Everyone acts like my body is on stage.

  A living cupcake. A meal on at table.

  A child, a woman-not-yet, a princess, a dame...

  How many labels does a kid need to tame?

  —Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

  Eura knocked, soft at first, then again when no one answered. The silence stretched until she began fidgeting with her fingers, twisting one against the other.

  The door opened with a creak.

  “Well, look who decided to show up.” Lamar stepped aside, swinging the door wide before turning back to his task. The room smelled faintly of soap and clean citrus. A half-packed trunk sat open, books and folded robes arranged with chaotic precision.

  “I’m sorry,” Eura said at last.

  He didn’t answer, only adjusted the stack of papers.

  She stood in the doorway, dressed modestly—a white dress and a robe of soft colours thrown over it. Her hair, loosed from its braids and with no ribbons, slipped over her shoulders in neat, diamond strands that caught the light when she moved.

  “Why would you be sorry?” Lamar asked without turning. His voice sounded worn, tired.

  “Lolth told me... and I didn’t think you stayed because of me,” Eura said quietly. “I never saw you as my mentor, but…”

  He opened the wardrobe and pulled a folded robe free, tossing it onto the bed with more force than needed. “But?” he prompted, still facing the closet, his tone flat.

  “…as a friend,” she finished. “My first real friend. I should’ve respected you—as my mentor, as my elder.”

  Lamar stilled, hand lingering on the door’s edge. Then he turned, eyes narrowing. The air between them seemed to shrink.

  “What are you talking about? I am not that old!” his words were more hurt than angry.

  “Well, Lolth told me I hurt you,” Eura tried to explain herself. “That it was because of me, you didn’t go to Ormgrund for your Trial. That I was selfish.”

  Lamar let out a slow sigh, the kind that emptied moons instead of moments. “No,” he said. “You didn’t hurt me. Not directly.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, not bothering to move the clothes piled there. The mattress creaked under his weight.

  “I didn’t stay because of you,” he continued, staring at the floor. “I stayed because I don’t care about an ophius mark on my forehead or some fancy title.”

  His fingers brushed over a folded robe, more to keep his hands busy than to continue packing. “My mission isn’t glory. It’s to help make the world better.”

  Eura was listening, looking him directly, but he didn’t look up.

  “You’ll be Dame one day,” he said. “Over everyone and everything. And if anyone can undo the wrongs and set them right—it’s you, Your Highness.”

  He finally lifted his gaze, tired but resolute. “And I want to be part of that.”

  He paused, weighing his words before speaking. “If I can’t teach you, I can teach others—others who’ll be ready when you need them. People you can shape into something greater. Do you understand?”

  Eura said nothing. Her gaze returned to the floor in shame, fingers twisting restlessly.

  “Eura,” Lamar pressed, his patience thinning. “Are you here with me?”

  “I don’t have pants,” she muttered.

  It took him a moment to register the words. His brow furrowed. “What?”

  She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes, completely earnest. “All my pants are too small. I don't have pants that fit me anymore.”

  She finally lifted her head. “I don’t have training clothes. Only those… cupcake dresses.”

  Lamar blinked. “And I suppose you can’t just ask for some?”

  “No.” Her voice was small, almost breaking. “I was promised a whole wardrobe, but it never came. And I don’t really know how to…” She trailed off, twisting the hem of her sleeve.

  “Did you ask Magi Lolth or Magi Jaer?”

  “I can’t,” she said quickly.

  “Because they’re close to your father,” he finished for her. "And there is no way they could pull that off."

  She nodded, barely.

  Lamar sighed, opened a drawer, and pulled a small pouch from his desk. The soft clink of coins broke the silence. He held it out to her. “Call your human friend. Go to the nearest town. You’ll find what you need there.”

  Eura blinked, surprised. “You… know about Hex?”

  “I know about a lot of things that revolve around you,” Lamar said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Two days from now, I know you have that lunch with the dragons tomorrow. So, in two days, I want you on the training grounds—with your new pants on. Got me?”

  Eura’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Are you staying?”

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he turned and grabbed the half-packed suitcase from the bed. The contents—folded robes, a few trinkets—spilt to the floor with a dull thud.

  He tossed the empty case into the corner and straightened, brushing dust from his sleeve. “I was never leaving,” he said.

  Hex waited where the white stones of Pollux gave way to open grass, one boot hooked over the stirrup, the wind tugging at his short hair.

  Eura spotted him from afar and urged her horse faster, the hooves drumming against the road until she pulled up beside him in a spray of dust.

  “Ready for your grand escape, princess?” Hex grinned, that familiar sly curve already in place.

  “Couldn’t be more ready!” He squinted toward the horizon, half-teasing, half-serious. “Next settlement’s about two hours if we don’t stop.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Her voice brimmed with impatience, with the kind of thrill that made the whole world feel like a dare.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Hex’s smile thinned. “Eura, I could ride ahead and fetch what you need. If they catch you—”

  She tightened her grip on the reins, cutting him off. “I’m meant to rule the world one day. If I can’t even buy my own pants, that wouldn’t be very Dame-like, would it? If I'm going to change the world, I should be able to change my own wardrobe.”

  Before he could argue, she dug her heels in, and the horse leapt forward into the open fields. Green rolled endlessly ahead, the wind carrying the clean, wild scent of almost-freedom.

  “Come back! You’re dressed like a cupcake!” Hex’s voice chased her down the road.

  She only laughed.

  Eura had imagined a tidy little town, whitewashed walls, cobblestone roads, and market stalls adorned with greenery. Something civilised, proper.

  What she found instead made her slow the horse.

  The settlement clung to the trees like something afraid of the ground. Crooked houses of soaked timber leaned against the trunks with walls bowed and dark from years of rain. Rope bridges stretched between them, swaying under the weight of the wind. From below, the whole place looked less like a village and more like a maze suspended in flight, ready to collapse with one strong storm.

  Eura swung down from her horse, feet crunching softly against the damp earth. Eyes followed her immediately, some curious, others just judging. She straightened her posture, suddenly aware of every ribbon on her dress.

  “What’s going on?” she murmured, stepping closer to Hex as he looped the reins around a low-hanging branch.

  “I told you to change,” he said without looking at her.

  “Well, it’s a little late now. So… what do we do?”

  Hex adjusted the knot, then finally met her gaze. “We do what we came for.”

  They moved through the settlement slowly, following the narrow platforms and rope bridges with cautious steps. Eura tried to look ahead, but her gaze kept drifting to the homes tucked into trees with uneven planks nailed together, moss creeping between gaps.

  She passed a window and paused. Inside, a family huddled around a pot, steam rising in thin curls. The walls were bare. A child clutched a blanket that looked more holes than fabric.

  She said nothing, but her pace faltered.

  Faces turned toward her, mostly Elves, some Fae, none of them hostile, but none smiling either. Just watching.

  She began to count them in her head, trying to fix each face in memory. So that one day, when she sat upon the throne of Whitestone, she would not forget them. She couldn't.

  They stopped where the road opened into a jumble of shacks and tents. Fabric roofs sagged under the weight of old rain, and smoke from cooking fires hung low in the air. Merchants called out prices above the noise of clinking metal and bleating livestock.

  Eura slowed, her stomach tightening. The world beyond Pollux’s gardens smelled of spice, mud, and sweat. Far louder than she’d imagined. What else don’t I know?

  “What are you looking for?” a deep voice asked from behind a stall cluttered with shelves and jars, strings of beads, and folded cloth.

  Eura stepped closer, the scent of dye and dust mixing in the air. She set Lamar’s pouch on the counter and poured out the coins, their clatter drawing a few curious eyes.

  “I need pants,” she said, forcing a grin that felt just a little too wide.

  Hex leaned closer and whispered. “Hide that. This one’s not safe.”

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered back. “This gentleman—”

  Her eyes swept over the merchant: a round man with a belly pressing against his vest, wrinkles folding deep around his eyes, thick strands of white hair clinging stubbornly to his scalp.

  “Humbert,” Hex muttered under his breath. "That one is called Humbert."

  “Well, Humbert and I are about to do business,” Eura said cheerfully. “I have the coins, and he has the pants.”

  She turned to the merchant, her tone bright and perfectly polite. “You sell pants, don’t you?”

  The Man chuckled, his voice gravelly. “Aye, that I do, little miss.”

  Eura threw Hex a triumphant look. “You see?”

  Hex leaned close, voice low and urgent. “That’s a junkie. Look at him — star-mushroom all over his face.”

  She turned to study the Man. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose twitching with a constant sniffle. There was something hollow behind his grin, like sleep and warmth had long forgotten him.

  “He’s a human,” she said softly, glancing at Hex. “Like you, right? He even has a belly like you.”

  The Man’s cracked lips stretched into a polite smile. “Aye, little miss. That a problem?”

  "The human or the belly?" Eura shook her head, bright and sure. “I don't care for any of those, as long as you’ve got pants, I’m happy to trade.”

  He chuckled, a wheezy sound that died almost as soon as it began. “You’ve got a good heart, little Missy. Just like the faeries.”

  Eura’s eyes brightened. “You know faeries?”

  “Aye,” he said, puffing a bit with pride. “Back in Faewood. Used to do business with them all the time. Sweetest kind you’ll ever meet — polite, clever, never short on charm and... sarcasm.”

  He scratched his chin, gaze drifting somewhere far off. “Course, that was before the Hunt,” he said. “Hard to find any of ’em now. Most are hidin’ — those that still have lives to hide.”

  Turning, he rummaged through the cluttered shelves, cloth and leather rustling. “Now, do you know your size?”

  Eura blinked. “No…”

  The merchant turned back, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe with the slow appraisal of habit. “Well,” he said, smirking, “let’s call it… fun size.”

  “Fun size it is!” she replied, beaming.

  Hex groaned quietly, rubbing his cheek with both hands. “Holy Mother save me,” he muttered. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve got no idea what a human addict is like. We should go.”

  “Says another human who smells like rotten cabbage,” Humbert shot back, not even glancing at him. He turned and dropped a stack of folded clothes onto the counter with a heavy thud. “I don’t see how my free time affects the little miss’s wardrobe. Did you hear me call her a—”

  “Cupcake,” Eura offered brightly. “I look like a cupcake.”

  For a heartbeat, silence. Then Humbert burst into a deep, rolling laugh, the sound echoing through the stall.

  “You didn’t inherit the foul humour of Elves, did you?” he said under his breath, eyes crinkling.

  “I’m a Menschen!”

  He tilted his head, squinting at her. “Aren’t they supposed to have blue eyes? Doesn’t it work like that?”

  “Menschen don’t dress like cupcakes either,” she said, spreading her arms with mock dignity, “but here I am.”

  Humbert laughed harder this time, until his round face flushed red and his shoulders shook. Even Hex cracked a reluctant grin.

  “So many stalls we could’ve checked,” Hex muttered. “And you chose this one?”

  “Let the girl be,” a voice from behind said. “Humbert’s just a harmless teddy bear.”

  Eura turned toward the newcomer. A tall man stood at the edge of the stall, white hair pulled loosely behind his shoulders, half his face marred by old fire scars that caught the light like copper. Despite them, he smiled easily.

  “Isn’t that right…” He traced a small circle in the air, inviting her to fill in the rest.

  “Oh—I’m—”

  Hex stepped quickly between them, forcing a tight smile. “She’s Zo.”

  “Zo?”

  “Zozo!” Eura added with forced cheer.

  His smile deepened, unreadable. “Is that so?” He bowed slightly, extending a gloved hand toward her. “Jericho,” he said, voice smooth as cooled ash. “Jericho the Wise.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Eura said brightly. “This is my friend Hex. He looks grumpy today, but usually he’s… nice. Like, nice-nice.”

  Hex rolled his eyes, already scanning the busy market around them. “Right. I’ll leave you to it, then. Looks like you’ve got this handled.” He took a few steps back, half-smiling, half-grumpy despite himself. “Shout if you need anything.”

  Before she could protest, he vanished into the crowd, swallowed by the noise of haggling and clinking metal.

  “Well,” Eura said, turning back to the merchant with both arms full of a pile that wobbled dangerously in her hands, “where can I try all these goodies?”

  “My shack’s open, if you’d like some privacy,” Jericho offered. “Might even have a few trinkets to catch your eye.”

  Eura glanced at the counter, coins glittering in the weak sunlight. “I don’t have any more coins.”

  Humbert rubbed his chin, then swept the coins into his broad palm. “Tell you what, missy — you give me that fluffy dress, and we’ll call it even.”

  Eura blinked. “Really?”

  “Take it or leave it. I want that little cupcake of yours. Or a stand of that hair. Diamond?”

  “Hair?”

  “I’m joking, little Miss. The dress will do.”

  She hesitated, glancing down at the frills around her hem. “All right then,” she said, half laughing, half uncertain. “Deal!”

  Turning to Jericho, she asked. “You seem like someone I can trust… right?”

  Jericho’s smile was patient, almost too patient. “Oh, Sunbeam,” he murmured, “you’ve no idea.”

  The words made her heart skip a bit. Eura froze — her mouth half open, a question caught in her throat. Then she saw it in his gaze: he knew.

  Maybe it was the way she spoke. Maybe it was the bloody cupcake.

  "You are a friend, right?"

  

  Jericho, the Wise, was more than an acolyte. He was a colleague, and—on our better days—a friend. We worked side by side for centuries, attempting to chart the point of no return. Endless nights, candles burnt to stubs, papers spread across desks and walls. We spent more time together than most marriages survive. (The comparison is a joke. Mostly.)

  But what bound us was not patience, nor philosophy. It was alchemy.

  I remember the piece he laboured over most.

  Not a weapon, not a relic of power—just a pendant. A sun and a moon, crafted to lock together when turned, seamless in union.

  I asked him once who it was for. He only smiled, crooked, framed by the burns that refused to heal and said: “Her.”

  He never clarified which her. He did not need to. I knew.

  I believed, at the time, that Jericho loved Eura in the same shape that I did. I was wrong.

  It was something older than devotion. Older than loyalty. A kind of love that does not end when it is no longer welcome.

  —The Hexe – Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer.