#he goes CHOMP!!!! hope you enjoy the meal king

[upperranktwo]

☆Happy Birthday Rengoku Kyojuro☆

10th May

[oh-theatre]

You Can't Force A Fairytale (Chapter 4)

Chapter title: Pain Cuts Deep

A/n:  HI HELLO!! This sucks lol! no seriously im so sorry that this is so bad!! although some stuff was revealed!! also also..whats up with patton? and remus? And all of them! Aaa !! Anyway i hope you enjoy even though its trash and make sure to leave me comments!

Also yes Im keeping Dolion because then I can have... janus ;)

also if this is confusing i understand, so please tell me and ill try and clear it out!

words: 3516

summary: The group is scattered and needs to make a plan soon.

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, eventual demus, eventual remile (These might change but for now im love them)

warnings: bow and arrow, violence, injuries, magic, swearing, bruises, scars, blood, fighting, stabbing, pain

Ao3 Link  

“Are you alright Patton?” Logan whispers, guiding the horses into a hidden cove of the forest, followed by the rest of the group. The prince swallows, the images couldn't stop running through his mind, staining the memories permanently in his mind. He doesn't understand why it set a quick blaze and a blush to rise in his face. Logan takes his hand, stopping them, his glazed eyes stare curiously.

“Im alright” Patton promises, hopefully the shadows hide away his blush. Logan looks doubtful but nods anyways, the others in tow. Prince Roman helps an unsteady Virgil practically tumble off the horse, a quick shove to a giggling Roman. Prince Remus follows suit with Dolion, though he is much more graceful and regal stepping off the horse. “Follow Logan into the cove, through the hanging leaves.” Patton guides, they follow suit.

“Good luck” Logan gives Patton's hand a gentle squeeze. The prince nods, giving Nork a sweet pat before Logan leads them away. Once the clearing is empty, he takes to the amulet around his neck, his hand enveloping the magical touch.

“As we search for cover in this mossy forest cove, let no one uncover or discover what's hidden in the mangrove” He chants, a sweet spur of magic dances around him, green flecks as they follow his spell. They take a moment to give Patton an entrance, once hes safely inside the dank dwelling they shut the group away from the outside world, protected from magic and tyrants above. He whispers a quick spell watching his hands engulf in safe flames, the light allows him to regroup with the others.

“Is it done?” Logan cautions, Patton nods feeling exhaustion hit him.

The sight was something. The wet stone was not faint of aroma, the moss that encircled the area was refreshing. The horses seemed to enjoy the small yet spacious patches of grass that led out the other side into a hidden pool of water. Remus, regal as always, lied flat on his back snoring away already. The gray stone may present itself as hard yet the prince seemed so cozy. Patton almost wanted to join him.

Logan sat ever so sweet under a shaded area, in the intersection of the cove leading out into the pond. He read his book, a routine while he ran his hands through a sleepy Nork’s mane. The horse sat next to him, almost as if he had forgotten what animal he was and was content to act as a smaller one. Thank god the space let him.

Dolion and Virgil seemed inseparable, they both sat with their feet splashing away in the water, their muddy boots by their side. The pair spoke in hushed whispers, hesitation to trust the characters around them, finding solace in the similarity of their situations. Patton did find his heart tug at him as he watched however, their soft delight at each magical essence this strange world presented was something that never got old and something you just couldn't deny.

Finally Roman, Patton had to admit, the sight was hard to watch. The prince stood against the rock in the corner with a bland look to his face. He watched the prince skip stones across the pond, bored, his crown that typically rested perfectly upon his head now flopped a bit with no sight in mind to fix it. Romans steed, Dracaena, neighed in concern but had no qualms about returning to her important task of chomping away at the grass around her.

“I wonder if she would be more comfortable in her other form?” Patton inquires, catching Romans ear instantly.

“I think the same, I sense she's eager to be on alert in case of danger though” He expresses. Patton nods understanding, though he did miss the vicious, mischievous creature, he understands. “I don't believe we will be staying for long, correct?” Romans body shakes with impatience. His clear want to ride through the open fields with a hunger for victory was clear. Patton could feel the fiery passion that boiled his blood, not that he needed his powers for that. The amulet strung on Romans neck was alight with the amber blaze.

“I'm not sure Ro” He glanced towards the foreigners, their anxieties at bay for now. “There is alot to process and we mustn't put innocents in danger over our own goals” Patton explains, Roman knows he speaks only truths but still his anger was unkempt. “For now though, we are safe and this gives us ample time to come up with a plan...a much needed one” He reminds stringing his arm through Romans. This releases a chuckle from the prince. “Come, for it was not I who led the battle of Sarcane to victory, but you our brave warrior at the front line”

“Well I had assistance” He smiles at the newly appeared dragon that rested upon his shoulder, a quick breath of fire in excitement.

“But of course, much credit to Dracaena” Patton gives the creature a sweet pet, adoring the soft murmur of affection. “Now come before Logan and Remus tear eachother apart”

~~~

“My opinion?” Virgil gasps with a vile sarcasm. “I think you're all insane and i'd like to wake up from this nightmare!” He shouts, ending with a bite and smirk. Should Roman find that defense so pulsing for his heart?

“I do indeed second that” Dolion whispers with a yawn, the cross-legged boy sits sleepily next to Remus. He holds in another sign of his tiredness before settling very lightly onto the prince's shoulder. He hadnt meant to but he simply couldn't keep his focus much longer, and the prince was there. Remus froze of course, terrified to move, he didn't want to wake the boy. And he surely didn't want to call attention to his reddened face.

“Maybe it would be wise for us to rest for the evening,” Patton suggests. Logan huffs shutting his book, the maps and scribbles collected quickly by him. He shakes his head, muttering to himself walking to a secluded corner. “Lo” Patton sighs, he eyes the others asking them to set up the proper conventions for the night before following his quiet friend.

“We dont have time to rest!” He utters, throwing his items away from him, Patton quickly waves his fingers making sure they dont sink into the water. “Thank you” Logan stubbornly acknowledges, watching the prince delticaltyl stack his things next to him. “We must prepare Patton”

“Lo we dont even know what we’re up against” Patton sits beside him, the stars shine through the only opening, reflecting delicately upon the water. “Everything escalated much too quickly” He takes his friends hand, it always eased them both.

“You and I both know that he will be coming soon” Logan reminds, the image of the army marching towards them, led by the figure of whom Logan speaks flashes familiar in Patton's mind.

“Yes but we mustn't allow it to consume our minds as of now” Patton assures “You need rest as much as everyone else, for now we are safe” They hear wild giggles from behind them, turning to see the four enjoying their time. Remus dances kookily around the cover, Roman finishing his meal with delight as he watches Dolion and Virgil quite entertained. “Even in darkness, a light can shine through to guide you” Patton whispers, Logan nods from behind him, he takes the words to heart. “Ill take first night!” Patton announces, receiving no arguments from the group. He goes to stand but feels a tug at his hand.

“Promise me i'll see you in the morning” Logan begs, the soft features catching his eyes. “Come back to me?” He worries, the forest though magical and enchanted was not short of danger. A gentle Patton places his gloved hands on Logan's cheek.

“Always and forever” He swears, Logan nods, the exhaustion now dawning him. “Get some rest Logan, your mind has been at work for much too long”

“Agreed” He yawns, he rolls out his makeshift cloth, a comfy pillow and takes what little warmth he has. Quickly Patton watches him follow into his dreams. The shivering did hurt him just a tad, so when he knew no eyes were watching him, a quick spell he cast.

“On this cold and fateful night, give him warmth, give him light” Patton watches the amber flecks dance before shrouding Logan. He smiles to himself before taking his bow and horse and makes his way to the front.

~~~

“Patton!” He would be lying if he said he hadn't jumped, for the voice, though cheery came at the blackest of moments.  Emile and his graciousness fluttered to where the Prince lay sleepily on his horse, trying his hardest to keep awake. Though what protection could he grant with his bow on the floor and his arrows scattered. He was delighted to see the godfather however.

“Emile, your sorcery” He greets, allowing the fairy to fix him up, feeling the boost of energy boil through him. “How did it go?” Patton questions, adjusting his position.

“I was able to clear my own name of crime and reinstate my position but the royal guard is on the hunt just as suspected” He explains. “They're sending out the cavalry”

“Goodness not Remy!” Patton whispers furiously. Emile nods solemnly. “The King is truly going all out...but why?” Patton wonders “What does he know about these foreigners that we mustn't, and what does my needing to get a suitor hold over the kingdom?” His thoughts pour out of him. Emile shrugs as he fiddles with the flowers around him, watching the echinopsis dance around him. He heals the ones that had not been tended with pleasure before summoning a treat for Nork. “We can't stay here then, when morning befalls us we must travel once more” He sighs

“I will do my best to keep you updated, I must go now my dear prince, but I shall visit soon again” Emile promises, an understanding nod from Patton and the godfather disappears in a dazzling shower of light.

Luckily the night went on without any incidents, Patton scoured the area, took Nork for a calming venture before returning to the hideout as the sun came to fruition. He remained outside, reading through one of his many books he had tucked away, Nork allowed him to sit easy while he grazed the small land.

“Good morning” He heard from behind him. Logan emerged from the dangling leaves, a yawn escaping him. “What, might I inquire, are you perusing?” Logan questions, Patton shows him the novel. “Ah very well, I do adore flowers”

“As do I” Patton agrees, he shuts the book marking his page, stuffing it carefully into his sack. Logan observes the area, his eyes admiring every small inkling and detail that surrounded him. Patton extends his hand, a sweet smile. “Care for a morning ride?” He asks, Logans excitement may have begun with his curiosity for the world but it only grew with Patton's proposal. He takes his hand as he had done many times before and allows Patton to hoist him behind him. The simple buzz Patton experiences as he felt Logans respectful hands wrap their way around his waist and his head rest easy on Patton was something he would simply never ever fail to love.

Scratch that… as Logan laughs timidly while they rush through the saplings of the forest, the love that filled his eyes and the mental notes he saw the prince take, the giggle that escaped as water splashed his face

That was something he would never fail to love

Logan..

Logan was something he would never fail to love

~~~

“I swear to god princey if you don't shut up i'm going to tape your mouth shut” Virgil moans, his head falling into his hands. Roman feels taken aback, the shock of such disrespect and yet the almost...excitement from the nickname was something else.

“For such disrespect the kingdom could have your tongue” He retorts, his face hot with anger but almost wanting to engage.

“And yet here you stand with your tongue” Virgil teases, he hears a faint smoky laugh from Dracaena, she slithers away from a silent Roman nestling into his lap. At first hes frightened, but the soft purring spreads a warmth over him. Roman...well despite feeling mocked...enjoyed the gentle view. He takes a place next to Virgil, watching the young teen flip curiously through some of Logan's journals while keeping a steady pet on the dragon.

“What do you think you're doing!” Speaking of the prince, Logan rushes into the room, fuming with shy anger. “Those are my journals! My property!” A scrambled Patton follows him, a look of anticipation for though rare, Logans outbursts were...unpleasant. He quickly snatches them away from Virgil, a glare towards the black haired boy. “Only I and a select few…” He glances towards Patton, did his defenses fall? “Have access! So stop touching others things!” He demands

“And so with Logans anger boiling, and Virgils own fury at storm the two are at odds, will they be able to ban together for a new threat approaching fast?” Remus spouts, Roman takes his side instantly knowing the pain that would come. “I hate it, I hate it” Remus sputters, the sweat fast approaching. Dolion, who while he enjoyed the princes antics found nothing charming as of yet, was intrigued by the sad honesty of the pain. “With that! The group should begin on their way” He barely manages, tears forming as Roman aides him.

“What does-” But Virgil is quickly cut off by the distant sounds of shouts, determination as each beautiful thing in the forest is stomped by power and raging fury. “Oh”

“Nork!” Patton calls, Logan stuffs his books away before allowing Patton to assist him on the horse. “Come now, we haven't much time” He signals to the others. Roman whispers a quick check to his brother, Remus nods. Though pained, he's ready to flee on his own steed. Unsure, Roman calls to Dracaena. She flies away from Virgil before a mist of shrouded light appears and a midnight horse takes her place.

“Coming?” Roman questions, extending his hand to Virgil. The teen rolls his eyes but joins the prince. “Hold on” He warns, and though his own blush denies him, Virgil grips tight to Roman. He watches as Dolion helps Remus to his own horse.

“Estrella” He whispers sweetly, the horse neighs with affection. This fragile moment tugged at Dolion, he missed his own home. New Orleans seemed like such a distant place, Luna, his cat could still be heard purring. “Up up and away” He jokes, Dolion takes the reins, thanking his mother for the horse riding lessons. He doesn't even mind when Remus collapses on his back, the warmth of the prince was...nice.

“On my signal” Patton heeds, and so one by one they gallop through the woods. The horses follow one another, protecting each other from danger and shielding themselves from the public eye. They reach an opening after what seemed like hours, the rope burning on Dolions hands was almost too much to bear. Remus had healed so they switch positions. It seems the sun was setting which set off a yawn in Virgil. He grew more comfortable on Roman, practically hugging him. Not that the prince minded, he enjoyed their journey. And his mind couldn't stop thinking about ...one particular-

“-Moment!” Virgil huffs “Just give me one moment” He slides off Dracaena, clutching his stomach. The group decides to take a rest near the waterfall, Logan leans against a tree and begins reading. Roman makes sure Dracaena is secured before following Virgil to where he sits by the lake.

“Are you alright?” He questions, sitting next to him.

“I feel...sick” He groans, Roman finds his little puffed features adorable. “It just keeps...making noise” He points to his stomach. Roman fiddles with the glass before pulling something from his satchel.

“You haven't eaten have you?” He shakes a small container holding delectable treats. Virgil scrunches his face in realization. “Here” he opens it, pulling out what seems to be a biscuit. Through his own habit he goes to feed Virgil. Virgil takes the first one, before both take a second to come to reality. “Apologies” He rubs the nape of his neck, Virgil laughs watching crumbs fly out. “Habit I guess”

“Fwo wat?” Virgil swallows his food, taking a handkerchief and wiping away the crumbs that had escaped

“Well when I had to meet suitors I had to charm them.” He explains, I suppose the mindless princesses my father found for me enjoyed being treated like a baby” Virgil snorts, Roman would love to hear that sound more.  “ Oh but thats just a few of them! Ive met so many amazing ladies of royalty, each so smart and strong” he muses

“And yet here you are...alone” Virgil notes, he wasn't going to lie. Roman was the spitting image of every disney prince. He should have been scooped up by now.

“Heh...I suppose the shoe...just hasn't fit yet” He gulps, the truth of his uncertainty was something he had only ever confessed to Patton. He wasn't even sure! And yet even with his doubts...No Roman. Once all of this has calmed, you will return home, a perfect princess will be ready for you and you may rule.

Better that,  than living the torute he watched his brother endure. He takes a peek back at Remus, he sits giggling away with Dolion, the look he gives the foreigner was one he had only seen once before. He did miss Janus, he was a wonderful fencing coach, and always challenged the twins. But no one missed him more than Remus.

Ugh! Roman enough! This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous. You don't know anything, you've never tried anything.

Ok so maybe he didn't enjoy the entire scene, but...he takes a quick peek at the curious raven haired boy, he enjoyed Virgil.

No Roman...

For the crown

For the kingdom.

He looks to Patton. Follow his example, he tells himself. The prince didn't just have a kingdom on his shoulders, he had the entire land of which they rode across. He had endured more suffering than anyone.

But he laughed away the idea of a suitor, he walked away from it

Roman purses his lips...he did, didn't he?

So why can't you

~~~

“Are you alright?” Logan whispers from his position. Patton coughs coming back from whatever daydream he was engaged in. He tightens his hold on the reins, nodding away his suspicion.

“Yes of course, are you?” He wonders. Logan doubts his answer but shrugs it away.

“I am, I am more than ready to find a resting spot. I simply must show you these new spells, and oh the mus…” He rambles on, Patton listens, he does but suddenly the world goes silent. He looks to Nork but finds scared darkness. He panics trying to find anything familiar until he hears a voice...his own.

Hes watching himself, he watches the scene that had been haunting his mind for days unfold once more.

“No stop” He tries to call out, but the fearful hoarse cry was nothing. His eyes follow as Future Patton races through the castle, fighting his way. He knows what's coming, he doesn't want to see it. Not again, not anymore… “Stop!” he cries, nothing changes, his future self continues on his path. Tears swell in his eyes as he tries to avoid seeing the tender moment but he can't peel away. He gasps in pain relief, preparing to return to his body.

“What a sad sight” He peeks through his tightly closed eyes. What's this? He doesn't remember this. The King had not spoken before. But now he spoke and moved. “He was brave, tougher than I thought” The King expresses, Patton watches himself keep a protective hold on the frozen Logan. “But he just wasn't strong enough”

Logan's figure collapses, Patton wastes no time kneeling beside him. Patton watches himself and Logan share a hush conversation, but his eyes quickly glance towards the towering figure. The King moves silently as he takes his sword. Fear quickly engulfed Patton. The prince wanted to cry out, scream, do anything, but all he could do was watch.

And listen to the ear piercing scream as the sword slashed its way into Logan. It became too much, The Kings dastardly laugh, Pattons desperate sobs, and the fades of Logans demise. Too much ...too much. Patton clutched his head before the world went black and he felt himself hit a grassy meadow. His eyes fluttered only to catch Logan jump off of Nork and rush to his side. He heard mumblings and worries but soon he lost all senses and fell into a deep sleep.

But not a pleasant one.

Not with the images flashing their way through his head.

He had to change it, he had to.

[urbanfriendden]

Minoes makes the most of it

The first denial the young prince had ever received was, “Don’t open the door to the dungeons”. So unsurprisingly, the first thing the prince did when opportunity presented itself, the universe’s way of saying ‘teehee’, was to insert and turn a key. But to do so, the pampered royal rascal had to elude his caretaker’s ever-watchful gaze, a retired military scout once known as The Cat in part due to her sharp senses, and even now she retains that title, but only because she enjoys taking catnaps in her rocking chair.

Children will cause trouble without ever understanding why, the prince was told no, after all, and that is enough for most to seek out the forbidden. Curiosity, however, this drive shaped like a key, is superstition’s pendant, a force which pries open mountains and poisons goblets just to see what happens, and what happened was that the young prince opened the door and was never seen ever again.

We can say he shouldn’t have done this, but this is a hindsight, a wisdom that catches up too late, a friend tapping on your shoulder to warn you about the paint bucket on a wobbly ladder one unfortunate dye-job too late. Simply put, to forward ourselves, we must accept that he is no longer needed, but his actions stand at the precipice of events we could never prevent, motion creates motion, and loathe as we are to admit but quick to realise, nothing is without consequence.

For it was the caretaker who took the blame for this child’s derelict behaviour and for the nastiness which ensued, but we won’t blame her, not an inch or iota or other quantification one might use for culpability, as it is fear together with the mechanism of the unknown which becomes a justice that demands a scapegoat, never a justice to begin with. She was locked in the darkest dungeons for this, for the crime of being herself a circumstance and a subject.

But what is a subject without a name, no one should ever be just a referential! The name she is with is Minoes, and her cell is quite alright. She was branded a witch, a demoness, an arcanist, conspirator with the dark, she is rather fond of that title, agent of the Brim Dividing; these nominations have their benefits, because no one with a soupçon of superstitious sense will ever think to disturb her. Or execute her, for that matter. Death, who welcomes all strangers, but who is always personal, we are never true strangers to them, should never be made to host a true stranger in their halls. Minoes is exempted from even this.

There is another boon to this ordeal: this dungeon is the biggest home she’s ever owned, wooden walls became stone, metal partitions to give her rooms, plural. Middle-left will be my gallery, she thinks, Bottom-right has the most hay so that is where I will sleep, upper-right can be my own little dining hall. There is nothing we could consider furniture but this is where the theory of forms picks up. The far exit of the dungeon remains locked, separated from the castle proper with a thick wooden door, wrapped in chains and padlocks plus a sliding grate for the convenience of eye-contact, to deign dignity and courtesy for a context where there is none. Nevertheless, Minoes makes the most of things.

Before you ask, no, she does not have a surname, an inheritance common to her bloodline, which makes birth a spectacular event: parents, uncles, aunts, nephews, and cousins, even friends are invited to deeply consider together what special name to give to the new-born. Beer is brewed and herbs are smoked, it must be exemplary and magnificent, suggests tipsy cousin Wilhelmina, recognisable and grand, yells the undulate uncle Armand. Then father Swit interjects, it must fit her and only her, there is no blood to make her special, only one word, let her decide it when she is old enough. Minoes picked this name five years ago.

Most days, Minoes simply eats bread upper-right. On the scratched metal tray they slide through the viewport is fresh bread and a relatively generous jar of pickles, but you see, she cannot open the jar, she has no strength in her hands, sometimes she curses these vestigial things, but what she lacks in physical strength can be found in her resolve, patience, and respiration. She makes due with just the bread, she calls her meals a latecomer’s banquet. The jailor knows about her condition, yet spares her no cruelty, morality is an objection saved for humans, so he chooses to see a monster.

A monster that came from the dungeons, of course. It hid the entrance to the Brim Dividing, a dark dimension where demons roam, if the old and corny legends are to be believed, and they are by many, perhaps that is why a simple door could for the longest time stave off this invisible threat, one needs only peer inside to let our worst nightmares out, yet it is the door that keeps us up at night.

But as it stands, no terrible demon army or rain of fire has come pouring through the portal, desecrating our symbols, burning our farms and fortunes, committing the massacres which are clearly a fantasy, in both senses of the term, that which is unreal and that which is a desire, but no king will address that everything might actually be alright. In the dungeon, there was a woman, no more, far from less.

This woman, it must be stated, is neither demon nor apparition nor delusion of a lonely woman, she is simply there, a being-there, Minoes calls her Daar, an old word meaning ‘there’, because that’s where she is. Daar is happy to provide, she is younger and healthier and can glide between worlds with relative ease, she even goes so far as to remove her feet with a comical plop, because that’s customary for guests, right?

Minoes, used to and even familiar with the bizarre, or perhaps there truly is no place for suspicion when under suspicion yourself, there are no pretenses for solidarity, appreciates Daar’s company, the only thing she provides. No greetings or thank-yous, no whispers or rumours, no conspiracies or conversations about the difference between their radical worlds and the funny fact that all life everywhere contains more questions than answers but this is distinctly not a bad thing. Hardly ever a word about Daar’s transparency or the occasional cough of Minoes, not everything lends itself to exposition, not every meeting requires words, the coward’s language.

They dance through the rooms, familiarised with the subtleties native to bodies, Daar offers Minoes the things she asks for. A rug please, she begins, My knees are quite sore, Then I would like an oil lamp and some blankets, perhaps a jar opener. Bring me a mattress and many chickens for filling, she chuckles a joke, Then a bookstand, two quills, one swan and one goose feather, their thicknesses differ and that difference is valuable, some parchment and ink if it’s not too much of a bother, you are such a dear.

The chickens announce another daybreak, this is the only time Minoes knows, wasting away takes so long, but when the sun is your clock, it swings by faster than before, no pesky minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, clothes, letters, crows, deaths, geriatrics to subdivide time into frustratingly-present minutiae, pieces of the past that keep stacking with each new experience.

Minoes receives a platter of things she can only eat one half of, even equipped with a jar opener her grip fails her. Daar, unprompted, opens the jar of pickles for her, with no twist or turn of the wrist, no second attempt after great exertion, the lid simply comes off, vertically. She mentions how olives are stored much more practically and are much more delicious, too. Minoes agrees, but doubts any funds would be spent on providing such lucrative fruit to a witch. She then discovers she does not enjoy the taste of pickles. Finally, she chomps down on the loaf of bread only to hurts her teeth on something hard, a cruel prank by the guard, she concludes, and tosses it away. No food today, it seems.

However lovely this arrangement seems, its paranaturality cannot go unnoticed by way of its own nature, it escapes the conventions we’ve been taught to recognise and normalise and has fled into, created a new modality of comfort, a love that’s better than regularity, loud in its weird and new silence, therefore horrific. It doesn’t help she was already branded an evil woman.

The first pair of eyes to take note is the torturous guard who is normally stationed fifteen superstitious steps away from the door, only closing in when the overworked chef hands him the food tray. Today of all days he has reason to exert a supernormal amount of cruelty; we might empathise with that and attempt to scrutinise what’s got him feeling prickly, for we share that base humanity with him, but how about instead let’s not.

He yells a dehumanising word, hoping to draw attention, for what is power without a subject which acknowledges and which despairs, but he receives none, and it his attention that fixates on Minoes and her silly expression instead. Sour pickles will crumple the most statuesque of faces, and he only knows her through death-wishing glares.

It takes him a second to realise this, that she is eating pickles, and demands to know how that is possible, not out of curiosity or wonder, and an old woman who overpowers vacuum packing is deserving of praise, but moreso out of panic at losing control over the one cruelty to prove himself with. He spots a feetless ghost and scampers off to call for help, but not before tripping, the echoes of his armour fill the dungeon. The ladies laugh; the prisoner’s victory comes small and easy.

What are you making, May I know more about you, two questions like kisses on the left ear of Minoes, inflections audibly added to the end like Daar was taught is the custom when asking questions.

Curiosity, as we know, is not only a tool for scrutiny but is often a question behind a question, wanting to keep words dear, wanting to fill in the blanks together. To figure out the legends to navigate your maps with, what words are your roads, what nouns line out the mountains and the malpaises, what verbs show where the winds are fiercest, a remark in your throat that tells if this river can be forded or must be caulked, dotted silver phonemes for cities, towns, borders, places we named together, red squares for the landmarks around which memories are built, monuments to what two people share. The brass plaque reads and a pair of lips speaks, I will keep your secrets safe.

Minoes replies, quilling down a last word before tickling Daar’s nose with the feather, their mattress feels warm, A memoir. Daar repeats this as a question, Minoes lets her know it’s a simple piece of evidence that she has been here, a being-here, in the cell, in this life, in anyone’s life.

Why do you need to write it down when I know you have been important, this emotional declaration coming from a quasi-physical being, it must be noted, unfalsifiable words we pitch against a background of metaphysics, love as we might call it, means more than words, hers or these, can convey. Minoes chuckles and snuggles closer to the woman, her body incorporeal but the intimacy is there.

Do you have to die here, there is a height in the breath of Daar’s question that feels cold, No, dear, but I am an elder and a prisoner, and what they have in common is that both have to wait for freedom to come, Do you have to be, No, dear.

In the ensuing embraced silence, where language piles up in minds and gets stuck in throats, everyone resorts to their most personal selves, personal in the individual and independent sense, tiny habits become havens, each idiosyncrasy a pub, a bar, a quiet pier, a leaf-green bench beneath a lantern overlooking a cold and smelly promenade crowded with sailors making the most of it. Daar does something inscrutable, Minoes gnashes her teeth, remembering the exact hardness of the loaf she tried to eat. She lets her eyes wander as if a tourist inside her own awkwardness and spots a key sticking out of the bread.

You see, there was a second pair of eyes to take note of the extraordinary fate Minoes had been subject of: the overworked chef in charge of the meals of prisoners as well as the custodians, the servants, the knights, the advisors and ambassadors, the halberdiers stationed in the courtyard though not Clarice because she is allergic to nut oils and buys her lunch in town instead, and, of course, the undeserving royalty. Every very early morning, Antoin waits for the steward who unlocks the kitchen and the pantry to return to his tiresome job of saying yes sire and promptly heads out to the markets carrying a satchel of saffron, which he trades for a jar of pickles.

The guard had never known the pickles aren’t a part of the prescribed meal, but conversely, because everyone has their own tasks, Antoin means well but seeing as the entire day he must cure meats and bake breads and baste pheasants and broil soup and remember each royal member’s favourite combinations of herbs, he spits on the king’s pork, he could not have been aware of his refusal to perform the base courtesy of twisting the lid for Minoes, the sliding grate evidently only there for show.

He figured the delirious guard running up the stairs, falling back down the stairs, and running past him meant that his plan to free Minoes had worked. A monster without a cage to him, but to Antoin, she was a woman he had served with half a lifetime ago, who told him five years ago, Let’s change our name together, But we’re so old, he had lied, Age is no objection, Antoin. He had snuck in the key, a shape that spells curiosity as well as freedom, and there is only one possible outcome, really, the one where Minoes is an ex-prisoner.

What Antoin hadn’t accounted for was that she would be having company. Oh dear, I didn’t want to believe the story of your incarceration, but this ghastly girl here is damning evidence you are in some faint way conspiratorial with demons, he shrugs, Anyway, did you like the pickles?

Oh no, not at all, an honest lament, but a chef knows they cannot please every palette, their art the art of necessary destruction, after all. Minoes continues, So you were the kind soul who expanded my meals, is it too late I trouble you for olives from now on?

Yes, actually, all-considering. The two friends pause and laugh, Daar joins in, drawn in by shared amusement and the weird elation of freedom. Antoin conjects it is likely our friend the guard is screaming for reinforcements and Minoes laughs again, a beautiful sound, So having a girlfriend was the last drop, was it? Daar’s face flushes at the statement. Antoin, knowing there is no time left to ask who Daar even is or where she came from — does it matter? — or what the deal is with all those chickens, instead makes a suggestion which sets into motion events we could never prevent: escape.

Where there is a captive, escape is always at the horizon, where there is love, there is an unfathomable weirdness that is good and that tickles, where there is a prince, there is an incredible lout of a person, where there is motion, things will never be contained. Daar asks Minoes, they are in the back of a wagon, and outside in farthest possible distance there is a city with a castle, Let me hold your face, her rough hands on her dark cheeks, she feels warm and hers, what a strange meeting, so of course they kiss, of course they do.

In the cell, the fuddled guard scratches his head as his retinue attempts to catch the mysterious chickens. He finds a piece of parchment.

It reads “I will make the most of it.“