Her Majesty The Prince XXVII (Patreon)

A sudden yelp and a crash of papers sent Lou and Alphonse nearly to the ground. She chided herself for just barging into his tent to see if he was there; if she'd been a little more careful, she wouldn't have run right into him precisely at the moment when he stepped out of the opening.

As soon as the troupe's playwright had stumbled back onto his feet, he hurriedly fussed over her. "Lou, I am so sorry! You're not hurt, are you?" He put the gentlest hand on her shoulder as he looked her up and down, nary a thought given to the scattered pages on the grass.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Lou replied, more embarrassed over their collision than anything. "I'm sorry, I should've said something before running in."

Alphonse let out a relieved breath, his usual smile returning almost instantly. "Oh, I'm glad to hear you're okay." He gave the shoulder he was holding a tiny pat. "You should go rest! The next trip is a big one. The next show, as well."

Lou gave him a weak smile, her eyes fleeing his. "Yeah! I'm, uh... I'm sure I'll be ready this time."

"There are always more shows, do not worry. Better a late premiere than a bad one. Besides, every correction makes the script better, does it not?" Alphonse knelt down to retrieve his things, his movements more slow and methodical than usual on account of the bandages around his bare chest, under his captain's jacket. "Is everyone packed up?"

"Oh, right! Françoise is bringing Betsy around, she said to tell you your wagon's gonna be in the caboose spot again." Lou reflexively crouched down to help him pick up the fallen sheets and folded letters, eyeing the dark stains that had soaked through Alphonse's bandages on one side, belying the ink-black shapes that lay underneath both fabric and skin. "Are you okay? I hope I didn't—"

Alphonse cut her off with a laugh. "I'm okay! Yesterday's session was a long one, I am taking my time replacing the wrappings. It will take more than this to slow me down." He quickly gathered up the last of the papers, including the handful of freshly-sealed letters that Lou had picked up—but not before she was able to read who they were addressed to.

All of them were meant for Adélaïde.

Adélaïde the actress, veteran of the Shepherd's Troupe before she had been recruited by the Crown. Adélaïde the royal decoy, who had soaked up every bit of decorum and daily minutiae in her exemplary years in service of the ruler whose body hers had been molded to imitate. Adélaïde the student, whose limits Lou herself had prodded and pushed from up close and from afar for years, forging her as one would a blade. Adélaïde the master fencer, the cunning negotiator, the captivating entertainer... the free agent.

A slight twinge of worry had made itself known deep within Lou's chest, coiling around her lungs, threatening to make breathing difficult.

It would be Adélaïde standing here now, playing this role to perfection, if Lou hadn't snatched it out from under her. Not intentionally, of course; it had been a stroke of luck that she showed up when she did, Chiffon's recommendation letter in hand. But that didn't make Lou feel any less responsible.

"Is... is everything okay?" Lou asked as the two of them stood up.

Maybe with her the show would have already become a success at this point instead of remaining a twinkle in Alphonse's eye, stuck in a perpetual cycle of rehearsals and rewrites.

The playwright looked at her for a long, long moment, his smile never breaking. Then, with a gentle pat on her shoulder, gentler even than before, he gave her a courteous nod. "Everything is fine, Lou. Do not worry. Go and rest."

She awoke with a gasp.

Gone was Alphonse, his tent and his letters. Gone was the grass beneath her feet, replaced by an unsteady floor open to the stars. Behind her two familiar voices spoke loudly, flowing into one another, muffled by layers of wood and subsumed by an ever-present rumble.

The Shepherd's Troupe was making its way to the next show.

It would be a big one. Maybe even the debut of the play she had been training for all this time. Her first chance to show she was ready... or her last.

Lou braced her arms against the wooden lip of the wagon. She had fallen asleep just outside the back door, her feet dangling in the space between this car and the next, the hem of her dress and the tips of her hair fluttering in the cool evening air. She looked up at the night sky, slowly taking in her surroundings as her breathing slowed from its sudden panicked peak. The creaking of the wood, the turning of the wheels, the gentle swaying left and right... Over time, she had grown to crave its soothing effects.

She closed her eyes. How easy it would be to just let her shoulders slump, her head rest against the wall, her feet dangle off the edge a little bit further; how good it would feel to abandon herself to the midnight breeze, and let sleep overtake the worries whispering in her ears. Already the wagons were rocking her back to sleep. Already...

No! she thought as she scrambled back to her feet, shaky as they still were in her pair of training heels. The sudden movement, coupled with the uneven motion of the wagon, threw her forward more than she had anticipated, right into the gap in front of her. But this wasn't her first tumble; she hopped the short distance and caught herself on the exterior wall of the car behind. Luckily, thankfully, she'd also managed to do so without making too much noise. She snuck a peek through the window.

The moonlight was enough to make out the sea of little faces fast asleep in their cots, beds, and cradles. Their second guardian for the night was sleeping peacefully among them, in the overly comfortable chair that had been set up at the center of the children's wagon. Lou shook her head and smiled. Lin deserved the rest, especially after somehow making it through a rare double shift in the kitchen.

Why the night chef had decided to follow that up with caretaking duties was beyond Lou, but she knew a little shut-eye wouldn't slow her colleague down. Like many times before, Lin would invariably wake up at the slightest mutter of discomfort from any of those in her charge.

Meanwhile, Lou was still struggling to shake off the effects of her own impromptu nap under the stars. She'd barely made it two steps out of the wagon after her own shift had ended before succumbing to exhaustion. Despite that, she wouldn't hesitate to sign up for this again. She had taken on many roles since joining the troupe—actress, consultant, instructor, to name a few—but caretaker had been the one she had least expected to accept, much less like.

And yet, here she was.

She put her palm up against the glass, absentmindedly slipping a foot out of its practice heel, flexing in relief. The temptation was there; just a few steps and she'd be reunited with the little ones whose care she shared with so many others in the troupe. She could join them in slumber and no one would bat an eye. No one would mind.

No.

She'd come too far to stop now.

Lou slipped her aching foot back in its shoe. She had pushed through the tears and the pain; she could push through this. There would be plenty of time after evening rehearsal, provided she hadn't missed it already like she had many times before. She turned around and hopped over the gap once more. She had work to do. She had a ghost to outpace, one who was rapidly closing in on her.

Lou balled up her hands into fists. During her first days here, she'd had to explain to many of the older troupe kids that she wasn't Adélaïde. That her name was Lou, that she was someone entirely different, no matter how much she looked like the person they remembered from their early years. The person they had admired.

She leaned forward, resting her fist on the windowless door to the next wagon, the muffled voices beyond it growing louder.

Lou couldn't make out what they were saying, but she could hear the voices: the peaks and lulls of Libellule's singsong Witch-Fiend, the rumble of Roy's thunderous Le Loup. Would they be just as accepting of her tonight as they had been in the past, back before she started missing rehearsals time after time? Back before all her constant nitpicking, her fussing over every detail?

Back when she was full of promise, instead of mired by stagnation?

She still felt no closer to portraying the memory of Her Majesty, a fabrication many times over, a character doubly so. The most fictional role in the entire show, even when played by the closest facsimile there ever was. An impossible task, for an actress who had yet to take the stage. Roy and Libellule must have seen it, too.

They had to know. Lou scoured her memory, pored over her last interactions with them. Going over script changes with Roy, practicing stage fright rituals with Libellule... Had there been less care in the way they said hello, in the words they exchanged with her? Had the warmth of their smiles started to fade?

The night air had gotten cold.

She stood there frozen, leaning against the door, staring down at the floorboards. Part of her felt there must have been a reason, a rational explanation for the people closest to her not kicking up a fuss about her lack of progress, but the rest of her wouldn't believe it. The rest of her was back at the castle gatehouse, begging for the chance to clutch at the scraps of what her life had once been.

Lou's breaths became short, hurried, ragged.

She would've laughed if she'd been able to. The person she had been back then had no idea how big the world truly was outside the castle walls. The person she was now knew otherwise. The person she was now knew just how limited her chances would be outside the warmth and care of the troupe.

The person she was now had so much more to lose.

She heard them, felt them through the door just a few steps away, but they may as well have been across the continent. All she could focus on was the floor at her feet; no amount of willpower was enough to move even a single muscle. Her whole body was frozen in place. She'd already given up the sword, given up everything she'd ever worked and trained for. If she couldn't learn anything else, what good was she to anyone?

She had covered so much distance, only to find herself right back where she'd started with nothing to show for it. Her legs started to shake.

No, she told herself. That wasn't right. She was somewhere different now. Somewhere better. Somewhere she didn't want to leave. Her fingers curled up against the door, nails leaving minuscule trails in the wood. She didn't want to leave!

The familiar twisting sensation deep in her chest was back in earnest. Part of her wanted to plead. To beg, to do whatever it took to stay. But that part of her was still at the castle; the rest of her had moved on. Lou tried to take deeper breaths, tried to stop her legs from trembling. She thought back to the first day she'd met the troupe. She pictured that moment in her mind, walking down the trail with Soix, steeling herself for the conversation to come.

'The captain will bear any burden, carry out any duty, fulfill any commitment to the end...' is that how Frederic had put it?

That's who she was, deep down. That's who she needed to become again: the stone that meets the sharp edge of adversity head-on. She would peel away however much of herself was needed to keep going, without flinching. She would step forward, and grab the blade with both hands.

But she wouldn't get to do any of it if she was too afraid to open the door!

Through gritted teeth, Lou finally managed a single deep breath. That's what this was, wasn't it? Fear. She could only think of all the little things that could go wrong, and it was stopping her from moving forward. It was no different from stage fright—either one prevented her from reaching the stage.

Lou closed her eyes, going through the motions that Libellule had taught her. Her breathing became deeper; her movements, slower.

No more wagons.

No more road, no more noise.

Just her and the stage ahead, suspended in time; her aches and fears and worries a fine mist around her. All she had to do was step forward and leave them behind.

As she exhaled, she opened the door.

The warm air inside washed over Lou's face. Before her stood Roy and Libellule, face-to-face, dressed in their usual relaxed everyday clothes under rudimentary costumes.

The enchantments the tall storage wagon had received from multiple hedge witches along the way had granted it ample headroom, making it the ideal location for these night rehearsals. Makeshift witchsilver lights that dangled from the walls and ceiling lit up the interior like a stage, albeit one without an audience. Wardrobe chests had been stacked and pushed back to make room, at the same time functioning as a backdrop upon which tall charcoal reference drawings of the play's characters had been pinned.

Lou instantly recognized the scene: the first appearance of the Witch-Fiend, here disguised as a nameless witch brazenly inviting herself to the audience of the royal court. The first confrontation pitting the princess and Le Loup against the one who would become their nemesis.

Roy crossed his arms over the pommel of a wooden longsword, the position of his shoulders making the wolf pelt cloak on his back puff out even further, imitating the stance in the drawing of Le Loup behind him. His steely gaze remained locked onto Libellule's eyes—hidden underneath her colorful blindfold—as he slung the sword up onto his shoulder and slammed a boot down onto the floor with enough earth-shaking force to make the entire wagon quake.

STOMP!

"Her Majesty has heard enough. Take your leave, your time is through."

Libellule and Roy both turned their heads toward Lou, suddenly aware of her presence. A pair of smiles spread across their lips; for a brief moment, Lou could have sworn they were the kind of smiles reserved for friends, before they were replaced in the blink of an eye with the gruff façade of Le Loup and the sinister all-knowing grin of the Witch-Fiend.

"Then let your princess use her words!" Libellule said, gliding aside. She motioned to Lou with a hand, nails long like claws, leaving enough room for one more between the two of them. "Does the puppy speak for you?"

Lou felt her cheeks burn. She stepped forward, letters stringing together into words and unfolding in her mind. Gone were the worries and the cares; there was only the script. Gone were Alphonse and Adélaïde and the rest of the troupe; there was only the three of them. Gone was the world; there was only the stage.

Her head held high, she clenched her fists; met the stranger face to face. Behind her Le Loup stood and growled, a wall against which to brace.

"You speak to those who live to serve Crown and City just the same! So choose your words more carefully... every title, every name."

Lou's heart was beating like a drum. That wasn't in the script; she'd improvised those lines, pieced together instinctually from discarded bits and pieces of scenes long since revised. She was so used to Alphonse's meter that the words flowed into one another with barely any effort. Lou was impressed with herself, and from the expression on Libellule's face, so was she. Maybe she still had a chance to prove her worth after all.

Lou gestured to the boxes that made up the court as she returned to the words she'd memorized.

"Come lecture me on past events! Take the floor and state your needs! But curse my name for my own sins—not my ancestors' misdeeds."

The nameless witch, hunched over up until now, unfurled her height and stood fully upright for the first time. No sooner had Lou outstretched her arm in response than Roy knelt down to fill the space, lifting her up onto his free shoulder. The two of them acted in lockstep, rising to meet the witch as she unleashed more vitriol their way.

"Those generations led to you; generations you abet! The forest’s memory is long—and the mountain’s, longer yet."

"Then do you blame me for the North? Every battle lost and won? And blame me for the day the moons lit the sky and became one?"

The witch opened her mouth, but no words came as her blindfold suddenly began to glow; first with a soft, eerie light, then with a shine that burned brighter and brighter until it threatened to rival the sun. Lou couldn't look away as the light filled her vision, clouding its edges in a smoky haze, burning with a smell that reeked of oil.

Her breath held in her chest.

She heard the Witch-Fiend laugh.

"The light shall guide you home! Are you lost, little lamb?"

As long nails brushed against Lou's chin she flailed her arms and flung herself backwards off of Roy's shoulders, the floor of the wagon rushing to meet her along with the rest of the world that she had momentarily forgotten about.

Hup!

Her fall ended practically as soon as it had begun. Roy turned about and expertly caught her in his arms, the wooden sword clattering to the floor. "Whoa! Careful there, Lil' Lou."

Lou could only stare at the Witch-Fiend... no, at Libellule as the actress yanked the still-glowing blindfold off her head, laughing all the while. The fearsome edge to her laughter had dissipated as quickly as the smoke; all that remained was the painfully bright light of the strip of fabric.

"Oh this thing's way too bright!" Libellule said as she wadded it up in her hands, her eyes almost squinted shut. "I'll have to—oh! You okay there, princess?" she said, rushing over as soon as she saw what had happened.

Lou barely heard her colleague over the roar of her own pounding heartbeat. She took a deep breath, then a second one, willing herself to calm down. "That... that wasn't in the script."

Libellule smiled as she ruffled Lou's hair. "You're one to talk! Sorry about that, though—the blindfold started glowing way too early and at least twice as bright so I figured... Scene's already ruined, may as well follow your lead and improvise." She looked around before throwing the crumpled blindfold into an open costume crate, its light now constrained to the drawing of the Witch-Fiend hanging right above it. "I'm gonna have to tell Françoise to try something else. How did it look though?" She grinned. "Was I imposing?"

Lou nodded, her eyes still wide.

Roy bent down to one knee and helped her to her feet, then drew her into a fierce hug. "Well I ain't comin' back from that. Lil' Lou, you made it!"

Lou yelped despite herself, returning the hug as best she could. "I... I did!" As the shock of the last few moments waned, the worries that she had left outside the wagon began to seep in alongside the cold night air. She studied her colleagues' faces carefully, on the lookout for any hints of frustration, disappointment... or worse. "I did okay?"

Libellule closed the wagon door that Lou had left open. "More than okay, considering!"

Lou tried to get a read on her colleague, hard as it was with her back turned. "Considering...?" she asked, her voice cracking a little.

Roy leaned over, elbow resting on his knee. "Oh, Lule and I were talking about it earlier. Figured we ought to put a catch-up lesson or two together to help ease you back into it, since it's been a while."

Lou could only stand to look at him for a second before averting her gaze. The part of her anticipating a telltale sign of trouble on his face wasn't brave enough to stare it down. "I'm so sorry."

Roy put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't you worry yourself. Clearly wasn't needed, was it?" He chuckled. "You joined in like you never missed a day!"

"Your entrance was perfect, Lou!" Libellule said as she gave the charcoal drawing of the Witch-Fiend another look, her hand running over a stack of bundled fabrics.

"Strode in like Her Majesty herself!" Roy ruffled Lou's hair, grinning all the while.

Lou looked up at him. "It's, um..." she began to correct before she was able to stop herself.

"Sorry, 'His Majesty, back in the princess days'—that's how you're s'posed to say it, right?" His hand still on Lou's head, Roy looked over to Libellule, who gave him a nod as she returned to the center of the wagon with a rolled-up rug.

"No, I mean..." Lou reached up to take Roy's hand in both of hers, once again surrendering with practiced abandon to the part of her that could not let a detail stand uncorrected. "It's the princess who ruffles Le Loup's hair. Not the other way around." She moved Roy's hand aside, and in the same motion, reached up to give his head the lightest of ruffles before shying back.

Roy blinked, dumbfounded for a moment, before erupting into a guffaw. "That so? Well I'll pass the message along to Alphonse, then! Along with those improvisations of yours."

"He'll get a kick out of it," Libellule said as she unrolled the thick rug onto the floor, sitting down at one end.

"No!"

Roy and Libellule both looked at Lou, taken aback.

"I mean... please don't," Lou said as she sat down onto the rug, hugging her legs. She didn't want to push her luck any more than she already had. All her worries were flooding back, twisting and pulling at that same spot deep inside her chest. "The script is fine as it is. I don't want to make any more changes. I don't..." She took a shaky breath. "I don't want to cause any more setbacks."

"Are you still worried about that?" Libellule said. "Lou, delays happen! It comes with the job."

Lou's eyes were glued to the floor, following the pattern woven into the rug. "I've been here for a year," she said, her voice shaking, "and I'm still not any closer. Alphonse hired me for this play, and I... I keep holding everyone back."

"Oh, hon." Libellule sighed. "You've been pushing yourself harder than anyone here. You know that, right?"

"But it's not enough!" Lou replied, powerless against the rising wave of distress, desperately trying to hold back the tears welling up inside. "I haven't... I haven't done anything yet! I convinced him to take a chance on me, and now he's... he's going to realize it wasn't worth it." Her lip quivered as she hugged herself even tighter, her knuckles turning white. "I think he already has."

Roy cocked an eyebrow as he took the wolf pelt cloak off and sat down heavily on his end of the rug. "What makes you say that?"

Lou rested her chin against her knees. "I saw him sending out letters to Adélaïde," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If it was her instead of me, the play would already be a hit."

"Who?" Roy asked, tilting his head.

"Oh, of course, you worked with her too, didn't you Lou?" Libellule turned to Roy. "She's a veteran of the Troupe, had that real 'princess' look to her. So much so that some Crown people recruited her to become a princess lookalike, years ago. She always loved a good adventure, so... off she went."

Lou curled up further, making herself even smaller. That's right, she thought. She'd robbed Adélaïde of the stage twice over. Maybe even more.

"Oh yeah, I remember now! Alphonse talked her up a ton. But Lou..." Roy made a show of looking left, then right. "She hasn't been here working on this play for the past year, has she? You have."

Because of me, Lou thought, mumbling.

"What's that?"

"Because of me!" Lou said, wiping her eyes with one hand. "Alphonse was looking for her even back then, but I showed up instead. So I got the role."

Libellule smiled sadly and sighed. "Oh, Lou... are you really blaming yourself because of the luck of the draw? Because of fate?"

Lou looked up at her. "It's true, isn't it? If it hadn't been for me, Alphonse would—"

"Lou." Libellule gently took hold of her colleague's shoulders. "Lou, do you know how many roles each of us have won or lost on a coin flip? Alphonse is a grown man who can make his own decisions. He met you, he talked to you, he chose to hire you. That's all there is to it. I'm sure Adélaïde would understand that too. Besides, she's had plenty of time to come back since."

Lou looked down.

"You can't live your life blaming yourself for other people's decisions! They deserve better than that. You deserve better than that."

"...Mm."

"Hey, Lou. Look at me," Libellule said gently, waiting for her to lift her head up. "You didn't see yourself walk in here earlier. You didn't see yourself join in without missing a beat and improvise new lines, but Roy and I did."

"S'right," Roy said with a nod.

"Lou, I'm sure you know just as well as I do how good an actress Adélaïde is. And let me tell you, she would be jealous of the sheer amount of emotion you put into that performance. You've got nothing to worry about, alright?"

Lou gave a quiet sniffle, blinking away a stubborn tear as her eyes drifted back down to look at the rug. "But... I've missed so many night rehearsals. And there's all the delays I've caused, and the rewrites, and..."

Roy chuckled. "Lou, I ever tell you the time I toasted a little bit too much to Saint-Tonnerre? Climbed on a table, danced right off—sprained my ankle something rare."

"Ugh, don't remind me! It was right in front of me, too," said Libellule with a wince as she sat back. "You were lucky old Drienne was at the party."

Roy bent down from his seated position, trying to catch Lou's gaze; smiling once he did so. "Hey. Even with the help of the witch, it took me weeks to recover. And that was the night after our first show! I didn't even have an understudy. Everyone thought I was invincible."

"...What did you do?"

Roy shrugged. "The only thing we could do. Packed up and left after the one show. We had a schedule to keep."

Lou's eyes widened.

"We made up for it the next year, though, don't get me wrong. And were people in town glad they finally got to see the play again!" He reached over and patted Lou on the other shoulder. "All I'm saying is, this happens, and Alphonse knows it. He's always like this, going 'ohhhh something bad is happening!' one day, 'ohhh this is the worst thing ever!' the next. But the day after that? Or the one after? He calms down like a normal person." Roy leaned back. "You make someone unhappy, you make it up to them later—it's part of the job. So don't you worry yourself about it, alright? You're doing just fine."

Lou looked to the side, her eyes fleeing Roy's once more. "You're... you're established, though. You're an actor."

Roy let out a hearty laugh. "And you're not? Lil' Lou, you ain't gonna come back from this, but you're part of the Shepherd's Troupe. That makes you an actor too."

"I still... I still haven't proven myself yet," Lou said, her voice growing quieter and quieter, almost losing itself in the noise of the moving wagon around them. "What if I can't do the job?" She struggled to put into words a fear that had been with her from the start, only growing stronger by the day. Stronger by the second, now that she had named it. "How long do I have until he decides I'm useless?"

Libellule began to say something, then stopped, also struggling to find the words.

All Lou could think of were the other wagons and the people in them. The experiences they'd all shared over the past year; experiences she hoped in her heart of hearts that she would have the chance to live again. But as her lip began to tremble and the wetness in her eyes that had abated returned with a vengeance, she knew her chances were growing slim.

"I don't want to leave," she finally pleaded, choking back tears. Her voice had gotten so frail and fragile she almost didn't register it as her own.

For a moment, there was only the creaking of the wood, the crushing of dirt and gravel under rolling wheels.

"Lou," Roy said in a gravelly tone that was stern and warm in equal measure. He waited until she looked at him again; waited until she made eye contact once more. "That ain't how we do things around here."

"...Mm?"

"We're the Shepherd's Troupe, Lou," Libellule said, shifting her position to sit next to Roy, the both of them facing her. "A flock first, a theater troupe second. We don't throw anyone away. We don't force anyone to leave."

Lou looked from one to the other, their words sticking in her mind, not quite making it past her defenses. Part of her screamed not to let down her guard, that this was too good to be true. But the rest of her, a part that was growing louder by the second, wanted so dearly to believe them.

"And 'sides," Roy continued, "you really think Alphonse would replace one of his stars, just like that?" He got back up on one knee. "You think we'd let him?"

Lou's heart began to race again, but for a completely different reason.

Libellule sidled up next to Lou and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in close, smiling that confident smile of hers that Lou had never been able to replicate—or forget. "You're ours, princess. We're not gonna let anyone take you away."

Lou's relieved smile lasted only a second before she burst into tears.

Blood rushed to her face as the rising wave of emotions within her finally crested her defenses, subsuming everything, overpowering whatever shred of composure she had left. She had assumed the worst, steeled herself for the most dire consequences, but nothing could have prepared her for this: a show of support, from two people that had become so dear to her. She had expected to be doubted, pitied, cast out...

She had never expected to be wanted.

Lou had long ago given up on it. Being desired or sought out was a myth, a dream reserved for others. Her past self had made peace with it. She had contented herself with something more attainable, more reliable: she had become needed. She had forged herself into an indomitable instrument—both weapon and shield—that one would be foolish to ignore, and even more foolish not to put to good use. But the aftermath of the coronation had made her give that up, too. It had shown her how terrifying it was to no longer be indispensable.

She had been scared.

She had been so scared to lose everything all over again. The sheer weight of it hanging over her for the past year had worn her down more than she'd realized. And now, in the sudden release of this constant crushing presence from her shoulders, she was aloft, adrift, unmoored in a storm of her own making.

She held onto Libellule for dear life, abandoning herself to her embrace as what felt like a lifetime of constant vigilance came crumbling down around her. She felt the firmness of her co-star's arms around her own; felt the softness of a layer of warmth being wrapped around them both.

The two of them held on for a long while.

Just like any other storm, the sobs eventually abated and the tears ran dry. Lou took shaky breath after shaky breath, slightly dizzy from the sudden and sustained effort. At some point Libellule had gotten up; returned with some water in a cup. Lou accepted it gratefully, wrapping the wolf pelt cloak around herself more tightly. She looked at it bemusedly... had Roy draped it over her shoulders during her outburst?

Lou looked up at her colleagues, almost afraid of the expressions she'd find on their faces—this time more out of embarrassment than anything else. Thankfully, she found nothing other than compassion.

"You doing okay there, Lou?" Libellule asked with a smile that let just a little bit of worry shine through.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, taking another sip of water. "Thank you."

Roy reached over to ruffle her hair. "This one's out of character, alright?" he added with a quick smile. "Doesn't count."

Lou chuckled, to Roy's visible delight. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to wrangle her scruffy locks. Her hand lingered on the fur of the cloak on her shoulders, running down to the end of the pelt, over the ears and down the snout. She gently lifted the wolf's head and brought it about to face her, confirming her suspicions.

"Ain't it a beauty?" Roy asked, nodding at the cloak. "Always wanted one of these wolf pelt cloaks."

"Wanted to get into a specific one, more like," Libellule chimed in with a smirk.

Roy returned the smirk, then broke out into a guffaw. "Hah! Don't think I'll ever forgive the Witch-Fiend for taking that one off the menu."

Libellule struck a pose, imitating the charcoal drawing of her character on the wall. "Oho! Has that been your motivation?"

"Got that right!" He rose to his feet, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, the toothy smile remaining on his face. "It's what keeps me focused. Through every growl, every stomp!" Roy slammed his foot down and shook the wagon a second time, Libellule artfully recoiling straight into a pirouette as she laughed.

Roy sat back down heavily, giving the floor an apologetic pat. "Anyway Lil' Lou, a couple weeks back Edmée started putting our costumes together. She went looking for a sewing pattern but found this old soldier in the wardrobe, all ready to go."

"Did you two ever find out where it came from?" Libellule asked.

"Well, now that's the thing, ain't it?" Roy replied. "Edmée says it's been right there with the other accessories for as long as she remembers, but when I asked old Estienne, he said he'd never seen it."

"Huh." Libellule scratched her chin. "When did she take over Estienne's spot working wardrobe again?"

"Well, I reckon... actually, she used to be in curtains and rigging, wasn't she? Before that nasty fall knocked the daring right outta her."

"That's right. So it can't have been here more than a year," Libellule said as walked over to get a closer look at the cloak. "Because Edmée's accident happened the week after we signed you on, Lou."

"Ain't that right? You know anything about it, Lil' Lou?"

It's mine, Lou wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She had dropped the cloak off on her third day, secreting it away among the rest of the costumes. It would've raised too many questions, after all; why would a former royal decoy have such an important heirloom? Better to let everyone believe they had a striking replica gathering dust somewhere, and keep her cover story safe.

She looked into the glassy eyes of her longtime companion. It would be their little secret.

Roy reached out and rubbed a bit of fur between his index and forefinger. "It's a pretty good fake, I'll give it that."

"It's... wait, fake?" Lou looked up at him, mouth agape, her eyes narrowing with every passing second.

Roy nodded, lifting a corner of the cape end and giving the fabric a bit of tension. "I mean it's a real cloak, ain't no doubt. Real pelt, real wolf, no tricks there. But there's one detail that's missing, and you won't spot it unless you're a Beaver Lake hunter." He eyed the cloak with the grin of a shrewd businessman. "Or shared a few pints with one. You know what I'm talking about, Lou?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Dozens of retorts fought each other in her mind, half of them far angrier than anyone here deserved to hear right now. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. No, she told herself. This wasn't the time or the place.

"Well now I'm interested," Libellule said, walking around to look at it from the other side. "What's the tell?"

Roy ran his fingers through the pelt, inches from Lou, the proximity of his hands making her hairs stand on end... dousing the flames of her anger, in a way that caught her off-guard. He parted the fur this way and that, lifting the edges with his thumb. Finally, he sat back down and clicked his tongue. "No stitching."

"Aside from the obvious," Libellule said.

"Aside from the obvious." Roy nodded. "The pelt's sewn on real nice, but this wasn't any old animal—this was a wolf. A fellow hunter. And hunters don't hunt each other. That ain't right." Roy's tone had turned somber somewhere along the way. He ran his hand through the fur again, this time more pensively; respectfully, even. "Hunters help one another. They give each other food. They stitch each other's wounds."

"Oh, I like that," Libellule said as she kneeled down next to Lou, adding yet another pair of hands to the luxurious fur draped over her shoulders. Another source for the heat rising to her cheeks. "Maybe it's there and you missed it?"

Roy shook his head. "That kind of stitching uses bright red thread. Thick, easy to spot. It's not something they try to hide."

"A mark of pride?"

"Maybe." Roy shrugged. "Never met a hunter who liked talking about it. S'pose it's a... personal thing."

Libellule put her finger to her mouth, deep in thought. Then she broke out into a broadening smile. "It's a ritual."

Both Roy and Lou turned to her in unison.

Libellule turned her wrist, running the back of her hand over the fur, causing Lou's heartrate to rise just a little bit higher. "Or it used to be. Northerners do a lot of sheep farming, their witches work with thread and string. It's only natural for that kind of practice to spread. Maybe it's to commune with the dead? To banish lingering spirits?"

"To ask for forgiveness."

"Yeah, could be," Libellule replied, her attention still focused on the pelt. It took her a moment to register Lou's words, but when she did, her face brightened up immediately. "You do know about it. So it's more than just communing, then. It's caretaking."

"It's..." Lou blinked, looking down at the wolf's eyes again. She'd never thought of it that way. "Yeah. I guess it is."

Lou brought her hand up to the pelt. "It's to ease their suffering. To ask for their help on the road ahead. To honor them... and make sure we don't forget." She moved her fingers to the wolf's expertly-preserved head, cupping its mouth. "That's what grandfather taught me."

"Grandpa was a hunter, eh?" Roy asked.

Lou nodded. She gently slid her thumb past a canine and lifted the side of its lip, revealing the rest of its teeth—and the thread stitching the animal's mouth shut.

Roy let out a long whistle.

Libellule tilted her head for a closer look. "There it is."

"All the wounds are on the inside," Lou said, her tone somber, her head bowed. But inside, a debate raged, to the sound of her beating heart. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell them so much more.

"Well I ain't coming back from that! Got S'Candit's own eyes there, Lou." Roy patted the wolf on its head. "Sorry I doubted you, old soldier. Now what kind of hit took you down like that?"

Lou turned to him. The three of them were so close; to be heard, all she had to do was whisper. A godsend, as that was all she could manage. "You'll have to ask Le Loup."

She could tell them this much.

Roy let out an awkward chuckle. "What?"

"I brought it from the castle. His Majesty gave it to me," Lou managed to say, doing everything she could to keep her body from shaking like a leaf. "A parting gift,"—she paused, catching her breath—"on my last day."

Roy's mouth went slack as both he and Libellule immediately withdrew their hands from the pelt. He gave the cloak another once-over, eyeing it up and down. "Woah, two seconds there. Are you saying this is Le Loup's cloak?"

Lou nodded, her heart beating so fast now that it made breathing difficult. Part of her wanted to tell them everything, down to the last detail, but that would be too risky. She ran her hand up and down the wolf's head, stroking its fur in practiced motions.

"It's here?" Roy asked. "Not in his grave?"

"No body to bury, thanks to the Witch-Fiend's curse," Libellule said, shaking her head. "I still don't understand how that was possible, I've never heard of any magic combining two people like that." She looked at the cloak again pensively. "Maybe there was some part of Le Loup left in His Majesty after all?"

"If there were, he would've worn it, or put it on display." There was a hint of fire in Roy's voice.

"He keeps things close when he wants to get back to them," Lou said, her gaze squarely on the floor, her nerves on edge. "He hides the things he wants to keep, but not remember."

Libellule looked at Lou for a long moment. "He really trusted you."

More than anyone, Lou thought, but didn't say. She chided herself for laying so much of herself bare. Doubts were flooding back in, seeping into every pore of her skin. Had she said too much? Would they start suspecting something about her, about him? Was she still safe?

"Well then," Roy said as he reached over, breaking Lou out of her reverie. He patted firmly with his hand, both the cloak and Lou's shoulder through it. "Never thought we'd meet in the flesh."

Her heart jumped into her throat.

"It'll be our little secret, hidden in plain sight." He smiled. "You okay trusting us with this, Lou?"

She blinked a few times as the meaning of his words caught up with her, then let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Of course," she replied, letting out a little relieved laugh.

Part of her wished she could tell them more.

But the rest of her knew the risks, knew how big and dangerous the outside world was, knew how limited her options would be in it. The rest of her knew how much she had to lose. The rest of her...

What if the rest of her was wrong?

Lou looked up at Roy and Libellule again. They had welcomed her, helped her flourish, comforted her at every turn—even when she'd been at her lowest. They were more than her colleagues; they were her friends. No matter what the world held in store for her from now on, she wouldn't have to face it alone.

She was safer here than anywhere else.

She was wanted.

Her heart began to beat faster again as she began to smile, in spite of herself.

"I'll trust you with more."

Libellule perked up at this. She shot Roy a sidelong glance, looking like someone who knew how a play ended but didn't want to spoil the surprise. She tried to conceal her smile.

"Yeah?" Roy asked. "Gonna tell us you have His Majesty's old underclothes too?"

Lou coughed abruptly, getting up on wobbly legs as color rose to her face. Her hands smoothed out her dress, less out of any sense of decorum than the giddy need to stay in motion. She stepped between her two colleagues, the long trailing cape sliding over their legs as she made her way to where the blunt wooden sword had fallen from Roy's hands earlier. She picked it up and continued on toward the back of the wagon.

There was no time for thoughts anymore. She was the blade in mid-swing, the arrow in flight. Every movement, every muscle only served to drive her forward to her goal.

She looked up at the charcoal drawings on the wall in front of her, adorned in notes about their appearances and mannerisms.

Le Loup to her left. The princess to her right.

The Witch-Fiend in the corner, lit from below by the light of the malfunctioning blindfold Libellule had thrown into the costume box earlier.

Lou turned around. She nodded to herself once, twice; held the wooden prop in her hands tightly as she spoke. "The Witch-Fiend didn't combine the bodies of His Majesty and Le Loup."

Libellule's smile instantly faded as her eyes widened. "Wait. What?"

Lou flipped the wooden sword upside-down against the floor and rested her hands on the guard, standing up straight with her shoulders squared; making the wolf pelt cloak on her back puff out as she did so.

"She exchanged them."

Silence hung between the three of them, swaying along with every bump on the road, every shift in the glow of the witchsilver lights strung across the wagon. Not a word was spoken, nor a breath taken. Thoughts hung like motes of dust suspended in the air.

An eternity passed.

Roy laughed. A chuckle at first, then erupting into a mighty laugh that seemed to shake the floor itself. Libellule sat there, a hand over her mouth, fingers splayed, her eyes practically glimmering as her gaze darted to and fro between Lou and the charcoal depictions on either side.

Lou looked up at Roy as he approached, neither of them breaking eye contact, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. An unbreakable, fearless smile on her lips, the kind reserved for a meeting with the god of death themselves.

“Well send my soul to Dix-Parent, I sure ain’t coming back from that.”

She'd told them. She couldn't believe it. She'd told them, and... and they were smiling.

Roy reached out with his hand, tentatively at first, then with gusto as he clasped Lou's right shoulder over the fur of her pelt cloak. "Alright, let's hear it then," he said with a grin.

Lou blinked several times, most of her focus spent on keeping from crumbling under the tremendous stress she'd just put herself through. "Wh... what?"

Roy patted her on the shoulder again; on the pelt, where the wolf's head was. He tapped its teeth with his finger. "Tell us how the fight went."

She laughed in spite of herself. "What? That's what... you want me to..." She looked at his hand, then back at him. "I thought you'd ask about... Of all things, you..." It took her a moment to get over her disbelief. "You're asking me about that?" she finally managed to say.

"Yeah, let's hear it," Roy said, completely serious, as Libellule at last caught up with them, still at a loss for words. He put an arm out for her to grab as she approached, resting his other hand on his hip. "Right from the wolf's mouth."

"Hah... okay." Lou nodded, letting the wooden sword hang loosely in her grip. "There's... there's not much to say. I was still a kid."

"A wolf had attacked people close to the town across the woods, so some men with swords came by the village to ask for help tracking it down. It was just one wolf, and the grandmothers figured I was ready, so they sent me. It wasn't even that far. I was s'posed to meet up with the townsmen the next morning."

"But by the time I got to their camp, it was deserted. The fire was still smoking. Judging from the tracks in the snow, I'd missed them by a few hours. One of them had dropped their sword, a really big one."

Lou walked a few steps, crouching down. She put the practice sword on the floor next to her, recreating the scene as best she could. Though it was just a wooden prop, the size was right; it was probably as big in her hands now than that sword had been all those years ago. "When I realized I wasn't alone, it was too late." She looked over her shoulder. The wolf's face remained burned into her mind, even after all those years.

"She was on me before I could get to my bow. So I just..." Lou dropped to the ground and reached for the sword at its midpoint, grabbing the blade with both hands. She rolled onto her back and, in one swift motion, thrust it into the air behind her.

There was a moment of silence; then, Roy began to clap his hands. "In one shot, huh? Just like that."

She held the pose. "When a beast goes for a bite, it reveals its weakest spot. All you need is a sharp point and some strength to back it up."

Part of her was there, back then, among the birch trees. She remembered the bare branches above her, the bite of the wind on her face, her hunting clothes wrapped tightly around her body... oddly enough not the body she once had, but the one she now wore. She could almost hear the gentle sound of the snow being crushed under her as she leaned back ever so slightly. "Grandfather taught me that."

"He'd already trained you to use a sword that big?" Roy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, but he'd taught me to use a knife." Lou looked up at the wooden weapon in her hands; ran her fingers along the grain. "A sword's just a big knife when you get down to it."

She put it back down onto the ground as Roy extended a hand, helping her back up to her feet; pulling her into an unexpected bear hug that made her yelp in surprise. In an instant Libellule had joined them, wrapping her arms around her from the other side.

"What would you have done if you'd missed?" Roy asked, his cheek almost touching hers, his voice a low rumble.

"I dunno." Lou shrugged as best she could from within the embrace. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

The three of them shared a quiet chuckle.

Lou felt Libellule's fingers ruffle her hair, felt the actress's long arms snake down around her possessively, gently tugging her away from Roy. "Oh, Lou... You were really hiding in plain sight all this time? Why here, of all places? Why the secrecy?"

"It was to keep me safe," Lou answered softly. She looked around. "To keep us safe."

"Hah! All this time I thought that was our job." Roy looked her up and down again, as if his eyes still couldn't believe what was in front of them. "When Alphonse introduced you, my first thought was 'oh, we'll need to look after this one.' But you were a right terror all along, right under our noses. A wolf in—"

"No I wasn't," Lou interrupted, reaching up to rest her hands on Libellule's slender arms, her palm covering up the dagger tattoo on the taller actress's wrist. "I gave that up. Back at the castle, I swore an oath. I'll never shed blood with these hands again."

Roy looked Lou in the eyes, his expression shifting into something she'd never seen from him before: the kind of respect one showed a comrade. He nodded. "A gentler kind of wolf, then."

"Maybe," Lou replied absently, feeling Libellule's grip tighten again.

"Going through all of that on your own... Lou, you could've told someone. You could've told us."

There was a confused pause. "I just did," Lou replied, with enough annoyance on her voice to send her co-stars into a sudden fit of laugher.

"It's all starting to make sense now." Roy shook his head, as if trying to shed the last of his disbelief. "Why a lookalike would know so much about the Wolf of the White Woods. Down to the tics and the mannerisms." He mock-stomped his foot on the floor.

"I never said I was a lookalike, I just... didn't correct Alphonse when he called me that." She looked aside, a tinge of embarrassment on her face. "I was desperate. All I had was skills I'd given up on and a recommendation letter from Chiffon. I mean, Marguerite."

Rita, she thought, but didn't say. Others had called Chiffon that, but it felt special, reserved. Something Lou hadn't earned yet.

"Well, I think you give both yourself and Alphonse too little credit. He's a sharp one, Lou. Like Lule and I said, he wouldn't have hired you if he didn't think you could do the job."

Libellule leaned her chin on Lou's shoulder. "That's right. People can surprise you, Lou. Take me, for example: did you know I taught the Wolf of the White Woods how to dance in heels? Because I sure didn't!"

Lou snorted, barely containing her laughter. "Hey!"

Libellule loosened her hold on her shorter co-star slightly, her sly grin suddenly fading. "And we've been calling you princess, of all things. Oh, Lou, I'm so sorry—"

"No! No, it's fine, it's... it's okay." She could feel the heat rising to her face, but just this once, she didn't mind. "I like the things you call me."

A sweet silence hung in the air, before turning sour as Lou suddenly remembered something important from the script.

"Did Alphonse really write 'puppy'?"

The look of surprise on Libellule's face lasted only for a second before it was overtaken by the biggest, most amused smile the actress had ever mustered. "Oh no, Lou," she began to ask, barely containing her mirth, "did you take it personally?"

"Le Loup was not a puppy!" Lou said as she wriggled out of the taller woman's grasp, her face suddenly burning hotter than the sun. "I'm... it's just..."

"It's okay, I promise! Believe me, the audience will love it!"

"But... it's not... ugh! I have a legacy to think about!" Lou stomped her foot on the floor in protest.

Tap!

Libellule put a hand over her mouth as Roy turned around, the two of them going to great lengths to hide their reactions to the sound, or lack thereof. But Lou saw. She saw everything.

"I'm sorry!" Libellule said, the color showing on her face as well. "Lou, that's just... that's just so cute."

Lou hid her face behind her hands. She didn't know why she cared so much about this, but she did. Spending so much time and effort ensuring a proper portrayal of the Prince had made it hard not to want that for herself. Or, at least, the character she had played.

"Listen Lil—hrm," Roy began to say, getting down on one knee in front of her, his eyes level with her chin. He reached over to put his hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Lou."

"...Mm?" She risked a glance his way.

"This is a big role, not just for me. I know the weight of it. And I ain't gonna let just any ol' witch get the better of me, alright?" He gave her a fierce smile. "I'll do you proud. You can trust me on that."

"And besides Lou, that retort you came up with is going to make the whole crowd cheer for you. Alphonse will love it."

Lou waved her arms to the side, trying to calm down. "Promise?"

"We promise," Roy said with a grin. "Your legacy's in good hands."

Lou nodded. She wasn't sure why that was so important to her right then and there, but it was strangely reassuring. Despite everything that had happened to her following the coronation, despite all the ordeals she'd been through, all the changes... she'd found a version of herself she could care for. One she might not want to abandon to the blade of adversity so readily next time.

"So..." she began to say, her knees beginning to wobble as the night's events caught up with her at last. She reached out to the nearby wall for support, looking up at the charcoal drawings once again. "What now?"

Roy bent down, slipped one hand behind her knees, pressed the other into the small of her back, and then lifted her up into his arms before she had a chance to react—or protest.

"Wha—"

"Now, princess," Roy said in his most refined knightly baritone, "we get you to bed."

Libellule laughed. "Oho, guess it's back on the menu, eh?"

Lou hung on to Roy's tunic as the wagon spun around her. She turned to look in Libellule's general direction. "What... what are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" Roy said as he carried her back toward the door. Despite the uneven lighting of the witchsilver strung up around the wagon, Lou could see the rising color on his cheeks; what wasn't covered by his beard, at least.

"We can, uh..." He began to say, an unusually self-conscious smile on his face as he exchanged conspiratorial looks with Libellule. "We can talk about that another night."