Her Majesty The Prince XI (Patreon)

For the longest time, there was nothing else.

Just echoes in the dark. Stray whispers in the murky fog. A world of vitreous smoke, illuminated by distant lightning in thunderclouds. And in the center, where it all began, there was her.

And she was drifting away.

It took a lifetime of wandering to find her again, an existence spent searching the formless unknown. An eternity of sifting through ghosts in the mist, a cavalcade of grey on grey, expressions frozen on faces that vanished in the breeze. But there she was; what was left of her.

A bit of ground to call her own.

A sprawled out pose in parts unknown.

Herself, her own skin, cold as stone.

The fog was clearing, yielding to the void. A light, like sunrise, arose to banish the surrounding clouds to blissful oblivion. This world of formless smoke was vanishing rapidly, shrinking in on itself. But there was no fear in that impending nothingness; only release. Only peace. Where else, then, to spend the last moments but in her company?

Where better to lay down one's head than against her bosom, still and cooling, and wait for this warm all-encompassing glow to subsume everything?

But there came a spark. Pain, ferried by shouts. One cry, the same cry, repeated over and over like a ritual to the beating of a thunderous drum. Her face remained still, her skin remained stone, but across her chest there came a fracture; a fault line like a lightning bolt, glowing in rhythm to the beat of each yell, of that same singular word so loud it threatened to tear the world asunder. And not an idle threat—for any ritual, repeated long enough, performed with sufficient passion and strength, could rip a mountain from its roots. Could bring a statue back to life.

In the face of such a display, how could anyone decline to be summoned? How could anyone refuse the undeniable truth of being wanted?

The pain became louder. The shouting, inescapable. There came a beacon of light among the light, searing in its singular purpose: to bring a long-lost wanderer home. And so it was answered.

And so she awoke.

Lou gasped loudly as the covers gave way to flailing arms. Where is she? There were flashes, images, memories. Frederic, looming overhead, haggard, eyes bloodshot. A familiar sight in the dark of the night; a comforting one.

Lou tried to shake away the dream, or nightmare, unable to tell either apart. What had happened? Where was this? All it took was a cursory look to confirm the sun was up—just barely—filtering through the loose curtains and lighting up the modest apartment. This place looked familiar. Ah, right. One of the safehouses; the one above a bakery. Already the smell of freshly baked bread was coming in through the crack in the window.

Sitting up immediately proved to be a bad idea as Lou winced. Something was wrong. This was pain on the level of broken bones, but even then it was much more intense than it was supposed to be. What was going on? A quick look around the room didn't reveal any danger, but it did catch some movement by the wall—

And then Lou saw her face.

Her Majesty's face, staring, wide-eyed, from the bed on the other side of the mirror.

Lou stared, trembling, unblinking. The realization came and went, bouncing off several times as if something deep inside refused to believe it. But when she gingerly raised a shaking arm, spread out her fingers, made a fist—all movements identical and accounted for—it was impossible to refute anymore. It was her.

She jumped out of bed, stumbling to her feet, catching herself on the edge of the nearby dresser. Pain wracked her entire body but she didn't care. Lou put a hand up against the mirror, mouth agape, head shaking. Her Majesty's face was staring back at her. Her eyes, uncannily different, tired; her makeup, tear-streaked; her lipstick, smudged. What had happened?

Lou limped back to the bed as the pain caught up with her. She sat on the edge of the mattress, wincing, putting a hand out to the nearby nightstand for support. If this was happening... if she had Her Majesty's face, then...?

Her hand slipped on a piece of paper. She quickly caught herself from falling over, then brought the note closer. This was Frederic's handwriting, hurried and smudged as it was. Lou's breath caught in her throat as she read.

Sir,
Her Majesty is safe, in the castle, in your body.
Sending someone for first aid.
Rest and heal in place until I return.
—F

She read it again, and again, hoping that after enough times, she would find reassurance in those words. Her Majesty was safe. That was all that she needed to know, in theory. In practice, she had many more questions. Who had attacked them during the coronation? Had they fled? Were they still a threat? Surely Frederic would have mentioned something.

But perhaps Lou's second-in-command had been in a hurry. When time was of the essence, only what was strictly necessary was communicated. Therefore, she needed to take each line to heart. Her Majesty was safe. Someone was coming to the safehouse. Lou needed to stay put. Perhaps it was still dangerous outside after all. Especially considering the current situation.

Especially considering the importance of her cargo. Lou looked into the mirror again. She was in Her Majesty's body. Regardless of the how or the why, that's where she was. She needed to keep it in pristine condition until all of this could be reversed. And she had her work cut out of her, considering the pain coursing through her chest. Had she already failed? Was she like this when Frederic had left her? She almost reached for the opening at the top of the outfit she was wearing; almost. But no. This was not for her eyes to see.

She gingerly leaned back onto the bed, trying to stay comfortable, while awaiting the mystery doctor. She only hoped she was doing this correctly. She—

CLACK!

Lou bolted upright, immediately regretting it as white hot pain shot from her solar plexus all the way to her chin. Something had shoved itself into the window's opening, some sort of... stick? A silhouette behind it jammed the piece of wood sideways, then up, lifting the window the rest of the way. A hooded head peeked into the room.

"Fred'ric's person?"

Lou nodded very slowly.

The figure dove forward into the small apartment, rolling to a seated position. They reached into their robe, pouring powder out of a small pouch around them in a circle. They then bowed, spoke sounds that made no sense, and put a hand on the ground.

Lou opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

"M'kay," the young witch said, springing to her feet and retrieving her broom from the window, leaning it up against the wall. She hiked the bottom of her robe up and hopped out of the circle, making her way to the side of the bed. "Lie back down. N'put that away."

Lou wordlessly slid the dagger back into the sheath behind her back, the one she had insisted Her Majesty have on her person at all times. She then gingerly lowered her head back onto the pillow.

The witch rolled up the sleeves of her robe, revealing arms covered in a multitude of mismatched tattoos; the dull golden ink almost glowing in the morning sun. She gently tugged at the collar of Lou's dress, lifting it up with one hand as she brought her other hand close. "Don't move," she said, lining up her thumb and forefinger so the tattooed lines joined together, shining as they did.

The young witch then pinched the top of Lou's dress with the glowing digits, and in one fluid motion slid her arm down the length of it, cutting the entire garment in half from top to bottom.

"YEEK!" Lou yelped out in surprise, reaching up with an arm to cover herself—but putting a hand over her mouth instead. She felt a rush of cold air on her body and a rush of color in her cheeks. Was that her voice?

"I said don't move," the witch repeated with a hint of annoyance. A sudden burning smell had filled the air, but it dissipated just as quickly. She looked Lou's body up and down, focusing on the middle of her chest. "Well there it is. Yeesh, what a barbarian. S'prised it ain't worse, to be honest."

"Am I... is this body... going to be okay?" Lou asked, wincing from the pain, the cool air against her skin, and the uncanny sounds coming from her mouth.

The witch turned to look at her. "Huh?" She pulled back her hood, revealing a youthful face with tattooed lines across her cheeks, the same dull golden color as the rest of the patterns on the skin; the same color as her wild, uneven hair. She frowned, in a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "Yeah? 'Course yer gonna be fine. M'here ain't I?" She shook her head, reaching into her robes again—a different part of them, this time. "Anythin' else hurt?"

Lou shook her head.

"Anythin' else feel off?"

Lou blinked. "Uh... everything? Everything feels different. Everything looks different."

That made the witch pause. "...Nev'mind then. It ain't hurtin' anywhere else tho, right?"

"That's... that's right."

"M'kay, good. The other stuff's above my pay grade." She took out a small wrapped container. "Don't move. F'real this time."

Lou laid back and closed her eyes, trying to maintain her calm. She was no stranger to first aid, of any sort; she'd worked in enough places to see all sorts of medicinal practices be used. But there was something unusual about leaving yourself at the mercy of a professional when the body you were in was borrowed, and far more valuable than your own. She wondered if aaAAUGH!

"S'gonna be cold," the witch warned after the fact as she smeared a frigid balm across Lou's solar plexus, very gently massaging it into her ribcage, and down both of her flanks.

While the witch's medicine made her body feel like it was being dipped in freezing water, Lou's face felt hotter than the sun. She closed her fists tightly at her sides, trying not let her senses get completely overwhelmed.

"M'kay. So nothing's broke, good news. Just some bruised ribs. Bit roughed up, but yer still here, ain'tcha? Let it dry fer now, y'can wash it off tomorrow. No forcin', no runnin' fer three days, then yer gonna be good as new."

And with that, the witch walked off toward the window.

"Wha... wait!" Lou said, bending her neck as much as she could to look at her without moving her body too much. She held up one half of her dress by the singed edge. "Aren't you gonna... sow this back up?"

The witch tilted her head at her. "It doesn't work that way. Besides, don't y'have people fer that?"

Lou shook her head. "No, I'm, uh," she said, pausing briefly to wonder just how much she should divulge. But ultimately, she trusted that Frederic wouldn't send anyone dangerous in this sensitive situation. "I'm... all alone here."

The young witch scratched her head, then let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. Gettin' me by the feelings. But it ain't gonna hold forever." She walked back, testing different combinations of fingers before settling on the second knuckle of her thumb and the flat of her middle finger. She brought together both halves of Lou's bisected outfit back together, then firmly pressed her fingers along the seam at measured intervals, grumbling all the while. Wherever she touched, Lou could feel heat radiating for a moment, and the dress would be mended—if very haphazardly.

Lou swallowed before asking a question she wasn't sure she'd like the answer to. "Did I do something to make you angry?"

The witch flashed her a rueful look. "Fred'ric was tryin' to keep it all secret, but I know who you are. This city's off-limits fer us now 'cause of you n' yer wild beast. Y'know that, right?"

A chill went down Lou's spine. "What?"

"Yer lucky I'm here. I only came 'cause mistress owed yer guy a favor." The witch stomped off, her work done. "Now yer even."

"I don't understand... does this have to do with—"

"An' DON'T you tell ANYONE I was here." The witch pointed an accusatory finger at Lou, then hopped back into the powder circle she'd made before. She pulled down her hood, mumbled something, and then with three swift strokes of her broom she sept the circle away.

Before Lou could say anything else, the witch had leapt through the window and was gone.

Lou leaned back into the bed. She was a mess. At least the physical part was being dealt with, whatever had happened while she was apparently unconscious. The emotional part though... What had she done? The coronation had been a blur. The attack, more so. She barely remembered anything beyond the first few seconds. An intruder showed up, then... Nothing.

She took a deep breath. At least first aid had been administered. Now she needed to stay put, and rest, and hopefully heal. What would she do for food, though? Maybe the safehouse still had some dry rations. In a pinch, it was directly above a bakery. Lou remembered the owner being quite friendly on the few occasions she'd dropped Her Majesty off here.

On that note, she began to hear the sound of footsteps outside the door, coming up the stairs. Lou looked around; she wasn't exactly indecent, but wasn't very presentable either. In a hurry, she drew the covers up over herself.

"Knock knock, Your Majesty!" said a kindly old voice from the other side of the door.

"Uh, yes? Come in?" Lou said, instantly forgetting everything she'd ever learned about etiquette. Which, admittedly, wasn't a lot.

The door opened as the owner of the bakery let herself in, a covered basket under her arm and a glass of water in her hand. "Well hello there!" she said, approaching with slow, steady steps that gave away just how good of a shape she was still in despite her age. "I heard the commotion just now and figured you'd be awake and hungry, so I brought your favorites."

"Ah," Lou said, suddenly extremely self-conscious. She clearly knew Her Majesty. How did the two of them talk? How familiar should she be? Would she immediately be exposed as an impostor? She was alone and recovering from an injury, could she get out of this without hurting Her Majesty's body any further?

"Did you get in all right last night? You must have been riding a cloud, I just slept on through!" The old woman deposited the basket and the water on the nightstand.

Lou's mind raced, but came up empty. She had to say something, and it might as well be the truth, however little of it she could get away with—she'd never been a very good liar. "Uh, yes? Frederic brought me in, I think. I slept through it, too."

"You must have been tuckered out, then!" the old woman said, her smile suddenly turning to astonishment. "Oh dear me, did something happen?" she said, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her prominent nose as she took a closer look at Lou's face.

Lou suddenly remembered just how smudged her makeup was. ...How smudged Her Majesty's makeup was. Had she been crying? That didn't sound like her. "Uh... yes, but it's okay. It's okay, I'm resting. I'm alright."

The old lady put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Oh, you don't need to put on a brave face for me. Here, let me help!" She walked back, as steadily as she'd come, and went to fetch the lone chair placed up against the wall, between the mirror and the door.

"It's okay!" Lou insisted, not wanting to make a whole thing out of it—or prolong this interaction. The longer this went on, the higher the risk of a faux-pas.

"Nonsense, nonsense, I can't leave Her Majesty like that in my home! It's basic hospitality." She dragged the chair over to the bed, its lightweight frame barely making a sound against the wooden floor, and sat down next to the nightstand. She adjusted her glasses again, getting another good look at Lou. "Oh my." She leaned in slightly, sharing a sympathetic, knowing look. "Boy problems again, dear?"

"N-no?!" Lou said, color rising to her cheeks instantly.

"I understand, say no more," the woman said with a little wiggle of her head, taking one of the napkins from the basket and dripping a little water onto it. She wrapped it around her finger and, reaching over, gently started wiping away at Lou's face.

Lou couldn't move as the kindly old woman began to clean up the smudges on her face. She was unable to react, completely at a loss. Who was this woman? Was was her relationship with Her Majesty? When Lou helped select this safehouse, she just figured the location was good. Was there some personal connection she'd missed?

The old woman shook her head as she continued to clean up Lou's makeup, reaching over with her other hand to give her an affectionate pat on the head. "Well, whoever made you cry like that, shame on them. Princess or not, a pretty girl like you deserves better."

Lou's heart began to beat faster. She could feel emotions welling up inside. Her heart wound itself tightly, deep in her chest, in a way she hadn't felt in years, decades even. Why was this woman being so nice to her?

"Say, wasn't yesterday that coronation I've heard so much about? I would've just gone out the door and walked there myself but some of the local boys got the good wine out to celebrate and oh, as soon as I closed up shop, I was out like a light!"

"Uh, yes, it was," Lou said, relieved that the old woman hadn't heard about the attack, but also frustrated that she couldn't fill her in on some of the details she'd missed. She didn't like being left out in the dark.

"Oh, that's not a very happy look," the woman said as she flipped her napkin over and began cleaning the other side of Lou's face. "Did it not go the way you wanted?"

Lou took a deep breath, stopping halfway due to a jolt of pain from her ribs. She winced. "Not... not really."

"Well, I'm sure it'll go better next time."

"Hah!" Lou chuckled, in spite of herself.

"Now there's the smile I was looking for," the old woman said, her face beaming. "You deserve a good smile now and then, don't you think?" She reached over with her other hand to brush back one of the long blond locks of Lou's hair—of Her Majesty's hair—and wiped a bit further, close to her ear.

For a brief moment, Lou wasn't in the bed of a small apartment in the city, located above a neighborhood bakery, being looked after by a kindly baker. She was sitting by the hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire, in her mother's arms while she caressed her cheek with the back of her fingers. She was home.

She had forgotten what it had felt like to be home that first time, before the rites, before the training. She had forgotten what it felt like to be cared for.

Lou's eyes started tearing up. She tried not to lose herself, to fight it, to hold the tears back. She wasn't about to cry in front of a stranger, even if this was the nicest stranger she'd ever met.

"There, isn't that better?" the old woman said, sitting back up straight. "I've got to go open up the shop now, but I'll save you some fougasse later for lunch. Be sure to eat up now!"

"Ah... thank you," Lou finally said, sad to see her go but unsure she could've lasted any longer without coming apart at the seams.

"Oh, it's nothing, Your Majesty!" The old woman gave her a warm smile as she headed back to the door, waving once she reached it. Lou returned the wave, and the smile.

As soon as the door shut, Lou let her head hit the pillow and exhaled. Her head was still swimming. Two very different people had just given her two very different kinds of attention and she couldn't even begin to sort out the multitude of intense feelings all of it had left her with. Her heart was beating so fast still.

It took a few minutes of measured breathing for Lou to finally collect herself. She turned to the mirror that was set against the wall and slowly moved into a sitting position, both to eat breakfast and to get a better view of herself.

Her heart started beating faster again. She reached up to touch her face, watching her reflection do the same. The feelings from earlier came back in full force. But this wasn't quite right. It wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't what she'd asked for. This wasn't her body.

But she could do her best to take care of it. That was her most important task at the moment, in fact. One she could dedicate all her attention to.

Lou eased herself back onto the pillow, leaning her head against the wall. She reaching into the basket, settling on the croissant wrapped around what looked like a pear. She went through the instructions in her mind once again. Rest today, wash up tomorrow, rest two more days. By then, Frederic or someone else from the castle would surely be back with more information and a plan of action.

She looked around the small apartment, which was filled with the twin aromas of fresh pastries and the witch's soothing balm. The sun lit up the room quite nicely. All the amenities were there, though the walls were admittedly a little bare. Still, it felt like a home away from home—another one to add to her collection.

Lou nodded to herself. This wasn't too bad, all things considered. And who knows? Maybe in three days, everything would be back to normal.