Her Majesty The Prince

Act II - The Crown

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The princess walked among the crowd, figure in a regal gown. Her steps were sure, her hands held fast, fingers on the royal crown.

But she was not alone that day, though it quickly turned to night—within the shadows growing long hovered telltale points of light. A mountain covered by a cloak, upon which had perched a beast. A mass of leather, steel and teeth, like a wolf prepared to feast. Unkempt hair that masked the glowing, piercing stare of eyes that seared. Beard that hadn't seen the blade and sword that those who'd seen it feared.

With whispers hushed, the twelve drew near, from all corners of the land. They raised their arms, she raised hers too; crown held high, its time at hand.

"I rule this place only in name, asking with humility: grant my claim your benediction, add my name to history."

The princess winced, but said the words, every syllable a chore. She could not stand what they revered; could not bear what they stood for. The twelve approached and formed a ring, representing land and folk; with rites and divine ritual, ancient were the words they spoke.

"From gods above and gods below, with our every living breath. Mana drawn from land and people—coronation until death!"

"If people seek a ruler just, may the task then fall to me. Should their trust in me be broken, wipe my name from history."

"From gods above and gods below, with our every living breath. Mana drawn from land and people—coronation until death!"

"The song of land and dance of sea, oceans vast and caverns deep—with crown in hand they fall to me, to protect and then to keep."

"From gods above and gods below, with our every living breath. Mana drawn from land and people—coronation until death!"

The ritual advanced apace, coronation drawing near; but the princess had no patience, any more than she had fear.

"The halving of the Witches' Tree, and the moon calamity; the work of tyrants crowned before, ripe with lies and enmity. The taming of the Giant Folk and the people of the Flame... the wise among the populace claim that this crown is to blame!"

The twelve looked among their brethren, unsure what to do and say. Would the ruler they had chosen undermine this sacred day?

"But I shall walk the righteous path. May my dreams one day come true. Without the strength to cut these bonds, the only way out is through."

The twelve stood down and stepped away, glad that this was not the case. The monarch's will was theirs to bend; Crown and City knew their place.

"From gods above and gods below, with our every living breath. Mana drawn from land and people—coronation until death!"

But then the crowd stood very still. No one dared to move a hair. For time itself had held its breath; flame and smoke had filled the air. A figure taller than them all rose up from the fiery ground—a hornèd maiden, mother, crone; hair alight and eyes tight-bound. She stepped among them with a smile, knowing none could match her pace. She left her body standing still, met the princess soul-to-face.

"I see the noble heart inside, in a battle it can't win. I see how powerless you are, as the Twelve around you grin. They only think of their own gain, but tonight they shall serve me! The Witch-Fiend walks among you now—glorious and crowned-to-be."

The figure slid across the ground, resolutely to her goal. She touched the princess on the heart—from her body, took her soul.

"I'll take good care of this, my dear—slip my own into its place. For when the ritual is done, you'll be gone without a trace. Yes, you prepared the winning piece, one who'll make my dreams come true: the wolf that made the White Woods feared... whom the people call Le Loup."

The bodyguard stood deathly still, frozen by the Witch-Fiend's curse. As soon as time would flow again, he alone would make things worse. His blade would find its target true, ending Witch-Fiend once for all. But unbeknownst to the proud knight, she'd not be the one to fall.

Though not one second had yet passed, the Crown's plans had been undone. The march of time itself resumed, to the bell the Witch-Queen rung.

"I changed the ritual. The rhythm is askew! The power draws to me; it will not come to you."

The princess fell to ground; her body's life wore thin. The crowd came back to life; the horror sinking in. The Witch-Fiend's plan was thus: reach out and count to three; send out her soul, and then... wake up, as crowned-to-be.

She grinned and stretched a hand, time bending to her will. But unbeknownst to her, the wolf was faster still.

"The world shall drink to me, and you'll not get one dram! And now I—this can't be!?"

"ARE YOU LOST, LITTLE LAMB?"

The entire crowd erupted in raucous cheering as Le Loup's blade flashed across the Witch-Fiend's body, people from the floor seats to the balcony shouting out the words along with him.

Lou opened one eye to take a peek. This was her favorite part.

Françoise had really outdone herself on the effects work this time. Libellule dropped through the trap door as stagehands above and below deployed the special packages that had been prepared specially for the climactic moment of this final performance.

Lou was going to miss this show. The appreciation of the crowd had been validating in ways she hadn't expected. But as convenient as it had been to play a character literally made for her, she was excited to try something new. Who knows? Maybe she'd come to like the challenge.

She craned her neck ever-so-slightly to get a better look at the audience—what she could see of it, considering how blinding the overhead lights were from her position on stage. What a turnout! Granted, it was the last night of the most popular show the Shepherd's Troupe had ever put together, and in the main theater of the city where it was set. They'd all be hard-pressed to do better after that.

And while it had been impressive to see that even the boxes and balconies were filled up, the ground floor was what Lou was interested in. Specifically, the small section at the front, right next to the orchestra, which the royal theater had generously reserved for the troupe's family and friends. Tonight, this meant a lot of children of all ages—the oldest helping to take care of the youngest—as the entire troupe was involved in the colossal production and no one was left backstage to babysit. It really did take a village.

Thankfully, that section was somewhat visible if Lou really focused on it. She could make out some familiar faces, including a certain former coworker who'd just left the castle life for the city.

Lou was thankful Dusty had been able to make it—not that she could've kept her away if she tried. Their chat before the show had been brief but lively. With Dusty's whole family finally having made the move to the capital, the former royal maid had sounded eager to show them what the nightlife here could offer, even if that meant wrangling a lot of troupe workers' kids in addition to her own rowdy siblings. Lou hoped the two of them could talk more after the show. She'd missed her more than she had expected.

She'd also missed just how enthusiastic Dusty could be! She and her whole family had cheered excitedly at the make-believe carnage spilling out over the stage. Dusty egged on the bloodbath louder than them all, careful to shield the ears of the toddler in her arms.

Lou surreptitiously looked around, waiting to see if any of the kids would notice her squinting at them from the stage. Dusty's youngest sibling, sitting on the floor between their older sister's legs, caught Lou's gaze and gave her a wide, toothy smile. They both exchanged winks.

The music swelled again. That was Lou's cue to go back to playing dead; she wasn't quite done with her part yet. She let her body go limp, then leaned into the pose once Le Loup—now the Prince—lifted her up slightly, and pondered aloud how eerie it felt to hold his own body in his arms.

Lou felt her stage partner gently lower her back onto the ground, careful to lay her down in a comfortable pose. Little touches like that had made him such a joy to work with. Cloth and fur covered her as the Prince took off Le Loup's trademark wolf pelt cloak and draped it over the princess's still body. Lou idly wondered if anyone had ever realized the prop they'd been using for the last two years was the genuine article itself.

A sea of mournful strings flooded the theater as the Prince walked to the center of the stage, lamenting the loss of his most trusted bodyguard to the chaos of the Witch-Fiend's failed spell.

"And now I lay the wolf to rest, to fight in his memory. May his soul find its wayward home, may he finally be free. I will not let him die in vain, this I swear on my new heart—the crown I fought so hard to win... instead I will tear apart!"

Lou lost interest once the Prince's final soliloquy went into his character's whole personal quest to dismantle the crown. It was a rousing monologue, admittedly, one that had been through so many revisions at this point that it barely held any resemblance to the original. The Troupe prided itself on staying relevant and pushing boundaries, sometimes to an extreme. Lou was grateful her own part's changes had been manageable. There had been many heated debates in Alphonse's office throughout the life of this play, with the playwright getting his way more often than not.

Besides, now that Lou was covered head to toe in a cloak that blocked out the lights above, her eyes could adjust, giving her a much better view of the crowd. She gently lifted the edge of the garment, making sure not to do anything that would be visible to the audience. Then, she returned her attention to the family section... and started making silly faces from the shadows, much to the delight of the kids in the front row.

"The crown takes from the land and folk, gives to those who hold the reins. The cycle will end here and now: know that I will break these chains!"

Lou was surprised this particular crowd was being so receptive to this latest version of the Prince's speech. She had expected a lot more gasps and scoffs at the more incendiary lines, but maybe the Prince had made his share of converts in his home city. He'd certainly become quite bold with his plan to end the royal line with him, openly defying many powerful people along the way, with little to no permanent repercussions. Perhaps he really had become as untouchable as Frederic had said.

She sighed. That was another reason Lou didn't care too much for this part of the play: the character speaking the lines. It had been a... unique enough experience to play opposite the idealized version of her old self, but her colleague's well-researched changes in mannerisms and speech at this point in the story brought back memories she'd rather forget. She tried to keep it sectioned off in her mind, as she had almost every night since she joined: this was work, and whatever time she could set aside for herself was separate, untouchable.

"No longer shall the Twelve decide the path that must be taken. No longer shall we take in stride the hopes we have forsaken!"

Though it hadn't been by choice, she'd left everything behind. She'd chosen a new path, and followed it wholeheartedly: she had uprooted her entire life, found a new community, and even learned a new trade. Granted, it was made easier by her extensive proximity to the subject matter, but still. Some of the skills, like memorizing lines and dancing, had required a lot of work. Thankfully, she had become the apprentice to very considerate masters of their art, and worked alongside peers with which she'd developed lasting bonds.

It all had gone beyond the forced friendships of her hometown and the camaraderie of the castle. These people had welcomed her as one of their own, and cared for her when she needed them the most. Now, well and truly, the Shepherd's Troupe was family. Just thinking about it warmed her heart all over again.

Part of her couldn't help but find it unfair how despite all this, her old life kept catching up with her at every turn. And while she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a full night's rest, at least she'd stopped losing sleep over the Prince's physical safety. Lou truly had given him the best possible tool with which to accomplish everything he'd dreamed of.

And meanwhile, here she was: acting out on stage a romanticized version of the events responsible for the most difficult years of her entire life. At least she wasn't alone anymore; she was surrounded by colleagues and friends. Perhaps there were more of them out there where she couldn't see them, watching from the crowd. Maybe Chiffon, who wasn't sure she could make it in time tonight. Maybe Sleeves, whom Lou hadn't talked to in quite some time.

Maybe even the Prince.

Well.

Lou didn't really believe that would happen, but a tiny part of her had hope, in spite of herself. That was what frustrated her more than anything else. She'd spent so long trying to make her peace with it all, finding her place in a world without him, and yet she couldn't stop seeing him everywhere! She hated that she saw him out of the corner of her eye whenever the stage lights got too bright. She hated that she glanced out into the crowd every time, just on the off chance he'd be there.

He never was. Just silhouettes that looked like him. Shadows that looked like his. Every time she chased them down, all she found were dead ends and disappointment. Every time she thought for sure he was there, she was wrong.

"The heavy head that wears the crown? Wipe its name from history! When we ALL share the weight instead—one and all, we shall be free!"

She had a speech all prepared, too.

Such a vitriolic cascade of scalding words, some too cruel for her to speak aloud. But as satisfying as it would be to say all these vicious things to him, to really go for his throat in retaliation for all the tears and all the sleepless nights... part of her knew it wouldn't solve anything. But that was okay; it was enough to have something there to reach for when the intrusive thoughts came knocking. What would I tell him if he was there in front of me? It was a hypothetical question and she answered it, as Sleeves had said so long ago. There was no need to read so much into it.

Ah, there was the musical cue. Lou felt the pitter-pat of steps through the floorboards, heard the squeaking of the pulleys. The Prince was almost at the final line. And then it would be curtains; for the act, for the night, and for the show. Hopefully there would be a lot of applause. She felt they'd all earned it.

Lou sighed quietly, thinking of her little prepared tirade again. It was evident she'd never actually say it. Because the simple fact of the matter was... she could never bring herself to hurt him. Even with words. Her friends at the troupe had helped her do so much work to understand her own suffering. And by opening her heart, slowly but surely, she'd opened her eyes as well. It was starting to make sense: both her own pain, and—

Her eyes grew wide.

There he was.

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat, her turncoat blood rushed to her cheeks, her treasonous thoughts ran in circles, there he was!

Lou adjusted her position from under Le Loup's wolf pelt cloak to get a better look, the Prince's actor blocking her view of the Prince himself. She had to worm her way toward the front of the stage at a glacial pace not to alert anyone. But no one noticed; everyone's attention was on the actor who had taken center stage, delivering his final speech.

"The road is long and treacherous, but the destination true..."

Of course, it could be someone else with a similar build and hairstyle. It could be yet another trick of the light in a crowded theater. But just like every other time before, there was a part of her that couldn't rule out the possibility that it was really him. It was the royal theater after all, wreathed in the blue and gold of the castle banners; who's to say he wouldn't show up, if only in passing? The longer she looked at him the more she was sure. He was there, off to the side, on the ground floor, within arm's reach of the exit; ready to leave the moment the curtain fell. Maybe even before.

"Bestowed the strength to cut these bonds, the only way out is through."

And he was so close. Nothing between them but one person on an empty stage. If she broke out into a run right now—angered everyone she'd ever worked with in the last two years, stomped on her budding acting career, ruined the best night in Troupe history—she'd catch up with him. Even if he tried to run. In the event he had kept up his training, he'd be faster; but given that she had kept up hers, she'd be faster than he expected. And that's all she would need.

For the first time since she'd left the castle, she could be at his side—and there was nothing he could do about it. The mere thought of it threatened to overwhelm all the self-control she'd built up over so many months. She could have it, the moment she had visualized during all those sleepless nights. It was within reach.

"The spell that binds us I shall break, and the Twelve I shall convince..."

Every word she'd wanted to tell him bubbled up to the surface. The good ones, the bad ones, the cruel ones, the sad ones, the absolutely filthy ones; every single one of them scrambling for the door, trying to be the first one out. Which one would win? What would she tell him if he was right there in front of her?

It was no longer hypothetical.

The Prince stepped closer to the exit, his eyes still on the stage, as if waiting to hear the last line before leaving. He was looking in her direction, but at this distance, it was hard to make out more than that. Was he looking at her? Could he see her face, somehow, in the shadows under the cloak? Did their eyes meet, without either of them noticing?

Lou reached out to him with a shaky hand, still fully hidden by the folds of the gigantic cloak on top of her, as if her fingers could hold him there from the shadows. As if she could make him listen to what she wanted to say, just this once. Just like before, when she still had the chance.

"This crown, I take half-heartedly; until death, I am—"

Everyone finished the line in unison.

"YOUR PRINCE!" the actor roared.

"OUR PRINCE!" the crowd yelled out.

"My Prince," Lou whispered, her vision blurring as the Prince turned his back and stepped through the exit. The sad thoughts had won out. They always did.

The music hit its climax.

No, she thought, choking back the tears. He was running away again. Whether with actions or with words, he was always running away.

The theater exploded in cheering and applause.

No! she whispered. He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep dancing on the edge of her life, letting her get hurt when she reached back. She had to do something. If not for her, if not for him... then for them. She didn't want to stay in the shadows anymore. Her own heart had finally had enough.

The curtain fell.

As soon as the colossal sheets of fabric swept across the stage she leapt to her feet, the cloak around her shoulders flying off. She kicked off her heels and made a mad dash across the stage. "I'm sorry!" she yelled to her colleague as she passed him, "I'll be right back!" She didn't wait for a response; she was already at the other end, practically leaping through the door backstage that connected to the same passage the Prince had fled to.

She burst out the other side, her eyes scanning left and right in a desperate bid not to lose him. There he was! She spotted him stepping into another hallway further down, and gave chase.

This theater was ancient, converted from an early castle of the lower city. Its passages were long, its staircases were winding, sometimes leading to unexpected places due to multiple renovations. There was still time to catch up. There was still time to catch him.

He couldn't run away this time, couldn't stop her, couldn't dismiss her to avoid facing the truth. Here, he had no entourage to carry her away, no guard detachments to escort her out, no gatehouses to lock down. The theater was her domain, her hunting grounds. And she had caught his trail.

As Lou rounded the next corner she saw him further away, stepping into a seldom-used spiral staircase built along the inside of a tower. By the time she made it there herself, she heard the audience's cheers grow suddenly much louder. The troupe had begun to take bows. Considering the size of the show, they'd go in turns: first the stagehands and staff, then the chorus, then the minor roles, and then the leads. She'd have to be back for the fourth and final bow.

She had made it one floor up the stone stairs when a lanky figure leaning on the outside wall held an arm out, stopping her chase. Their tall form was dressed in fancy servant attire, coattails swaying in the evening wind that blew through the open windows along the outside of the staircase.

"This area's off-limits, m'lady," the figure said with a grin, slicking their colorful hair back with a free hand. "Official Crown business. You understand."

Something felt off about them, but not enough to deter Lou. She slipped under their arm and pressed on—

THWACK!

...only to stop in her tracks, staring at the playing card the stranger had just nonchalantly flicked two steps in front of her feet. The Three of Knives. Embedded in the stone, like an axe head partway through a log. She looked back at them.

"Ah ah ah," the well-dressed figure said, flicking the Six of Knives out of their sleeve and using the paper card to casually shave an errant bit of stubble off their otherwise smooth chin. "I'm afraid I have to insist."

"Let me through," Lou said with a frown, her window of opportunity diminishing rapidly. There had to be a way past them. Had she seen this kind of witchcraft before?

"No can do. And don't get any ideas." They broke out in an all-too-familiar grin. "No one's unbeatable."

Lou's jaw dropped. "Sleeves?!"

Sleeves's smile faded. "Wait, who are..." Their eyes went wide. They held out the card in their hand, tilting it so it blocked Lou's eyes from their view. "...Glasses?!" The gears visibly turned in Sleeves's head—and then their smile came back in full force. "You're the actress who...? Oh. Oh ho ho that's fantastic. That's diamond."

Lou took a moment to update her mental image of her former coworker, who had evidently moved on from being a maid in more ways than one. "You... you changed a lot." Sleeves seemed taller. More confident, if that was even possible. Sleeker, from their collar down to the hem of their pants.

They broke out into laughter. "Thank you! I've been working on it. You're looking pretty good yourself." They leaned closer. "You theater folks have amazing makeup, don't you. That's a perfect likeness. Feels like I'm back at the castle before the coronation."

"I'm going up to see him," Lou said, dropping the pleasantries. Time was growing shorter still; already she'd lost precious seconds. "Don't try to stop me."

Sleeves held up their hands, still with the biggest smile. "Oh I'm not stopping you, go right on ahead." They waved her through with a low bow, retrieving the card they'd thrown down in the process.

Lou rushed up the stairs as soon as she could, slowing down and turning back after a few steps. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really," Sleeves said, flicking out the Eight of Feathers into their palm as they hopped up on the windowsill. "I have got to see how this plays out. Go get him, Glasses." They put the card between their teeth and, with a wink, effortlessly climbed out the window as if they weighed nothing.

Lou rushed up the stairs like a woman possessed, taking the steps two by two despite her height. Already she could hear the crowd's cheers and applause resuming. The background cast had taken the stage. She'd have to start heading back soon to avoid letting down her troupemates. She had to catch him on the next floor, or the one after that. That was Lou's only hope at this point. And so, she went for it wholeheartedly.

Spurring her onward was the confirmation, at long last, that it was really him. He was here. He had been watching. It wasn't just her imagination this time.

"Someone approaches," said a voice up ahead, muffled and reverberated as if enclosed in metal.

"Hold them off, will you?" said a voice that sent Lou's heart beating even faster than it already was. She was almost there. "How's that door coming along?"

"M'gonna need the key," said a third, higher-pitched, raspy voice. "Y'really like cuttin' it close, don'tcha?"

"His Majesty isn't going to let a little thing like witching hours get in the way of a good time," said someone with Sleeves's voice. How had they already made it up there?

"This show was special," said the Prince. "But it's over now. Give her the key to the castle."

Lou hadn't pushed herself this hard in a long while. She was completely out of breath by the time she made it to the top of stairs, which spilled out onto what looked like a private balcony. A halberd being lowered across the open doorway was all it took to stop her. Not that there was anything she could've done about the towering armored figure that held the weapon even if she had been in top form, considering her size.

"What's that?" Sleeves said as they pulled themselves up onto the balustrade. "I'm sorry, which castle?"

The Prince sighed loudly, his back to the rest of the balcony as he watched the robed figure trace a powder circle around the makeshift tent she had no doubt just erected. "Your castle," he muttered, bringing his hand up to his face.

"Absolutely, right away," Sleeves said, self-satisfaction dripping from every syllable. They caught Lou's expression of utter disbelief as they took out another card and flicked it over to the figure in the robe. They gave Lou a shrug, opening their arms wide in a grandiose gesture that almost matched the slyness of their grin. "What did I tell you, Glasses? No one's unbeatable."

The Prince immediately turned around.

He didn't look a day older. Nearly every plate of his armor had been upgraded or replaced, there was an extra sword on his back and strange new objects at his belt, but under it all... he was the same. He hadn't changed.

"Loulou," he said as he took a step back, a hint of defeat in his voice.

Lou learned on the armored knight's halberd like it was a handrail, catching her breath. She gripped the polearm so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Her eyes locked with the Prince's, burning with a fire that hadn't shone this brightly in two years.

"We need to talk."

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