The Countess fished Vrye's finery out of his armoire. Together with Bordo they wrestled Vrye into his stays, his striped hose, his frilled garters, ample thigh padding, paisley pantaloons, linen undershirt and silver silk overshirt, violet brocade vest, cascading lace cravat, fuchsia velvet jacket with elaborate braid from collar to waist, and a pelisse in plum with lush Sasquatch fur trim. The Count then laced on his best filigree codpiece, fashioned like a singing sea-hag.
But there was more to come.
A silk belt, under a string of lapis lazuli. Bracelets and bangles of silver, onyx and sapphires. A necklace each of diamonds, pearls and aquamarine. A ring or two for each finger. A small stud in his nose, a lace of chains threaded through his long pointed ears and a crystal drape for each horn.
Vrye resisted the final piece of the royal ensemble, a thousand jewels rattling with every retreating step.
The crown. A wicked sculpture of silver horns twisted around a velvet cushion. Were he not the only one whose rare, down-turned horns could accommodate the absurd head-topper, he could have avoided this predicament. But a King needed a silly hat or he was just a fool who thought too highly of himself.
Merlo backed him into a corner and affixed it to his head, then Bordo moistened him with a puff of Odour of Ogre. A spicy bouquet of Ogre musk and matured lichen.
Satisfied with Vrye's attire, the Countess directed a leer at Bordo's stringy knickers. "You had better wear more than that, darling."
"I fear it will be tyranny once you're gone, Vrye," the Count huffed.
The Countess subjected him to equal over-dressing. Vrye could not assist, but neither could he run. He had been rendered almost immobile by the weight of his splendour and needed considerable support from Merlo to walk from his boudoir to the throne-room. Then, as he eased his overdecorated frame into his grand seat, the absence of breakfast, brunch, and lunch became terribly apparent.
"Perhaps you could find me a discreet biscuit? My anxiety is going to make my stomach gurgle, I just know it," Vrye whispered to a courtier loitering beside his throne.
"No, darling," Merlo snapped cruelly and gave him a lashing with her scowl.
The creaking of the hall's grand doors stopped Vrye's heart, but his gut did not follow suit and slipped out a mortifying squeak.
"I expected more of them," Bordo sneered as the battalion of two dozen Tyvern guards dressed in fine, white uniforms strutted in, followed by an even larger array of servants. Lithe and hornless, yet with the long noses and ears similar to Wyverkiiri. They were prettier than Vrye anticipated. But then again, he could find ample quality in the most twisted troll. There was no reason he should not be able to find the brutal, twig-like Tyvern appealing if that was all he would have for company.
Vrye's knees strained as he made a show of rising to his feet for the Lady of Darkness. But shortly after he swayed and plunged back into his throne. Not from the burden of too many jewels, nor a flush of terror. It was a swoon of sheer passion.
"Vrye! Er, Majesty. Get up!" Merlo hissed and hoisted him back onto his feet. She had a firm grip on the back of his collar to keep him upright.
"I expected I would be the one swooning first, to finally meet the great King himself," said the Lady of Darkness. "I apologise if my entourage is intimidating, they'll be dismissed once the formalities are over with."
Vrye had to concentrate to hold his gaze on the Lady and not let it wander to the stunning figure by her side. Tyvern had no business being that magnificent. Not when they dressed in a simple manner that championed natural beauty rather than the sort accessible to all, with enough squeezing and padding and powder and paint.
But that fellow went beyond nature. He was unnaturally gorgeous.
"I have grown weak with anticipation," Vrye said, bowing his head to the Lady. It was a smooth recovery if he had to say so himself.
"Your nose is bleeding," she replied with more concern than he thought her folk capable of.
"...such anticipation," he said and put his smile to good use.
"Please, can someone escort my attendants to your servants quarters? I did not mean to overwhelm." With a deft movement of her hand, the whole cohort of Tyvern clustered around a Wyverkess and expected her to know what to do.
"Follow me," Merlo announced and stepped in to save her.
"Now, Alphonse—" the Lady of Darkness started, but her fine attendant did not miss a step.
"I'll get a sample and make sure it's not contagious."
Before Vrye knew what was happening, he had half a handkerchief stuffed up his nose and he was on his way back down to the floor without Merlo there to catch him.
He woke some time later, stripped of his jewels and half his garments, in the soft embrace of his bed. His face felt oddly fuzzy along the chin and under his nose. Then there was a sharp pain, like a needle jabbing into his skin. At first he was too out of sorts to respond, but after a few more pokes he found it in himself to utter an ouch.
"Keep still," urged the voice of the Tyvern who had rendered him such an embarrassment. He sounded ever so cheery.
Vrye tolerated a few more pricks for the happy fellow.
"Has he come to?" The door opened and the Lady of Darkness came swiftly to his bedside. "Alphonse, what have you done?"
"I knew I shouldn't have left one of you alone with him!" Merlo roared.
Vrye could just hear the whispers of Bordo trying to calm her.
"I improved him. Now when he bleeds, his new moustache will catch it," said sweet Alphonse.
"How thoughtful of you," Vrye gurgled blissfully. "Please continue."
"Don't you dare!" Merlo had the nerve to block the fellow from his work.
"Yes, I think that is quite enough of that. What of his illness?" the Lady replied. She had Vrye's hand held between hers but he was too feeble to free it.
"No idea what caused that," said Alphonse with an amused scoff.
With great effort, given he felt as limp as over-boiled cabbage, Vrye sat up and caught his reflection in the dressing-table mirror.
"It's simply magnificent! It's just what my face was missing. A mouse-stash, you called it?" He ran his fingers over the fine line of hairs that adorned his lip and chin. "My good fellow, you are an artisan!"
"Please, remove it before it causes an issue," the Lady dropped her voice to a murmur, "and remember to ask permission before you start altering anyone."
"Don't you dare, Mister Alphonse. I appreciate the gift." Vrye gave the moustache a twirl, which seemed the right thing to do with it. Then he risked another fainting spell and had a proper gander at Alphonse.
He throbbed from neck to knickerbockers. His heart leapt. His cod danced. Such vivacious cerulean eyes glistened under an explosion of azure hair, as wild and fibrous as strands of pure Nonsense. Accompanied by a nose long enough to spear a turnip and the grin of a wolf's granny. Vrye almost begged to be devoured.
"I couldn't even if I wanted to," Alphonse said with a gnash of his sparkling teeth. Tragically, he then turned away, packed his things and departed, leaving Vrye with only a brief moment to admire him from behind. But what a behind it was. His long, patchwork coat could not hide it from Vrye's potent imagination. Sharp cheekbones at either end, no doubt.
"Do forgive my Alchemist, he's an odd fellow, but I dare not travel without him in case we have incidents like this and the recent sock plague," said the Lady.
Vrye tried to give her his undivided attention, but his eyes lingered on the doorway in the hope the Alchemist had forgotten something. "That plague—"
"Not your fault. Another of Alphonse's little fancies, I'm afraid. But he's the only one that can fix the problems he creates." The Lady dismissed him with a manufactured laugh, followed by a sharp, impatient breath as she turned to Merlo. "If you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on Alphonse, Countess Merlo, I'd hate to think what he might do if left unattended."
"If anyone else gets that fluff on their face, I'll declare war myself!" Merlo hitched up her hem and petticoats and stomped out. Bordo scampered after her, pleading for peace and a moustache of his own.
Vrye barely stifled a whimper, left all alone with the Lady of Darkness.
"I've heard such tales of you that it's almost a relief to learn you suffer ailments like the rest of us," the Lady said with a genuine, coy, laugh that had Vrye lost for words. Luckily, she filled the silence with recounts of his adventures.
"That puts me at quite a disadvantage. I know little more than your title," Vrye cut in before she could ask about the sordid affair with a Seahag, or the Banshee, and certainly not the one with the Bridge Troll. Though he shuddered to recount the stories of he had heard of her.
"Please, call me Lady Kabech, or Kabby if you wish," she answered brightly. The way her eyes sparkled made her seem so innocent, and not at all the bloodied tyrant her reputation painted her as.
"Of course, Lady Kabech," Vrye dipped his head politely. "Alphonse goes everywhere with you, does he?" He found himself unable to keep his fingers away from his new facial tufts.
"I'll keep him under close watch if you're nervous." Kabech edged closer to his bedside.
Vrye pushed out an infectious-sounding cough to stop her. "I've a few more ailments that could do with attention, that's all. Adventures to exotic places and all that." He had her in retreat with another death-rattle.
"I'll send for him at once. If he gets too intrusive, just try to scream and someone will be in to stop him." With that, Lady Kabech did not waste another precious moment of his life.
After she left the room, Vrye stripped down to his padding and corset, then worked up some feverish symptoms. Reclining on his velvet duvet, framed by cushions, he must have looked ravishingly wretched.
Alphonse's grin stretched from ear to ear and he pounced right into a physical examination the moment he entered. "Is that a wart?" he asked, prodding at a spot on Vrye's chest with exquisite fingers.
"A beauty spot, as we call them. I hear Tyvern don't have warts at all," Vrye replied, searching Alphonse for lumps and bumps with a careful probe from his own elegant digits.
"Do you need them?" Alphonse said and tugged at the fine hair that sprouted from another.
In the odd fellow's presence, his warts whirred as they did around the old dragon, Kyos.
Vrye walked his fingers up the alchemist's narrow torso to where his blue hair met his shoulders. It bounced and wiggled with a life of its own. He truly did have woolly strands of Nonsense growing right out of his head. If Vrye were not wearing his socks to dull the excited whizz of his warts, exposure to that much of it could turn him into all manner of unnatural things.
And he might just enjoy it.
"I don't believe they're vital by any means. Not like a goblin's," Vrye said.
"Excellent. Hold this in your gob."
There was a sudden escalation of events.
Vrye was not one to object to a gag and the odd strap or four, but with them a pair of knitting needles were pulled from Alphonse's leather bag of tricks, along with a pot of leeches, and an empty jar labelled: mayonnaise.
He spat the bundled socks from his mouth. "Good fellow, the fever isn't real."
"I know," Alphonse replied.
"There's really no need for this."
"I know," he repeated, then stuffed the socks back in and added another strap to hold them in place.
Alphonse twirled a wart hair around the point of his needle and plucked it from Vrye's skin. One by one he did the same to each of the spots and stored them in his strange little jar. Fortunately, he was a master of his craft and there was only a moderate burning sensation, no worse than a bit of candle wax.
Vrye seemed to have earned Alphonse's trust, and had his mouth belt and socks removed. "Carry on," he insisted, to which the Alchemist responded with a scoff and scribbled something down in a little black book.
"Do you have other warts?" Alphonse said over the scratching of his pencil.
"One, but I should like to know you better before—"
The Alchemist had Vrye out of his padding faster than anyone he had ever tussled with. There was no pomp or ceremony to speak of. Though rather refreshing, that wart went with a great deal more agony. It had Vrye's eyes watering, but he bit his tongue to hold in a yelp.
Despite his silence, both Lady Kabech and Duchess Merlo barged in and screamed enough for the three of them.
"He wasn't ill before you lot showed up! Someone has poisoned—" Merlo's eyes caught up with her mouth and both promptly shut.
"Alphonse!" exclaimed the Lady, whose naivete must have withered at the sight.
"Got me a jar of warts," chimed Alphonse. He tossed his tools back in his bag and made a start toward the door.
"Don't you dare leave! Have you tended to his illness at all?" scolded Lady Kabech.
"Try a leech," Alphonse advised and left pot of the creatures on Vrye's bedside table. Then the devil slunk out as slick as a fox.
Merlo took the advice to heart and dumped the whole pot on Vrye's tender nethers, which the poor Lady was forced to clear up with Vrye in no position, himself.
"Do you really think he has been poisoned? I couldn't imagine one of my staff having the opportunity, but I can have them investigated none-the-less if you would extend the same courtesy, Countess Merlo. With the terms of our engagement, his health is now a concern for the whole realm." At last Vrye caught a glimpse of the notorious Tyvern malevolence bubbling away under the Lady's facade of utter propriety. He was sure she could rip someone's heart out and make them apologise for the mess.
"You made the arrangements without me present?" Vrye asked indignantly.
"You were ill, and I felt we had a connection so there was no need to delay the proceedings over small details," Kabech said with an icy caress of his sternum.
"She accepted all our terms. We could hardly negotiate more out of them given your fragile state," Bordo said, arriving late with an eyebrow raised in accusation accompanied by a smirk of admiration.
"Perhaps rest would be the best medicine. Alphonse is not usually so... curious." Lady Kabech moved her hand to Vrye's forehead. "I don't feel a fever, in any case."
"I've not eaten a morsel since last night, so perhaps we could get tea underway instead?" Vrye suggested. His gut shrieked again to punctuate his needs.
"Now we have the whole issue of the poisoning accusation, we'll have to arrange two tasters and guards to watch the cooks," Kabech said to Bordo.
"Let me arrange a meal myself then. If I must wait for formalities I'm afraid I might starve. Now could someone help with these buckles..." Vrye flailed a little in his restraints to bring his company's attention to them.
"Nobody suspects the Alchemist?" the Count asked and gave Vrye some assistance. Finally able to sit up, he hitched up his knickers and searched the armoire for less bedawbled attire should the need to remove it in a hurry arise again. A loose pair of slops that did not require padding or codpiece and short jacket with open buttons fit the bill nicely.
"If Alphonse was trying, the King would have grown seven arms and Kyos knows what else. I dare say he's just excited to have someone new to probe," Kabech said with a slight groan under her breath.
"He seems a kind fellow, so he is welcome to probe all he likes." Vrye sauntered over and offered his betrothed an arm, which she took with enthusiasm. "Merlo, Bordo, the two of you should see to it that everyone else is fed and comfortable."
He led the way to the kitchen, too hungry to care what the Lady might make of the shabbier parts of Versayls. With luck she would see it for the horror it was and call off the arrangement, leaving him free to propose an arrangement with her Alchemist instead.
"There's such history in Wyverkiiri constructions. We don't get that with our mushrooms." Kabech proved frustratingly resistant, even after a brush of the wall chipped off part of a Wyverk's painted buttock.
"Our ruins provide excellent nourishment to those mushrooms of yours," he said, a little more bitterly than was sensible.
"They're fleeting wonders, certainly. That is what makes them so precious," said Kabech. If she had noticed his spite, she did not show it. "And you can cook for yourself! I wouldn't know one end of a carrot from the other. That must be useful on your adventures."
"I don't like to rely upon others. I understand you keep servants for your most intimate functions," he said, but she did not even flinch.
"Servants consider such tasks an honour, and I dare say there would be unrest if they knew we could manage without them. Traditions have us all at their mercy, but perhaps through this union that will change."
Vrye would rather be at Alphonse's mercy. He turned for the larder. Poor cooking was his next port of call to ensure that union did not happen. "Can you see the pickled parsnips?" he asked, frowning at the disorderly hodgepodge of pastes, pickles, jams, a nasty black rat with his paws on a pot of beetroots—
"Don't look at me," said someone behind him.
Vrye spun around and caught the Alchemist red-handed with a parsnip sandwich and a suspect jar of pickle-juice.
"Not very good at listening, are you?"
"Alphonse! I'll send you back to Hereth if you don't stop your shenanigans!" Kabech shrieked at the light-fingered fellow.
"I had better stock up for the trip then," he said and snatched more vegetables.
"It's no trouble at all. We can spare a few jars, and I'll make a salad instead." Vrye said, trying his darnedest to calm Lady Kabech before Alphonse got himself served up as one of her infamous roasts-on-a-stake.
"I like this one. Can we keep him?" Alphonse said with a jolly laugh that made a mockery of both of them. "I think I have a cage he'd fit in, and this time I might remember to feed him."
"A joke!" Lady Kabech choked on a dread-filled laugh. "Nonsense sprouts from his head and his mouth sometimes."
"The plan is that I will be kept without a cage, I should hope," Vrye replied, though he could be flexible in his living arrangements for the handsome alchemist.
Although his grin had barely changed, Alphonse's eyes seemed to darken from bright aqua to a deep indigo when turned on Kabech. It was the sort of colour the ocean took in places where sea-monsters dwell. "That could work, as long as you don't wee on the floor or chew my slippers." Alphonse's eyes flicked back to Vrye and regained their happier hue.
"Please, go back to whatever room our hosts have set aside for you," Kabech hissed.
"I think I'll stay and make some observations instead." Alphonse unloaded some of his jars onto Vrye with a calamitous loss of some miniature cabbages. Then he stole a loaf of spud-bread and found a sharp knife to carve it with in his leather bag.
"Perhaps the King should be the one to handle the cutlery," Lady Kabech suggested, pulling Vrye into just the right place to act as a shield against ill intentions.
Alphonse conceded and added the knife to the pile of pickle jars. It made for a terrifying balancing act as Vrye then had to carry everything to the nearest scullery bench. He should have known Tyvern could make the simple act of preparing a sandwich more dangerous than an encounter with any great beast.
Somehow, he survived the ordeal without injury, but that meant he had to proceed to tea with the Lady and Alchemist. The knife sat ominously at the centre of the circle of sandwiches, well within the reach of all present. Even if Vrye made it through, he faced the prospect that every meal for what remained of his life, would be the same.
"You look uncomfortable. Is it a reaction to Alphonse's treatment?" Kabech daintily chose a carrot sandwich after a stray finger on a parsnip brought Alphonse's hand to the knife.
"Not at all," Vrye replied but a clammy sweat threatened to give him away.
The Alchemist took his choices of the platter, then sat down and arranged them into a small tower on the arm of his chair.
"You quite enjoy the odd parsnip, don't you?" Vrye murmured. He dare not touch any sandwich, no matter how ravenous the gurgle of his stomach became.
"You too?" Alphonse replied and passed over one of his sandwiches. "I'll share with you."
Lady Kabech scoffed. "What has come over you, Alphonse? You're being awfully civil with our King."
"Someone has to be," he replied.
A shiver struck Vrye when he met Alphonse's gaze. At first it was hard to see anything beyond the wide grin he wore, but in a flash of a deeper blue, he detected something of a warning. It was gone again with a blink, and Alphonse's focus was back on his lunch.
"Careful now, Alphonse," hissed Kabech.
"There's no need. These parsnips are properly dead and he's about as dangerous as a wet sock." Alphonse replied with a mouth full of bread.
Lady Kabech set down the crust of her sandwich. "Your wet socks destroyed a village."
The Alchemist left that one to hang in the air like a bad smell.
Thankfully a Tyvern attendant came by to break the silence. "Countess Merlo said you requested a bath, Lady Kabech?"
"I didn't—"
"You should have," Alphonse said.
"I didn't think it would be ready just yet." Lady Kabech recovered with grace and rose from her seat.
Vrye concentrated on chewing and tried to look far too engrossed in his luncheon to receive an invitation. It worked famously, and he found himself alone with Alphonse again.
As strange as ever, the Alchemist pulled him from his chair and hurried him back to his boudoir.
"A little eager, aren't you?" Vrye said with a splutter of crumbs. He did not even have a chance to swallow.
"Get a bag. We're going for a very long walk. I've got the picnic supplies, you bring the undergarments. Don't leave any socks behind."
"I'm flattered, but—"
"I told the others to go and you'll be ghoul food if you don't listen," said Alphonse, rummaging through his drawers. The Alchemist had no care for other fellows' privacy at all.
"I thought the negotiations went well..." Vrye muttered. He took his travel case from his closet which was promptly stuffed with a selection of slings, stuffed bloomers, corsets and stockings.
Alphonse closed the case before he could slip in a few more essentials. "I'll knit anything else you need."
"Some things can't be knitted," Vrye protested, snatching a hand mirror and his hair wax from the dressing table. If he was to elope he could not afford to leave without them. He also had to find room for his face powder, perfume, a book of songs, pyjamas, candles and... Alphonse was beginning to grin impatiently. It was a wonder how many emotions he could make without ever relaxing his lips.
"I have no reason to trust you in this," Vrye said with a huff. His final addition was 'Ogres in Love: The Illustrated Edition.'
"You're not a complete idiot, that's enough of one. I can give you others later. Now walk naturally," said Alphonse, leading the way. He had Vrye's luggage in one hand and his Alchemy bag in the other. "My hefty steed is waiting outside."
There were no Wyverkiiri to be seen as they passed through Versayls, but no shortage of Tyvern lurking in shadows. And any caught lurking outside of them quickly darted into the dark when they met Alphonse's intense stare.
"Could we not steal away in a caravan instead of riding off into the night on the back of a wild animal?" Vrye said, shuffling as casually as he could manage under those circumstances.
"He's not wild."
When they stepped out into the gardens, the Alchemist gave a sharp whistle and the most ridiculous creature swaggered up to them. It was a plump patchwork pony with a horn stuck on its head.
"Cannae munch nothin' 'ere. This garden's made ay rocks, neigh," it said. Judging by the emeralds hanging from its woollen mouth, neither that nor a lack of teeth would stop it from trying.
"This is Plod. He is my unicorn," Alphonse said, giving Plod a pat.
"I'm no expert in unicorns, but I'm certain they aren't meant to be that woolly." Vrye tutted at Plod. The unicorn wore a cushion strapped on his back as a saddle, with coat-hooks attached that Alphonse hung the luggage on.
His button-eyes were fixed with a blank stare in Vrye's direction. "I could say I'm a wee bit ay an expert, bein' one meself, and I'd say I'm a unicorn, neigh."
"I'll believe it when I see you fly," he replied.
It was a struggle for Vrye, bless his poor knees, to get his leg up and over the plump creature and Alphonse did not provide any help. Instead, he took a sniff of snuff and strolled back into Versayls.
"Hold onto yer breeches, neigh. This is about tae get—"
AH—
—AHHH—
—AHHHRGH—
KFWOOOFLE-HORF
Alphonse sneezed a sneeze that would shake Tyrunvern for years to come.
* * *
A little stunned by the sudden collapse of his worldly trappings, a nasty black rat twitched his nose and scratched his ear. He felt the heat of an infernal fire erupting from the side of his head. But it went deeper than that. As deep as his very core.
He was the flame.
This was his doing. He had opened the jar of ultimate chaos, destruction and beetroots. In the thunderous roar of falling stone and screams of anguish, he heard the call of evil.
Its first command came through the overwhelming compulsion to raise his front paws to the sky, now revealed to him as the ceiling had fallen to dust. The nasty black clouds answered. Malicious shapes swirled and slithered about him, cloaking his fiery form in a fur of pure darkness.
All should tremble to behold such a beast.
Unfortunately, they had to see him to tremble, and the lady who was coming his way did not. Her bare foot came down on him and with a hiss, he combusted, and she did not even have the decency to suffer a burn for her insubordination.
Clenching his fiery paws, he uttered a vengeful squeak, then scampered after her.