Tensions can run high when a bullet has left a special place in your arm. Perhaps Magna might say more than he means to when anxiety strikes again.

—

"So this is the strongest stuff you could grab?"

Magna had barely budged all morning, stuck in filthy pajamas as injury kept him motionless. That damn assassin got him good. Because so far today, the most the poor ambassador had done was scrape himself to the edge of his bed so he could accept some painkillers from Deandra.

The woman in question responded to his question from the first paragraph with, "I told Hilda it was for cramps, so that's as much pain as we can kill."

Blushing slightly on account of knowing which specific cramps Dee meant, the pained man said, "Oooh… uh, thanks. Well, let's see what these bad boys can do."

He ate a couple pills and prayed they would actually let him move his left arm without caterwauling— something kind of necessary for changing out of the sleeping clothes he'd been stuck in for the last ten hours. For the time being he'd handed Deandra a chair leg and asked her to knock him out with so she could get him out of a certain blood-stained pajama shirt.

The short blonde witch tested the weight of the wooden club, giving it a practice swing at a particularly offensive patch of air, then tossed it over her shoulder with a shrug. "You strike me as someone who's received a lot of head trauma, so maybe not… besides, I can just use my magic to help you change!"

"What!? But she'll know if you do that!"

"Hey, if the Queen asks me, I can say I was just showing off! It's not suspicious at all." Deandra said, waving her hand to dismiss the envoy's worries.

"Well, if ya' say so…" he conceded, straightening his posture slightly where he sat.

Then, for the first time in front of Magna, the chamberlain drew out her grimoire; a dirty, thin tome whose Kingdom sigil was obscured by a layer of grime that suggested she took as poor care of the book as she did her dump of a room. A light blue aura illuminated the pages when she raised a hand, and Magna's clothing soon followed suit.

"Birdhouse Magic: Pigeonhole Switch!"

Deandra cast her spell, and In one smooth, gliding motion his pajamas were pushed off his frame; replaced by his breeches and shirt without a finger touching either garment, but… the ambassador shuddered and flushed bright pink when he realized that his underwear changed along with the first layer of clothing. In less lewd news, the painkillers had also kicked in while the fire mage was distracted by Deandra's discomfiting magic, and Magna was relieved to find his wounded arm was now more a roaring ache than the debilitating, grievous pain it'd been all morning. Nice.

Standing unsteadily from his downy cot, the yankee saw Deandra grabbing his corset off the dresser and screamed, "Wait— Maybe not today!"

She looked at the little stain of blood on his arm bandage, and conceded, "Yeah… maybe not." obviously a little crestfallen as she reached instead for the tailcoat. Moving behind him with the white jacket in hand, the chamberlain asked Magna to, "Raise the arm as high as you can. Okay, nice, just a little more and I can get this on."

"Hey, Dee, I've been thinkin' about what you said last night…" the boy began to speak, distracted by thoughts from before he'd fainted as his left arm was ushered painfully into the sleeve, "You said you never wanted to kiss anyone? Was that true?"

Tugging Magnus' lapels into place from an odd angle, the littler mage was all too happy to answer, "Yep! I've never wanted my lips on another person's mouth. Why do you ask?"

When she moved to his front to double check the fit, Magna started tracing circles on his face and asked her, "Well, I was just wondering… is there something wrong with you?"

Deandra drew back slightly, offense painting her features, "No! Nothing's wrong with me! Don't be rude."

"Wait! I didn't mean it like that! I just meant…" the man's typically pristine posture turned inward into a huddled slouch as his voice grew softer. "I hope there isn't somethin' wrong with me…"

In an instant, her gaze changed. "What do you mean?"

He looked straight at Deandra but couldn't meet her eyes, having trouble getting the words he wanted spoken out in the open— despite how openminded they all were, Magna was afraid to tell even his fellow Black Bulls about these confused feelings, but it sounded like this woman was like him.

After a deep, shaky breath, the young man said, "Look, I… I ain't never kissed nobody before, or been on a date, or even held hands, and the thing is… I've never even tried to. Not once." Magna began trembling as he spoke, his words quivering just like the rest of his lean frame, "It's like there's something missing, 'cause I never understand when my friends talk about girls, or boys, or, or sex. And I'm scared of gettin' married. I thought it would never happen, but now it's been arranged for me, and I…"

"I don't even know if I can love people!"

He looked down at the floor of the cage, and huddled into himself— anything to be less vulnerable in front of this girl he'd only just met as he bared his most vulnerable feelings. Deandra's face was stuck somewhere between shock and empathy as he shivered, but she didn't back away at all.

The sting of Magna's gunshot still pierced up his arm, but the boy was too overwrought to pay it any mind.

"The Queen's plotting something awful for me, but I can't figure it out, and, and if I'm her husband… would I ever be allowed to go home?" Magna was crying openly now, tears falling down in streams behind his glasses as he sobbed. "Luck, Asta, Vanessa— I miss everyone so bad already, and I never even got to say goodbye to my folks! What if my sister and dad think I'm dead? What if I actually die out here? I made a promise!"

Biting back a pang of guilt, remembering all the warnings she refused to give Magnus when he'd first arrived, Deandra wiped a teardrop running down his cheek and said, "Hey now, it sounds to me like you love plenty of people. And I'm sure you're going to be fine. The Witch Queen doesn't want you getting hurt— that's the whole reason we're hiding, isn't it?"

Teary-eyed and breathing like he'd just been punched in the chest, Magna looked more defeated than the chamberlain knew was possible. Turning away from her to hide his reddened face, the man let out his hushed reply, "Dee, I know there's ways to hurt people so the bruises don't show… and I still gotta get ready… and I'm real sorry for dumpin' all that on you…"

Laying a hand on his shoulder as gently as a hummingbird, Deandra let her voice quiet down until it was a match for the man's hiccuped sobs. When he stopped shaking, the chamberlain spoke, "Hey, how about a joke? To help get your mind off your inevitable loveless political marriage?"

As Magna skulked, trying to fit his ascot with only one hand, he mumbled out, "That'd be nice…"

"Oh. That's too bad…" the blonde witch said in reply, looking hurt by the declination she hadn't received, "I had a really good one this time, but I understand if you don't wanna hear it."

"What? I said 'yes'."

"Did you really? I mean, if you don't, you can always say no."

"But I said 'yes'!"

"Seriously? But you looked like you wanted to hear a joke."

Grinding his teeth, he reiterated, "Deandra. I said 'yes'."

The girl looked lost. "So you… don't?"

At that, Magna exploded. "I do, goddamnit! Just tell me the freakin' joke already!"

"Gotcha! You look so mad right now!" Deandra cackled, teardrops leaking from her laughter, "Hahaha! You're all like, 'goddamnit', and 'argh'!"

Magna caught himself being absolutely pissed in the mirror, which quickly turned into a half-cocked smile when he realized he'd been had. "Dee, you little shitbag! Was there ever a joke?"

With a single finger pressed coyly into her cheek, the woman sang, "Nope~"

"Well I'm gonna get you for that later, you beautiful ass!" The yankee said between laughter as he wiped the tears off his grinning face. The pair of idiots giggled and play-slapped at each other until a mighty peal tore through the tower's stone walls.

"Ah, the ear splitting pain of the 12 o' clock bell." Deandra said, clearly unperturbed by the volume.

Magna on the other hand, was perturbed to the highest degree by the ringing. "Wait, is it 12 o' clock already? Aw, crap— I'm gonna be late!" He shouted and was correct; this very afternoon the man was to gather his documents for the treaty and sit down with the Witch Queen for a proper writing session. At Noon o' clock, sharp.

Deandra could hardly believe the whirlwind Magnus kicked up gathering the disparate scraps of parchment he'd trashed the night before. With a custom quill in his jacket pocket, and a messy bundle of documents between his arms, the ambassador bolted out the tower door.

After several moments in which the witch was left alone to mismatch all of his socks, the man poked his head back in the threshold and said, "Wait— one more thing, Dee!"

"Huh?" She huh-ed, making a damn good attempt to hide the drawers she was rearranging, "W-what is it, Magnus?"

The man's face went soft, and with all the sincerity he could express, he told Deandra, "Thanks. I really needed a joke like that. It's nice to meet someone else like me, and… I'm proud to call you my friend."

"Likewise, Dude. I seriously thought I was alone for a while there." She said, her expression mellowing alongside his. "You're the first person I've heard agree with me on kisses. It's nice."

"Yeah, I'm still scared, but it's good to know I've got somebody in my corner… and you know what? I'm gonna get to know the Queen better, see if she's as nice as, wait!?— The Queen!?"

Suddenly, the noon bell rang again, and Magna whipped around to sprint away, cutting the moment short as he screamed, "Triple crap! Sorry Dee! Gotta hurry! I owe ya' one, but I need to scram!"

When the boy was gone from the tower Deandra chuckled wistfully and said, "Ha, we're no-kiss sisters."

—

The run over to the office took longer than Magna thought it might, and he was nearly twelve minutes behind schedule by the time he'd arrived at the Witch Queen's elongated draft table. And the boy was sweating bullets from panic in addition to exertion and pain when he reached for the back of a random open chair, but grit his teeth and opted resolutely for the closest seat to his betrothed.

Calm down already. You're gonna marry this lady, Magna, there's no reason to be afraid… as long as she doesn't notice that you disobeyed her direct orders and got yourself shot, she almost definitely won't chop your head off. Just be nice and polite, and ask her about herself.

As he looked across the table, the man saw Sangue sitting as though she'd only recently arrived herself, and it was hard from him to gauge whether she was perturbed by her envoy's tardiness as she glared murderous daggers at him. Honestly, there was no way to know with this permanently glowering monarch.

After Magna'd settled his butt into the chair, the Queen slid half of her well-organized documents across the wooden desk. "Review these." She said with an unreadably neutral expression, which for all Magna knew, was intended to be a smile.

Thanking heaven that he'd been shot in the left arm when he picked up the papers with his dominant right hand, Magna poured over the listed concessions and clauses; struggling to wrap his head around the flowery, technical language Sangue had put to page.

"This is… a lot less specific than what I wrote." Was all his idiot brain could muster insofar as words were concerned.

"Like I've said, boy, it's a simple draft. You're fully intended to call back to your home Kingdom to help iron out any errant details, but," the lady spoke with her taloned fingers steepled, possibly out of habit, "for now, we discuss the broader terms of my treaty."

"Got it." Magna replied, hoping he could fumble through this with what limited instruction he'd been given on the subject. Then, even the punkish dandy winced as he told the goddamn Witch Queen, "And don't call me 'boy'."

Cursing himself out silently for giving Sangue more back talk after deciding he'd get to know her, the ambassador looked up to see the regal woman notscowling at him.

"Noted, fiancé." She said, eyebrows quirked ever so slightly at the impudent knight sitting across from her. "Let's begin with trade policies, and work from there."

For the three hours following their terse exchange, writing went far better than Magna could've imagined, but just being in the same room as the Witch Queen set his every hair on end. Even if nothing she said nor motioned towards him carried an iota of ill will, her very demeanor felt like staring down the barrel of a gun. That woman was like a predator, or a skilled poker player— always keeping her intentions hidden, and always letting her vaguest movements read like threats. It didn't matter how hard he tried, Magna couldn't relax around her, let alone shoot her a personal question. Especially not now that his painkillers were wearing off.

And on the table's opposite side, the pink-haired matriarch cursed inwardly, as she still couldn't unearth the proper words to pry into her hostage's home life. Political double talk, orders, and insults were silvered on her tongue, but a regular conversation starter seemed so… maladroit in comparison. It wasn't like she had any friends to practice talking with, so she came up blank trying to find some way to probe into the spy's past, and instead just glared at Magnus; zeroing in on him with narrowed eyes.

The yankee, of course sat and sweltered like a wounded elk in wolf territory while this terrifying woman stared bloody murder at him. Swallowing the lump in his throat as quietly as he could manage while he perspired in pain and fear, Magna did the impossible and matched her gaze; looking into her frigid blue irises with equal intensity despite the shake in his legs.

Sangue's eyes dilated, surprised enough by his gaze that she spoke without thinking; and although it was intended to be a question, the rose-haired witch didn't pose a query when she stated, "You were a magic knight."

With an eyebrow quirked at the non-question, and his heart threatening to pound out of his rib cage, Magna answered her by asking, "Yes?"

"You should meet with my knights. That is, my guards." The Queen tripped over her words, but didn't look perturbed in the slightest. Her chest constricting like it was caught in a vise as she attempted to be casual, Sangue let more words tumble adroitly forth, "I overheard that you didn't find yestermorn's excursion… pleasurable. Something about hatred, cramps, and crying?"

Embarrassed and scared was always a dreadful combination of emotions, and Magna raised his lettered parchment to hide the deep, deep blush gathering on his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard about that…"

He exhaled an abashed 'noooo' well beneath hearing, before backpedaling to his fiancée that, "It wasn't that bad, I enjoyed myself when, uh, umm, when—"

"—Nonsense. I forgot how hard quill fittings can be on people with scant mana. I wanted for you to have a good, safe jaunt out and it sounds like all you got was a severe hand cramp. Why, you're flinching even now."

"Oh, uh, am I?" Magna asked, perfectly aware he was flinching in a pain unrelated to any inking instruments. His heart was thumping like an overclocked engine, and he was desperate to escape this situation as soon as he could.

"Yes. And you're sweating like it isn't mid-spring, almost as if you're in fell pain." Sangue realized she was leaning in towards the ambassador, and reeled it back in as she returned to her point (and also right before Magna fainted from her intensity). "So I was thinking that perhaps today, a constitutional with my women would be a break closer to your aesthetic. They 'play cards', 'wrestle arms' and 'kick buttocks' down at the guard station, and I'd say you should join them for a spell."

"Really!? Tha—" He shouted, but caught his excitement by coughing into a fist; having his own question for the Queen, "That sounds great, but is it okay for me to spend so much time off work? I mean, we're not finished writing yet…"

"It'll be a mere break. There'll be duties for you to perform after you arrive, so don't worry about feeling like some common wastrel. I can finish this draft myself, even." The Queen placed a claw by her blue lipstick as she got lost in thought for a moment. "Actually, the time for her to reconnoiter is scarcely an hour out, so you'd best hurry if you want any respite at all. And please, enjoy yourself."

"Thanks! I'll be fast!" Magna exclaimed, giving Miss Sangue a bright, sunny smile while he stood from his seat. Not knowing how one was supposed to touch a royal, the excitable man wrapped the Witch Queen up in a hug and told his stony-faced bride to be, "You're the best!"

He held on for a couple seconds longer than he wanted to—being stuck in a very painful position —before breaking the embrace and leaving her office.

Once after the ambassador let go of her and had made his complete egress, Sangue grabbed the bottle of Merlot she'd hidden under table, and took a giant swig from the thing; praying the libation would calm her frazzled nerves, or at least the horrid tingling sensation around her shoulders. That bastard just broke her one month stretch of not being touched.

Why, in her power seizing gambit, did she have to deal with a man? Let alone a man wearing such obscenely tight pants. Despite the knight being well absent, the mental image of Magnus' snugly-clothed backside drove the Witch Queen to tip the bottle up again.

And she still didn't know his stupid backstory.

—-

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