Soaking in the hot water, his legs stretched out in front, Michael inhales the freshening scent of cucumber melon. One servant with tan skin, and long black hair, scrubs his feet with a loofah sponge, massaging away knots and tension. She lathers on a lotion that at first felt heated, but slowly grew warm as she scrubbed.
"My goodness, your knots have knots." She says. "You travel a lot?"
Michael weakly smiles back. "Something like that." He croaks.
His chin still lightly tingling from where she shaved away his five o'clock shadow, he rests his head back on the pillow they placed around his neck. He's been with the staff for nearly an hour. They lotion his arms and legs, trim his nails, smoothing his hair and removing any unwanted knots.
"And I have to say you have such perfect eyebrows." She adds.
"Thank you." Michael speaks politely. He sighs. "I may never come out."
Another woman – fine-boned with wheat brown wavy hair – scrubs his arms and massages his back. Then washing his hair was a woman with skin colored in a delicate snow white and pale pink lips. Her hair was a deep red, dripping down in an endless waterfall of curls. After another two minutes, they ask him to get out.
Michael sighs and presses his palms to the sides of the tub, careful not to lose his footing. Pushing up, he nearly slips from the oils, but gains his footing and takes the three steps out of the porcelain tub. They hand him a towel and once he's dry, they toss it aside, handing him a soft, blue robe.
He can't stop the smile on his lips. He's never received this kind of, treatment, before. His body feels so fresh and warm he could swear he is squeaky clean from head to toe. He never realized how greasy his hair was until he ran his fingers through it, and it mimics that of silk.
"Just follow me, sir." The pale-faced beauty says as she escorts Michael out of the room.
She simply leads him to the dining room, where a small banquet awaits. Smoothing the robe, he takes his seat at the head of the table. The table is set with food for lunch. Eager to taste, Michael fills his plate, then picks up a fork and twirls the noodles on, then popping it in his mouth. The sweet and cheesy sauce rewards his mouth with a glorious taste.
"So, if you'll wait here, the dresser will come to collect you to get ready for the party." She says.
Michael nods as he pops another forkful of pasta in his mouth. The servants all file out of his room, quietly shutting the doors behind. The crackling of the fire is Michael's only company as he finishes his meal. The flavors contorting and mixing into a rather sour aftertaste in his mouth, but his stomach has never been fuller to the point where he almost swears he won't eat again.
He walks into the living room and slouches back into the velvet couch. He folds his feet underneath him and keeps his hands in his lap.
He hears the door click open and in steps in different servant.
She's of middle-age and wears a more extravagant gown of cobalt and pink. "I assume you're the "guest?" Michael?"
Michael nods, not favoring her tone. "Follow me." She simply says then turns around and walks out.
Michael sighs knowing that this is going to be, difficult for lack of a better word. He follows her into his dressing room where she immediately begins to rifle through clothes he never picked. "Kai has already sent up your clothes. The maidens and I will help you change."
"Fine." Michael replies placidly.
He follows the woman to a three-paneled mirror similar to the one in a garment store. Only this one has exquisite bordering and delicate craftsmanship to form in the shape of a bird's wings.
The process itself is torturous. Swaths of many fabrics are folded on a table, and a measuring tape rolled neatly next to a pincushion with multicolored pins poking out of it. Another one is around the dresser's neck.
"We need to take your measurements if we're going to be making some clothes for you." She insists.
"It would be easier if I just went shopping." He grumbles.
"Once we know your measurements, shopping will be much easier. Now much longer, I promise."
Sighing in aggravation, he takes deep breathes, and he tries to hold still as she helps him stand straight so that the dresser takes his measurements.
"Hold your arms out." she instructs. He obeys, slowly exhaling and inhaling so that his breathing expands his shoulders than his stomach. Suddenly the woman pokes him between the ribs. He squeaks and instinctively claps his arms to his sides.
"Oh relax dear. Now come on, the sooner we can get this done, the sooner you can be left alone."
"What makes you think I want to be alone?"
"Well, you certainly don't want my company." She clucks. "Oh don't scowl – you ruin your face when you look like that!"
She reaches and pinches Michael's cheek, and Michael pulls away.
"Are you mad? I'm not some court idiot."
The woman chuckles. "You're still a man, and so long as you're under my charge, you'll act like it or gods help me!"
Michael sighs and holds out his arms horizontally. The woman wraps the tape around his waist and draws it in snug. She strips the tape away and pulls a pen out of her bun to mark a pad of paper. Her eyes widen at the paper.
"Goodness, you're muscular." She says smiling.
Michael clamps his arms in against himself against like chicken wings as she fusses around him. "Is it always like this – Ow!" He jolts as the woman pinches his right on the fleshy part of his underarm. "I'm starting to regret this." he murmurs. Then he feels the woman take the tape and string it around his chest. He reflexively smacks her hand away.
"Oh, I hate you," she grumbles, making a note on the sheet of paper. She pulls the tape away again, this time drawing out one of Michael's arms to measure its circumference. Scowling, Michael gives up with a huff, resigning himself to be handled and measured and cataloged.
He watches as she leaves for a moment and later brings back several sets of clothes that are heavily embroidered, and luxurious. Precious gems are sewn into the clothing as well - pearls, silver and gold too.
Lifting his arms, Michael feels the delicate linen of the silk, white shirt as it is draped over his body, then a pair of light-grey trousers, then a gold vest, and a deep teal jacket with fine brass buckles down the front and the glimmer of delicate golden thread skimming the high collar and edges. He steps into new polished leather boots, the supple leather gives his toes room to wriggle, something that never happened with his old pair. They touch up his hair and then he turns to face the mirror.
Michael's eyes can't help but widen at how difference he looks. Compared to the man usually smothered in dirt and has dry blood smeared on his cheeks and hands, this one . . . this man is of royal blood.
Someone who eats with the proper fork but still has the eye for adventure. The Arendelle crest is embroidered on the bottom of the jacket, and Michael lets his fingers spider crawl up to his neck where his fingers clasp around a chain to a silver pendant.
He walks out, adjusting the cuffs as a couple of other servant women are cleaning up the dinner table. One of them gasps, and her eyes widen, tongue rolling to the floor.
"You look, absolutely handsome." She says, a dangerous, hungry glint in her eyes.
"Thank you." Michael admits. "I've never had such nice clothes before."
He cringes as he hears the awing of the staff, except for the dresser who only looks at her watch.
"Yes, yes all very pretty and such, but there is a party going on and Her Royal Majesty and Her Highness are going to be introduced soon!" she urges.
Michael looks to the clock. It reads six to seven. The party starts at eight-thirty.
He rolls his eyes, but grins as he follows the dresser out into the hallway. But not before he slips a couple of daggers into his new boots, and slipping the other between his belt. Michael follows the dresser through the tall door and into the front foyer of the castle, where guests are already filing in through the front.
Extravagant, flamboyant, expensive and very colorful outfits are worn to make sure all who witness them are very aware of their high rank. Long house jackets are worn by noblemen and the length of the jacket often is an indicator of the wealth of the individual. Women in royalty wear long flowing gowns and very fancy hats or headpieces that are so ornate that they hinder the wearer from doing anything practical at all.
Michael's heart triples in speed at the sight of so many nobles and dukes and lords of other kingdoms filing into the foyer. Looking over the banister of the cherry wood finish railing he digs his fingernails into the wood. Powdered and pale, the women look like stale pastries. Tall and with garnish, pointed masks, the men seemed like predators.
"Princess Anna wished to have a Masquerade Ball."
Michael jostles and whirls around to find Kai. He wears his usual colored clothes, though the only difference now is that they have ruffles around the collar and the cuffs of the sleeves.
"The perfect place to ambush the royal siblings." Michael comments.
"Come, if you'll follow me I'll take you to another entrance to the party without so much of a crowd." Kai smiles.
"Now you're starting to get how I work." Michael gives a ghost of a smile.
They maneuver through the servants' hallways of the castle, which have no windows, not hint of the world outside. Michael can almost feel the paranoia emanating from the walls, like the terminal itself is terrified of unfamiliar eyes. If only they knew what Michael's eyes were searching for.
As they walk, he gets a glimpse of Kai's hands, pressed to his sides. The skin around his fingernails is raw and red, like he chewed it away overnight. The fingernails themselves are jagged. No wonder he wears gloves. Michael remembers when his own nails looked that way, when the memories of failure crept into every dream and every ideal thought. Perhaps it's the agony of waiting that has Kai doing this.
He follows the steward to a door tucked away in the corner and enters the back of the room. They pass under an alcove, and stone walls hug in close around them in a short, curving, almost tunnel-like passageway. It funnels them into another room of about the same size. Reaching the archway into the next room, they pull themselves back to one side to avoid being trampled by a long train of revelers. Hands linked, they rush past the men, screaming and shrieking with laughter.
"Before we go, here." Kai says as he hands Michael a mask of pure black. Only big enough to cover his eyes and nose. Michael looks to him and quirks a brow. "Just as a precaution. You'll stand out like a sore thumb without it."
Exhaling sharply, Michael sticks out his tongue before tying the satin ribbons around his head. After adjusting and fidgeting, he gives Kai a nod of approval.
When he enters the ballroom, he's nearly floored by the size and grandness of the room.
The ballroom is white as snow and decorated on pastels, opened large and wide around a circular dance floor filled with revolving dancers. Glittering chandeliers drip from the towering ceiling, paper lanterns of blue and white and silver are strung. The whole room glistened and sparkled like the inside of a Faberge egg. At the very back of the room, poised atop a three-step dais sits s couple of thrones.
Dressed like iridescent dragonflies, the musicians sit huddled in one corner. They play their instruments feverishly, bowstrings fluttering like the wings of the insets they represent. The rhythm they keep is a steady one-two-three, one-two-three. Dancers turn like dervishes, bead-and-gemstone-encrusted skirts flaring out.
People stand scattered throughout the ballroom dressed like peacocks and jesters, demons, and queens. There are feather masks and silk masks, glittering gowns with belled sleeves, top hats and long cloaks.
Kai dismisses himself to aid the Queen, leaving Michael to mingle.
The rebel slinks close the sides as he navigates his way through. Tall, shuttered doors are thrown open; the breeze carrying the scent of gardenias, which were arranged in tall silver vases, artfully placed on the tabletops.
A monstrously huge oil painting hangs along one wall, but it is covered with a black cloth. It is somewhat transparent so that he could see the faces, but not entirely make out who they are. Their faces, their identity concealed off by a black veil. He wanders over to the painting, gazing in awe at its intimidating size.
"It's a shame isn't it?" a voice says.
Michael turns to find a young woman wearing a bird's mask. Her golden-bronze arms are coated in black lace sleeves, her thick dark hair piled atop her head beneath bands of silver, secured with large roses and long rapes of black ribbon. She looks like a queen, her full dress a deep bloodred, accented with black.
"After all these years and the sisters are still in mourning." She speaks. She turns to her head to gaze at the painting.
"Mourning," Michael whispers. Then he remembers how Elsa ascended the throne after the death of her parents.
The woman nods. "This is how the family mourns."
Michael turns back to the portrait. There are thick, braided strings on either side of the painting, decorative tassels on end. The strings maneuver the cloth. Rather than cause a disturbance, he looks around to make sure there are no guards on patrol. At least one stands at each corner of the wide, rectangular room on duty. Arms folded, they only exchange a nod and smile toward the guests.
Michael reaches his hand out and brushes his thumb underneath the material. Slowly he lifts the cloth inch by inch. The portrait progressively reveals the hand of the queen – as recognized by dainty fingers with a ruffled cuff and exquisite gemstone rings. He leans closer as the music of the ballroom becomes slow. He only catches a glimpse of blue before trumpet blasts through the room. He jolts and lets the fabric drop.
The trumpeter keeps buzzing on his instrument as the crowd gathers near the thrones, where to guards stand ready. Michael makes his way to the banquet table to avoid the crowd but still catch a glimpse of the Queen and Princess.
He bumps into a hard body and instantly says, "Excuse me."
"Oh don't worry about it." The man replies.
Michael looks to find a quite muscular and strong man with blond hair. He also has light brown eyes and fair skin with a few freckles across his nose. His nose is quite big and his cheeks are rather red.
"I wasn't looking where I was going." He continues. Suddenly a reindeer pops up behind him and Michael's eyes widen in shock. "Sven! Sven, stop it! There will be plenty of carrots for you later!" The man says as he tries to push the reindeer back. "S-sorry about him. He loves the smell of that carrot cake."
Michael nods and gives him half a smile. "If you'll excuse me."
He makes his way to the table and his eyes widen as it is covered with an elaborate feast. A crown roast filet tied with rosemary, and exotic dishes he'd never seen. A while roast pig with an apple stuck in its mouth. A standing rib roast with little papered puffs on the top of each rib, sat next to a mangled-looking goose covered with chestnuts and creams, rolls and breads, collards and beets and spreads Michael can't name. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, beds, vegetables, waterfalls of wine and streams of sprites that flicker with fizz.
A tall candelabrum stands in the corner, and it's right by the secret door that leads into a broom closet. Michael peers over his shoulder and checks to make sure he's not attracting attention. Then with one swoop of his hand, all three candles blow out. He then slips into the room and makes haste to change.
In less than a minute, more than happy to ditch the tight and overly extravagant clothing, he feels rejuvenated to be back in his leather armor.
The neck-to-toe black outfit is all made from a dark fabric – as thick as leather, but without the shine. It is like a suit of armor, only skintight and made from some odd cloth, not metal. He can feel the weight of his weapons where they are concealed – so neatly that even someone patting him down might think they are merely ribbing – and he swings his arms experimentally.
He discovered this room during his tour, and hid his bow and arrows before that vulture of a woman came to dress him. Rotating around the room he finds an air vent towards the top of the room. He climbs an old cabinet covered with a tarp, then leaps to the architraves and flattens his back to the wall as he inches towards the vent.
With a wrench, he unscrews the nail and toggles through in a crouch. The vent leads right to the one of few thick wooden support beams that hopscotch above the guests. Staying crouched down, Michael pulls the mask over his nose and stays tucked in the corner and keeps an eye on the guests now that he has a better view of everyone in the room.
One guest in particular that catches his attention. A man wearing a flame mask and a bright bejeweled red and orange suit. What better way to rebel than to dress as the opposite element of the Queen.
Now he may be giving the enemy too much credit, but it could be possible that he could be the obvious distraction while another opponent attacks the Queen. Michael shakes his head and decides to keep him his eyes moving.
He soon hears Kai announce. "Queen Elsa, of Arendelle."
Michael looks and his eyes widen. A beautiful young woman with a tall, slender figure walks with that of dignity and oblige. She has long platinum, braided blonde hair that reaches her elbows with snowflake incrustations, and wisps of her bangs slicked back on top of her head.
Then there's her blue eyes, and pale skin; which appears to be fair and bright with a light dusting of freckles. She wears a crystal-blue, off-the-shoulder dress made out of ice with a knee-high slit, a crystallized bodice, and translucent, powder blue sleeves. Covering her feet are high heels made entirely from ice and, attached to the back of her bodice is a long, transparent cape of sheer ice which is decorated with large snowflakes and sweeps the floor.
"Wow." Michael hears himself mumble. He instantly folds his lips in. he never expected the queen to be so, young.
He eases his way along the architrave closer to the thrown but makes sure to stay out of sight of the other guests.
The crowd applauses and Kai then introduces Princess Anna. There's a moment of delay before she comes running in holding her skirt.
Michael could tell she's very eccentric, optimistic, but awkward and far from elegant.
Anna is a beautiful young girl with a slender figure and a fair complexion. She has glittering blue eyes, rosy cheeks, thin lips, long brown hair tied into two pigtail braids, bangs on the right side of her forehead, and sharing the same smatter of freckles. She seems notably goofy and highly active, but still just as pretty.
Her dress is a black sweetheart bodice with off-the-shoulder dark green sleeves and rose, teal, blue and purple prints on it, and has greenish-gold lacing, a black satin-laced necklace with a bronze pendant of Arendelle's symbol, an olive drab skirt with sashes, both cream petticoat and bloomers, white stockings, a pair of black ballet shoes. A part of her hair is braided and used as a headband, a green comb-shaped barrette with a couple satin ribbons attached to her hair.
Michael rests an arm on his knee and gazes at the two sisters as they greet the crowd. The crowd awes and claps again as the sisters mingle with patrons that come forth.
The musicians start again and the crowd disperses to make room for the dancers. Michael presses against a thick column under an awning and watches as people yelp and flutter about. Other members stand in groups with glasses filled with wine and talk amongst one another. Dancers churn around them like storm-tossed flowers, their heads held to either side as they whirled with abandonment.
H creeps along until he reaches an adjacent room holding more guest. Embroidered pillows and carpets lined the floor, while thick clouds of sweet smoke haze the air. Lethargic courtiers sit, stooped, and stand around hookah pipes and bowls of smoking incense.
A heavy perfume pervades the space, making Michael dizzy. A young woman decked with white ostrich feathers and diamonds lies stretched on a divan. Her ivory slipper hanging from one toe, a glass of wine in each hand, she laughs hysterically as a tiny man in a green and yellow jester's costume took one false fall after another.
Nothing seems suspicious so Michael returns to the ballroom. Elsa is now dancing and mingling with guests, while Anna is . . . is she dancing with a snowman?
And is that snowman . . . alive?!
The princess giggles and spins with the little snowman and taps her feet to the rhythm of the music. Kai did say Elsa had special powers. But the ability to create life in inanimate things; that's . . . absurd, but astounding.
Michael keeps his eyes on the guests as Elsa returns to the throne. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker of light in the crowd. He turns to find the guest wearing the fire suit heading towards the back of the room.
He slinks further to the side, nearer to the Queen and draws his bow as he watches the person enters the secret room. His heart jars in his chest and thanks the gods for bringing his bow with.
Keeping close to the wall, Michael shields behind a column as he watches the man crawl out of the vent wearing a dark armor. The armor is red and black, with many straps and buckles running down the chest and across the waist. There's a belt of daggers at his waist as well as a bow and sheath of arrows. He wears a black mask that covers all skin of his head, leaving his thick black hair exposed. The eyeholes have screen vision and Michael is weary at the sharp angles near the nose, too bulky to just be the shape of the nose. Built in filters? Starting along the jawline a flame design crawls up his temples and disappears into his hair.
Still no one takes notice as he draws his bow and readies an arrow. Michael slings his own bow off his shoulders and loads it with a blunt arrow. With no point, these arrows are used to kill birds and small game without mangling. Cheap and simply made, the blunt arrow breaks on impact and is designed to interact with the environment at a distance, such as hitting a switch, without wasting more expensive options. They are excellent for simple distractions, thanks to their low cost.
As the assassin takes aim and pulls back the string, Michael pulls and shoots for the upper limb of the assassin's bow. Just as he releases the string it hits and knocks the arrow off course. The assassin grunts in shock.
The arrow shoots through the air and whizzes past Elsa's ear sticking to the cushion of the throne chair. All attention is drawn to the assassin and he slings his bow over his back and leaps off the architrave diving for the crowd.
People scream and scatter as the assassin hops across two of heads of the guests before landing in the middle of a circle of guards.
The first guard he spins kicks and knocks him out instantly. As another guard tries to even pull his sword, the assassin grabs him by the forearm and throws him over and to the ground. Kai eases the sisters further back into the corner of the room. Another guard grabs the assassin from behind and as two more run towards him, he kicks his legs to the side, nailing both in the chest before wrenching himself free and spin kicking the guard holding him. When all are down, he draws two serrated daggers sprints towards the direction of the sisters.
Michael rounds to the other side of the room to being behind Kai and the Queen.
The assassin leaps in the air and raises his weapons.
"Elsa!" Anna screams.
Before he lands, another blunt arrow drives into his cheek. The assassin is sent flying back, but rolls with the momentum and comes up on one knee. The guests gasp and look in Michael's direction. He stands with sword in hand and snarls through his mask.
The guests scream frantic again as Michael leaps off raising his sword. The assassin switches back to his bow and quickly shoots an arrow. Michael knocks it aside easily and their weapons clang.
Michael instantly kicks the assassin in the stomach and with their weapons still crossed, he pushes up and quickly grabs the man about the chest and hurls him to the floor. The assassin skips on his back before coming up on one knee, sliding across the polished floor.
"Well that was unexpected." He says. "I was told I'm handling this case alone."
"I'm not here to kill anyone." Michael replies, the mask warping his voice into an unearthly growl.
Michael spins his sword in dizzying circles before aiming it at the assassin. The assassin in return loads an arrow in his bow.
"Bet you'll run out of arrows before I run out of sword." Michael says.
"You think you're a match for me?" The assassin mocks. "I can easily plant one right between your eyes."
"I'd like to see you try."
The assassin releases the arrow and begins speed-shooting. Michael blocks and slices every arrow aimed at him, spinning his blade in a stylized way as a form of mockery. More guards pour into the ballroom and surround the assassin and Michael.
"Hmm, this seems to have gotten a little too interesting." The assassin says.
Michael notices as he reaches behind him, a subtle gesture to the untrained eye. Michael can see a small ball between his thumb and forefinger. He lunges forward as a guard goes to shoot a crossbow arrow at the assassin.
The assassin blocks the arrow and slams the ball to the ground causing a small explosion and eruption of smoke. The very second the smoke billows Michael leaps, expecting to tackle a body but comes out with nothing. He rolls and comes up on one knee looking around the room.
He manages to find one of the few doors of the ballroom open. Michael ignores the calls of the guards and dashes forward. One guard steps in front of him and readies his sword. Michael spins his sword between his hands before knocking the guard's weapons aside and rams the heel of his palm into the man's jaw. Sidesteps the calling guard and out onto the balcony.
His instincts propels him to the right and around a corner before he skids to a stop at a small patio setting. Another set of doors with glass mosaics are closed, and vines of lavenders coil up and around the pergola.
Michael grips his sword as he listens to the silence. There's a rustle of the leaves and he shoots a dagger at a small pot atop the rafter of the pergola. Someone yelps and the assassin falls from the gathering of floral. Michael sticks two more daggers into the sleeves and the boots of the assassin's uniform, and pulls out a third spinning it between his fingers.
"You know, for someone who's supposed to be an assassin, you're not very good at your job." Michael mocks.
The assassin struggles to pry his arms and legs loose as Michael approaches, standing to the side and placing his dagger to throat of the assassin.
"Who sent you?" Michael demands.
"I've been sworn to secrecy." He replies. "And you can't kill me without risk of losing the only source of information."
"Your value is for me to decide. I was hired to stop you and I did. I could kill you and leave with full payment, then still be hired again to stop another." Michael coldly chuckles. "You are worthless to me."
The assassin is about to reply, when the doors open and the guards from the dining hall of the castle pour out and around Michael again.
This time he stands and sheaths his dagger; stepping aside to let the guards free the assassin for arrest.
One guard approaches Michael. "Sir, with me please."
Michael nods and keeps his mask over his face as he follows the guard back inside, only to find at least seven more waiting inside with swords drawn.