Sorry for the wait on this one! As always, any and all feedback is appreciated! Please let me know what you think! :D I'd really love to know your thoughts.

I love you all from the bottom of my heart. ;-; Thank you for encouraging me and helping me improve!

Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 17
Serenade

There was a time, long ago, when Rue believed the world to be simpler—when she was but a child, begging Raven to lift her up into his arms and swing her around so she could touch the sky, or sitting before the hearth as Edel told stories from her old, wicker chair. There were days when she would dismiss little Freya's oddities (speaking to flowers and expecting a reply, how curious!), or play with Fakir's little tin soldiers without his permission (he was always so possessive of things that belonged to him!). She would dance to make Malen draw her pretty pictures, or to weasel out of laundry duty.

Come to think of it, Rue was a little nightmare when she was young. The only one she listened to was Raven. Always Raven. Steadfast, reliable Raven, who'd been there for her when no one else was. Like the father she never knew.

She missed that. She missed so many things. The sunlight kissing her eyelids as she awoke, and the scent of breakfast rolls tempting her out of bed.

You can't go back, she thought to herself, her body and spirit numb as she watched the villagers prepare for departure, You can never go back.

Even if the curse was lifted, she'd been robbed of what she could never regain.

Raven turned to look at her from a small distance away, eyes uncaring. He cleared his throat and stood before the silent crowd, the flicker of the nearby lamppost casting shadows under his eyes. They waited for his next order with cold, calculated patience.

Rue suddenly wished she knew how to turn her power off.

She often wondered if it would've all been easier had she attempted to dance for Ahiru and sway the girl's heart from the very beginning. But they already planned to steal her life away—Edel wouldn't want them to steal her free thought and dignity as well. The rest of the village readily agreed. It would've been easier, but certainly not right.

...Whatever 'right' might've been.

She turned away from the crowds and retreated to the isolation of her stone hut, letting the heavy, ratty cloth of her doorway bar her view of the village square.

Rue didn't know how much time passed—only that it did, as the light of her lantern eventually dimmed, and then vanished, and she was left staring blankly at her darkened walls.

She heard a rustle, and then footsteps.

"... Rue?"

Scowling in the shadows, she turned away from the doorway, making a show of pointedly ignoring Autor's pitiful call.

"Rue, I'm sor—" He sighed. "... They left."

Of course they left. She sneered into the emptiness.

"About the things I said before—you're right. Rue, I'm—"

"That's enough."

He took a sharp breath. "I know I've made mistakes! You don't have to be cruel, do you? I ... No, you ... you should be cruel, I guess.

"Three hundred years is a long time to do nothing. Maybe it was the curse. Or maybe it was just us. I don't know anymore."

She quickly grew tired of his self-pity (she had enough of it on her own). This was exactly what Autor wanted, what he asked for, what he caused. And there was no getting rid of him.

And it was then that she realized she simply didn't want to be here anymore.

Waiting, wondering, wishing …

Ahiru's restlessness during her imprisonment made much more sense now. Rue could've laughed. Waiting, wondering, and wishing here, with Autor, was the last thing she wanted. It wouldn't make Raven forgive her, and it certainly wouldn't make her feel better at all.

Her eyes landed on the old, little drum on her desk and her hand curled into a fist.

"Autor," she uttered into the darkness, feigning sad curiosity and lightening her tone, "tell me about that place. That place where Fakir took them."

"Rue?"

"I just want to hear about this beautiful kingdom on the surface. I never got to see the vision on your parchment before Elder took it with him."

Her cot shifted as Autor sunk down and sat beside her prone form, and she fought the urge to shove him away. "The vision was lovely, Rue. With a castle taller than a dragon, and a village full of people—just like how it used to be. We could have that again, you know."

Not if we destroy it, she thought. Instead, she continued to lead the conversation. It was a special kind of manipulation, the sort far more difficult to maneuver than simply dancing to sway him. But she was so, so tired of dancing, and this rather soothed the bitterness and spite she held against him. "Where is it? Is it far?"

"Only a day's flight away to the south. They'll be back soon."

"I see. It sounds warm and wonderful there." Sitting up, she reached for his hand. "I think it will be alright now. Thank you. I'm glad you're here."

"Rue!" Autor clutched her hand readily, and she couldn't meet his hopeful gaze. "Of … of course! I'd never leave you!"

"I'd like to be alone, just for a few minutes, if that's alright. Would you …" Peeking up at him from beneath thick lashes and lowering her eyelids, she pulled her hand from his. "... Would you wait for me down below in the flower fields? I think after I compose myself, I'd like to stay with you for a while."

He leaped to his feet, energized and pathetic. "Yes! Yes, I'll be there! Take your time."

Pitiful man. He left with a semblance of a bounce in his step.

And now, he couldn't stop her. The tiny bit of remorse she felt for what she'd done to him was just another scratch on her battered heart—it couldn't compare to everything else.

This wouldn't earn her Raven's forgiveness. Or Ahiru's, for that matter. But she wouldn't simply just stay here and wait with Autor. Out of the question.

Her next move would have to be a cautious one. Avoid being caught by those left behind, and keep a safe distance from those who'd already left.

She took up her cloak and threw the strap of that small drum over her shoulder.

Ahiru bit her lip, poking at the glob of jelly that sat in the middle of her slice of toast with a fork. And across from her was her prince, beautiful and silent.

They sat in one of the smaller drawing rooms for breakfast, as the busy castle staff occupied the main ballroom and banquet hall for the preparations of the ball later this evening. While Ahiru thought the cozy confines of the smaller chamber more inviting than the cold, sprawling dining area, being here with Mytho felt … wrong.

Even worse now, in fact.

"Um … Mytho? How's your tea?"

"I don't know."

Ahiru winced, instinctively looking toward Mr. Katz who stood by the window across the room. His expression reflected her own, downcast and hesitant, his fingertips brushing through his whiskers.

Mytho had been like this since waking up the night before. They found him wandering aimlessly through the halls, his stare vacant and his pale hands curiously stained with ashes. She feared his awakening somewhat, expecting those cold eyes and chilling advances, but she was at least prepared to face him that way.

She didn't know if this was an improvement, or something worse.

"Oh … Okay. Do you want any jam for your toast?"

"I don't know."

Once again, the room fell into silence, and she found herself wishing Fakir was here. Inexplicably, she felt a little more capable when he was nearby.

She hadn't seen him since last night, right before she helped Raetsel and Mr. Katz tuck the vacant Mytho into bed. "Don't worry about Uzura or Lamp. I got them," he said, "He needs you right now."

Fakir was right. Mytho did need her right now. But what could she do?

Once again, she looked to Mr. Katz, remembering his words. "What is more convenient than not doing anything?"

She tried again. "So, tonight's the night! I'm really exci—I'm very much looking forward to the ball. Everyone's been so busy, but Raetsel and everyone have done such an amazing job, don't you think?"

His reply was a detached, haunting query. "Do I?"

Her fingers curled anxiously into her satin skirt. Mr. Katz attempted to cancel the celebration entirely, but it seemed to be the only decisive opinion Mytho had right now. Through Mytho's indifference, he gripped Mr. Katz's sleeve and fervently ordered that the ball continue. "It would be a tragedy," Mytho whispered, his eyes hardening into swirling gold for just a brief moment, "if it were to be canceled."

It chilled them all to the core, but he was still Prince Siegfried of Vineta, and the other advisors carried on as planned with the festivities.

So, there they sat, a coffee table between them, Mytho's food untouched, awaiting the staff to retrieve them for their preparations. Mr. Katz conceded regretfully, but with the hope that being surrounded by his friends and his adoring subjects would better his state.

Months ago, the idea of a royal ball enraptured her. Now, she could only dread it.

She bit back a sniffle and stood, circling around the table to sit beside her prince. Taking his cold hand within her own, she let her head fall to rest against his shoulder. He didn't move. He merely accepted.

Something was wrong.

As soon as Fakir left Ahiru's presence the night before, he felt something was amiss. Something changed. And for the life of him, he couldn't quite place it. It gnawed at him from the back of his mind. His nerves were on fire. His palms itched.

It wasn't until he decided to call it a night and put away his writing materials that he realized it.

His stories were gone.

They were right there—a neat stack of pages on the upper right corner of the desk. He scrambled down to tip the wastebasket over, rifling through rejected drafts and discarded notes. He threw his bedsheets to the ground, emptied the drawers and the armoire, and in his frenzied search, he even knocked over the trolley of pastries that Miss Raetsel brought to his room earlier, sending baked goods and dishes clattering messily to the ground.

Nothing. Nothing.

Karon was quick to assure him that no one but Raetsel entered his room as far as he knew, and she insisted that she knew nothing of the whereabouts of his story. And with the growing threats on the horizon along with Prince Siegfried's strange awakening, Fakir knew they all had their fair share of anxieties.

Another sleepless night.

He buried his face in his hands, sitting at the desk surrounded by the disarray. His fingers throbbed from rapid quill-strokes of the hours he spent sloppily writing a replacement.

The words blurred together—a rushed ramble of desperate drivel, a story that did little justice to the epic adventure he and Ahiru imagined: of a writer, a duchess, a child without her drum, led by the light of a lady bug, deep in the mysterious mountain caves awaiting the day of the raven constellation's alignment beneath crystalline stalactites. A wonderful idea, crumbling into minced words and lackluster imagery. And perhaps, all too late.

Had he failed again? Was this enough?

Fakir started at the tiny knock on his door, and he would've barked at whoever it was to leave him alone if not for the childlike voice that greeted him. "Fakir-zura! Fakir-zura! I wanna come in-zura!"

His heart softened and he tried to wipe the exhaustion and harshness from his eyes. He took a composing breath. "... It's open, Uzura."

Without hesitation, she burst right in with Lamp zipping around the crown of her head and twirled. "Look, Fakir-zura!"

In spite of everything, Fakir smiled, the anxious clench in his lungs loosening at the sight of her. Dainty in satin layers decorated with handsewn rosettes and a pretty headband nestled in her mint-green hair, Uzura looked like a little princess. She bounced eagerly in a cloud of fine fabric, her buckled slippers clicking on the ground.

Even Lamp, who would likely remain largely hidden for the duration of the ball to avoid inquiries from the guests, dressed in soft lace and pale yellow—a small doll's handcrafted clothing.

At least someone was having fun.

Fakir reached out to take Uzura's chubby hand to lead her into another twirl, stifling his worries for her sake. "You look very nice. But I want you to be careful at the party. Stay close to Miss Raetsel."

"Ohhhhh!" She pouted up at him, her cheeks puffing. "But my friends are invited-zura! And are you sure you're not coming, too-zura?"

"No. I'll be staying here." He swallowed. Leaving his room at a time like this was out of the question, especially when all he was missing was some glorified party, stuffy royals, and Ahiru dancing with a dead-eyed, Drosselmeyer-corrupted prince.

… If Fakir was presented with that, he didn't know what he'd do. Just the thought of it had his chest burning. He would have to rely on Karon, Raetsel, and Mr. Katz to protect her.

And he hated that. He hated that he could only be useful here at his desk.

Uzura's pout grew more severe. "But there's gonna be dancing and Ducky is coming-zura! And lots of food-zura! A big party like we had a lot at home-zura!"

"No," he repeated with a stern frown, forbidding himself from reminiscing over the old festivals and celebrations in the town square of Wyvern, "I'm not going, Uzura. Lamp and Miss Raetsel will keep you company."

"Faki—!"

"Enough."

She stomped her foot petulantly and bolted out of the room, leaving a disheartened and flickering Lamp behind. The lady bug gave Fakir a sad glance.

"Don't look at me like that." He sat back in his chair, running a hand through his disheveled bangs. "I have important things to do. Uzura will have a good time either way."

Lamp floated dismally down to sit on the edge of his table, her hands on her knees. He tried not to look at her and focused on his mess of a draft instead.

A few minutes later, Uzura came right back, noisily bounding into the room with the door swinging open behind her. "See-zura?! Ducky is coming to the ball, too-zura!"

Fakir looked up just in time to see the squawking duchess stumbling in after the child, her voluminous skirt dragged by Uzura's stubborn grip. "QUA—! Uzura, when did you get so strong—WAH?!"

Before Ahiru could tumble forward, Fakir jumped to his feet and grabbed her arms to steady her. "Watch your step!" he scolded her as he helped her right herself.

Then, he pulled away when he took her in, a lump lodging painfully in his throat.

It wasn't as if he'd never seen her in those formal piles of fluff before. In fact, she'd been dressed as such when they first met, ruffle and frill in all directions.

The gown she wore now was surprisingly subdued in comparison, with a pale, blue hue that livened her eyes and a simple silhouette that framed her just so—enough to leave him breathless. The lace, filmy sleeves flowed down to her wrists, and her skirts tumbled like a waterfall from her waist in varying waves of sheer fabric over white satin beneath. Resting between her unpowdered, freckled shoulders was that red pendant, glimmering in Lamp's light—a jewel that used to remind him of past tragedies and trauma and heartache, but … still did nothing to mar her now.

And it only worsened when he finally found the courage to look her in the eye. Glossed lips, freckles dusted across her upturned nose, sweet, blue irises blinking up at him from beneath long lashes and tendrils of orange locks that escaped the elegant twist into which her hair was pulled ...

She was lovely and simple and so undeniably her, especially as she twiddled her thumbs under his gaze. So he looked away, ashamed.

She shuffled awkwardly, her dress swishing. "Don't be mean! I can't help it! I'm not used to clothes like this anymore. Do you think it's going to be a problem …? I'm gonna be in this for a few hours. I remember that the parties my parents held were kind of an all-night thing. Maybe I should've told someone this is too long!"

He still couldn't bring himself to look at her. "At least you can breathe," he half-joked, shoving his shaking hands in his pockets.

"Mm! I had it made a little loose!"

"Good. Then, you'll be fine."

Uzura tugged on Ahiru's dress and whined, her pout still as fierce as ever. "Fakir says he's not coming-zura!"

"Eh? Is that why you were really mad?" Ahiru rocked back and forth on her heels, glancing up to him. "I guess you're still busy, huh, Fakir? I was sort of hoping you'd change your mind about coming along. The staff worked pretty hard today, and Mytho's—" She trailed off, her shoulders slumping. "I think Mytho could … use more company than just me. Nothing I do seems to help him at all."

Fakir glanced over his shoulder at the draft on his desk, Lamp illuminating the messily scrawled words.

He knew he needed to tell Ahiru about his missing story. He needed to tell her about the hours he spent last night, fervently writing in the hopes that the manuscript's disappearance hadn't affected his ability to keep their location hidden from Raven and Autor.

But tonight … was her night. It could wait until morning, though time was, as always, running short.

He didn't want the reminder that they were running out of mornings altogether.

Fighting with himself, Fakir lifted his gaze to look at her again, shaking his head with as much confidence as he could muster. "That's not true. He'll see you tonight, and then everything will be fine. Have faith in yourself."

"You really think so?"

Of course he thought so. The sight of her could heal any broken, battered, blackened heart. Even his own. "Yeah."

"So Fakir's really not gonna come with us-zura?" Uzura asked, her eyes rippling.

Ahiru nodded, patting her head. "It's okay! We'll have another party in the future, and Fakir can have fun with us then, okay?" She smiled brightly up at him then, picking up her skirt so she could walk with little trouble. "Don't forget to have faith in yourself, too, Fakir!"

As she and Uzura swept out the door, Lamp nudged his shoulder, staring at him expectantly. But before he could say another word, they were already far down the hall.

"Don't look at me like that," he repeated to Lamp, slumping down into his chair to get back to work. She gave a twinkle-like sigh and followed after them, leaving him to his thoughts.

He knew what Lamp meant. But, telling Ahiru how beautiful she was …?

… What good would that do?

Fakir scowled down at his pages and buried his face in his hands.

The woman tucked her short hair behind her ear, feeling exposed in the sunlight. She took her husband's hand and watched with guarded fascination as the town herald announced that the doors of the Grand Chateau would open to those wishing to attend some ball or another. Even now, officials and royals from neighboring towns arrived in lavish caravans led by horses, Pegasi, swans, bearing seals and crests.

The townspeople, the sweet things, were bursting with anticipation. To be able to associate openly with those of considerably higher rank excited them, no doubt. They prattled on about a queen-to-be, an uplifting celebration in the midst of a great war effort, their handsome prince, the rumors of a strange creature allegedly hidden within the Chateau's walls ...

Knights patrolled diligently, despite a great portion of them off on some campaign she knew nothing about. But the doors were still open to the general public, and that, in itself, posed a vital opportunity.

An opportunity the Bookmen knew that they would have to take.

"Just one of us would be enough," her husband whispered, "I'll go."

"No." She shook her head, despite the fear in her heart. "Not you. Let me." They were the only ones that could, but as afraid as she was, she was far more terrified of losing him.

And he understood.

With a nod, her husband placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she turned her gaze to the sprawling towers of the Grand Chateau.

Pique and Lilie did nothing to assuage Ahiru's nerves.

"Oh gosh, milady, there are so many people coming in and they look gorgeous!"

"Milady, oh you must be so terrified~! You have to impress all of them~! I do hope you do not embarrass yourself and do irreparable damage to His Highness's reputation~!"

"Milady, are you ready? This is so exciting—but super scary!"

They latched onto her arms, one in pale purple and the other in soft pink. Miss Raetsel released them from staff duties knowing that Ahiru would appreciate their support, and they were all too happy to dress their best for the evening and give her all the encouragement they could manage.

Evidently, it wasn't much.

"We'll have to go on in without you since you have to do your whole introduction and all. Everyone's gonna look at you so stay poised, okay? We'll see you out there!"

"Try not to sully your own night with your clumsy antics, milady~!"

Before Ahiru could get a word in, they floated off, swishing their skirts playfully down the hall as they made their way toward the ballroom. They left her fidgeting and skittish outside of her chambers, her fingers toying with the hems of her sleeves.

She felt stupid, worrying about impressing everyone when Fakir was working hard and Mytho was in trouble.

Truth be told, she was disappointed Fakir wasn't coming to the ball. She couldn't place why—only that his absence fell heavy on her shoulders. Instead, she would have to cling to his words of encouragement, and face Mytho and the crowds with as much courage as she could garner from the strength he left to her.

Minutes passed as she waited for her escort. Soon enough, Karon, dignified in all his finery, approached her and bowed. "Lady Ahiru, you look lovely this evening."

"Ah! Um—I mean, thank you very much!" She gave her best, practiced curtsy in return. As she slipped her hand into the curl of his arm, she caught the subtle slump of his poise and his bloodshot eyes. "Karon? Are you …?"

He patted her hand affectionately, masking his tiredness with a crinkling smile. "Now, now. Just do your best and enjoy your night. His Highness will be pleased to see you, I'm certain."

At the finality in his words, they walked the rest of the way in silence, Ahiru keeping her eyes trained on the intricate swan designs of the carpet. She only looked up when the carpet ended and became polished marble tile as they approached the entrance to the ballroom. Already, Ahiru could hear the muffled strings of music and the hum of a crowd from behind the doors.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she approached Mytho, who waited for her beside Mr. Katz. Mr. Katz looked ever-so-polished in his lavender coat, his shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back.

Mytho …

She blushed. Mytho always did look handsome. Dressed in deep blue with gold filigree, his tunic boasted his inherent grace, a cape sweeping from his back and over one shoulder. A sash decorated his chest with ribbons and crests, and a feathered collar accentuated his swanlike neck. He was fair, and beautiful, and Ahiru felt woefully inadequate beside him.

But his eyes were still empty, and her heart sank when she realized that nothing changed.

Mr. Katz stepped forward to greet her with a polite bow and and kiss to her knuckles, and urged her with a gentle smile to take Mytho's arm.

Without a word or a second glance, Mytho allowed it, keeping his emotionless eyes straight ahead.

Karon and Mr. Katz took it upon themselves to enter first and formally announce their prince and his future bride, leaving the two in cold silence. Ahiru glanced up from her position by the prince's side, her hand quivering around his arm. "Mytho?" she whispered, her voice wavering, "Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Can I—is there anything I can do to make you feel better at all?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard to keep the tears at bay.

Then, the doors opened.

It was a scene pulled from the pages of a fairytale—something Fakir could've written. She, a queen-to-be, on the arm of her perfect prince, stepped onto the elevated stairway that overlooked the white dome that was this grand ballroom. An intricate chandelier hung suspended in crystal tiers in the center of the elegant, molded ceiling as smaller versions adorned the edges of the walls. Windows and doors that led out to the outdoor balcony lined the far side, allowing the pleasing nighttime and the twinkle of stars and moonlight to intermingle with the happy brightness of the ball.

And the people—so many—in all forms of colors and ribbons and tunics, awaited with smiles and bated breaths, their gowns shining and billowing like bells, their gems and crests twinkling in the brilliance of this spectacle.

The music began, a fine, well-dressed band situated on the eastern side of the ballroom, and celebratory strings wove seamlessly with the polite, awed applause from the guests beneath.

"Bow," Mr. Katz whispered subtly from somewhere behind them.

Immediately, Mytho did so, and Ahiru followed with a hesitant curtsy, her face red.

Once upon a time, this was everything she dreamed of: to feel like a princess, at her prince's side—

But this wasn't Mytho.

—in this grand ballroom—

Even bigger than Wyvern's town square.

—with the joyous music playing—

Autor's piano was missing some keys, wasn't it?

—and the beautiful people falling into a carefully-practiced waltz.

What would Rue look like, dressed in fine silk?

"Go forward," came Mr. Katz gentle instruction.

Biting back an anxious sob, Ahiru forced a smile and made a careful step down the stairs, leading Mytho down with her. Even in his state, his elegance persisted (it must've come so naturally to him), and she was grateful she could lean on him somewhat for balance.

Then came the greetings, a blur of faces and polite introductions with Karon and Mr. Katz's assistance. Ahiru didn't even have a mind to keep track of her own behavior, shaken as she was. So many names, titles, questions—they dizzied and flustered her, and she wondered how many mechanical, awkward curtsies she messed up, or the amount of peculiar eyebrow-raises she'd earned. Even Mytho, emotionless, vacant Mytho, fared better than she under Mr. Katz's quiet instructions.

Her hand wandered up to her pendant and she clung like a lifeline.

Her mother was once a natural at all of this. She remembered watching from behind her large gowns, peeking out and blinking childishly at the visitors. Back then, it was acceptable to have some lack of manners, as she was so little.

Now, she had no such excuse. And she floundered.

Until, finally, she recognized someone.

"Good evening, cousin!" greeted the new Duke of Hedeby, his smile warm with familiarity, "There are no words to express how grateful I am for your safe return."

Her chest flooded with relief. "Cousin Mal! Thank you so, so much for coming! It's been a really long time!"

He chuckled. "Only a month or two."

… It felt like much longer than that.

"But, my, you've changed," he marveled, stroking his chin and raising an eyebrow, "Though, you ought to straighten up, cousin. The guests have been whispering, you know."

Suddenly self-conscious, she did so, squaring her shoulders and lengthening her stance, awkward and stiff. She wanted to turn to Mr. Katz or Karon for help, but they had their hands full with assisting Mytho in appearing as natural as possible to their greeting guests. She was on her own, even before her own family.

"Ah, pardon me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Nnn … No, it's oka—it's quite alright! I have to make a good impression!"

His smile returned. "Undoubtedly. But of course your adjustment is understandable. To think, not long ago, we were all prepared to mourn you as we did your parents. Your mother would be proud of your recovery." He paused, shaking his head. "What monstrous creature would do such a thing?"

Ahiru thought of Fakir with his calloused, ink-stained fingers, sitting all alone upstairs. "It's really not like that at all! I mean, it wasn't good what he did, but he isn't monstrous!"

A hush fell over a group of people meandering nearby, and they blinked curiously over their wine glasses at Ahiru's peculiar outburst. She pursed her lips in embarrassment and looked away from her cousin's stunned expression.

"I … I see. Well, I do hope to catch up with you soon. I'm afraid I've been holding up the line!" he said with a laugh, gesturing at the growing crowd behind him, "Good luck. Perhaps we shall share a dance at your leisure!"

"Oka—Alright! Yes! Um, enjoy the ball!"

And then, he was gone, leaving her to the strangers once more, beside the prince who couldn't so much as smile at her.

In such a crowd as this, she'd never felt more alone.

"Ohhhhhh!"

Uzura rocked back and forth on her heels, Lamp tucked safely in her pocket. She'd never seen so many people in such fluffy clothes, dancing and talking and eating. Pique and Lilie giggled in a corner with a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries between them (Uzura thought that chocolate was really delicious), Duck was busy with a bunch of people she didn't know at all, and Miss Raetsel was nowhere to be found. It would be a lot better if Lamp could come out and play, but they all said she wasn't allowed to. "There are no such things as lady bugs," they said. Uzura thought that was silly, but this place had a lot of rules.

She couldn't even play with Fakir, and her drum was all the way back at home. She wondered when she'd be able to go back and get it.

Miss Raetsel said that the friends she made in town would be able to come, but they weren't here yet, or their parents didn't let them. So, she scampered around pillars and beneath food tables instead, cooing at all the colors and bright lights.

She decided that the big chandelier in the center was her absolute favorite. It would be nice if she could show everyone at home. Maybe home would be a little brighter with one of those.

There was one guest, one who stayed in the dark, behind pillars and hanging white drapes, who had a dress that wasn't so shiny, but Uzura rather liked it. It was simple, like what everyone would wear at home. And it looked like the woman wearing it didn't really want to be there. She had a frown on her face, and kept holding her bag very close. When the woman pulled a hood over her head and slipped away and out of sight, Uzura blinked once, then twice.

Maybe this lady was waiting for her friends, too!

Fakir heard the festivities from down below. He wanted to blame the ball for his lack of concentration, but in reality, he needed no such distraction. There was nothing else to do, but wait, and hope.

He stood, facing his open window as the moonlight streamed in from beyond the filmy curtains. He pushed them back and sat on the sill, massaging his aching hand, listening to the sounds of the orchestra echoing into the vastness of the cool night air. He could only hope Ahiru was enjoying this one evening of happiness. That was the least she deserved.

Once again, a knock on his door interrupted his reverie, and he was mildly surprised that anyone in the Chateau wasn't occupied with the massive party downstairs. "Yeah?"

Raetsel poked her head in and smiled, proceeding to wheel in a tray—lavish, fancy, over-seasoned meat garnished with superfluous vegetation. Likely what they served at the party. He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't have to bring up anything. I'm fine."

"Nonsense. I make sure everyone in this castle is living well, even you." She smiled. "And Miss Ebine wouldn't have it if just one person here didn't try her cooking this evening. She's outdone herself. And even Karon. He wanted to make sure you were fed, as you've declined the invitation to the ball."

Fakir shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks. To them, too."

"Hoh!" Raetsel straightened, pushing her long, dark locks over one shoulder. She let her hair flow loose for the evening, pinned on one side by a flower comb. Her gown accentuated her feminine figure and he felt rather awkward being the one to pull her away from the ball in the name of her duty. "Let them know yourself, hm?"

"Alright."

"If you get too lonely up here, you're always welcome to join us. Even for a little while." She took a breath, bringing a finger to her lips in thought. "Curse or not, you're only human at heart, you know. I feel like we're always telling you to take breaks.

"You and Lady Ahiru are His Highness's only hope. That's quite a lot to take on for you both. I promise, after tonight ends, you two will have the full support of Vineta. Whatever you need to help our prince."

She left him with a smile and a curtsy, and he bowed his head as she closed the door after her.

Attending the ball was out of the question, but …

He sighed and picked up his knife and fork. Maybe a quick walk would do some good after a meal. And then, well …

Fakir glanced up out the window, his green eyes darkening at the forming shape in the stars.

Now that they were through with the formal greetings, it felt like no one wanted to talk to her at all.

Ahiru wanted nothing more than to find Pique, Lilie, and Uzura somewhere in the crowd, but she remained rooted in her spot beside Mytho. She couldn't leave him. Not like this.

The heavy disappointment in her gut only grew heavier. Everyone kept telling her that seeing her tonight would open Mytho's eyes and wake his heart, but that was silly, wasn't it? Why would that help? She wore a new dress and her hair was different, but she was still the same, dumb duchess she always was. In fact, tonight only amplified that a thousand times over.

Her hand trembled as she took hold of Mytho's arm. "Um, hello, Mytho! Did you, um, did you enjoy seeing your friends?"

"Friends?" He turned to her, vacant eyes empty, his tone stagnant.

And around her came the hushed whispers of the guests, nobility and townspeople alike.

"My, he doesn't seem very happy with his fiancee."

"He's changed since she came."

"What has she done to him?"

"Does she look like queen material to you?"

"She's sweet enough, but that can only get her so far."

"The poor dear, I don't think she can handle any of this."

Ahiru wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

She almost jumped when a friendly hand came to rest on her shoulder, Mr. Katz giving her a weak smile and a nod. "It's alright, my lady."

Karon gestured to the conductor, and the music erupted into a glorious waltz within moments, lightening the atmosphere in but a wave of his baton. Then, Mr. Katz gently pushed her in Mytho's direction, nodding again.

Her cheeks flooded with heat, but she understood. And for Mytho, she would always, always try her best.

"Mytho? Would you like to dance?" she asked, timid, but hopeful. His lips parted, and somehow, she knew he would answer with his usual, "I don't know." Before he could do so, Ahiru swallowed and spoke again, louder and with growing worry. "Please? Um, come dance with me?"

He merely allowed it, and together, they strode out to the center of the ballroom among other dancing couples, and Ahiru knew that, like Pique said earlier, all eyes were on them. She learned the waltz before, but could never reach the level of proficiency her mother had. And with her nerves fraying at the ends and her prince in this state, she could only pray that this wouldn't be a complete disaster.

She tried to smile at him, but he didn't smile back.

He moved with elegance, and she tried her best to fall into step with him, worrying all too much that her palms dampened and she was half a beat behind. She once daydreamed of this—of the day Prince Siegfried would sweep her into a lovely dance as her husband, and they would circle the floor with enthusiastic glee. She would be so happy, and their dance would be so perfect, that her feet wouldn't even touch the ground.

Mytho mutely guided her, and this felt nothing like her childhood fairytales. Even as a handsome prince led her across the dancefloor, she only wanted to cry. And it was her fault he was like this. It was her fault that people gossiped about him, that the staff feared and worried for him, that she pushed him into this awful situation. It was her fault that he wasn't himself anymore.

Could she truly do nothing to help him?

And as her eyes rippled with unshed tears and her bottom lip trembled, Mytho's empty eyes began to swirl and narrow, and the barest hint of a smirk crossed his lips.

They were his words. But they weren't.

"Poor little duckling. Perhaps you were more useful as a sacrifice after all?"

Her blood ran cold.

The waltz drew to a soft close, the surrounding guests politely clapping as the conductor bowed graciously. And Mytho, his eyes wiped clean of that hazy dreadfulness, mutely bowed as Mr. Katz had been instructing him all evening.

She couldn't bring herself to curtsy back. "M … Mytho?" Her voice cracked. "Why—?"

"Why what?" he murmured back, expressionless and blank.

The crowd around her moved in a blur in preparation for the next dance, but she felt cold, lonely, and could no longer fight back the swell of sobs in her chest. She only wanted to be away from prying eyes. Just for a moment. She didn't want everyone to see how useless, shameful, and stupid she was.

Stumbling back to the edges of the ballroom as discreetly as she could manage, she blinked through the misty tears, her hand sliding along the wall until she felt glass. Frantically, she grabbed for the doorknob, and stumbled out into the cool air of the balcony before anyone spotted her departure.

Here, it was cool. Empty. With only the moon and stars as company, the music from inside a soft hum.

And as soon as she was able, she shuffled forward, collapsed onto the stone balustrade, and let go in loud, ugly sobs.

This was … such a wretched feeling. What, did she think a dance would help? That Mytho would feel at all better with her around? Anything she did for him only made things worse, and even before her kidnapping, did she really think she could make him happy?

… And even then, there she was, crying over her stupid insecurities, when just a little over a week remained before—!

Her blubbering only sounded more pathetic now, muffled messily into her sleeves.

Why did it always feel like she took two steps back with every single step forward? How could she be so hopeful and so determined, but break down so easily the next night? She wanted to do something, she wanted to help, but all she ever did was fail.

What would her mother think of her? If Mytho was himself, would he despise her? What would Fakir say?

"Ahiru?"

She hiccupped, not hearing him at first.

"Hey, are you—?!"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked over the edge of the balustrade, her sobs catching in her throat as she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

In the gardens below, Fakir stood, still in the clothes he wore earlier, staring up at her slumped form on the balcony. His confused stare softened and saddened, illuminated by moonlight. "Hey—"

But seeing him …

… She didn't realize until now that she really wanted to see him. She didn't realize until now that he would've made everything better from the beginning.

She ached to tell him everything, and she was utterly unwilling to hide how she felt from him anyway. And yet, she failed to verbalize it, crumbling back into inaudible weeping. "Fa—Fakir, I—Ic-couldn'tdoany—!"

"... Hang on," she heard him say. He approached the side of the balcony where vines crawled up the side of the garden wall. There was a rustle of leaves and small grunts as he climbed his way up. He hefted himself up and over the balustrade and onto the landing. "Ahiru."

She struggled to stand, but could only bring herself to sit on the stone.

"What happened?" His voice was closer now, and she felt the warmth of him as he knelt beside her.

Still, she couldn't form an answer. Instead, he sat with her until her sobs finally subsided, leaving messy hiccups and soft sniffles in their wake.

"I-I still c-couldn't do anything for—hic!—Mytho … I think I-I made it worse somehow and he said some things that weren't him and n-nothing I did was—hic—Fakir I'm really scared and even if I keep trying to do things for him and for everyone in Wyve—hic—vern, I can't! And I thought I was going to help, I was so sure I could, but I keep going back and forth and I'm so sorry I'm like this I—!"

He didn't reply for a long while, the sounds of her harsh breaths mingling with the hushed tones of the music inside. But when his hand curled into hers and he stood, encouraging her to rise with him, she allowed it and melted into his hold, her forehead against his chest.

Her hand in his ...

He didn't lead her into a waltz—barely even a dance, really. A light sway with the soft piano and violins in the distance, her hand in his, his arm resting gently around her waist …

Here, in his arms, she didn't feel ashamed of how she felt.

"Even though you're scared," he said, his chest rumbling with his voice (she felt his heartbeat, quick and heavy, against her cheek), "you're stronger than you know."

Slowly, gently, she felt the tension ease from her muscles. "You … think so?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, idiot."

"Don't call me that." Still, she smiled, watery and puffy, but still a smile. "Eh? I … I'm making your shirt wet …"

"I've had worse."

"Okay."

They fell into silence, contentedly together, and he made no move to pull away until her cries subsided completely, patient and strong. He was warm, and her chest swelled with—something. She didn't know what.

Her heart raced. Swallowing, she fought down her blush and spoke again. "So, what were you doing down there anyway?"

"Taking a walk. I needed a break."

"Mmn, you're doing everything you can, and here I am crying about—"

"You really need to stop downplaying your feelings."

He tightened his embrace around her, and she felt dizzy. Her chest burst with something so new, almost alarming behind her ribs, and she could hardly stand it. She released his hand, instead wrapping both her arms around him.

Downplaying her feelings?

Just what was she feeling anymore? Wasn't she downright miserable just moments ago? Just seeing him, being near him, gave her a strength, and deep inside, she rather hoped he felt the same.

She needed to understand.

Worrying at her bottom lip, she glanced up, searching his glimmering green eyes for answers to questions she didn't know how to ask.

There was clarity in his gaze.

His mouth, a resigned, sad smile.

His expression, one he only wore when he looked at her.

"Ohhhhhh!"

They lurched away from one another, Ahiru placing her hands to her enflamed face. "U-Uzura?!"

"Fakir went to the ball-zura?"

"I didn't—!" Fakir hid his face from view, not that Ahiru had the will to look him in the eye after—after whatever that was. "I wasn't going to—Uzura, I was just taking a walk, alright?!"

Lamp burst out from Uzura's pocket, her glow flickering anxiously. "Ohhhhh," Uzura cooed, pointing behind them into the shadows, "Yes, yes, there she is-zura!"

And the next moment flashed by, almost blinding as the moonlight reflected off a smooth, sharp surface right before her eyes.

"Ahiru!"

Her breath left her lungs as Fakir's strong arms grabbed her around the waist, hurling her off to the side and down to the ground safely beneath him. The weapon swung past inches away, the wielder shielded beneath a dark hood.

"Uzura, get help!" he barked, leaping to his feet and keeping himself between Ahiru and her assailant. As the little girl scrambled back inside, Ahiru stumbled to her feet and peeked around Fakir's shoulder. A hooded face, an axe, almost too big for even the wielder—! She gripped his arm.

"Who are you?!"

The woman cursed inaudibly under her breath, her grip on the weapon quivering somewhat as the doors to the ballroom burst open, knights pouring out with swords drawn.

And then, along the starry horizon, just as the knights reached out to apprehend the hooded figure, a chilling echo spread out across the expansive plains, reaching their ears from beyond the town, across the lake, to the balcony of the ballroom tower.

Roars. And fire. And the heavy beat of dark wings.

The shine of moonlight glinting off scales was visible even from the swiftly closing distance—countless monsters, long-necked, with vicious roars and streams of blazing flames escaping their snouts, crowded together in fierce flight like a foreboding storm.

Dragons. Dragons in the distance steadily grew larger on the horizon, their petrifying calls waking people from their homes and drawing the crowd of the partygoers to the glass windows.

How …?

How …?

Ahiru felt cold, seeping numbness as she gripped tighter to Fakir's sleeve, horrified.

The hooded woman, with a desperate cry, attempted to use the distraction to her advantage. She reeled back with a heave, the axe high and sharp and heavy above Fakir.

And then, a deflection, a clang of metal—Prince Siegfried, still vacant and expressionless, brought his sword before them all, taking his position in front of Fakir with a swiftness none knew he still possessed.

Shocked, the woman dropped her axe and the knights wasted no more time in apprehending her. The crowds screamed, some cried, and in the midst of it all, perhaps Karon, Mr. Katz, and General Lysander attempted to keep order in the increasing chaos.

But Fakir and Ahiru were frozen in all of it, the dragons in the distance ever-nearing, and Mytho's empty eyes clouding.

"So," the prince said, his movements puppet-like as he dropped his sword, "all of my guests have arrived safely to my ball."

Mytho's knees buckled, and he collapsed, falling into a ready Mr. Katz's arms. "Take him to safety!" Mr. Katz commanded, his golden eyes distraught.

"Protect the village with all your might!" Lysander cried, "The trebuchets, the iron—!"

"Wait!"

Fakir gripped Ahiru's shoulders, and she could only cling to his vest. His voice wavered, but his eyes were fierce, and she felt so utterly helpless.

"We had an agreement! The dragons are mine to deal with! You swore it!"

"But—!"

"Not till I die! You swore!"

Karon stepped forward, calling out over the frenzy. "There are too many for you to—!"

Fakir shoved Ahiru forward into Karon's arms. "Take her and the prince, take Uzura—keep them safe!"

On instinct, she kept a firm grip on Fakir, her mind going a mile a minute. There was too much happening, all too quickly, and with so many voices, so many people, the cacophony of roars in the distance.

All she knew was that Mytho was unconscious, and Fakir wanted to face them. Alone.

She couldn't—the idea of it tore her to pieces.

"Fakir, Fakir, please, wait, wait, how did—you can't just—!"

Impatiently, he grit his teeth and tried to pull away from her stubborn hold. "It was my fault, alright?! I didn't tell you that my story was missing. I didn't tell you that I failed you. This is my fault, and we're running out of time! Go with them!"

She felt Karon's hands on her shoulders, drawing her away. "Are you certain?" he asked gravely.

"I'll hold them off as long as I can!"

"Fakir!" This was too much. Too much! Twisting herself from Karon's hands, she grabbed onto him again, unable to think or see or feel anything else but the fact that he needed to stay safe. By her side. "W-What about Uzura?! There's too many of them! You can't do this, I—we're supposed to work together!"

The look in his eyes changed just then, the anger dissipating and giving way to something unreadable, but palpable, and he froze her in her tracks just by his stare alone. He reached out, cupping her neck and holding her shoulder with protective strength, and despite the glow of coming flames and the clanking of knights and the muffled cries, he spoke clearly for her ears alone.

He spoke quickly, passionately, and deliberately.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about the stories, Ahiru. I'm sorry I kidnapped you, that I dragged you into all of this. I'm sorry I kept forcing everything on you, the one person who deserves happiness more than anyone. And I'm sorry that in the end, I still failed.

"But I owe you everything. You've changed everything, and you've changed me."

They winced as the roars grew louder.

"In these two months, I've felt more than I have in three hundred years, Ahiru, and in that, you've already broken my curse. You freed me.

"This is all I can do for you now."

With one last, lingering look, and his thumb brushing her cheek, he released her into Karon's arms once more. She was forced to watch as he stepped onto the balustrade, and jumped.

He twisted, morphed, and roared mid-leap, large and savage, bursting into the air from the balcony in scales of obsidian, his yellow-green eyes angry and narrow. The townspeople and nobles all screamed at the sight, but Ahiru barely heard them.

Fakir flew off to meet his own kind, to catch them far from the defenseless village. She watched his dragon form grow smaller and smaller, further from her reach.

Numbly, she allowed the panicking Pique and Lilie—who cradled a crying Uzura in her arms—to lead her away from the sight, drawing her back into the safety of the ballroom. People rushed too and fro, taking main hallways and passageways to various secure areas of the Chateau. They carried Mytho in front of her, Mr. Katz and Karon flanking his prone form, Miss Raetsel and her best friends behind her, Uzura's wails echoing into her ears as they ducked into the servants' corridor.

This corridor …

She knew this hallway. She'd taken it once before, not too long ago. It led to the stables, and out to the town, and—

Though time was slow until now, it all came speeding back to her, and the feelings and desperation came with it.

Fakir … didn't tell her.

Didn't he always do this? He always wanted to make her choices for her.

He kidnapped her against her will.

He didn't even ask if she wanted to come back here, either.

And he kept something so important from her, bearing it all on his own.

Now, he wanted to disappear to protect them all, forgetting that they were supposed to be a team. And he told her so many times that she was important, that she was enough, that she could do something for and with him—!

"This is all I can do for you now."

Didn't he realize that it had to go both ways?

For Mytho, for Fakir, for Fakir's family, for everyone …

… She wasn't going to let Fakir choose for her anymore!

Emboldened, she pushed past everyone in front of her, ignoring the calls of her name and wrenching herself from their grips. She dashed madly down the steps of the passage, kicking off her dainty slippers and lifting her gown. She poured every emotion, every hesitation, every worry into her feet to push her onward until her lungs burned and her muscles ached.

Breaching the doorway, the cool night air blessed her sweat-dotted forehead, the scent of fresh hay tickling her nose. The Pegasi had been taken already in preparation for battle, the chaos of the town a distant white noise.

The swans remained.

Not knowing what to do, but knowing she must do something, she scrambled over to one of the swans, ignoring the pains in bare feet. It squawked and honked frantically at her when she tried to leap right onto its feathered back.

"Oh, please, please, please forgive me!" Without waiting, she jumped on, clinging around its neck and begging, "Please, please fly! My friend is in trouble, he needs me, and he's being a jerk and not listening again and GYAH—!"

The swan burst into clumsy fight, Ahiru's legs all but dangling from beneath its wings. She did her best to right herself, blinking against the harsh wind as the swan took to the starry sky in the flurry of feathers.

"Faster, please! Over there—!"

And in that enclosing distance, the dragons beset upon Fakir, fierce and overwhelming. She watched as he spat fire in every direction, one dragon biting into his shoulder, another grabbing for his wing …

There were so many. Too many.

And one—with chilling, blood-red eyes, a beak-like snout, and feathered wings—gave a mighty cry, crushing Fakir down into the earth with a mighty swing of its clawed hand.

Her heart stopped. She reached for her pendant, gripped it with white-knuckled desperation, and reached out into the fray.

A burst of white, and then, all went dark.

Notes:
Fun fact: Ahiru's cousin is named Mallard (because I think that's funny)