"For as long as there have been humans, there have been dark fae to torment them. Magical creatures that feast on misery and pain. They inflict it upon humans to harvest power. The way you and I eat food and drink, they sustain themselves with the suffering they cause.

"That is why they must be fought. Contained before they spread. Left unchecked, they would plunge us all into darkness."

Alya's fingertips brushed the butterfly pin nestled near her throat.

"Not all fae are like this. The Courts of Destruction have their counterparts in Creation, filled with fae who delight in laughter instead. However, even those fae are not what one might call good. Most of them are indifferent to human suffering and have no stake in stopping their dark counterparts. They are hedonists, feasting on pleasure where they finds it, asnd they do not know grief and sorrow like we do.

"But some select few are benevolent. This pin was given to my family by a spirit of generosity, and it has been passed down for generations. With it, we fight the creatures lurking at the edges of our world. I inherited it last year, after…"

Alya trailed off.

The maids fingertips brushed Alya's gloves and she startled at the concern in the blue eyes.

"…the dark fae are always aggressive, but as of late they've started gathering. Coordinating. Something is happening in both our countries. You follow the papers, yes? It's just one escalation after the other." Tension between Franeaux and Esparia were climbing so high that a single spark might set them all aflame in war.

"My House has fought fae for generations, and we have amassed a truly impressive arsenal to counter them. This pin is just one of many such trinkets that bestows power upon its wielder. I've trained since childhood to prove myself worthy of earning one."

But her training was far from finished. And now it wouldn't be.

"If you've an entire family to fight beside you, what do you need me for?" But there was no curiosity in the maid's tone, for the she had already figured out the answer. No, her gentle voice was soft and filled with compassion.

"The faes have started coordinating," Alya said stiffly. "They launched an attack on my family. Some of them still walk around now, but they are imposters. Changelings. Like your Mistress."

"…Lady Bourgeois." The maid's fingers dug into her gown.

"Yes."

"What happened to the real one?"

"Devoured, most likely."

The maid let out a keening whimper. But she did not cry, no. To Alya's great satisfaction, the girl was drawing back her shoulders, determination taking hold of them. But then she slumped. "I can't just leave."

"The Changeling's body might have turned to dust, but the Bourgeois household still looks like it has been attacked. If you are gone by the time they all wake up, they'll assume you are missing along with your Mistress. Should you go back, you'll be held for interrogation for who knows how long – and I must warn you now that no one will believe the truth."

"Why not? Why can't we just explain–"

Alya shook her head. "Fae magic clouds the mind. A curse once cast upon the world. They do not wish for humans to know of them unless it suits them, and so humans do not – cannot – conceive of their existence until they've witnessed it with clear eyes. They'll think you mad."

The maid nibbled on her lower lip as she considered this. "But you just said you have fae magic. Can't you show them that as proof?"

"They'll think me a witch. And I much prefer not getting burned at the stake." Alya sighed. "Trust me, it's a lesson my family learned with blood. Unless you drag in a live fae specimen in front of them to break the glamor, nobody will ever believe your tale."

"But–" The maid's fingers dug further into her skirts, anxiously twisting the fabric. "My parents will be so worried. I can't let them think me dead!"

Alya nodded. "Understandable. I can turn this carriage around. But I shall not wait for you to sort this out. I am aware that I am asking a lot, but your choices are twofold – we either leave now and you fight by my side, or you can stay."

"Why can't we wait?"

"Because," said the fae hunter, leaning forward. "They have taken the prince."

King Gabriel opened the curtains and gazed at his reflection for the first time in over a year.

Age was a terrible thing to sneak up on a man. But age had not so much snuck up on him as much as planned an ambush to drag him into a dark alley. His dignified wrinkles had become small canyons, his face gaunt, and most of his muscles had wasted away until he was no more than skin and bones.

But at least it was his reflection and not a nightmare.

The sheer impotent rage he'd felt when he'd seen what became of his son haunted him still. The fae's favorite scene to show him, the one that had played out a hundred times, was of Adrien getting caught. He'd wandered into the Lady's court and drunk from her chalice, body twisting while he'd seemed entirely unaware of what was happening to him.

Until the very end.

Perhaps it had been his dying humanity's final stand, but for one brief moment, Adrien had tried to resist, to crawl away, only for the last remnants of what he'd been to desert him. He'd collapsed and risen again with not a single spark of intelligence behind his animal eyes.

She had set his son loose in an otherworldly forest. To hunt, to sleep under the open sky, to clean the blood out of black fur with his tongue. The fae had shown every gruesome aspect to Gabriel, reveling in his humiliation by stripping his kind and clever son of all dignity.

The sigil of the royal house was a black lion and the fae had chosen to mock him with it.

…except none of it had been real.

Had it?

It felt like it had been real.

But Adrien was here now. Not an animal, not mindless, not burned by iron. Yes, he seemed dazed and confused at times, but his wit was sharp despite his long imprisonment.

Gabriel was in no position to judge not being at the height of mental clarity.

He'd been trying to wean off the laudanum, had braced himself for withdrawal, but his mind was as sluggish and sleepy as always. Had he done himself permanent damage? Or had his mind truly just gone soft with age?

"Good morning, father."

Gabriel turned to face his heir and smiled.

Adrien returned the smile with one of his own, lighting up the gloomy room. Perhaps it was vanity talking, since Gabriel shared quite a number of features with his son, but he could not help the stir of pride at seeing how fine Adrien had grown with age.

He'd been a scrawny child, taking far too long to reach his final growth spurt, but now he had a nimble warrior's build, tall and lean.

Good. He would need it to defend himself against a hostile world.

"Good morning, Adrien."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." No nightmares plaguing him tonight. "How go the preparations for the feast in honor of your return?"

"Apace. I assume. I've mostly delegated, to be quite honest."

Gabriel barked out a laugh. "Good. A good ruler knows his time is precious and does not waste it with trivialities."

"Well," Adrien said, setting down the tray of breakfast he insisted on carrying himself. It was a task unsuited for a prince and best left to servants, yet Gabriel did not have the heart to rebuff the kind gesture, propriety be damned. "I'd be lying if I said I spend my days productively, father. I'm mostly lying in bed, same as you."

"Head injury still troubling you?"

"It's healing well, the physician says. But I find myself tiring easily." He sighed. "Must we hold that ball for my return? The New Year's feast is soon enough, I don't see why we can't wait the week and celebrate both at once."

"Your return is a singular occasion deserving of its own feast. And the people are eager to hear from you."

"It's not like I have anything particularly insightful to say."

The tea cup halted on its path to Gabriel's lips. "…are you telling me you have not yet written your speech?"

"Um. Speech?"

"Adrien," Gabriel said slowly. "Were you planning on just raiding the desert buffet and dancing a few waltzes?"

"Well, no waltzing, but–"

"What," he interrupted, "do you mean by that?"

Adrien shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "Head injury, father. My coordination is poor at times, I don't know if I can dance."

"Then find out. Or would you rather wait until you've disgraced yourself on the dance floor?" Gabriel's gaze dropped down to the iron necklace hanging around Adrien's neck. Still there. Still real. He took a deep breath. "It's unlike you to not do your due diligence, my son. I taught you better than that. Write a speech about unity and coming together in joy and putting the recent uncertainty to rest."

"…yes, father."

Gabriel took a deep sip of his tea, and soon enough his irritation ebbed. He smiled at his son, his legacy, miraculously returned to him. The fae weren't real, and the mercenaries who had held Adrien captive were dead.

Though their masters were not.

But that would soon be rectified. Gabriel would destroy anyone who'd dare try to take Adrien away from him again. Humming happily, he took another sip from his tea and calm washed over him.

"Well?"

Adrien's eyes darted back to the third paragraph and he pursed his lips.

"Father, are you sure…" He trailed off when sharp blue eyes focused on him. Adrien smiled. "The treatise looks great. How'd you manage to negotiate so many concessions?"

"Intimidation," King Gabriel drawled.

Yes, Adrien was very familiar with that. To be on the receiving end of one of his father's looks was silent torture. One would think he'd have learned to endure it by now but the need to prove himself was only growing more critical with age. Gone were the days he could coax a smile from the stern man with a simple melody on the clavichord.

His artistic pursuits had been dropped when he'd turned ten, deemed a distraction. Martial arts had taken their place, fencing and sparring, lessons in the art of strategy and combat. 'Only a fool courts war,' his father liked to say, 'but one must always be prepared for it.'

"So what's wrong with it?"

"What?" Adrien squeaked.

"You were about to criticize something."

"No, it's nothing, father, just something I didn't quite understand right away."

"Hm." The gaze resting on him grew pensive. "Did I raise a coward?"

Adrien straightened his back. "No!"

"Then tell me what you think instead of flattering me. If you're wrong, I will explain why, and you will learn something. If you're right, then the treatise needs altering."

Chat laid his chin to rest on his hands, gazing at the mirror. His Lady had warned him not to use it needlessly or too often. But his father was proving less than docile, quizzing Chat on Adrien's history, needing constant reassurance that Chat was not a fae imposter.

So the fae imposter had no choice but to dive deep and memorize anecdotes he could casually drop, preempting questions he could not answer. His strategy paid dividends, the king sighing in relief whenever Chat referenced a shared moment.

The infiltration was going well, all things considered.

Too well.

In the span of mere days, he found himself thinking not of having to visit 'the king' or even 'Gabriel'. No, using the human's true name felt disrespectful, and the word 'father' had slid neatly into his vocabulary like it belonged there. Far from being unnerved by it, Chat was now basking in the man's affectionate stares.

This needed to stop. Now.

He could not afford to let his guard down around the suspicious king. Chat would not let Adrien's memories overwhelm his mind. The prince might have looked up to the man, but he was just that – a man. And men had flaws, often terrible ones. Chat would just have to remind himself of those instead of uncritically adopting the prince's hero worship.

"Mirror, mirror, on the bed," he said, "Show me Adrien's greatest disappointment in his father."

"Father!" Adrien burst through the door to the king's chambers, a wide grin on his face. "Father, you won't believe what I just – just…"

He trailed off, eyes widening in horror as he took in the scene before him. That was his father. And his valet. Both staring at him. Both lying in bed. Atop each other. Naked.

Why did father's valet have breasts?

"Nathalie," King Gabriel said calmly. "See about that correspondence with Queen Penelope."

"Yes, Your Grace." The not-man Adrien knew as Noel slid off the bed and got dressed, her breasts disappearing under a manservant's uniform so it looked like they'd never been there at all.

Giving the king a stiff bow, and then directing another one toward Adrien, his father's favorite servant hurried out of the room.

The prince stared after her, speechless.

"She has a brilliant mind, you know." The king had used the duration of Adrien's brain malfunction to get dressed as well. "It's a shame she was born female and a commoner. She could have risen high in the world had she been a man. If she'd been a Lord, she'd be my steward."

Father's valet was known for being half a steward already, taking on duties far beyond their station.

"So how long have you been fucking her?" Adrien was amazed by how calm his voice sounded.

"Ten years, give or take."

"You godsdamned bast–"

"Language, Adrien." Blue eyes narrowed. "I am still your father and you will show me the respect I am due."

"Mother's only been dead for two years!"

The king shrugged. "Ours was an arranged marriage, brokered for power and land. Not love. She was under no illusions about what we were to each other."

"I just – I can't believe you! Here you are lecturing me about all the virtues I'm supposed to embody and then you–"

The prince choked on his anger.

When he spoke again, Adrien's voice was low and seething. "I broke off friendships with common girls because you warned me not to give my heart to someone I can't have. What happened to 'Oh, Agreste men, we fall in love so fast, don't ruin your future marriage before it begins'?"

"I lied."

"I can see that!"

"I'm raising you to be a better man than I, my son. It is my fate to one day fall short of you."

Breathing heavily, Adrien wiped at his eyes. Marinette… he'd never sought out the kind baker's daughter again for fear of being tempted by her treats. Just a childhood crush, but it was the sheer principle of the thing.

"So," Adrien said coldly. "Did mother get to break her wedding vows, too?"

The king sighed. "There can be no question about the legitimacy of my heirs. I will raise no children who aren't mine."

"Oh, but you get to father all the bastards you want, huh?" Adrien's breath caught, eyes stinging as he swayed on the spot. "Do I – do I have half-siblings somewhere?"

"No. I'm infertile." The king's eyes were shining, too. Which was absurd because his father did not weep, not ever. It was weakness, and Adrien had done his best to stamp it out in himself, all to please the man before him. "You are the only son I'll ever have."