ungraceful to be a good dancer, too cowardly to be a warrior, too unkind to be an accomplished horseman, and too ruthless to be a hunter. Despite his deficiencies, he won the right to marry Eclipsa and father her heirs. How hypocritical of Solaria, who shunned marriage and maintained scores of lovers, to force her daughter to take Shastacan for a king.
Maybe I should have taken Globgor's offer, Eclipsa reflected on yesternight. She remembered how devastated he'd been when the kingdoms announced her betrothal, the fire of his four yellow eyes bright with pain and tinged red with anger. He spent their last meeting pacing a circle into the frost-tipped grass of their meadow, insisting he could change her fate. If she gave the word, he would command Seth and Toffee, his lieutenants, to divert their forces to the Spiderbite Kingdom and wipe them off the map. It would only take a day for the Septarians, the most feared legion of monster warriors in Mewnian history, to march upon Recluse Hall and a month to successfully besiege it. Meanwhile, they would run away, and once the dust settled, they would return to rebuild the old monster kingdoms, restore the Temple of the Red Moon to its former glory, and establish a new dynasty as Butterfly queen and monster king.
But Eclipsa said no. She didn't want another war.
"Everything alright, Your Majesty?" Jushtin asked when she had been silent for a while.
Eclipsa swallowed the lump in her throat and stood to face the royals below her: the stately Lucitors with their unblinking red eyes, the Johansens clad in bear and wolf skins, the floating Pony Heads, the Kelpbottoms with their flashy fins, the dignified Butterflys, and the disagreeable Spiderbites. They watched her intently as if she bore the secrets of the Multiverse. A thousand demands and a thousand decisions. She shuddered, remembering her uncle's words. And this was only day one. Eclipsa sighed, taking in a deep lungful of muggy air, unrolling the scroll with her first decree about ending the Mewman-Monster war.
Here it goes…
The sun had set, and the night, though young, was inky and dark, the shadows fully consuming the wilderness along the southern banks of the Mewni River. There was little light because it was a moonless night, a cursed night according to Mewmans who feared what their eyes could not see. But he, and others like him, preferred the cloaking darkness. Globgor heard the brittle whispers in the wind-rustling branches, felt the cold's slicing touch through his thick purple fur, and found peace in the stillness disturbed only by an owl's flight ahead. He scented the air and smiled, curling his tail against his leg. Yes, tonight was what Mewmans derided as a "Monster Night," but to Globgor, it was a night of blessing, a night that called him to hunt.
He slid in and out of the shadows, his feet as light as a cat's despite their size, and he ventured from thicket to thicket in search of prey. His stomach rumbled but he swallowed and sated its hunger with the promise of fresh meat. The thaw made him restless, his frenzy driven by the lean winter months that tested every monster living south of the Mewni River, the last place their kind was permitted to live, but Globgor knew the forests would reward his hunt as long as he remained alert and quiet. Deer, boar, and rabbits were swift prey and greatly attuned to their environment, neither the faintest movement escaped their eyes nor the slightest wind their ears. He'd have to outsmart them to catch them. Globgor sent a quick prayer to the invisible New Moon, the Goddess of the Hunt, and tightened his grip on the shaft of his spear. He missed the old days. He missed hunting Mewmans—sporting prey for a Size-Shifter such as himself.
While his earlier ancestors, who lived long before the great ships came upon the white shores, were adept hunters, trappers, and farmers, his recent relations became infamous Mewman hunters when the Butterfly Kingdom pushed them from their old lands to the north. He especially remembered the tales his father and grandfather told of their daring forays into pioneer villages, where they slew warriors by the hundreds and plundered the riches left behind. They always spared the women and children, sending them away with their possessions for their quarrel wasn't with innocent bystanders but with the warring menfolk who came with swords and orders from their queen. The Size-Shifters were the only monster kingdom that protested the arrival of the Mewmans a thousand years ago; the rest voted with the Lucitor and Pony Head Kingdoms to let the newcomers stay. If only we all knew what we do now, he sighed. The rest of the story was sickeningly predictable: the Mewmans, led by their magical queen, stole territory and destroyed the many old kingdoms that once called Mewni home, while the Pony Heads and Lucitors quickly aligned themselves with the ruling Butterfly family to gain favor. Over the millennia, the monster population dwindled, but the Size-Shifters bore the brunt of the queens' wrath. Because of their magic, the Butterflys targeted them relentlessly, and Queen Solaria's Massacre dealt the final blow. Globgor was the last of his race. He was alone in the remnants of his ancestral land.
He often dreamt of revenge, of storming the Butterfly Castle with the Septarians, his clan's old allies; killing all of the Mewmans; and gorging on their flesh and blood until the fullness made him drunk and sleepy. But he made a promise to Eclipsa. He refused to show her that side of him, and now that she sat upon the throne, he abandoned his plans for vengeance. Thinking about his beloved made Globgor grin, and he almost let a purr thrum in his chest. Though he missed crispy fried Mewman skin, a delicacy in his community, he'd give up anything for her.
His nose suddenly caught a scent on the wind—a doe was nearby. Finally... He picked his way through the forest, mindful of the crunchy leaves and twigs underfoot, and came downwind of a red deer browsing lower on the slope. She was quartering-away, facing away from him at a slight angle that exposed a vulnerable part of her flank. A well-placed spear would pierce her heart and lungs, bringing death within seconds. Globgor took in a deep breath and quietly raised his spear, the starlight glinting on the deadly tip poised at the doe's heart…
"Those idiot cornheads!"
The doe's ears swiveled sharply, and she dove for cover before Globgor could rush a shot. He watched the undergrowth shudder and heard her nimble feet crash through the forest, alerting all animals within miles of his presence, ruining his hunt. His blessed night had become a curse. Gritting his fangs, Globgor whirled around, ready to lash out at the interloper who cost him dinner, but he softened when his eyes beheld Eclipsa bathed in starlight.
"Good evening, my darkest star—or should I say Your Majesty," he said, clumsily dipping into a mock bow. "Forgive me, but I wasn't expecting you this evening."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please with that nonsense. I'm still little old me. And were you hunting? I'm sorry if I spoiled your supper."
"No, forgive me for not precuring dinner for two," he said. "I know you must be famished after a long day of negotiations."
The light in her eyes dimmed, and she stared at her feet, which busied themselves by tracing shapes in the frost. The sudden tension made Globgor's hackles rise; he had a feeling something bad had happened. "Let me guess: the royals didn't like our plan?"
"It was doomed from the start, Globgor." Eclipsa said with a sigh. "In hindsight, it was naïve of us to think that my reign would magically make a thousand years of bigotry disappear. They loved my mother because of who she was, not in spite of it. The war has benefitted all of them—the Lucitors, Kelpbottoms, and Pony Heads financially, and the Johansens and Spiderbites socially because the Butterflys left their lands alone instead of retaking them. I tried, Globby, I really did, but I don't think the royals want to live in peace with the monsters—not if they can gain more from conflict."
"Isn't there anything else you can do? Can't you force them to end the war?"
"Not if I don't want the allied kingdoms to turn on each other and me. The Lucitors in particular still hold a lot of sway as the oldest house, and their king treated me like a child. Maybe that's what I am to all of them: a clueless child playing dress up in Mommy's clothes. My future husband is almost twice my age."
Globgor swished his tail at the mention of Eclipsa's intended, Prince Shastacan of the Spiderbites, a sickly weasel of a man. Just thinking about him holding Eclipsa in his clammy, pale arms and kissing her with his crusty, seaweed-smelling lips, turned Globgor's stomach. "My offer still stands, Eclipsa." He controlled his anger. "In fact, maybe we should act on it sooner rather than later."
Eclipsa shifted. "I can't."
"Why not? Why do you continue to serve those horrible rich people when we can run away and leave this miserable place? There are millions upon millions of dimensions in the Multiverse, not to mention lands down south or far beyond the Eastern Sea where no monsters or Mewmans have gone before. You don't have to suffer, Eclipsa. You don't have to make yourself a martyr. Come away with me, please. The future is in your hands, love. Please take it."
Tears streamed down her dark spades, rending them in two. "It's not that simple…"
"Why do you refuse me? Do you not love me?"
Eclipsa's face crumpled in agony, her cheekmarks turning deathly white. "Don't you understand, Globgor? I can't leave Mewni because I love you too much to let all of your people die! I know what the royals want…they want genocide. They want to finish my mother's mission, but the only thing stopping them from slaughtering every single monster man, woman, and child is me! If I leave, my relatives will install another Butterfly queen who will listen to them. This is far worse than anything I imagined, far bigger than you and me."
Their magic swirled around them, white against purple, turning night into day while Globgor and Eclipsa glared at each other. For the first time, Globgor could not ignore the rift that had always been between them, the yawning abyss that separated him from the person Eclipsa was always destined to be: a Butterfly queen. One of them, as Seth and Toffee warned when they found out about his relationship. But Globgor didn't see her that way when they met as children on the battlefield, a pair of reluctant heirs caught up in their parents' skirmish over a field. He would learn one day that the Battle of Cedar Stand began the downfall of his race, but at the moment, when his swamp pony collided into another, bringing him face to face with the Butterfly princess, the daughter of his father's enemy, Globgor thought only of Eclipsa. They were drawn to each other the same way fire lured moths to their doom, deluded into thinking that there was no danger, that the grownups exaggerated the other side for the sake of stories. Friendship and, eventually, love, smoothed whatever wrinkles their meeting failed to iron. He saw Eclipsa not as the daughter of the charismatic, warmongering Queen Solaria, but as a gentle soul he could separate from bloodied history. He tried to convince the other monsters to trust her, but the massacre made the surviving monster wary of all Mewmans. They told him to break off his relationship, and Globgor now found himself at odds with the Septarians, his last link to his old kingdom. Toffee and Seth were close to abandoning him, calling him a Mewman-Lover, a traitor, while the other Septarians spread vicious rumors that he conspired with the Mewmans and directly caused the massacre. But Globgor continued to stand with Eclipsa, fighting to restore their reputation among the monsters, but he wondered if they were right all along. Was she any different than her ancestors? Would being queen taint her too?
"Globgor?" Eclipsa said after several moments of silence. "Talk to me. Don't shut me out."
He sighed, cancelling his magic. "Is it still like this?"
"What do you mean?" She recoiled.
"Eclipsa, I'm not stupid. I know this is only a memory and that the real me is trapped in one of Rhombulus's crystals."
"How long have you known?"
He shrugged. "I can't tell you when I figured it out, but I remember having a vivid dream about two teenagers dancing under the Blood Moon—a boy and a blonde girl with cheekmarks—a descendant of yours, I presume."
"Star and Marco," Eclipsa replied. "And yes, Star is…well, she isn't my direct descendant, Shastacan and I never had a child, but she is like a granddaughter to me."
"Good." Globgor snorted. "I didn't know what happened to you after the Kingsguard took you away, but I, well, you probably know my fate better than I do. I remember following your scent into the Spiderbite Kingdom—but it wasn't just you. No, there was someone else…a baby? Meteora! Of course, how could I forget my own daughter? My Meteora, my falling star. I only held her once before they took her away..."
Eclipsa reached for his hand. "Don't blame yourself, Globgor. We tried our best to flee, but she came early. We were lucky to have the time we did in the Monster Temple."
He saw darkness in his mind: an eclipsed moon bleeding through heavy clouds, a nursery hidden deep within the temple, storm clouds on the horizon. But he also saw glowing eyes, a toothless grin, a pair of ashen clubs on rounded cheeks. If only he had more time. If only he knew how close Shastacan's men were…
"How is Meteora?" he asked.
"Meteora's…been through some things, but she's alright. The last I checked, she's tucked in bed."
"Is it the one I made her from beechwood?" Globgor purred. "I spent most of the pregnancy working on it, shaped it with my own claws. My maternal ancestors were carpenters, and one of them made the throne for the first Size-Shifter king. It's my way of connecting Meteora to a past she'll never know. We're the last of a whole civilization, her and me. Lone survivors of so much evil."
He grew silent and wept, thinking of all he lost.
"The past doesn't have to stay in the past," Eclipsa said while dabbing his tears with a handkerchief. "Come with me, Globgor. Come home and be my king. There are still monsters on Mewni, and they need us to build a perfect haven for them. No more sneaking around—we can be public with our relationship and be a real family."
The stars danced in her eyes, bright with hope, and for the first time, Globgor saw the young queen who married him the night before her marriage to Shastacan, a rebellious woman determined to stay with him no matter what. He longed to be home with her and Meteora, free from the bitter past, Shastacan, and the forces that separated them. Free to live on Mewni with other monsters. But…He thought about the Mewmans. They had to be alive and out somewhere in Mewni, likely hiding along the shadowy edges of the river, dreaming and scheming about yesterday. Nostalgia was as dangerous as tinder awaiting a spark; envy would turn it into an inferno. Mewmans were vindictive people, and despite his wife's optimism, they would be back. Mewmans did not give up power without a fight, he knew that from experience.
"Before I give you my answer: you said Star isn't your descendant, so where does she come from? Who is her mother?" Globgor asked.
"Her line descends from a Mewman called Festivia, who was adopted by Shastacan's family and made the heir in place of Meteora. From what I learned, Festivia was pretty much like my mother, so not a great person. As for Star's mother, Moon, well, I guess she's alright. Toffee killed her mother when she was young, so she came to me for the Darkest Spell and used it against him."
"Why did you help her?" he snarled, making Eclipsa flinch. "I told you never to teach anyone Dark Magic! It isn't like normal magic—Size-Shifter royalty and priests learn it only to know how not to use proper magic."
"What was I supposed to do?" Eclipsa challenged. "Toffee wasn't the same monster you knew. He'd gone rogue, ignoring the monster kings still left, and reignited the Mewman-Monster war. I had to side with the Butterflys then."
"And you probably let them wipe out the Septarians, our only defense against the Mewmans. They're the last monsters who know magic!"
"So, we don't need them. We have Star on our side."
He snorted. "For now, but not forever. She's one of them, Eclipsa—a Mewman—and worst she's not connected to you. If you think she'll be loyal to you then you're blind. Mewmans are nothing but murderous beasts."
"Watch it, I'm a Mewman too."
"But you're different."
"No, I'm not. My mother was the Monster Carver. If anything, I'm worse."
He opened his mouth to complain but shut it when he saw the dark magic crawling up Eclipsa's arm. He didn't want to make her condition worse.
The sky began to lighten along the horizon, loosening the silhouettes of trees from the darkness.
"I have to go," Eclipsa said, "but here, take this stone, it has a magical ward on it that can break the crystal. If you wish to return to Mewni, just rub it three times while facing a falling star. I love you, Globgor. Nothing will ever change that."
"And I love you too."
Eclipsa reached up to kiss him and vanished into the cold wind, leaving Globgor alone with a choice. He could stay here or risk it all to join himself to her vision. A meteor streaked across the sky.
His choice had been made.
His first breath left him coughing, the sharp air pierced his atrophied lungs like a dagger. Spots filled his vision, and for a moment, he panicked. The spell mustn't have worked. He must have waited a second too long. His father and the priests warned Globgor about messing with Dark Magic, the sinister force of chaos that, if unleashed, had the power to corrupt bodies, taint souls, and destroy the fabric of the Multiverse itself. Using it just once was dangerous enough, Eclipsa learned that the hard way after summoning the Darkest Spell, and using it incorrectly was a deadly mistake. Globgor thudded against something hard, sharp shards pierced his flesh and sliced his fur. He must have fallen into one of the Three Hells, a place for evil wraiths, especially those who let Dark Magic consume them. He was lost forever.
Then light appeared, trickling into his vision like refreshing rain, and Globgor saw fuzzy images appear of stone and tables and carvings. He took in a deep breath, wincing still, and relaxed. He was in the inner sanctum of the Monster Temple, in the place where animals were offered to the gods. He traced the grooves carved into the floor and remembered the shapes of sacred beasts and constellations, the dull smell of blood still lifting into his nose. I did it, he cheered. I came home. Globgor shrunk to his normal size—about seven feet—and tested his weak legs, stumbling until he remembered how to stand. Hundreds of years of dreaming made him forget the pull of gravity. Before he left, he cast an illusion spell over his former prison, careful to make sure that no one, not even Eclipsa, would know of his presence. He needed to bide his time.
The shadows were still heavy even as night became morning, and Globgor used them to cloak his movement throughout the Monster Temple. Each step was as familiar to him as a mother's voice, reassuring after being trapped for so long. He still remembered the secret corridors between the sacred spaces for worship and the throne room where the king met with counselors, the statues of various gods and heroes, and the pools where the faithful gathered to watch the dance of the cosmos, hoping the stars would favor their requests. So much had changed, but so much had stayed the same. He went upstairs and crept around the residence, mindful of the patrolling guard. When the light of their lanterns rounded the corner, he shrunk himself into the size of a grape and squeezed under the nearest door. That was a close one, he remarked, panting, but before he left, he heard gentle snoring and the creaking of a bed. Curious, he grew to normal size and saw two teenagers curled in each other's arms. Star and Marco, the pair from his dream.
Globgor hung back and studied them, his eyes cutting through the gloom of the darkness, eager to learn more about Star and Marco and why his wife was insistent on trusting them. He remembered being a teenager once, an impulsive beast who cared little for his people's ways until it was too late. If only he wasn't so busy courting Eclipsa or rolling his eyes during meetings and sacrifices. If only he paid attention to his father's words and his grandfather's folk wisdom. But there was no time to dwell on the past, not when the future depended on his ability to protect his people from Mewmans like Star and whatever species her lover belonged to. He suddenly picked up on something, a swollen mound lifting under the covers with her breath at the place where a stomach should be. He narrowed his eyes; Eclipsa failed to mention there was another Butterfly princess to worry about. What happened when the child, a half-Mewman creature, came of age and challenged Meteora for the throne? Would Eclipsa then see what he did, that the new Butterfly line poised a threat to their budding kingdom?
But it would be too late by then. Mewni wasn't big enough for five Butterfly queens.
Globgor took a step closer, still debating on whether or not he should dispatch the princess while she slumbered, but he stopped when a pair of red crescent moons flashed in the darkness. In an instant, the boy sprang out of bed and picked up the sword laying on the dresser, and if it weren't for Globgor shrinking and hiding under the bed, he would have been skewered. A light came on.
"Marco? Marco, what's wrong?" Star asked, the bed creaking loudly as she moved.
"I don't know, but it felt like someone was in here watching us," Marco said.
"Don't be silly. We have guards everywhere. Now, come back to bed."
"Are you sure? I have to protect you and Vega."
"Of course, I am."
"Fine, I suppose it's nothing."
The darkness returned soon after Marco climbed back into bed, and Globgor squeezed into the hallway, perplexed by his discovery. Not only was Star pregnant with the next princess, but the boy bore the mark of the Blood Moon, confirming his dream. The Multiverse's most powerful magic rested in the hands of a Mewman and her mate, thinking about it boiled Globgor's blood. Eclipsa had no idea of the danger under her nose: Mewmans, Star and her baby, the Blood Moon…And Moon doesn't live here, Globgor didn't sense a second strong burst of magic, the marker of another Butterfly queen. His fur bristled; he had to check her whereabouts.
Globgor tucked himself in an alcove and prepared to cast a spell. "I summon the All-Seeing Eye to tear a hole into the sky. Reveal to me that which is hidden, unveil to me what is forbidden!" Show me Moon Butterfly, Queen of the Mewmans!
He willed the purple ring to seek out the face of his unseen enemy. At last, he found her, a silver-haired monarch standing before a great army of Solarian Warriors, magical super-soldiers, along the banks of the Mewni River, her icy eyes set upon the northern horizon. I've seen enough, Globgor grew faint and leaned against the wall, letting the spell fade. His worst fears were confirmed, but he refused to go down without a fight. Although the Septarians were gone and the monsters were scattered, he vowed to find an army to defend his family.
Before he left the temple in search of help, he stopped by the nursery at the far end of the hall and bent over the beechwood crib resting in a shaft of dying moonlight. Meteora roused and smiled when she saw him, and Globgor picked her up. "My falling star," he crooned. "This is the second time I've held you, but I promise—I swear on my last drop of blood—that I'll make sure no one will take you or your mother from me again."
He gave her a kiss and set her back in the crib. When she started to cry, he shushed her gently. "I must go now, but I will be back. I must destroy our enemies first and then we will be together forever."
Globgor turned toward the rising sun and disappeared. His real hunt had begun.
Author's Note
First, let me give a shoutout to RJWritingInk for his commissioned artwork and review of Royal Secrets, which can be found on his blog/tumblr. Also just a fun note on names, Morning Cloak is based after Mourning Cloak, a type of butterfly, and Argiope's name comes from the genus of the yellow garden spider. As I said, I'm sorry for my absence and I thank you for your understanding and patience.