Her Majesty The Prince V (Patreon)

"As I told your collea—" Frederic stopped, correcting himself. "As I told the former royal decoys, you have resources at your disposal. I will personally give you a glowing reference on behalf of the royal guard, no matter where you wish to go."

Lou looked up at the last painting of Her Majesty, hanging by itself in the remote gatehouse that had been used that day as the impromptu meeting room for the final debriefing of the royal decoys. Back when she had suggested the idea, Lou expected to find some reasonable lookalikes and keep them away from close inspection by the public. But nothing could have prepared her for the extent of the Crown's magical connections, and the power they wielded. The resulting royal decoys were perfect likenesses, which had permanent consequences for the people involved. Witches, as they all had learned, could accomplish some scary things.

Lou hadn't been invited, of course, as she wasn't a decoy herself—but that hardly mattered. She was no stranger to talking her way into places, though her current condition had made that much more difficult. Still, it helped that in this particular instance, she looked the part. She counted herself lucky to have heard about the meeting in the first place. Socialites did like to gossip over coffee.

She had made it to the meeting, but it had put her through the wringer. She was fragile, she was spent, but she had to keep going. Frederic's assurances of the Prince's good intentions meant nothing, in the end, if she couldn't confirm them herself. She had to see him. She had to hear it from him. After all that they'd been through together, surely that wasn't too much to ask.

There was no turning back; another chance like this might never present itself. All she had to do now was convince the new captain of the guard to let her in. Unfortunately, he was as steadfast as they came—she'd picked him herself.

Lou looked back to Frederic. No matter where she wished to go. She took a deep breath, and then held out her hand. "Promise?"

The knight took her hand and shook it firmly. "You have my word."

Lou smiled for the first time that day; the first time in a while. "Okay."

"Very well then," Frederic said, a bit of relief shining through his professional façade. "I met with the dockmaster yesterday, so I know for a fact there are several ships currently in port that could take you along to safe, comfortable locations should you want a change of scenery. All major trade cities, of course. Alternatively, if you'd like to join a reputable guild or society here in the city, I can make that happen as well. What would appeal to you?"

Part of her felt bad for taking advantage of his character like this, but she was out of options, and he was a man of his word. "Let me visit the castle."

Frederic immediately straightened back up. "Sir. Please don't waste my time."

"It doesn't have to be complicated, I just need to talk to him. It'll only take a minute."

All the goodwill Lou had accumulated with Frederic over the past few minutes quickly drained away from his face. "Sir," he said, "we've been over this. You cannot be seen inside the castle. That is not an option."

"Listen to me," Lou said, holding up her hands in appeasement. "Please. I'll go to that coiffeur we have on retainer, he's great at helping with disguises."

"Perhaps this is one of those times when you need to rein in that stubbornness of yours, sir. You need to understand, navigating this entire situation has been extremely delicate."

"No one will know it's me! You gave me your word, Frederic. No matter where I wished to go, remember? Well, I wish to go right here."

The knight sighed loudly. "Sir. We simply cannot be taking any unnecessary risks that may disrupt the fragile narrative that is the only thing keeping this city running! Think about the people, think about the Crown for just one second."

Lou brought her arms back down, the wind knocked out of her. She stared at her former second-in-command, slack-jawed. "What did you say?"

"This childishness reflects terribly on you and on this office, sir. Frankly, I'm disappointed you would be so cavalier about jeopardizing what we've built."

Lou's entire body started trembling, her hands clenching into fists. "How... dare you," she said, voice shaking. "How dare you!"

"You of all people should know what is at stake here," Frederic said, crossing his arms. "We all need to buckle down and do our job."

"That's easy for you to say, you took my post!" Lou yelled, unable to control her temper anymore.

Frederic was taken aback, but only for a moment. His demeanor quickly changed, becoming darker; menacing, even.

It was hard for Lou not to wither under his glare. But she knew she was right, and that helped her bear the brunt of his ire, at least for now. "Frederic—"

"Leave," the knight said, his voice low, his tone without emotion. "Return to your lodging, which we have generously provided, and enjoy yourself. You can certainly manage that, can't you sir?"

Lou gritted her teeth. She wanted to tell him off, but part of her knew she was rapidly running out of time. She couldn't let this chance go. She had to come up with a way to convince Frederic, but at the same time it was all she could not to just—

"I tried!" she finally yelled in spite of herself. "I tried that! I went to cafés, to festivals, I walked up and down the boulevards until my feet hurt, none of it worked! I feel lost. I feel like a stranger! In this city, in this body... I don't know what I'm s'posed to do anymore, I can't take it!"

She was getting emotional again, and getting emotional about it. Things didn't used to feel this intense; feelings never had such a powerful bite to them. She wasn't going to break down in front of Frederic, not a second time. She desperately wanted to claw back some of her dignity, but all she could say was what her heart brought to the surface.

"This is getting us nowhere," Frederic said, his tone devoid of patience. "It's time for you to leave. I will not ask again."

"Please, Frederic. You gave me your word," Lou said, staring at the knight's feet, trying to will herself to calm down. She could feel her last chance slipping through her fingers. "This is the only place I feel like I belong. I'll... I'll make myself useful. Just let me work somewhere, out of sight. I'll cook. I'll clean."

Frederic remained silent. Lou couldn't tell how he was feeling without looking at his face, and she didn't dare look up. But every second that passed made her more afraid that he'd say no if she didn't compromise further.

"I won't... I won't talk to him. I promise." She took shaky breath after shaky breath, trying to get the words out, but each one felt so terrible to say out loud. "He won't even know I'm there." It was as if she was giving up part of herself with each syllable. "I just want to be in the same place as him. I just want to be home again."

A gloved hand reached out into her field of view. She lifted her head; made eye contact with Frederic. She had half-expected him to be angry, or at least irritated, but he was... sad. Not even disappointed, nor disgusted. Sad. Like a man who had just lost something, or someone, very dear to him.

"Let us both hold ourselves to our promises," he said.

Lou nodded. They shook hands.

"Get your affairs in order. Pack lightly. Come back in three days, here, at dawn." Frederic walked to the back door of the small room, opening it. He turned his head before leaving. "Speak only to me."

And with that, Lou was alone, free to let herself out. She looked at the painting of the princess again. Something told her that next time she walked into this room, it would no longer be there.

She was right.

The next two days went by in a blur. There was hardly anything to pack; the castle would provide everything needed for whatever job awaited her, after all. Before she knew it, she was sitting down at Chez Gaston, hearing him talk about how much she looked like the former princess. The old man remained blissfully oblivious to the fact that this was, in fact, the very same head of hair he'd worked his (metaphorical) magic on all those years.

A pair of circular glasses—something modest but bulky, to hide her features—and a pocketful of simple cosmetics, and that was that. A seemingly different person showed up at the gatehouse again, certainly no one anyone would give a second glance to once she was in uniform. That was fine by her. By the time Frederic came to fetch her, nothing needed to be said at all.

She felt miniscule as she walked through the gatehouse again. She had poured her heart out on that floor twice over, dousing whatever flame had been keeping her anger lit. She'd gotten what she wanted, with no way to enjoy it. But that was fine. She had never expected joy from this line of work, nor accepted it when it tempted her.

She hadn't even needed a new name; the Prince was famously bad at remembering them, giving out nicknames as needed, usually based on appearances. The practice had quickly spread to the entire castle, though there were admittedly a few holdouts.

Before, Lou may have felt some trepidation upon being handed the clothes that she would go on to wear for the foreseeable future; the outfit that would define her new profession. But there was no fight left in her. She barely felt a twinge of emotion as she changed, then turned to look at her reflection. A simple dress, a headband, and an apron.

This would be her appearance for a long while. She'd have to take good care of it.

Frederic had kept his word, and taken Lou at hers: she would do some cooking, some cleaning, a little bit of everything. Away from the people she knew, and away from the people who had seen her face up close. Exactly what she'd bargained for.

Somewhere, between these same walls, he was there too. It would have to be enough.

She was given a bed, introduced to her colleagues, and that was it. She'd been there before: shadow someone, learn the skills, pass them on. Climb the ranks. It came naturally to her, who had trained in much the same fashion in the village where she grew up, the city where she honed her talents, the castle where she perfected her craft. She was home again.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.

She kept her word; she didn't speak to the Prince. Not a difficult promise to uphold, as it was vanishingly rare to even be in the same room as him. Only the highest ranked, most reliable workers among her colleagues were ever given the chance.

Before she knew it, that became her plan. Something to aim for, however long it took. Besides, with her hair and glasses obscuring most of her features, who would recognize her?

She would work when she could, rest when she had to, and keep to herself otherwise. Though when the tasks were done and the mood lightened, it was hard to stay entirely out of the resulting conversations with her bunkmates. Chiffon used to be an actress in a traveling theater troupe. Dusty had come here from abroad, sending much of her earnings to her siblings, whom she said shared her love of roughhousing. Sleeves was an inveterate gambler who talked a big game, but never seemed to have the cards to back up their claims. After one too many crushing defeats at the hands of Lou's no-nonsense approach, a rivalry was born—albeit one-sided, and limited to the occasional after-hours get-together.

It was during one such late night game that a losing streak made Lou seek some fresh air. Sleeves had switched to a deck of cards with suits that were very difficult to tell apart, but that they somehow knew the secrets of, along with everyone else at the table. The longtime gambler made no attempt to hide their joy at the reversal of fortunes. It made little difference to Lou; she didn't care about money, beyond what she needed to keep her body going. But the pattern of back-to-back losses had driven her to what passed for a breaking point.

The height of the balcony railing surprised her; it had been years since the last time she'd leaned over it, looking at the scenery below. It was by pure chance that she saw a door that should've been closed; a lamp that shouldn't be doused. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She hurried down the hall. Through the kitchen, grabbing a knife along the way from the head chef's good set. Down the stairs, keeping her eyes and ears open for anyone she could flag down—but this part of the castle was between guard rotations. A weak point in the armor.

She kicked off her shoes, and ran.

The memory of her mock struggle with Frederic flooded back into her mind. She would never win a straight fight; she was no longer built for it, lacking the months and years of training needed to hone this body to the necessary level. She'd have to change tactics. She'd have to set her sights higher.

She would have to forget how she fought people, and remember how she fought giants.

The intruder was almost at the passage that would give him full access to the most vulnerable rooms in the castle. Just a few more steps; he slipped his hand into the slim leather bag at his waist, and slipped out a makeshift key.

There was a high-pitched metal clang as it bounced off the stone floor, wrenched out of his hand, arm now twisted behind his back; a blade slipped under his tunic, pressing against his spine.

"Are you lost, little lamb?"

The intruder didn't answer, his every struggle resulting in Lou further pinning him against the wall. His expression was imperceptible in the flickering light of the lantern by the floor—a lantern that must have made Lou appear downright eerie given how her glasses caught the light. Lou had him where she wanted. She could end it at any point, but something held her back.

She knew, deep down, that her hands weren't clean. They hadn't been, not for a very long time. The same could be said for the Prince, as he was a head of state. But this body had been entrusted to her—by a twist of fate, certainly, but nonetheless entrusted—and she had sworn to take care of it. Using it to take a life, no matter the circumstances, would shatter that oath outright.

She made up her mind, then and there. She would never spill blood with these hands.

And then the passage opened, flooding the hallway with guards.

"Get yer hands off her!" shouted the youngest of the lot, confident despite their age, as they rushed in to wrestle the intruder to the ground.

Lou backed away among the gathering crowd, quickly hiding the pilfered knife behind her back, its blade unsullied. She looked on in surprise at the number of people present. Perhaps she hadn't been the only one to notice the intrusion. Maybe the castle, under its new guard, had fewer gaps in its armor than she'd thought. A relief, in a strange way.

She gasped as she felt the knife leave her hands. Her eyes darted left, then right—and there it was, being carefully put away by a gloved hand. She looked up, directly into Frederic's eyes.

"I'm relieved you weren't hurt," he said with the utmost decorum. Then he bowed, lower than he should have. "Thank you for your restraint," he added in a whisper. There was a look in his eyes that Lou hadn't seen in a long time. The look one gave a comrade.

The events played back in her mind again and again as she sat down on her bed. It was like someone had splashed cold water on her face. Why had it been so easy to forget, to lose herself in the carousel of days passing by in rapid succession? The goal she'd set for herself wasn't impossible; she was clearly skilled, she was clearly worthy of respect. She just had to keep going.

The first time she had set foot within the castle walls in this body, she'd done so with a purpose. And while she hadn't reached her goal, she knew she was closer.

She would redouble her efforts. She would see the Prince, no matter what, with her own eyes. And when she was ready, she would show him who she really was. Knight. Bodyguard. Protector. One who gives life, instead of taking it.

A new fire burned within her.