Sir Karter Dawson stood at the edge of the King’s forest with his arms crossed and his finger tapping his forearm impatiently. He had hoped to join the festivities at the ball, but of course, Lord Piereva wanted to see if his threats towards the Royal Cook would make the redhead act out rashly. A ball with nobles flooding in from all over the continent would’ve been far more interesting than standing around waiting for the gangle redhead to bed down for the night… Though, if there was to be any other late night food for the guests, it could mean an even longer night for the cook.

Speaking of which- the door to the kitchens opened, and out filed the Knights, along with at least one of the other aides.

‘Perhaps they’re going drinking. Lucky bastards.’ Sir Dawson rubbed his eyes tiredly and waited for the cook to exit.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the unmistakable tall figure of the redhead exited into the night, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

As was usual, he strode purposefully to his cottage, his small black cat following him along happily.

Occasionally, Sir Dawson would hear the cook talk to his cat. Uncertain of the words, but finding it all together very peculiar that the redhead would do such a thing, Sir Dawson would file it away for his report with the Earl.

The cook entered his cottage that was closed as tight as an ale barrel, and the sound of him conversing with his mother drifted out periodically.

Nestling his shoulder against an oak tree that was twice his width, Sir Dawson settled in for another long night.

“Do you always get the boring shift?”

The Knight nearly leapt out of his skin. Standing behind him was one of the cook’s aides looking all too innocent in the pale moonlight of the night.

“Just out for a walk,” he grunted, narrowing his gaze at the newcomer.

“Why don’t I join you? You have quite muscular legs and I wouldn’t mind a pair of my own,” Peter winked.

Sir Dawson’s face was frozen. It had to be a diversionary tactic. There was no way an aide of the cook’s just ‘happened’ to come out into the woods to express an interest in him.

“No.” Sir Dawson turned his attention back to the cottage, fixing his gaze to the shuttered windows.

“If you keep stalking the cook he will be more repulsed than interested.” The pitying note in Peter’s voice made the Knight turn back around, a strange glint in his eyes.

“You think I’m following your cook because I desire him?”

Peter smiled and pressed his hand into the trunk of the tree by Sir Dawson’s head and leaned in a little bit closer.

“No need to be shy, just about everyone has had a crush on him. He’s a tough slice to butter though.” Peter shook his head slowly, still smiling intently at the Knight.

Sir Dawson swallowed with great difficulty.

He would not let this servant distract him.

“I have no interest in the man aside from his suspicious behavior.” Sir Dawson’s voice came out a growl, yet somehow the aide didn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckled.

“Oh please. That dullard?” Peter raked his eyes over Sir Dawson’s toned chest and bulging sleeves. “Tell me, do you have to train for hours everyday to get biceps like those?” The aide had conveniently forgotten how to express shame.

“You are trying to distract me. Be gone,” Sir Dawson tried again, he narrowed his dark eyes even more.

“Well, you started it by strutting your business up and down that garden pathway the past few days. You need to be held accountable, you know. Besides, everyone is inside having fun or asleep. Why can’t you enjoy yourself every once in a while? Or is your Earl set on being a wet sock about that- what’s his name again? Lord Puny?”

Despite himself, Sir Dawson snorted.

“Ah! Would you look at that, you have me weak at the knees with a smile like that.”

The Troivackian tried to keep a straight face, but it was futile, he laughed again. The aide was too outrageous for words.

“Do you sweet talk your way into every bed in the castle with these distasteful compliments?” Sir Dawson blurted out before he was able to stop himself.

For a moment, the Troivackian could’ve sworn a small look of shock crossed the aide’s face, but he didn’t have time to think on it, because Peter’s face suddenly lit up in a smile.

“What’s your first name, Sir…?”

“Dawson. Karter Dawson.”

“You know Sir Karter Dawson, I happen to have an excellent bottle of family made absinthe back in my quarters. Would you perhaps be interested in joining me for an hour or two.”

Sir Dawson snorted then shook his head. Folding his arms and leaning slightly closer to the aide, he dropped his voice huskily, “I doubt your absinthe will hold up against Troivackian moonshine. I have to bring it from home so that I don’t have to taste Daxaria’s inferior alcohol.”

“Why don’t we have a taste test then, hm?”

Sir Dawson glanced over his shoulder briefly at the quiet cottage. Odds were higher that he’d be able to get more information out of the cute aide than watching the cook’s home. Why not have a nice evening while getting more done?

“Very well, lead the way. We’ll see if your smart mouth lives up to the standard it set.”

The faintest of blushes swept across the bridge of Peter’s nose as the Knight pushed off from the tree and took several steps forward.“Shall we?”

There was a tense moment when Sir Dawson truly wondered if the aide had been bluffing in order to be a distraction, and some part of him felt oddly… displeased.

Then, Peter smiled again.

A strange warming sensation spread through Sir Dawson that he did not want to think anymore about.

The aide took a few steps and stopped at the Knight’s side.

“I’ll show you the way then… Karter.”

As the two men strolled off into the night speaking amicably, they eventually disappeared around the castle corner. The group of Knights that had been huddled in a thicket of underbrush only a few yards away from where Sir Dawson had been previously standing watch, began to stir.

The men all stood up swiftly at the same time. Their jaws had dropped roughly around the time that the Troivcakian Knight had flirted back with Peter, and they all remained open.

“What the hell just happened?!” Sir Taylor balked as he tried to comprehend exactly what he had just seen.

Sir Harris let out a small laugh of disbelief.

“I think our dear friend Peter might be partaking in an intimate nightcap with one of the Knights close to Lord Piereva!”

“You don’t think it’s a trap and he’s going to hurt him do you?” Sir Lewis worried aloud as he stared after the aide with a slight frown.

The men shared uneasy glances.

“Alright. Two of us will go and try to keep an ear out to be sure that Peter isn’t in any trouble.” Sir Taylor announced nodding to Sir Andrews and Harris.

“Why us two?!”

“I’m too big to be sneaky. You’re good at talking, an’ Andrews has the lightest step of all of us.”

No one could argue his reasoning, and so the men split up. Each group would have their own stories to share the next morning. However, both sides would have a few important differences…

***

Fin stepped out of his bed chamber as his mother tilted the empty tub back into the corner of the cottage. It had been the first purchase Fin had made with his salary the day after his drunken escapade, and it had been a wise decision. The second purchase had been a pair of good black boots that would be able to pass at a noble’s ball, but that he could also wear for years after.

When Katelyn Ashowan turned and took in the sight of her son, her hand moved to her chest.

“My love, you look… noble.” She grew a little teary eyed at the sight of her handsome boy looking so poised and regal.

His hair was clean and swept to the side, and he was clad head to toe in fine clothes.

Fin winced in embarrassment, but gave her a small smile. An action which made him look more like his usual self.

“I’ll keep to the shadows best I can. Afterwards I’ll be back in the kitchen for the late night feast. The servants will come around midnight for the dishes so I have until then. Sorry I didn’t end up wearing what we worked on.” Fin handed his mother the bandana and hat as he then strode over to one of his kitchen chairs and seated himself so that she could tie it for him.

When the cook had walked into the cottage that evening, Kate hadn’t said a word about her encounter with the Troivackian Earl. Just as she predicted, something had worked out for her son.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Kate took great care in ensuring that the black material covered every strand of his coppery locks that shone after his bath.

“Do you think she’ll have you then?” Kate tried to hide the warble in her voice. Her son felt like a new man to her somehow. Bigger, stronger…

“I don’t know. I turned her down twice and I haven’t heard from her in days, but I’ll still say what I have to. I’ll find out if she still wants to gamble on a stubborn ass like me.”

Katelyn wrapped her arms around her boy and tried to blink back the tears, but they spilled over all the same.

“She’s a fine Lady. I wondered why she seemed so glum about her suitors.” She kissed the top of Fin’s hidden hair and stepped back. “I have a good feeling about tonight. The Goddess must be happy about this plan- for whatever reason.”

Fin chuckled and stood, he carefully tied the demi-mask around his face. It was a plain sleek black mask with no finery or ornaments, which suited his objective even better. He donned the hat last, and turned to his mother one final time.

“Would you be able to recognize me?”

Kate stared appraisingly at him from head to toe.

“The coat makes your shoulders broader and the boots make you stand even taller. You’re quite an imposing figure right now, my love. I would recognize you after looking at you for a good while, but only if I were close.”

Fin let out a shaky breath and nodded gratefully.

“Well then, if anyone knocks, don’t answer.”

Katelyn smiled and gestured to the door.

“I love you my sweet boy. Be safe.”

“I love you too mum.”

Then, with heavy footfalls, Fin left the cottage and disappeared into the night.

Kate let out a long breath and half collapsed into the kitchen chair.

She was in utter disbelief that the plan had gone off without a hitch, given her nasty confrontation with the Troivackian Earl that morning. Upon remembering the encounter, she felt her anger begin to swell again.

Turning to her own bag of belongings that she had brought, Kate began rummaging around and drawing out some of her physician’s instruments. She was still crafting her own personal revenge on the Troivackian Earl, though she needed to learn more about the brute before enacting any retaliation. As she worked, she silently chanted the same mantra over and over in her mind.

‘No one bullies me or my family without facing the consequences.’

***

Fin stepped in through the East castle entrance, near the maze garden. Several masked noble women that were giggling pulled along their equally giddy partners towards the balmy summers eve. Some of the women that swished by gave a second glance at the impressive figure that drifted by them. The castle guards nodded to each of the respective guests, and to Fin without batting an eye. He responded as he knew he should; by ignoring them completely.

Admittedly, the cook was having a hard time keeping his shoulders perfectly straight. Keeping his head high and his gaze direct was another matter entirely- but his pounding heartbeat wouldn’t allow him to grow complacent. He had to appear like he belonged.

As Fin strolled down the castle corridor, he did his best to melt into the shadows away from prying eyes, until the din of music and laughter reached his ears. The redhead’s steps slowed, and he knew he was nearly upon the doorway to the banquet.

As he rounded the corner, the entrance to the party appeared. Massive oak doors yawned wide with intricate wrought iron hinges and handles waiting for him. Two guards stood watch, their backs pressed against the solid wood. Bright warm light gleamed into the otherwise darkened corridor, nobles donning all sorts of costumes drifted in and out of the ball. Some had discarded their masks, while others wore entire felt masks to look like animals. An impressive alligator costume stumbled past Fin as he tried not to betray his hesitancy in his step.

With an imperceptible deep breath, Fin stepped in front of the banquet hall.

Guests were beginning to surround a large table where plates and cutlery had been stacked to serve. Standing on the steps that lead up to the King’s table, stood a familiar small child. The Prince looked smashing in his fiery red, black, and gold mask, with a fine red coat, snowy white tunic, and pants. The most impressive feature however, were the wings that appeared crafted out of fabric so fine that it appeared sheer.

Fin smiled without thinking, and stepped into the room, his previous worries and anxiety momentarily forgotten.

Until he realized what was about to happen…

The cake.

He thought it had been served an hour ago.

The servants had brought it out of the kitchen but evidently had not yet served it. The last course must’ve run later than scheduled!

Fin quickly side-stepped out of the doorway and pressed himself against the back wall, earning him a few curious glances from the nobility. He did his best not to look away, instead giving a regal tilt of his head.

As he forced a casual stance, he began quickly searching the room for Annika. He saw several beautiful gowns that whirled with every movement, or glittered in the shifting candle light, but Fin could tell at a glance that none of them were the black haired beauty.

As he searched, he thought about how Annika was first and foremost a spy. If she didn’t need to play the political stooge, she’d more than likely dress inconspicuously to observe the occupants of the room.

Fin changed the direction of his gaze to the perimeter of the room. Several giggling noble women were allowing their costumed mates for the night to paw at them, or flirt shamelessly without any reprimand. The men were thrilled. A flash of lily white flesh in one corner, a scandalously cut gown in the other. None were Annika’s naturally tanned skin.

Despite his careful scrutiny of the wall, he still nearly missed a stream of black hair flowing down an equally black billowy dress that had thin silver designs along its hem and fluttering sleeves. To say the dress was underwhelming given the beauty that hid beneath it would’ve been a kind description.

Fin watched the smallest sway in Annika’s movements while she conversed with another masked noble, and came to the conclusion she was trying to remain as bland and inconspicuous as possible.

Not that it mattered to him, however. For Fin? She glowed brighter than any candle in the entire hall and- like a wounded soldier seeing a light in the window of his home, the redhead stepped towards the promise of warmth.