Chloe watched with open disgust as a man who jiggled like pudding when he moved stuck his finger down his throat and threw up into a bucket his butler had prepared for just such an occasion.

She leant down to her right, and Hensworth materialised by her side. The slim butler looked excited just to be called upon.

"Why do we tolerate this disgusting pig again?" she whispered with a smile plastered across her face. It had all the elements of a smile, but somehow, none of the warmth came across. It was all teeth and no eyes.

"It's tradition, Ma'am."

"Well, tradition can go for a swim in that fucking slug's puke bucket. Why can't he just eat one meal instead of all of them at once?"

"My understanding is that to leave a meal untouched is insulting to the chef, Ma'am. Lord Pailsly feels that in order to honour the hard-working cooks, he must eat everything they put in front of him." Hensworth sounded like he was apologising, as though he felt that this was somehow his fault.

Gaul, who was sitting in a plush chair to Chloe's right, leant in. "Remember how his fourth child went missing?"

"He has a fourth child!?" Chloe exclaimed. "No, wait. How does he have any children? What sort of maniac would marry him?"

"Your cousin, Ma'am," Hensworth said evenly.

"Everyone here is my cousin," she said, flicking her hair back dismissively.

Gaul shook his head. "Anyway, Chloe-"

She hated when he called her Chloe. He wasn't the king and should address her as either Ma'am or Your Highness.

But what she hated even more was that she couldn't tell him to stop. In fact, Chloe couldn't tell Gaul to do anything.

"I heard that right around the time his fourth kid went missing, old Pailsly gained a few pounds – if you catch my meaning." Gaul continued, seemingly oblivious to Chloe's ire.

"Huh?" Chloe spluttered. "Are you saying…?"

Gaul put a finger to his lips, "I didn't say anything."

Chloe turned away from the grizzled man and shook her head, taking a deep breath. "I hate these dinners," she muttered, glancing down at her overdesigned dress and shoes that were closer to cages than clothing.

No one could hear her, of course, not over the din of plates clattering and loud conversations about nothing in particular. Wine goblets slammed onto the table as drunken nobles argued about how much oppression was too much. The conclusion always seemed to be that they were being reasonable.

After the Bestowment ceremony, all the important figures from the kingdom gathered in the dining hall for a celebratory feast. They were all strewn across plush velvet chairs and low sofas that encircled a wide marble table covered in flickering candles and enough food to feed a village and their livestock, with the leftovers being made into fertilizer to grow crops for the next generation.

There were so many rare fruits and exotic meats piled high on the table that it was a surprise the marble didn't sag under the weight of it all. Every few minutes, a servant would bustle in with a silver platter decked in some new delicacy, whisking away one that had already been licked clean.

And for every meal that was eaten, a cup of wine was drunk. The thick smoky smell of roasted meat wafted through the air, mixing with the deep fruity scent of wine and drenching the room in the stench of luxurious indulgence. If a commoner were to walk in, merely breathing deeply would probably fill their belly.

Sprawled on the many sofas and chairs were various important nobles, and behind them stood their servants. The butlers and maids all wore black suits and white gloves, carrying themselves with rigid pride as their slovenly masters gorged on food more expensive than their houses.

At either end of the enormous marble table sat Chloe and Alton. Alton's side of the table was decidedly chattier, with people notably less worried about getting their minds read.

He stood by the table with a beaming smile on his face, laughing uproariously and gesturing dramatically as he told stories to his rapt acolytes. His enormous sword was leant up against the wall behind him like a discarded umbrella, and the confidence he carried himself with seemed to ooze from him like smoke.

Chloe, on the other hand, sat on a slightly more sombre side of the room. Since nobody had wanted to sit beside the mind reader, she had been forced to get her team to fill up the empty seats - which is how Gaul, Hemming and Filch had ended up seated at the table.

It was immediately apparent that they didn't belong.

Hemming was thriving, having said barely a word since he sat down. The portly man wore an ill-fitting brown suit and had spent the entire night guzzling wine and stuffing his face with whatever he could get his hands on.

As for Filch, the shifty little man looked thoroughly out of his element. He kept reaching out and swiping food when no one was looking, never seeming to sit still. It was as though he was always looking out for guards that weren't there, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger.

Gaul was an anomaly, but that was the case wherever he went. He sat bolt upright and hadn't touched a single thing since sitting there. All he had done since the dinner began was fiddle with a small knife and leer at a young woman across the table from him.

For some reason - that, in Chloe's opinion, went against the laws of nature - the girl seemed to be enjoying it.

Chloe felt like she was on a sinking ship. It wasn't a nice feeling. All she could do was glare at her brother, who seemed to be having the time of his life, while she tried to claw conversation out of the people sitting nearby - which wasn't unlike squeezing blood from an anaemic stone.

"Another!!" Pailsly slammed an empty cup onto the table as dark red drops of liquid dribbled from the sides of his mouth, cascading down his many folds.

She leant to the side, and Hensworth appeared once again.

"Has he committed any crimes?"

"Like what, Ma'am?"

Gaul bent over and whispered, "Cannibalism."

"Will you shut up?" Chloe snapped.

Gaul raised his hands up apologetically and went back to ogling the girl across the table from him. He seemed somehow capable of communicating entirely with lude gestures and his eyebrows, a feat only the truly degenerate could accomplish.

"His crimes are not serious, Ma'am, only a light bit of tax evasion."

Chloe pinched her brow, feeling a headache coming on. "So, execution is off the table then?"

"I'm afraid so, Ma'am," Hensworth said with a weary shake of his head.

To Chloe's left sat Filch and Hemming, who were in the middle of a spirited debate about how much of the cutlery was too much to take home.

Hemming clutched a silver fork in a pudgy fist and gestured wildly, while Filch watched a nearby goblet of wine with narrowed eyes.

"Say," Filch whispered conspiratorially. "How much do you reckon that goblet is worth? I mean, the gemstones alone must cost a fortune."

"Well, I don't know," Hemming muttered. "At least enough to spend a good night at Phoebe's, I'd say."

"Phoebe's?" Filch said the word like it tasted bad. "Why the hell would you go to a fancy brothel when there are plenty of cheap ones? They're all the same, anyway."

"Hey! Phoebes isn't a brothel. It's a gentleman's massage parlour."

Filch snorted. "Yeah, where they massage your dick with th-"

"L-look!" Hemming spluttered. "A wretch like you wouldn't understand what truly appeals about a place like Phoebe's. It's the atmosphere, the smell, the music. The girls there take care of you. They treat you right… is all I'm saying."

"Well, that might be the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh, come on!"

"No, I'm serious! I just thought about it, and, yep, that is the saddest thing I've ever heard. No competition. I used to think no one would ever beat what Hensworth said about Chloe that one time, but no. You managed it."

Filch looked at Hemming in disgust while the big man looked back aghast.

"Worse than Hensworth?" Hemming said in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"… No, you're right. Nothing is worse than that," Filch said with a shudder.

"Ahem," Hensworth coughed, materialising between the two. "I couldn't help but overhear you two fine gentlemen discussing my mistress."

The two gave him a sideways glance and shook their heads.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Is there something wrong?" The butler asked, an edge to his temperate tone.

Hemming beamed at Hensworth, patting his back enthusiastically while wiping grease onto the butler's flawless suit. “Listen, Henny, buddy. Me and old Filch here were just discussing what you said the other day, you know, about the boots."

"What's this?" Gaul shouted over Chloe, grinning. He seemed to have an uncanny nose for gossip, managing to get involved in many of the goings on in the palace through sheer nosiness.

"Oh, you hadn't heard?"

"Nah, I think I was away for this."

Chloe stopped glaring at Alton long enough to pay attention to her entourage. "What's going on?"

Hemming leant back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Oh, we were just discussing that thing Henny said about your boots."

Chloe shuddered momentarily, shaking her head in disgust. "Gross."

"Ma'am!" Hensworth rushed to Chloe's side, but she wouldn't meet his eye. "I was only giving you a hypothetical; I wouldn't actually do it!"

"I don't know," Filch piped up. "You seemed raring to go."

Hensworth glared daggers at the little man who took it in his stride. Since being stabbed by an actual dagger, he found metaphorical ones far less intimidating.

"C'mon guys, don't leave me in the dark here!" Gaul complained, standing up and striding over to the two men. He stopped between them and threw his arms over their shoulders.

"Well, here's the story," Hemming began.

"Our Highness had just gone for a walk in the garden, and her boots had gotten muddy."

"No." Hensworth shook his head.

Gaul nodded, listening intently.

"And so, she changed out of her boots into heels."

"No, no." There was fear in Hensworth's eyes now.

"But you know how our Highness hates heels."

"That's true. She has the feet of an eight-foot-tall highland warrior and can never find a pair that fits," Gaul said conversationally.

"…" Hemming froze as he could practically feel the temperature drop. Chloe's eyes were boring holes into the back of Gaul's head, but she said nothing.

"Ahem." Hemming coughed, clearing his throat. "Anyway, our Highness wanted to switch back into that pair of boots as soon as possible, but they were all covered in mud, so…"

"No, no, no!" Hensworth hid his face with his hands.

"Henny offered to lick them clean."

“…”

The people nearby stopped talking, and their servants stared at Hensworth in disgust.

Gaul glanced at the butler like he was a piece of scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Hemming held his arms behind his head smugly, basking in Hensworth's dismay like a lizard in the sun.

"Now, now, Hemming," Chloe interjected. "At least Hensworth can do his job. Explain to me why my campaign treasurer is eyeing the cutlery like a starving child looking at a loaf of bread. It wouldn't be anything to do with this alleged gambling debt I've been hearing about, would it?"

Hemming suddenly found his plate fascinating, digging into his food with gusto.

Chloe looked at her gathered attendants and wondered if it was too late to replace them. Unfortunately, she knew that at that moment, she was political poison. No assistant worth their salt would side with her.

Gaul left the two men and drifted around the table, somehow magically finding his way over to where the young woman sat. And then, as if fate willed it, they left together.

After Gaul had left, Chloe was stuck with the two least noble people at the party, both of whom were trying their very hardest not to make the disappearing knives and forks look suspicious.

She sighed and massaged her temples as the party on the other side of the room raged on. As far as her side of the hall went, only Pailsly and his bottomless stomach seemed to be having a good time.

"Excuse me, your highness." A waiter appeared at her side with a single wine glass. "Lord Ruther proposes a toast."

Chloe glanced up at the waiter and then down the table, where a broad-shouldered, dark-haired, middle-aged man raised a cup in her direction.

She could immediately tell something was off.

He looked drunker than he was.

While his cheeks were rosy and his words slurred, and loud, there was something off about his eyes. They were too clear, too focused.

She glanced back at the drink on the platter, doing her best not to look suspicious.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to take the cup.

As she did so, she placed a finger on her brooch.

Thousands of thoughts flashed through her mind at once, crashing into her psyche like a tsunami, but she quickly narrowed them down to just one.

Lord Ruther.

'Drink it and die.' She could hear the man's thoughts as clearly as her own.

He was still smiling at her, hoisting his cup grandly.

Chloe smiled back, raising her cup as well.

She motioned to bring it to her lips, then paused, wobbling drunkenly.

Like clockwork, Hensworth appeared. "Ma'am, I suspect you've had too much."

"N-no! Y-ou've had too much," She slurred.

"Ma'am, I really think it's best you save this drink for next time," Hensworth insisted.

Chloe looked up at the butler, her right eye twitching slightly. "F-fine, but I don't like to waste good wine while people are dying of thirst! Bring… bring my cup to the good man Pailsly over there. He will cherish it."

Hensworth leant in close, whispering - "But, Ma'am, you hate Pailsly."

Chloe smiled brightly, managing to talk without moving her lips. "I know. That's why you should bring him this wine."

Frowning, Hensworth nodded and took the cup from her hand, hustling over to Pailsly, who welcomed the wine with aplomb. He gripped it in a big pudgy fist, laughing – an action which made his whole body jiggle.

Chloe watched as Pailsly turned to raise his glass towards Lord Ruther, who had gone as white as a sheet.

She wondered how Pailsly did that… turn, that is.

There was no sign of a neck as far as she could see, only rolls and chins that met somewhere in the middle. But he must surely have one, she thought.

Ruther's expression, which began as jovial, had sunk into the deepest depths, forcing his phoney smile to take on a strained note. It was all he could do to watch as Pailsly raised his cup and drained it like a man who had been lost in the desert for days.

Chloe bit her lip and watched with barely contained glee as the fat man moved his hand to where his throat probably was. He clawed at it, beginning to twitch like a fly on a bug zapper. His face somehow managed to get redder than it already was, leaving him panting desperately for air as his sausage fingers turned purple.

The woman seated next to Pailsly was the first to notice, mainly because he landed on top of her as he fell sideways out of his chair.

He hit the ground with a low thud, and white foam started to bubble out of his mouth.

Slowly, the room grew quiet.

Heads turned to watch as the man flailed, the last light of life dying in his eyes.

His servant rushed to his side but could only fumble helplessly at the huge man's waistcoat.

Finally, Pailsly stopped moving, the veins on his forehead bulging like worms under his skin.

It was silent for a long moment.

None could quite find the words until someone had the bright idea to start screaming.

The room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cries of fear as every guest threw aside their wine and stumbled back behind their servants.

Even Chloe hammed it up, cowering behind Hensworth like she was somehow frightened of the man she had just killed. As she hid behind the stoic butler, Chloe noticed that her other two attendants were nowhere to be found.

"Where the fuck are idiots one and two?" She hissed.

"They snuck out while Pailsly died, Ma'am. And with a mountain of cutlery, I might add."

"Bastards," Chloe spat.

The party never quite picked up after that, with the mood having been thoroughly dampened thanks to Pailsly's untimely demise. Eventually, it was decided that whatever food remained should be disposed of in case of foul play, and the dining hall emptied as guests filtered out.

Right before Ruther left, Chloe grabbed his arm.

The broad-shouldered man stopped in the doorway but didn't turn to face her.

"I expect your support, Ruther," Chloe said coldly. "If you don't want anyone finding out about this."

Ruther's face went grey, but he simply nodded and continued out of the dining hall.

Alton walked up beside Chloe soon after. "What a night!" he exclaimed, patting her on the shoulder with enough force to break her posture. "Lucky you for surviving a poisoning attempt!"

Chloe stuck on her best, fuck you, smile and beamed at him. "Oh, please, that was the work of an amateur. I'm just glad they hadn't handed the wine to you." She winked at him. "Your love of drink precedes you, brother."

Alton smiled back, his mouth wider than was necessary, his eyes dead. "I love to drink as much as you love women, sis. Let's not start throwing around unfounded allegations."

Chloe's smile almost faltered. Almost.

Alton chuckled and left the room, his laughter cutting out the second he was out of sight.

Hensworth ran to Chloe's side soon after. "What now, Ma'am?"

"Gather the idiots. I have some things to discuss."

Hensworth nodded, "Does that include Gaul?"

"Is he an idiot?" Chloe snapped.

"… Um, right away, Ma'am."

----------------------------------------

Hemming and Filch arrived outside Chloe's room, still rather buzzing off the fine liquor they had drunk. They had, of course, stashed any stolen goods in a spot only known to them, and been on their way to the land of nod when Hensworth came knocking.

Gaul was taking his time, as he always did.

"You knock," Filch said, stepping back from the door like it was on fire.

Hemming laughed, placing a hand on his belly. "Please, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder… you knock."

"I'll knock your fucking heads in if you don't get in here this second!" Chloe yelled from inside the room.

Filch cleared his throat. "Right away, your Highness."

They walked into the room, finding Chloe in a luxurious silk nightgown. She was sitting on the windowsill, brilliant rays of moonlight beaming in through the coloured glass.

The soft glow made her dark hair shimmer and highlighted her eyes which were so utterly pitch black that the pupils and iris were indistinguishable. They were like pools of shadow, sucking in any light that entered them.

Hemming stared at her nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Filch kept clenching his jaw and tightening and untightening his fists like he was ready for a brawl.

Chloe glanced at them. "Lighten-up fuckfaces. I don't care about the silverware, so relax. No, I'm here to talk about the plan for tomorrow."

Both men deflated and nodded eagerly, rushing to the centre of the room where a table had been prepared.

"I heard about the poisoning, your Highness," Hemming said, shaking his head sombrely. "Terrible stuff."

"The worst," Filch added. "I was almost poisoned once, didn't care for it."

"Actually, I'm rather thrilled." Chloe stood up from her seat on the windowsill and walked over to the table. She grabbed a rolled-up sheet of paper and unfurled it, laying it down so that it almost covered the entire table.

From corner to corner, the wooden table was covered in a detailed map of the capital city of Rostic.

Rostovo was a sprawling mess that made little sense. It seemed that when the city was built, they had gathered various different builders and, without giving them any direction, told them to just get on with it.

What resulted was a mess of intertwining districts and streets that led to nowhere, all spiralling like a ball of tangled yarn towards the city centre, where the palace stood.

"Thrilled? Ma'am." Hensworth walked in with Gaul in tow. The older man looked somewhat vexed.

"Yes, Hensworth." Chloe nodded. "And it's nice of you to join us, Gaul. I know I've bothered you at an unseemly hour."

Gaul just stared at her, an obvious bruise on his neck.

Chloe got on with it.

"Anyway, I personally feel that this assassination attempt is the best thing to happen to me since my father died!"

Hemming and Filch exchanged a glance.

"If we can use this opportunity to boost my image, it will be great for us."

Filch nodded slowly. "Yes, the unkillable queen has a nice ring to it."

Chloe smiled like a shark. "Exactly! And if I can use this as a chance to cut down on crime or something like that, the citizens will eat it up."

"It could work," Filch admitted.

"Right, well, I was thinking of having a parade of some sort tomorrow – to show how unfazed I am with this 'terrible' assassination attempt," Chloe continued sardonically. "I want to put my best foot forward and prove that I'm made of tougher stuff than Alton. Filch, what do you think?"

Filch cleared his throat. "Well, your highness, as you're Director of Communications, I have to say that-"

"That's a big title for a spy," Hemming muttered.

"Did you say something?" Filch asked tightly.

"No, nothing."

"I thought so."

"As Director of Communications, I think this could be an excellent opportunity to grow your image and get your face out there with the public. My only fear would be if we took the parade to an area where you aren't popular and things went out of our control, Your Highness."

Chloe frowned. "An area where I'm not popular? There's no such place."

Hemming and Filch exchanged a glance, this time joined by Gaul.

"Just set up the route for my parade tomorrow and make sure there are no obstructions," Chloe said, ignoring their pointed glances.

She left them to it, leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, she heard someone say – "When the fuck was this map made? It's older than me!"