A goblin waddled in, swallowed up by the same massive orange ballgown Gawain wore the night previous. Nearly bald and squash-headed, he was not Gawain, with her long, greasy black tresses and normally-shaped skull. The skirts dragged on the floor and ballooned around his chest, sweetheart neckline sagging down his chest. His arms propped up on the fabric, too much skirt for him to force them down. Occasionally, bulging orange slippers peeked out from under the ballgown, struggling to contain the goblin’s outsize feet.

“It is I, Gawain. Pay no mind and return to your breakfast!” the goblin trilled in a horrifyingly shrill falsetto.

Every eye in the room turned to the interloper. Silverware halted. The sounds of eating ground to a complete halt.

The goblin reached the chairs. The seat of the chair stood at head-height, out of his reach. Hands somewhere around his hips, he looked the chair up and down, then backed up a few steps. With a running start, he jumped up and grabbed the seat, legs kicking under the orange skirt. Scooting over on his belly, he clambered onto the seat and sat upright.

Imperiously, he surveyed the table. After a moment, his eyes alighted on the table runner. He jumped up and reached for it, knocking his plates askew. On his tiptoes, he finally caught it. With great pomp, he tucked it into the front of his dress like a napkin and sat back down, dress plumping almost to his neck. “Roast pig, please.”

“You fake! Fake, fake, fake! That’s not Gawain, I’m Gawain!”

A green flash bolted across the room at the goblin in the orange dress. In nothing but a set of skimpy silken nightclothes, Gawain sprinted toward the goblin, limp black hair streaming after her, massive bat-ears folded back. She jumped nimbly atop the nearest empty chair and hopped from there to the tabletop.

She charged down the table at the other goblin, brows furrowed furiously. Plates and cups flew. They shattered on the ground behind her, or plopped into princess’s laps. Eleda caught a pitcher of milk before it splattered across her soft green dress, but her luckless neighbor, the beastfolk princess, ended up with a lap full of jelly when Gawain kicked over a jar.

The goblin stared at the servant expectantly, as if unaware of the chaos behind him. The closer Gawain drew, the more his ears twitched. Footsteps beat a rapid tattoo, building to a crescendo, until he jumped in his seat with each impact. At last, he could bear it no longer. He turned as a bony knee hurtled toward his face. He squealed, and then Gawain’s knee met his face, and the squeal took on the qualities of a murdered pig’s final scream. The goblin toppled backward off the chair in a mess of orange fabric. Hairy legs appeared from the depths of the dress as the skirt inverted. Thankfully, the goblin wore underclothes, but they were full of holes and stained in unsavory places.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Mouse put down his bread, appetite lost.

The goblin thrashed like a turtle trapped on his back. The skirt flopped around him, crinoline and cage thrashing wildly. “Help, help, I’m drowning! I’m going to drown!”

“You can’t drown, we’re on dry land.” Gawain turned to the nearest servant and offered a snaggle-toothed smile. “I heard there’s roast pig?”

The maidservant backed away, blinking. She raised her hands and shook her head, at a loss.

Eleda leaned over. “Gawain, mind your, ah, wardrobe.”

“It’s in my room, thanks,” Gawain said. She leaned toward Eleda, but couldn’t reach the sun elf’s bread. Momentarily stymied, she froze, then started to clamber onto the table.

Eleda pushed the bread into Gawain’s reach. “Your attire, Gawain.”

“I’m not tired. I just woke up.”

“That could not be more apparent,” Eleda murmured, eyeing her sleepwear.

Mouse couldn’t take it any longer. “You’re wearing pajamas, Gawain.”

Gawain stopped dead, a hunk of bread hanging out of her mouth. She glanced down, then jumped and wrapped her arms around herself. “Bats and hellfire, I’m naked!”

“Not naked, just… not fully dressed,” Eleda soothed.

Gawain dove from her chair onto the floundering goblin in the orange dress. Limbs flailed, orange satin flashed, crinoline went flying, and with a half-dozen cries of “ouch!” and “stop it!”, Gawain reappeared, ragged, stained orange dress pulled firmly into place, suddenly much taller once more.

Mouse sighed and stood. He turned to Sabelyn and curtseyed. “Thank you for your hospitality, Princess Sabelyn. I must be off.”

“Surely there’s no rush,” Sabelyn replied calmly.

No point to staying, either. He curtseyed again. “My apologies, but I must withdraw.”

This time, Sabelyn waved vaguely and turned back to her breakfast.

Another hand caught him on the way out. Mouse tensed, expecting the demoness’s claws to bite into his arm, but instead, Eleda drew him close. Warm amber eyes gazed into his. “Are you alright? You left early last night.”

Her voice was heartfelt, her eyes, earnest. Warmth flushed Mouse’s heart, a contrast compared to the icy court. He squeezed Eleda’s shoulder gently, thankful for her concern. “I’m fine.”

She released him, but watched after him as he left.

He pushed open the door to the dining room, and a wave of reek smacked into his nose. Mouse staggered back, squinting his eyes against the sting. What…?

A dark, lumpy shape rushed at him. Mouse backed away, feet tapping against the stone floor. A darkfoe? Here?

Sunlight fell on the figure, revealing a furious man coated in something awful. Frilly cuffs hung heavy, full of manure. Thick filth caked what might have been a handsome face. A foppish vest, heavy with buttons, trim, and braid, was nearly unrecognizable. Skinny legs protruded from thin, filthy undergarments. Clumps of unspeakable things huddled in every niche. Pockets drooped, full of filth.

Sabelyn stood, irate. “Servants! Remove this man!”

Mouse smirked. Don’t you recognize your dear brother?