The Count de Monet

"Well, at least the tire shattered under the shade," said the Count de Monet. He leaned out the window of his carriage to hurry the coachman and his assistant. "Oh, do hurry up!" he shouted. "Prince Anastasio is almost here, I would love to be at the palace before he arrives. There is much I need to discuss with him."

He couldn't help but to keep his head out the window to feel the summer breeze cool his face, soaked with perspiration. His black and gold three-piece suit, though extravagant, was cooking him in the waning heat of the summer. He stepped outside to take a stroll while the coachman fixed the tire. The wind almost blew out his blackened curled wig.

"Do come back inside," said the count's fruity right-hand man, Benoit. He wore a long, gray wig with pink ribbons and his suit was colored bright pink, magenta, and fuchsia with flora embroidery. His face was powdered in white and his lips coated in pink lipstick. The apple of his cheeks was blushed in red and there was a beauty mark on his upper lip.

The count did not listen and strolled towards the edge of the river. The water was brownish-green but reflected the canopies of the trees in the forest. Monsieur Benoit did not want to leave the coach, but he thought better of it once he felt the cool air. He loosened the white Cravat around his neck while pompously stepping out of the carriage and walking about with his black cane.

"Just what is it you plan to discuss with the young prince?" Monsieur Benoit asked, joining Count de Monet by the river to look at some turtles swimming about in the murky water.

"King Richard's death for one," said the Count. "The imbecile jumped to his death."

"Good grief!" said Benoit. "Was he not content with knowing that he would relinquish the crown to young Anastasio?"

"No," the Count began to laugh. "He believed he could fly because he envisioned himself making love to the Wind Goddess. He thought he gained wings and jumped from his window so he could soar into the heavens to be with her. Instead, he fell to his doom in the streets below. Ha! And you wonder why our kingdom was in such a state. One would think that the end of the civil war would have brought some stability around here, but it didn't. Pfft. Mad kings indeed. It should be outlawed for fools like him to gain power. To be frank, I do not feel any better having Anastasio as King."

"And why not?" Benoit asked, opening his fan to give himself some air. He swatted away a few gnats and cringed as the cicadas hissed in the trees.

"Because," said the Count, "it was Stas who left us with that madman, while he traveled to his summer palaces to have orgies with girls. He did not wish to take responsibility that hundreds of years of history have placed on his head."

"His wig?" asked Benoit.

The Count scoffed. "No, you dolt, his crown!" He whacked Benoit on the shin. "Oh, how the youth of this world annoy me, Benoit. Anastasio refused the monarchy to live the life of a hero alongside Yuri and his Knights of the Termnnian Table to chase after cunt and card at Duelist Academy."

"Oh yes," said Benoit. "My daughter goes there. She said she looks forward to attending class with him on the University levels next summer."

"Yes, cock strong and head sure," scoffed the Count. "My former chamberlain, Dr. Vellion Crowler, was of no help trying to teach him at the school. I suppose now is the time for me to educate young Stas on the proper ethics of being a ruler. This never would have happened if his father had not handed him those Gem Dragons. I've never seen cards turn someone so arrogant before in my life."

"Oh, indeed," Benoit agreed, swatting away another bug. "Those dragons were especially popular with the ladies. The girls would travel from far and wide to see him play the Diamond-Burst Dragon at the Festival of Flowers. I do recall the young Lady Bibi de Marcoux - a very amorous young lady - offering him a refreshing night of sex if he would be gracious enough to play the dragon. A lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky lad I must say. Pity about the girl. Such as shame her family and estate were taken by House Fourneaux. The poor girl was taken to the Tower of the Holy Maids to be brainwashed into the Faith of Yeyu. What a waste of youth; she was such a loving and enigmatic girl."

"Which is why Stas must be properly counseled," said the Count de Monet. "Houses of Boislevesques and Fourneauxs gain ground now that they're backed by the Big Five. Hopefully, our young prince has brought some aid from that dragon-summoning girl I've heard so much about."

"My Lords!" called the coachman. "We are all set to go!"

"Well it's about time," scoffed the Count. "Come, Benoit, our new king approaches. Let us see to his council before that war-mongering cousin of his gets to him first."

Christine

"YOU STUPID GIRL!" Monsieur Pépin shouted.

His sickly, squeaky voice startled Christine out of her slumber. Mérieux uncurled himself and stood on all fours, wings spread wide. He hissed, not liking the tone Pépin was displaying towards his mother. But the fat, little man was too furious to care for the dragon's threats. His eyes were wide and his face was red as though burned by the sun.

"Look what time it is!" he cried out, slapping a wooden spoon on the night table beside Christine's bed.

Christine whimpered and crawled to the other side of the bed. Mérieux scampered in front of her. He lowered his teeth and flapped his wings as a display to keep him away.

"Has that beast grown!" Pépin shouted. "Goodness, he's bigger than a cat!"

"What did I do?" Christine asked.

"You overslept!" Pépin declared again. "You did not polish the steps! You did not sweep the sidewalk. The trash is still all over the floor! This is going to cost you dearly, young lady. Come with me to the kitchen so I can punish you!"

"No!" said Christine.

"That is not a request! You fail to do your chores and you get ten whacks with the spoon! Now come with me or else I'll…"

Mérieux hissed again. Pépin did not care and grabbed an iron rod ready to strike him on the head and crush his skull when suddenly the little dragon released a jet of red-hot flames.

Stas

The golden trumpets of House Trevelyan sounded off into the morning as the gates opened to allow Prince Anastasio to enter Tourneville. He rode atop his Pegasus mount, waving at his people like a warrior who won a great victory. The bells on his Pegasus's mane jingled and sparkled when touched by the morning light. Confetti was tossed from the windows of the tallest buildings, welcoming the prince home. All was going well until Stas heard a commotion coming from the crowd.

"Fire!" someone shouted. "There's a fire!"

Stas turned towards the east. He spotted a column of black smoke billowing into the air. "What the…" Stas said.

"Your Grace," said a town guardsman. "It's the Rue de Merde. You'd be wasting your time going there."

"It matters not where social class they're in," said Stas. "These are my people." He kicked his mount. "YA!" he shouted, and the Pegasus galloped towards the slums.

Floods of people pushed and shoved to get away in case the flames behind them started to grow at a wild pace. They all parted in different directions to make way for Stas and his steed. A small army of Trevelyan knights trailed after him on foot. Good Samaritans could be seen heading for the Rue de Merde with buckets, pails, and barrels of water to help douse the flames.

He was relieved when he saw the flames were still contained within the apartments, but his heart broke when he saw the now homeless tenants sobbing outside their ruined houses.

"Goddesses," said Stas. "What happened?"

A woman screaming caught his attention. He saw a fat, sickly-looking old man screaming at a group of guards, containing the woman by the arms as she struggled to be let go.

"What is the trouble here?" Stas asked, riding towards them.

"Oh!" said the fat man. "Prince Stas!"

"The prince!" called out the guard.

"The prince?" gasped Christine.

"The prince!" shouted all the young ladies of the slums.

Stas got off his Pegasus and walked towards the girl. "What is going on here?"

"Uh, my-my Lord," bowed the fat little man. "I am Monsieur Pépin. I am the caretaker of these once prosperous apartments."

"Prosperous is not the word I'd like to use," Stas muttered quietly. "And this girl? Why are you containing her? Is she the cause of all this?"

"No, Your Grace!" cried the girl. "Prince Stas. My name is…"

A guard punched her in the stomach. "You be quiet!"

Stas removed a flintlock pistol from one of his holsters and aimed it at the guard. "Hit her again, and you're getting a bullet to the brain."

"But, Your Grace," Pépin insisted. "This girl is a menace! She is the cause of all this."

"I don't care what her crimes are," said Stas. "To strike a lady in my presence is punishable by death. Now, what happened?"

"Please, Your Grace," croaked the girl, still in agony from the blow she received. "My name is–"

"–I don't care what your name is," Stas interrupted. "We'll leave all that for the court. What happened?"

Monsieur Pépin stepped forward. "Your Grace. I took this girl in last night. She had no place to go and no money to pay for the bed I offered. So, I gave her some work in exchange for staying here with me. I told her to wake up bright and early to do her chores. She woke up late because she is a lazy girl!"

Christine whimpered sadly.

"And then, when I attempted to confront her, she sent her beast after me!"

"Beast? What beast?" Stas asked, holstering his flintlock pistol.

"Your Grace," a guard said holding up a metal box that looked like it was recently put together out of junk. But it was still sturdy enough to contain the creature inside.

"What is it?" Stas asked.

"Your Grace," said Pépin. "Inside that cage is a monster! A dragon!"

"A dragon you say," said Stas. He looked at Christine. "Where did you get it? It's not every day I encounter someone with a pet dragon."

"I found him when I lived with Convent up the mountain," said the girl.

"Convent!" said Pépin. "I knew it! I knew it! Those blasted Yeyunists sent her to do all this."

"No!" cried the girl. "No one sent me to do anything! My dragon was just trying to protect me from him. The man went insane when I woke up late and threatened to hit me."

"Is that so?" said Stas, turning to look at Pépin. "You were going to hurt her?"

"An over-exaggeration, Your Grace," Pépin assured him. "I only meant to put her over my knee and give her ten whacks to teach her a lesson. Had she just accepted her mistake, all of this could have been avoided. I am well within my rights to discipline my servants, Your Grace."

"Yes, I know of the law," said Stas. "Ten whacks would have been a small price to pay for all of this," Stas said, holding an arm out to the flaming building. "Why did you have your dragon burn the house and attempt to kill Pépin?"

"Oh, Your Grace!" sobbed Christine. "I did not mean for any of this happen. Neither did my dragon. He was just trying to protect me. I had no idea he would learn his skill to breathe fire so quickly. He was just born a month ago."

"You'll be surprised how fast dragons can grow," said Stas. "I'm sorry my dear, but that dragon is your responsibility. And had you accepted your mistake and your punishment, you could have spared these good people the despair of losing their homes."

"Aye!"

"Aye!" shouted all the tenants.

"Guard," said Stas. "Take her to the dungeon. And see to it that the dragon is sent to the Red Palace."

"At once, Your Grace," said the guard.

"NO!" cried Christine. "Don't take my dragon away, please!"

The guards held her tighter to restrain her. "Come now, love. You're under arrest. Take it easy. That's it. That a girl."

"To the Palace!" Stas commanded, and they all marched away.

Count de Monet

At long last, the Count de Monet's carriage had arrived outside the golden gates of the palace. As his gilded carriage came to a stop before a fountain of the whitest marble, he was mobbed by a swarm of eager peasants who were yelling for him to clarify matters with the prince. Immediately, two palace guards opened the gates. Two servants in beige gentleman's suits came running out of the palace grounds while rolling out the red carpet.

"Count da money! Count da money!" the peasants shouted. "Count da money! Count da money!"

"DE MONET! DE MONET!" shouted the Count, trying his best to get out of the carriage. A squad of palace guards came running to his aid, brandishing muskets of polished maple and engraved gold. The count bashed the peasants on the head as he stepped down from the carriage. Monsieur Benoit followed.

"Count da money! Count da money!" the peasants continued to shout.

Finally, the Count and Benoit made into the sanctuary of the palace walls. Prince Stas was waiting for them dressed in his best robes of black, crimson, and gold. His coat unbuttoned to reveal his well-built chest.

"My Prince," the Count said with a bow.

"You are looking ever so handsome today, My Prince," Benoit said fruitily.

"Ah, the Count da money," said Stas.

The Count let out a brief chuckle, then his face molded into a look of frustration. "DE MO…"

"Don't correct me," said Stas with the utmost authority. "I know what your name is."

"Ah," said the Count.

Meanwhile, Benoit hid his laughter behind his pink fan. He pulled himself together and said: "I must ask, where did such a name come from? Why have the people started calling you the Count da money?"

"Blame those dolts from Earth!" said the Count. "The Prince said he got the jest from a ridiculous movie he imported from Earth."

Stas chuckled. "Have a sense of humor, Count."

The Count narrowed his eyes at Stas and wrinkled his nose. "Hmm, I'll do my best," he replied sarcastically. "People have been calling me the Count da money ever since. I do hope you'll make it law not to call me that anymore, Prince Anastasio."

"It's Stas!" the prince corrected him brashly. "And we'll see about that. Come, we have much to discuss. True Dragons are returning. Seto Kaiba and Yugi Muto have daughters. And my friend Zane is doing hero work in Domino. Ah, and Yuri is ever closer to coming back."

He turned and made a quick pace back to the palace.

"Have you met with your cousin Euphemia yet, My Prince?" Benoit asked.

"No," said Stas. "I just missed her. Euphie is out hunting with her lady friends. She won't be back till later."

"Splendid," said the Count. "I got to you before she did."

"You do not approve of my cousin's council?" Stas asked, looking back at the Count as he proceeded towards the palace.

The Count rolled his eyes and coughed to hide his hate for the young baronetess. Thankfully the hissing of the cicadas in the trees hid the sound. "Well, no, My Prince. Euphie can be…a bit of a brute."

"That's why I love her so much," said Stas. "She's got brains; the will to fight; she's an excellent Duelist; and has beauty to match."

"A pretty face is not going to help us win with the war against the Houses of Boislevesques and the Fourneauxs, My Prince."

"No," said Stas, "but they can help. Lady Angeline the Fire Princess ended the One Day War with just her smile. So warmed of her darling face were the enemies, that they dropped their weapons and surrendered. They couldn't find it in their hearts to be her enemy."

"Yes, but Lady Angeline was a demi-goddess," said the Count. "Her beauty was divine, far beyond what a mortal woman can ever hope to achieve."

"For men, all beautiful women are divine," said Stas. "It matters not where she comes from. If she has a pretty face, whole armies can stop; why do you think kings marry their daughters off to rival rulers? Sometimes a beautiful face is the best weapon in times of war."

"If only Euphie had one," the Count muttered under his breath.

Benoit cleared his throat, announcing that it was his turn to speak. He gasped with relief once he, Stas, and the Count da money…De Monet, walked under the shade of the palace towers. Though the autumn season was approaching, it was still ghastly hot. "If I may, My Prince," Benoit said fanning himself. "I couldn't help but notice that there was smoke rising from housetops over by the slums. Do you have any knowledge of that?"

"I do," said Stas. "Some girl refused to accept her punishment and got her pet dragon to burn down an apartment complex."

"Oh dear," said the Count. "Did you arrest her?"

"Of course, we did," said Stas. "She's going to rot in the dungeon for the rest of her days. And her pet dragon, well, we're still deciding what to do about it."

"You could keep it," said the Count.

"I tried," said Stas. "He almost burned my face off. Besides, he's already attached to the girl. Remember, most dragons prefer the company of women than men. But, we've come to the conclusion that the dragon will be better off with Avi."

The Count froze when he spotted a blonde-haired Eldori beauty walking through the long maze of lit-up water fountains to their right. She wore a baby pink brocade dress with a crown brooch, a small petticoat with a bouquet of pink and white bows on the back, and a brocade hat with bow and ostrich plume colored sugary pink. A D-Pad with floral engravings was mounted on her wrist projecting holographic blue windows that displayed the time, temperature, and current Duelist rankings in the world.

"It's good to be the king," Stas whispered, bobbing his head up and down.

"I say," said the Count. "That girl. Who is she?"

"I do not know," said Benoit, fanning the lust for her off his face. "But I would go straight again for her."

He and the Count gawked at her white-lace stockings adorned with pink ribbons.

"Sherry!" called Stas. "Sherry Leblanc, is that you?"

Sherry Leblanc (Yu-Gi-Oh 5D's) smiled and put her white lace fan away. She held out her arms while sprinting towards Stas and embracing him. Her white heels clip-clopping on the red broken cement path.

"Hello, Stas!" she said happily. "Long time no see, my old friend."

Stas kissed her on the cheek and turned to introduce her to the Count and Benoit. "Gentlemen this is Dame Sherry Leblanc. She's the knight-champion of my cousin Euphie."

"It's a pleasure, mademoiselle," said the Count with a polite bow.

"Oh!" said Sherry. "You must be the Count da money."

The Count's smile tried to stay put on his lips as he ground his teeth together. "De Monet, my dear."

"Whatever," Sherry said rather displeased when she read the frustration in him.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Benoit asked sadly, feeling his erection wither away.

"Oui," said Sherry. "We were born the same day here in the palace. We grew up together. Sadly, this guy chose to side with Yuri and leave our kingdom to a Mad King as he partied."

"Well, I'm back," said Stas. "I've defeated my brother, ended the war, and I'm here to stay. Yuri is will not be a King I will abandon. You have my word. I promised Master Yugi I would be there for him. And I will. He recently signed my friend Prince Jon to fight with us and join the Alliance."

"Splendid," said Benoit. "The snowmen of Riftgaard are very capable fighters. They've been holding off King Forrest's advances for months."

"And how has he been doing?" Sherry asked. "I do hope to see him and the other princes one day. I've been told Yuri's Allies are very handsome."

Stas shrugged as he chuckled. "Jon's been doing well on the contrary. However, his efforts to keep the peace will be all for naught if the Royal Houses up north allow the Covenant to spread their radical ideologies down here. How have you been holding up?"

"So far so good," said Sherry. "We've held back their forces thus far. Having said that, it's been difficult with the help they're getting from the Bank's private army. They've allowed the Covenant to gain a tremendous foothold in our fair kingdom."

"Well, now's our chance to stop them," said Stas. "I've sent a letter to the Termnnian Trading Company. Mayhaps they'll lend us aid, too."

The Count tapped his cane on the ground. "Don't you think it unwise to be so trusting of a group of traders and mercenaries, dear Prince. I've seen them turn tail many times throughout the years."

"They're only doing this for themselves," said Stas. "Obviously they will switch sides as soon as you show them the gold. With machines, spellcasters, and dragon riders in their ranks, they're one of the most powerful armies in Termnnia. If not THE most powerful. They gain money, while the fighters lose money trying to outbid each other. It's a cruel tactic, but very effective."

"What can you expect with a band of mercenaries?" scoffed Sherry. "I've never seen anything like it. One day they're alongside us, and the next they're against us. The following week they're on our side again. They're going to keep doing this until one faction runs out of money, and I fear that will be our Alliance. Our forces are stretched thin, Prince Stas. Our coffers get smaller and smaller with every theatre of war the Covenant and the Empire open against us."

"I wouldn't worry too much about them," said Stas. "Now that we're in the Alliance, Rassay has sent us some coin from their coffers to help us out."

"Well, this is all very exciting," said the Count, "but don't you think it would be better to talk about these matters in the war room? Air conditioning? Cold drinks? Mmm?"

Stas looked back at the Count and gave a shrug. "What a wuss, but I'm going to see this girl with the dragon. I still want to know how and why she got it. Dragons don't come by just anyone, especially not the peasants from Rue de Merde."

"I'll go with you," said Sherry.

"Are you sure, Mademoiselle Leblanc?" asked the Count. "I do not think the dungeons of the palace are ideal for a lady like you."

"I've been on the battlefield, Count," Sherry said sharply. "I think I can handle the dungeons. Stas, shall we?"

"Of course," Prince Stas said, leading the group up the steps of the palace.

Benoit was quick to be on Stas's tail. "I do not like your cuffs, Your Majesty," he said criticizing Stas's princely gentleman's outfit. "We must see your tailor at once. I don't like your cuffs. I don't like your cuffs. I don't like your cuffs. A man's cuffs must be even with the tip of his pee-pee. Yours go all the way down to your balls."

Stas scoffed and arrogantly glanced at the fruity man. "At least I have them," he responded. Sherry opened her fan and hid her laughter behind it, watching Benoit stop dead in his tracks.

"Oh, you…bitch," he whispered furiously at Stas.

Christine

Chains rattling off in the distance were driving her mad. The flicker of the torches on the wall was like the infernal teasing of a thousand men pointing and laughing at her. The dungeons of the palace were an underground labyrinth spanning 24,000 square feet of iron bars and cold stone. Christine heard the distant shouts of the dungeon guards coming from down the halls and the slamming of iron doors in the distance. Thankfully, or mercifully, she was given a cell on the top floor of the jail. The prisoners in these cells were given the comfort of a window which allowed the sunlight to come through in thin, dusty rays the color of gold when found in the mud. They were warm at least, for it was unbelievable cold in the dungeon.

She was still wearing the nightgown Pépin gave her, which did nothing to help her against the cold. It was so short, and she was naked underneath. She shivered and sobbed, wondering what did she ever do to wind up down here in this dank and miserable place in the underbelly of the world. The cell across hers was occupied by a dried-up skeleton. His clothes were torn and stained with festering. Christine's ears picked up the sound of little nails tapping along the stones, and the sound of squeaking.

"Oh no, oh no!" she moaned. If there was one thing Christine hated more than anything, it was rats and mice. Rats especially, since they could grow to the size of a cat in the big cities of Termnnia.

She heard stories of prisoners who were eaten alive in the jails because of those rodents of unusual size.

Christine prayed to both Yeyu and the Goddesses to keep her safe and to bless her with a second chance at life. She didn't care anymore, if they were up there she begged of them to help. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her bottom was chilled by the stone causing her great discomfort. She looked up at the arched ceiling. There was an iron chandelier that the guards would light every night. At least she had some light to look forward to this night. That way, she could see the rats if they were coming. When she was given her supper, Christine was given a crust of bread and a cup of water. She was even given butter to spread on the bread and a knife. It was a dull thing, but, nevertheless, it felt like she had claimed a legendary sword from a mythical stone. She felt so much safer with it, thinking about using it as a weapon in case the rats came.

Thinking about the rats in the dungeon caused her to think about her dragon. Mérieux was tough, but he was still a baby. A baby without his mother. She sobbed, hoping the guards didn't kill her dragon. If what the Reverend Mother said was true, and the Big Five really did claim her land and all her possessions, then Mérieux was the only thing she had in this miserable world who loved her. If she lost him she would not know what to do.

Well, she thought, at least I have my trusty blade to help slay the monster that is my life.

She heard the sound of heavy boots thumping on the broken stone path of the hallway. She heard keys jingling, and the voices of men and a young woman. They were getting closer. They were just inches from her cell. To the shock of Christine, it was Prince Stas with, Sherry, Benoit and the Count de Monet. They stopped in front of her cell.

"This is her," said Stas, showing her to the two men as though she were some animal at the zoo.

"Is she really?" the Count de Monet said, getting closer towards the bars. "The dragon girl? Such a lovely young thing she is."

"I've seen better," Sherry said, fanning herself.

"Yeah," said Stas. "Now, if you would back away from the bars, Count da money…er…De Monet. I must speak to her." Stas pressed his forehead against one of the bars. His bangs parted to the sides. "Leave us," he said to the Count and Benoit. They left without argument.

"What is your name?" Stas asked.

"My Prince," said Christine, crawling towards him. She got close to the iron bars of the door and grasped them with her hands, looking up at Stas like a scorned puppy. "Please. My name is Christine of House Beaufort."

"Hmm, nice names," Stas said, pulling the neckline of her shirt forward so he could peer down and gawk at her cleavage. Christine gasped timidly and pulled herself back, delicately clutching the neckline with her hands. She blinked rapidly and blushed. Stas chuckled, feeling good about the power he had over her. "Tell me, my dear, what can I do for you?"

"You're such a pig, Stas," scoffed Sherry.

Christine regained her composure and spoke. "Your Highness, please. Surely you might have heard about the House of Beaufort before."

"I have. They were good friends of my father. Though, you guys sure did a good job in disappearing when it was time for me to be king."

"And just a quick question," said Sherry. "If you are such a noble, then what the bloody fuck were you doing living in the Rue de Merde?"

"I had no choice, my lady. When the Covenant influenced the Houses of the north, their ideals and their armies spread like wildfire, eventually engulfing my House and estate. I was forced to live a life with nuns up on the mountain above the town. But then…ill fortune befell my family yet again."

"So what happened?" Stas asked.

"My father, desperately trying to aid your father, King Richard, took a loan from the Termnnian Bank."

"The Big Five?" Sherry said. She then laughed. "What an idiot. Wait, don't tell me, he failed to pay back his debts, and the Big Five ruined your House, right?"

"Yes," said Christine, eyes glistening with weep and shame. "He fled the country under their command."

Stas rubbed his chin, "Well, I'll be. The Big Five. Huh, you're lucky he's still alive."

"Please, Your Highness," begged Christine. "Please, help me restore my family's honor. I-I know friends of my father who could aid you in this war."

"I have all the aid I need," said Stas. "And I don't care where you're from, doll, but, you've committed the crime of arson."

"Your Highness," pleaded Christine. "I beg of you to spare me from this place, then. Please. Please, I'll do anything, you hear me. Anything."

"Uh oh," said Sherry.

"Anything?" said Stas, grasping the top of her head.

Christine let out a cry of shock and backed away. "Your Majesty!" she declared fiercely. "I was raised in a convent. I do not indulge in the pleasures of the flesh."

Stas backed away from the bars and shrugged. "You don't put out. You don't get out."

Christine shook her head. "Your Majesty, I simply don't do it'."

"Suit yourself," said Stas.

"Wait, Stas," said Sherry, grasping his arm. "We could use another serving girl. With all the activity going on for your father's funeral and your coronation, the palace is going to be quite messy."

"I could work," said Christine. "Anything is better than being in here. Perhaps, one day you could help…"

"You're in no position to be setting terms, honey," Sherry interrupted while sharply while striking the bar in front of Christine with her fan. "Your job is to make sure the palace is kept clean. You'll get three hot meals a day, your own bed in the barracks, and a payout of two silver shields a day. That's a step above what you had in Rue de Merde, don't you think?"

"I…I understand, my lady."

Sherry nodded. "Good. I'll get you out once the paperwork is taken care of. Is that all right with you, Stas?"

"Whatever," said Stas.

Sherry glanced back at Christine. "Now, once you get out of the dungeons, you are to report to the maid's barracks in the hills behind the castle. You will be given your uniform and some decent attire from me as a gift because I think you're really pretty."

Christine smiled and nodded her head. Sherry grinned and said: "But before you put any of those expensive silks on your person, you are to bathe yourself thoroughly, am I clear?"

Christine bobbed her head up and down in compliance.

"Good," said Sherry. "Just because you're from Rue de Merde, doesn't mean you have to smell like it."

"Seems like you got yourself a new playmate," said Stas. "Try not to have too much fun, Sherry."

Sherry looked at him as though he were a revolting pig, coming out of the muck in the middle of a hot summer day. "You lead a rich fantasy life, Your Majesty."