As always, thank you so much for reading, everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I'd like to make a special note to thank blueberryhope on tumblr for the amazing cover art for Curse of the Dragon! If you want to see it up close, go see my tumblr and check it out! I also highly recommend checking out blueberryhope's, mommacomm's, ampharos98's, and zerozeroren's art on their respective blogs.
If you're reading, you four, thank you ENDLESSLY for drawing for this fic! It means the world to me, and seriously such an uplifting, pleasant surprise!
:D I really appreciate all the constant support and wonderful comments! All comments and criticism are welcome!
Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 13
Nocturne
Mytho took it upon himself to escort Ahiru, Uzura, and Lamp personally to her quarters to freshen up after their ordeal. And all the while, he never removed his arm from her waist.
Now that it was quiet, Ahiru wanted to enjoy this moment—this precious reunion she thought she never would get to have.
She allowed Uzura to scamper ahead, Lamp leading the way through the halls, while she lingered behind with Mytho, resting her head on his shoulder. His grip around her tightened and she felt her heart flutter. He embraced her with such warmth and comfort. How could she have forgotten what it felt like to be with him?
Neither spoke, though, acutely aware of their questions and concerns. Ahiru certainly didn't want to say anything now—not when she was just so grateful to be beside him once more. Why would she ruin this singular moment of contentedness she found here at home? With Mytho?
… It would be easy to shatter this fragile peace. One question, one misstep. She realized then that she spent so much time away from him and the self-consciousness set in slowly. Was she poised enough? Did she lean too heavily on him? Did her behavior reflect that of her standing?
After a month in Wyvern, she'd forgotten she was a duchess and future queen. In Wyvern, she was a sacrifice. Just a girl.
And to think, not more than an hour ago, she was scampering around outside, shielding Fakir, Uzura, and Lamp, behaving in a way that was completely and utterly inelegant. Her mother wouldn't have done such things so rashly.
… Not that she regretted her actions. But she should've behaved better.
Mytho didn't release her until they reached her door. And even then, his touch lingered upon her hip in an almost intimate fashion. Her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks warmed. "Ah … Mytho …"
He reached out and stroked her chin, leaving her lips trembling. "I've waited, Ahiru. You don't know how I've suffered this past month."
Her hands clenched in her skirt. "I'm so … so sorry, Mytho! You must've been worried, and I—"
"Please, don't be." He brushed her mussed hair behind her ear, his fingertips oddly … cold. "All I ask is, now that you are with me—" With a pause, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes cloudy and tinged with pink. "—let me have your heart."
Her lips parted and the warmth in her chest suddenly dissipated. It should've been such a sweet, romantic thing to hear from her fiance, so … why did her stomach just drop? Was it the sudden, demanding tone? The sharpness of his words? "Mytho?"
"Love only me, Ahiru."
What …? Ahiru found herself reaching up to her pendant, and clutched it tightly.
"Ducky-zura!"
Ahiru jumped and Mytho drew his touch away from her. "A-Ah, Uzura! What is it?"
Uzura blinked owlishly and pointed to the now open door, where two familiar faces blanched at her.
"Lady Ahiru~!"
In an instant, Pique and Lilie were upon her, their arms thrown around her neck as they embraced her in a mess of sobs and squeals. And in that moment, the warmth in her chest suddenly burst into full flame.
Her friends. Her best friends!
The tears welled up in her eyes as she embraced them right back, blubbering uselessly. She didn't even know what to say. She didn't care, either. Seeing them again brought her back to a better time. Their words likewise were lost in their sobs and laughter, Pique and Lilie bouncing on their toes as the stroked her hair, fretted over her and kissed her cheeks.
"Come on, you have scrapes and bruises, Ahiru! You need help!"
"Oh my, you look as if you just came out of a battle~!"
They cooed over her new company, Uzura grinning at the attention and Lamp fluttering shyly and hiding in Ahiru's hair.
But before they ushered her into the room to help them clean up, Ahiru sought Mytho out.
He'd already disappeared down the hall.
Not for the first time, Fakir found himself staring down at a blank page, a quill poised in his hand, the tip dipped in ink. This time, however, the ink was black—of the highest quality he'd ever seen, in an expensive inkwell labeled elegantly with the name of the maker and his business. This ink would leave no smudges, boast a bold color, and create smooth, legible strokes across the paper.
Still, he missed the small jar of shimmering, silvery liquid, and regretted destroying it and leaving it behind. If he was to change fate with the power of his writing, shouldn't he have done so with her ink? If only because she made it for him?
Instead of this manufactured ink given to him by that prince of hers.
The door to the guestroom opened. "Fakir-zura? Are you okay-zura?" Uzura asked as she stepped inside, her eyes wide and blinking. Lamp fluttered inside after her.
He just then realized how tightly he clenched the quill.
Uzura came to stand beside him, tapping her makeshift drum sticks together and rocking back and forth on her heels. Meanwhile, Lamp fluttered over to peek into the dark inkwell with a frown, as if disapproving of it.
A couple of servant girls—one with magenta hair and the other with blonde pigtails—lingered at the door, their hands covering their mouths as they stared at him in wonder and, alarmingly enough, open excitement. When they caught him glaring at them in return, they squeaked and retreated, the door clicking shut behind them.
He let go of the quill and cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Uzura. Don't worry. How are you feeling?"
Uzura's expression brightened and Fakir immediately felt better at the sight of her smile. She twirled on the tips of her toes to show off her new dress, courtesy of the castle staff. And, more importantly, her scrapes and bruises were properly bandaged. "I'm wearing a new pretty thing-zura!" Indeed, the petite skirt, the delicate lace, and the soft colors of the garment suited her quite well. Edel would've liked it on her, no doubt.
Expression softening, he leaned back in his chair and released a breath. At least one of them enjoyed her new clothes. Fakir, on his part, found them to be stifling. The white shirt and brown, fitted vest felt too fine and constricting, the sleeves were annoyingly flowy, and his pants clung uncomfortably around his legs. For the first time in centuries, the clothes he wore lacked rips, tears, or crude stitching.
It wasn't just the new outfit, either. Everything about this place alienated him. That bed was too soft, that bath was too warm, this whole guestroom was lavish and gaudy.
The walk through the halls of the castle proved to be a trial in itself. The whispers and gasps as he passed the bustling servants didn't escape his notice, nor did he fail to perceive the knights' hands upon the hilts of their swords as they escorted him to a vacant guestroom. Suspicion and distrust didn't bother him—he grew accustomed to that long ago—but the feeling of exposure did. He had to carry Uzura and Lamp in his arms to stop them from curiously wandering off and causing even more of a fuss, at least before they were led off to a different room where those giggling servant girls helped them clean up.
At first, Fakir almost fought through the armored soldiers, insisting fervently that Uzura and Lamp stay with him. Until Ahiru's hand found its way to his elbow.
"It's okay!" she reassured him with a weak smile, "I'll look after them, too! Okay? So … you just focus on cleaning up and feeling better!" And then, she skipped off with them, hand-in-hand with her prince.
He'd seen the prince before when he sought out the last of Drosselmeyer's bloodline. Siegfried had the bearing of a man of dignity and kindness, and in the core of Fakir's heart, he did feel some semblance of regret for taking away the man's fiancee. The stupid redhead who all but clung to the prince's side with her silly, lacy fan and demure giggles … Fakir, at the time, figured he was doing Siegfried a favor.
… This time was different. Seeing her collapsed on the ground after they crashed violently into the earth, while he was powerlessly detained by searing shackles and that prince cradled her close …
The pain in his wrists had nothing on the burning sensation in his chest.
Once upon a time, meeting a prince like Siegfried would've inspired him. Perhaps he would've written a story of the prince's bravery and unwavering warmth. A story of royalty, knights, and miracles, brimming with possibility.
But this wasn't a story he could write, and this wasn't his world. His world lay deep underground, mere shades and ruins of what Wyvern used to be. And even then, Fakir left it all behind.
This place belonged to a real prince and his future princess.
Their engagement wasn't fiction.
Uzura's small hands found his own clenched fist. "Fakir-zura?"
"Sorry." He shook his head, appalled with himself. What was he thinking? Why were his thoughts lingering on her when everything else was falling apart around him? After all, he abandoned his village. His sister. And in doing so, he endangered every single one of them, Uzura included.
Taking Ahiru back to her prince was the only thing he was sure of. Yet, it still changed nothing.
In less than twenty days, either she died, or they all disappeared in a flash of light. He and Ahiru still couldn't even exist in the same world.
He thought back to the words he shared with her before they escaped. He wanted to change this fate and she wanted to do the same. But could they? He hadn't thought any of this through.
Fakir ran a frustrated hand through his hair, softer now after washed with the soaps provided for him. The strands felt strange. "Just … having some trouble writing."
Uzura poked him in the knee with the drum stick. "Ask Ducky for help-zura!"
"She's busy," he countered, trying to swallow down the bitter taste in his mouth.
"But she always helps-zura! Isn't it easier to make stories when she's there-zura? Ducky said that she likes it when you ask for help and let her do stuff, too-zura!"
… He did promise, in his own way, to let Ahiru help. And by extension, the prince as well.
Why did he feel this stubborn, clawing aggravation regardless?
He glared down at the empty page, his fingertips tapping on the wooden surface as he began to realize just what he'd done.
He didn't have time to question his decisions until now. And he certainly didn't regret it—not when Raven's plans were already in motion. Yes, this was what he had to do. Saving Ahiru was the only thing that made sense.
But he'd left them all. He'd left them. In a single instant, in one brash decision, he once again threw all of them into chaos. Everything that happened from then on rested upon his shoulders and no one else's.
His hands began to shake. His eyes began to burn.
Lamp buzzed off of the desk to sit on top of Uzura's head as a knock rang out from the door. Fakir took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood to open it.
Judging from the woman's attire, she was of a higher status than the other members of the castle staff. She bowed her head, her long, brown locks falling over one shoulder. There was a guarded look in her eyes, and two knights accompanied her as well—surely they feared the monster that showed up out of nowhere with their missing duchess.
Fakir didn't blame them.
"We hope you've found this room to your satisfaction, sir," she said, cordial and formal, "My name is Raetsel, the housekeeper of the Grand Chateau."
He nodded stiffly.
"His Highness, Prince Siegfried, has summoned you to his throne room. Did you have enough time to freshen up?"
"... Yeah."
"Then, shall I escort you now?"
Fakir sent an anxious glance back at Uzura, Lamp, and the blank page still sitting on the desk. "... I'm trying to work on something right now." Not that he was making any progress when there were far too many things on his mind.
The knights shifted, their armor grinding under the movement as Raetsel lifted her chin a bit. "I'm afraid, considering the circumstances, His Highness cannot wait. You must understand. In the meantime, your companions may remain in the dining room." She tilted her head, staring in wonder at the glowing lady bug sitting on Uzura's head. "There is plenty of food, if you're hungry."
Uzura waddled closer and tugged on Fakir's sleeve. "Fakir-zura! Is that okay-zura?"
His jaw clenched at the thought of being separated from them again, but causing more trouble didn't seem wise at the moment. Go see the prince, explain what happened, and then get back to writing. That was the only plan he had right now.
Fakir gave Raetsel a nod and followed her and the two knights out into the grand hallway, his shoulders slumped with the weight of everything.
He was so tired.
It'd been a long time since Ahiru donned such fine clothes.
Her chest heaved due to the compression of the corset around her abdomen, the ruffly, blue gown heavy and constricting. Her hair weighed heavily upon her head, piled up in intricate pins and curls that were quite different than the simple braid she wore for the last month or so. And her dainty slippers impeded her ability to keep balance, as clumsy as she was even on her bare feet.
Strange. She'd grown up like this, and yet she still didn't quite feel like herself. She toyed with her pendant, back to old habits.
… But wasn't she a different person now?
Ahiru stopped in front of the closed doors of the throne room to which she'd been summoned after she fully dressed herself and her wounds. Immediately, she missed Pique's and Lilie's company, wishing for their excitable questions and chatter over the echoing silence of the unfamiliar castle halls.
When she thought about it, she'd spent far longer in Wyvern than she ever did in the Grand Chateau. Neither place felt like home. So … being back here wasn't as comforting as she thought it would be.
A familiar voice, accompanied by light footsteps, came from behind her. "Lady Ahiru!"
Careful not to trip on her skirts, Ahiru turned, her expression brightening upon seeing another familiar face. "Miss Raetsel!"
The housekeeper, lovely as ever, wasted no time in placing her hands to Ahiru's cheeks. The woman looked her up and down, a smile touching her colored lips. "Oh, we've all been so worried about you! I heard you suffered from some injuries, and I wish so badly I could've tended to you immediately. I hope your friends took good care of you! I sent the little girl and the … fairy creature—"
"Lady bug," Ahiru corrected, though her voice intermingled in unison with a deeper, familiar tone—Fakir.
"Ah, yes," Raetsel amended, "the little girl and the ... lady bug were sent to the dining room …"
Despite Raetsel's fretting, Ahiru's gaze meandered over the housekeeper's shoulder to look at the people who accompanied her. Two knights, their hands still poised on the hilts of their blades, and Fakir.
She'd never seen him so polished before. And in the waning light of the setting sun, the orange-pink rays streaming in through the windows that lined the hallway, she finally let herself truly look at him. At the very least, he cleaned up quite well. With piercing, deep green eyes and dark features, perhaps she only had to see him in the light to notice how handsome he was.
Her cheeks warmed, though she didn't know why.
Fakir raised an eyebrow at her. She blinked. Then, he rolled his eyes and nudged his head in Raetsel's direction.
Raetsel had been looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for some kind of reply to a question Ahiru didn't hear. Ahiru's blush deepened, and she could practically hear Fakir's reprimand through his look alone. Stop spacing out, idiot.
"I-I'm sor—! I mean, pardon me! Could you please say that agai—um, once more, please?"
The housekeeper gave her a tiny smile. "It's quite alright. You must be tired. I asked if I may announce your arrival to the prince and his company now. There's much to be discussed, I imagine." She spared a glance over her shoulder toward Fakir, giving him a guarded look.
"Yeah—yes, of course!"
"Then, it'll be just a moment."
Raetsel stepped past her and inched the grand doors open before slipping inside, leaving Ahiru alone with Fakir and the two knights who stood a few yards away. Ahiru watched as the housekeeper disappeared beyond the threshold, the barrier tall, lofty, and imposing. In a minute or two, she and Fakir would have to face the prince, and tell them … everything.
Mytho sat behind those doors, on his throne already, probably. She hadn't seen him since earlier. Was he … offended with her surprise? Did she not respond quickly enough to his forwardness?
"Hey."
"Eh—? Gah!" She turned too quickly on her slipper and almost tipped over from the weight of the layers of fabric fluffing around her.
Fakir snorted with mild amusement, and when she regained her balance, she playfully wrinkled her nose at him.
"I don't know how you can even stand up in that dress. You can probably fit five of you in there," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. The corner of his lips curled up in a smirk.
"I'm strong now! From doing all that laundry!" She gave a swish of her gown as if to demonstrate, focusing entirely on keeping her balance this time. "Mm … Fakir? How … how are you doing?"
His smirk weakened.
"Fa—?"
The doors opened and Ahiru almost jumped right out of her slippers. She straightened herself and patted the wrinkles from her gown, trying to appear as ladylike as possible now that she would be presented to the prince again. Sweeping inside, she heard Fakir's even steps behind her and felt a little better knowing that he was right there.
It was … daunting to say the least. Beside the throne, Raetsel stood next to the man Ahiru recognized to be Karon, the kind steward and advisor to the prince. To his left, an older gentleman with warm, yellow eyes stroked his mustache, poised and observant. Knights took their places against the walls of the large hall, pristine and still as the throne room itself.
Finally, there was handsome, dignified Mytho, sitting elegantly upon his regal chair, his expression unreadable. But she could feel his pinkish eyes upon her, and she shifted under his gaze, wondering what must've been going through his mind.
His voice rang out in clear, musical tones, but leveled with a shallow form of cordiality that didn't seem his usual, genuine self when they'd first met one month ago. "Allow me to welcome you, Mister Fakir. You've met our royal housekeeper, Miss Raetsel." He gestured to her with one hand, his steady stare finally leaving Ahiru to focus solely on Fakir. "Beside her is my most trusted advisor, Karon, and my dear uncle, Mister Cecil Katz of Kunz. And, of course you must know my fiancee and future wife," he paused to pull his gaze back to Ahiru, "Lady Ahiru of Hedeby."
On instinct, Ahiru turned to Fakir, giving him a lopsided, forced smile as if to comfort him (and perhaps, garner some strength of her own).
Mytho spoke again. "My lady, come and sit by my side."
As if on cue, two servant came in from a nearby corridor and placed a plush chair beside his throne before they hurried off quietly. Stricken, Ahiru hesitated, not quite wanting to leave Fakir there in the middle of the open space where everyone could stare solely at him …
But Mytho's gaze was expectant, and she wanted so badly to forget about what happened between them earlier. Make it better. Be happy now that she was with him.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave Mytho a shaky smile, slowly padding over to his side. It was hard to maneuver with such a large dress, but she made it with little incident, and as soon as she was comfortably seated, she turned her smile to Fakir. Hopefully it would serve as a bit of encouragement.
If he was shaken at all, he wasn't showing it yet. He kept his expression firm and unchanging. But Ahiru knew him well enough to see the dark shadows under his eyes and the heaviness in his shoulders.
Mytho took her hand in his and held it there on his armrest. His fingers were cold.
Breaking the silence, Karon took a step forward, facing Fakir directly. "Now that introductions have been made, it's best that we simply jump right into this."
Fakir straightened.
"Are you or are you not the creature that kidnapped Lady Ahiru one month ago?"
Ahiru moved to speak, but she felt Mytho's hand clench around hers and she paused long enough for Fakir to answer before she could.
"Yeah, that was me," he said evenly, his eyes never leaving Karon's.
"You must realize how grievous this crime is, to take the fiancee of our prince. Though Lady Ahiru has requested your release and freedom, under the laws of Vineta, this cannot go unpunished."
This time, Ahiru did speak—perhaps out of turn—and certainly not in the way she would have a month ago. "B-But, he saved me! He … there were reasons, I promise—I assure you, Your Highness!" She turned in her seat to clench Mytho's hand atop her own, pleading with him with her eyes. In an attempt to compose herself, she took a deep breath. How would her mother handle this? How was she supposed to behave? "Mytho, he really … it's such a long story, I don't know how to begin … But Fakir shouldn't be punished, because he did rescue me and he brought me back—!"
… She trailed off, however, when Mytho snapped his gaze to her, his eyes flashing that same, strange pink hue. His fingers only tightened on hers once more.
"Mytho …"
On the other side of the room, Mr. Katz stepped forward, clearing his throat and turning a patient glance to everyone. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so unwise to listen to their story, however long it might be? Surely, Mister Fakir's intentions cannot be so ruthless if he risked execution simply to return her to your side. There are reasons for everything, surely."
Ahiru gave him a grateful smile. "It's true! There are reasons! There's a town, and this curse, with these dragons, and they needed me to—none of this was their fault, really, and he took me back because their leader wanted to do things that were—!"
They all gave her perplexed stares and she fell quiet. She was just … not good at telling stories, it seemed, and suddenly wished she could just show them what happened like Autor had done for her.
Fakir stepped forward, as if taking pity on her. "I'm from a hidden village, a good distance north of here." His words were flat and even—like the first time he told Ahiru she was going to die. "A long time ago, a curse was placed on us, and we needed her to lift it."
Mytho's thumb caressed the back of her hand as he spoke next. "What curse? And how did you expect Lady Ahiru to help you?"
"You saw what I turned into. We weren't always like that." With a pause, Fakir's eyes narrowed. "There's a time limit, and it's drawing close. In twenty days, we intended on conducting a ritual, and her life would be forfeit—"
A collective gasp broke out through the room at Fakir's rather blunt explanation, but Mytho's reaction squashed them all down. To everyone's shock, the prince, usually so composed and so warm, jolted to his feet, his pinkish eyes blazing and lips curling into a sneer. He dropped Ahiru's hand in that same instance. "How dare you—!"
Fakir met Mytho's sneer with his own scowl, and Ahiru glanced anxiously between the two of them. "—But all of this is irrelevant, because she's here now!"
"That excuses nothing," the prince spat back, ignoring Karon's, Raetsel's, and Mr. Katz's astonishment with both of their behaviors.
Ahiru didn't know what to think. Surely, Fakir must've known better than the speak like this to the prince! And Mytho … she never expected him to have such a temper …!
"You're right," Fakir continued on, his fists clenching while he ground his teeth. "It excuses nothing, but that's not the point! She's still in danger, even here!"
The knights reached for their swords, each taking a couple of steps toward Fakir.
Karon looked like he had enough. "That insubordinate—seize him!"
Wait. Wait! Ahiru jumped to her feet as well, scrambling to position herself between Mytho and Fakir with her arms splayed out clumsily, her eyes wide with trepidation. "I-I wanted to stay with them!" she cried, stomping her foot.
They all froze and fell into silence, likely surprised—perhaps even appalled—by her uncouth behavior. She could even feel Fakir's stare burning into the back of her head.
Swallowing, she trembled and tried to right herself, straightening her back and lowering her gaze, blushing with shame. "I … Fakir was the one who convinced me to leave with him! He brought me there, sure, and that wasn't the best way to do things, but he only did what he thought was right! For his people! And they're really wonderful people! I wanted to stay. And help them all. If I didn't help them, they'd all vanish! Disappear in a flash of light!"
Mytho gazed upon her, almost in dismay.
She shook her head, once again trying to plead with the prince. "I couldn't let them all disappear. But … Fakir told me that their leader wanted to do something bad after their curse was lifted. He saved me and brought me here, but they all still need help. I … Mytho, I told him that we could help him! Together!"
After a moment of silence, she heard Fakir's voice from behind her, once again carefully leveled and even. "… They're coming after us. They don't know where we are yet, but it's only a matter of time. Ahiru is safest here, but we need to be prepared for anything."
Mytho's expression looked saddened, his eyes dimming in its pink luster. Almost hurt. And Ahiru's heart hurt with him. Was he in pain? What was wrong? Had she overstepped some boundary, or broken some rule, or …?
Across the room, Mr. Katz cleared his throat again, looking more calm than anyone else in the hall. He stroked his mustache once more. "I think we are all in agreement that Lady Ahiru's kindness is unfathomable. If I may ask—well, I'll be frank. I must ask. Why our Lady Ahiru? Why is it that she possesses the life you must take?"
Ahiru's hands clenched in her skirts, and she was grateful Fakir took it upon himself to answer.
"She's the last of her bloodline Her ancestor placed this curse on us, and as his spell dictated, the only way to lift it is if his descendant's blood and life is spilled in twenty days."
"The day of the Raven Constellation's alignment," Mr. Katz observed. Raetsel, Karon, and Mr. Katz all met glances. "Who was Lady Ahiru's ancestor?"
The edge in Fakir's voice didn't go unnoticed to her. "D. D. Drosselmeyer."
Mr. Katz stroked his whisker-like mustache, yellow eyes narrowing, and Raetsel and Karon exchanged confused and significant looks.
… Was Ahiru missing something important here?
"The legendary wizard lived quite a long time ago." Mr. Katz's eyes softened somewhat. Mister Fakir, you must come from a long line of imprisonment. I feel for your ancestors."
"No," Fakir corrected, his words sharp, "he cursed us. Not our ancestors."
"… How old are you, Mister Fakir?"
"318 years old."
Something dawned on Mr. Katz just then, though Ahiru felt completely at a loss as to what it might've been. "… So you were there," he uttered, astounded.
"If you need to imprison me, fine," Fakir said, sounding uncomfortable and tired, "but I ask that my punishment be postponed for another twenty days. If I need to stay in a cell, I'll need writing materials, and that's all I ask. And leave Uzura and Lamp be. They're innocent in all this."
Ahiru turned to face him, her jaw going slack. "Fakir—!"
"Writing materials? What letters do you intend to write, and to whom?" Karon grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Fakir chose to ignore Ahiru's pleading stares and responded, visibly aggravated. "They're not letters. I just need to write."
"A need for writing. Stories, perhaps?" mused Mr. Katz.
That caught Ahiru's attention. She stiffened, her hands clenching into the lace of her gown, unable to handle much more of this. "Please, let him just stay as a guest! I … If you imprison him, I'll go in there, too!"
"Hey, idiot, don't—!"
She turned to Mytho, who'd been silent for a long while now, and watched as his eyebrows furrowed at her words. "He's my friend! Fakir only wants to help! And he needs help, too! We can all work together, so I won't let him go to jail alone just because he cared enough to bring me home!"
Karon stepped forward, looking winded and drained. "Let us focus on our priorities. You are being pursued here by other monsters like yourself? When do you think they will arrive?" he asked, his eyes training on Fakir.
"I can't say for sure. I just need to write. I can't explain it all like this."
"The more information we have, the better," countered Karon, trying to remain reasonable, "As of now, we have other concerns as well. We've received word from General Lysander's scouts—Rungholt has begun to move."
Rungholt? Ahiru remembered that name. It was a country wasn't it? The one that Mytho struggled with a month ago. What did Karon mean by move?
Mytho straightened and answered her unspoken question, bitterness underlying the calm of his voice. "In your absence, my lady, war has been declared against us from our neighbors in Rungholt."
She felt the blood drain from her face. War?
"No matter," he continued with a casual air that alarmed her, "We were prepared for this."
Mytho stood and stepped forward, only stopping when he came before Ahiru. Her first instinct was to move away, but she didn't know why she would want to. Thus, she stood her ground.
He cupped her face in his hands and gazed down into her eyes. His eyes were cloudy, swirling, and pinkish again, and the warmth that she felt in his presence before utterly dissipated.
When he first embraced her upon their first meeting, she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, always. And now, she wanted quite the opposite.
Was it him? Was it her?
"I believe that now is a time for celebration," he whispered with all too much sweetness, "My princess has returned to my side. We should be thanking Mister Fakir, and as I said before, he is our honored guest. And on this occasion, do you not think we should hold a ball in my fiancee's honor?" His eyes never left hers, and her hands began to shake.
"… Y-your Highness," she heard Karon stutter, "do you not think it unwise to have such merriment at a time like this?"
"Nonsense. Now is the best time. We must remember to keep our hopes alive during our strife." He brushed his thumb along her chin, and she shivered. "Don't you agree, my lady?"
In the corner of her eye, Karon, Lysander, and Raetsel stood in shock while Mr. Katz stared on, sober and serious.
"Miss Raetsel, please make the necessary arrangements for a gala."
She hesitated. "Your Highness—!"
Mr. Katz gave her a pointed look and a nod.
"… Yes, Your Highness."
They were really all going along with this? Ahiru found her voice, finding the courage to tug at his sleeve. "M-Mytho, a ball? Right now? I don't—that's not—ah!"
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "You are by my side. How could anything go wrong?
"Now, shall I escort you to your quarters? You must need your rest after such a rough landing." He sent a brief, sharp glance over to Fakir behind her, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.
That was when Raetsel approached them, politely bowing her head to Mytho. "Ah, Your Highness, allow me to escort Lady Ahiru to her room. Surely, she will need assistance in preparing for bed." The housekeeper stepped forward, almost between them. "It is only proper, after all."
Mytho appeared particularly displeased, but said no more.
Obediently, Ahiru followed Raetsel toward the grand doors, glancing over her shoulder. Watching her go, the prince bowed his head to her, and it was then that she noticed the way he reached up and scratched with fidgeting fingers at his chest.
And then there was Fakir—forlorn in a way she'd never seen before.
The last thing she saw in the throne room before the doors shut behind her was rather peculiar: Mr. Katz approaching Fakir and whispering something into his ear.
"The dragon creature has agreed to meet with us, though he insisted that he take the night for himself to write."
Karon, Raetsel, and Lysander gathered around the large table in the library once more, all eyes on Mr. Katz. The scholar flipped through a few pages of his selected tome, though he already knew what he was looking for.
Karon pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we will speak with him in private tomorrow, then. It seems that his writing is significant to him."
"It is significant to all of us," Mr. Katz corrected, finding a particular page and holding it open for the others to see, "As I remembered, it is said that D. D. Drosselmeyer worked miracles, but none so extravagant and so mysterious as his ability to change reality itself."
Raetsel shook her head in disbelief. "I'd heard those stories, but surely they were just myths!"
"The wizard attained this skill toward the end of his life—the ability to write stories into truth. That was three hundred years ago. Just a year or so before his death."
"And you think that the dragon creature can do such a thing? And Lady Ahiru … she is likewise connected? All of this is connected?" she marveled. Feeling lightheaded, she lowered herself into the nearest chair.
Karon, likewise, felt rather faint and sat as well. "Rungholt, Lady Ahiru, the dragon creature, this wizard, our prince—this is all too much."
"We were missing something," Mr. Katz muttered, stroking his mustache, "but I think this dragon may have the answers we seek. For now, we must cater to Siegfried's needs. We'll have him focus solely on the ball, and on his fiancee."
"No," Raetsel insisted, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear, "we cannot. Knowing that he is not our prince … how can we allow him to be near Lady Ahiru? He wouldn't want that."
"He needs to keep his attention away from the war. With his judgement so impaired, he cannot be relied on to make such drastic decisions. Certainly, no harm will come to Lady Ahiru, but she may serve as some reminder of who he used to be. Perhaps she can help him come to his senses. After all," he paused, a smile touching his lips, "what is happier than the comfort of a future wife, nyah~?"
"... Not only that," Lysander added, gruff and nervous, "but this dragon is bringing with him a whole other mess of—there's more of them—aye, I don't think His Highness can handle much more. And, if I may say so, I'm don't know if I trust this dragon in the first place. Showing up after kidnapping the duchess, with a writing ability that could be that … powerful."
Karon nodded. "It's settled, then. I'll handle the prince's direct duties. Miss Raetsel, see to it that the ball is the grandest that our budget can afford. General, the war is now in your hands. Mr. Katz, if I may request this of you, please look into … everything that has transpired.
"As for the dragons, let us hope that this Fakir can be trusted, and that he will share their weaknesses with us."
They bombarded Ahiru from both sides.
"Oh, my lady, my lady! Who are you going to pick?! Who, who?!"
"Goodness gracious~! The fair, dashing, pristine, angel of a prince—~!"
"—What a dreamboat~!"
"—who can give you the perfect fairy tale life~?! Or the dark, brooding, devilishly handsome vagabond—~!
"—Such a heartthrob~!"
"—who is full of danger and mystery~?!"
"One is the prince you've always dreamed of, who cares for you and fell for you at first sight, your lifetime future husband and defender of his queen to the death, bathed in light and goodness! And the other, your dragon, your knight, the darkness that protects you from the shadows?!"
"Pique, oh, Pique, you must know what this means~!"
"Oh, Lilie, of course I know what this means!"
They threw their arms around Ahiru's neck in a strangling embrace, crying out together, "There's going to be a battle~!"
She would've protested to all of it, but she couldn't breathe at the moment.
They only had an afternoon, and they'd already romanticized everything about Ahiru's dire predicament. It was nothing like that. Mytho was her promised prince, but he was different for some reason—almost frightening—and she needed to figure it out so they could finally be happy together! And Fakir was her friend, and nothing at all like they thought he was!
There was going to be a battle, but not between Mytho and Fakir.
In fact, there might be several battles on the horizon.
Finally, they released her, and she gasped for breath, sprawling out onto her plush bedding in her nightgown. They lounged on either side of her, still giggling and eyes dancing.
"N-None of it is really like that …" she murmured, staring up at the canopy of her bed.
Pique clicked her tongue. "Oh, it is. You might not think it, but it is!"
Lilie rolled over dramatically. "Two men, vying for the attention of little Ahiru~! Oh, they must not know just how clumsy and awkward and small and how awful of a dancer and how bad of a student you are~!"
Oh, how she wished her bedding would just swallow her whole.
Thankfully, they finally left her to sleep, bidding her a fond and rather peppy goodnight. They should've known that sleep would only escape her.
She'd grown so used to that small cot in that hut down in Wyvern. The fresh breeze that blew in from her open window startled her. The overall comfort of her room made her oddly uncomfortable. She knew that Uzura and Lamp were safe in Fakir's room with him, but she sorely missed the little girl's company and the lady bug's soft glow.
Slowly, she gathered her thin sheet around her shoulders for extra warmth, her nightgown rather thin for the cool, evening air. Padding over to the window, she sat on the bench in front of it, and stared out into the view of the gardens. The sky was clear, the stars scattered across the sky in a way she could only dream about in Wyvern.
So much happened today. So much to worry about now …
She reached up to press her fingers against her pendant, still heavy around her neck.
The extensive gardens were pretty, even at night. Lined with lanterns, they remained well-lit, and the soft hum of the fountain reached her even from her height a few stories up. Bordered by a trail that led into the woods, the waters of a crystalline pond glistened beautifully. In the distance, the large lake that surrounded the Grand Chateau perfectly reflected the night, the starry expanse sprawled out across both sky and water. She desperately wanted to see everything in the daytime. The night only reminded her of the sun flowers in Wyvern.
Maybe … if Mytho was feeling better, he'd accompany her. Yes, maybe he was just having a bad day. And then she'd be able to cheer him up, and they could be together—fight this war together, and help Fakir and everyone in Wyvern, together.
... Then, movement caught her eye. She straightened and squinted, no longer used to the darkness, trying to make out the figure that stepped out into the gardens heading straight for the woods by the pond.
The figure flipped through some pages of paper in his hands, and that was when she realized it was Fakir.
… He couldn't sleep either?
She bit her lip and leaned forward, trying to see what he was doing. But he entered into the small bit of woods on the castle grounds, and she couldn't make out anything more. Curious and restless, she stepped away from the window and gathered her sheet tighter around her. It would be improper to wander around in just her nightgown, but the servants had gone to bed and the knights wouldn't bother her. That, and Fakir didn't really care for clothes and other such things.
She picked up the candleholder from her bedside table, the tiny wick flickering gently with the tiny flame. It would have to do—she didn't want to wake up Lamp just for this.
Empty and cold, the usually grand and inviting halls of the Grand Chateau now stretched on with imposing largeness and length, and she felt so small with her tiny slippers clapping gently onto the polished ground. She didn't feel unsafe, as the knights still patrolled, giving her curious, but not unkind glances as she passed, but she did feel quite intimidated.
At one point, she got lost, and inquired from the nearest knight as to how to reach the gardens. She recognized him vaguely—Sir Demetri, the young one who freed Fakir from his shackles earlier.
"Down this hall, and left, my lady," he said, bowing his head and avoiding looking directly at her (due to her state of undress, no doubt), "Will you be needing an escort?"
"No, it's okay! I'll be fine!" She smiled and bowed her head, clutching her sheet tighter over her shoulders. "Thank you, Sir Demetri!"
He blinked in surprise at her recognition, and grinned as she took her leave. Now more confident in her direction, she picked up her pace.
Finally, she found the glass doors that led out into the gardens and pushed them open, the cool air greeting her and snuffing out the candle. That was fine, she supposed, considering the lanterns strewn strategically about the gardens, so she placed the candleholder on a nearby bench and kept moving. With a small shiver, she stepped out into the grass, trying to orient herself into Fakir's general direction. The gardens were much larger now that she was actually in them, rows and rows of flower bushes, tiled patios, benches, and statues surrounding her. Finding the biggest landmark—the swan fountain—she smiled and turned to where she knew Fakir headed off to into the well-groomed set of lemon trees.
It wasn't hard to find him. He sat at the base of a tree, quite close to the edge of the pond. Fireflies danced over the surface, the hum of crickets and frogs almost soothing to her. She smiled and made to step out from behind the trees to greet him.
But the ashes, the charred remains of whatever pages he'd brought out here with him, caught her eye, scattered beside him, burned by his flame.
Her lips parted and her heart hurt when she saw the telltale rivulets escaping from the corners of his eyes. He furiously wiped them away as the tears came, but she already saw it.
Her bottom lip trembled as she remained there, at a loss.
She knew what it was like to not know what to do. In Wyvern, when faced with her difficult destiny, she sat and cried, moped and denied, wavered endlessly. Fakir, in turn, must've felt as alone as she did.
Her emotions caught up with her, knowing that she and Fakir were the same. Now, she couldn't sacrifice herself, so how could she help anyone? She wasn't anything special, other than just being the descendant of Drosselmeyer. How could she save everyone—anyone now? They were stuck between the other dragons, their impending fate, and war on top of everything.
Maybe he was thinking the same thing about himself. Maybe they both thought themselves useless.
For all of the things that had happened to her this past month and this past day, Fakir still suffered the most. Because he was her friend—he cared about her. And he also cared about everyone in Wyvern. Fakir cared more about everything than anyone else.
And seeing him so sad made her heart ache like it never had before.
She wandered forward, her footsteps rustling into the grass and alerting him to her presence. Caught off guard, Fakir reached up, furiously wiping at his eyes with a grunt. "Idiot. What're you—? Go back to bed."
She didn't have the eloquence to comfort him with words—she wasn't like her mother, no matter how she tried. She couldn't be there for someone, or feel for another person like Hermia could. She couldn't heal him, or see into his thoughts, or do anything of importance.
She could only do what Ahiru could do.
Dropping to her knees beside him at the base of the tree, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder, her hands coming up to curl around his upper arm in a tiny embrace.
"... What are you doing, idiot?" he muttered, weak and half-hearted.
Her bottom lip continued to tremble, the hurt in her chest bubbled forth, and her own tears began to fall.
"H-Hey."
Her hold around his arm only tightened as her shoulders began to quiver from the force of her quiet sobs. He needed to know that he wasn't alone. That they were the same. A team. She was no Hermia, but they felt the same, didn't they?
That was why she was crying. That was why he was crying.
Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his other arm curl around the back of her shoulders, pulling her closer.
Fakir's hug was … warm.
Her sobs subsided and they fell into silence, but for the frogs, crickets, and fireflies buzzing about. She glanced up, only to find him steadily gazing down at her. His eyes were bloodshot and tear-ridden, but his expression was surprisingly soft.
Unbidden and inexplicably, she blushed.
"... I'll try to write again," he said, his thumb brushing her shoulder, "but I'll … need your help."
Together, then. She gave him a tearful, yet blinding grin. "I believe in you!"
Fakir returned her smile with a small smirk.
Deep in the woods, north of the peaceful and thriving city of Vineta, a dozen or so cloaked figures settled in around their crackling campfire, cross-legged as their teeth tore through deer meat, their eyes glued to the flickering flame in concentration. Silence reigned over the night, only broken by the chirping of crickets and the snapping of steady flames.
The loot they'd taken from those knights a month ago came to good use to their families in their hidden settlement a few miles east. Their dead had been properly honored, their food stored, their weapons a solid contribution to their growing supply, their new Pegasi giving them far more reach …
They returned to these woods, hoping that another group would yield similar results, especially now that they were prepared to face stronger knights and a surprisingly formidable prince. And they were partially right—over the past couple of weeks, knights on Pegasus-back flew overhead, as if searching for something. Possibly seeking them out for revenge.
But those knights never landed.
Instead, earlier that afternoon, they encountered something else.
Their leader drew his dark cloak closer around his form. The others in his company appeared likewise contemplative and pensive, and he knew the reason—he knew what occupied their collective thoughts.
"That creature was an ancient one," said the woman to his right as she pulled her hood further over her head, "From eons ago."
"No. He resembled the creature, but he wasn't pure or true," the leader grunted, "A mere copy, like the child in his company."
"And the woman with them appeared human, but there was something strange about her, too."
The rest of the bandits glanced up, looking upon their leader with trepidation. With a deep breath, he stared into the fire, the lines on his forehead deepening as his gray brows furrowed.
"It means that the world is about to change again, and with it, the peace that has reigned."
They fell into silence, a blanket of understanding covering them all. Though they lived as rogues and thieves for the greater part of their history, the balance of their realm began to shift, and so it was time to emerge from the comfort of their shadows and reveal their true purpose as Watchers.
After three centuries of silence, the Bookmen Bandits needed to act once more.