Twain lounged in his room, yawning, and sipped a glass of wine. A gentle breeze stirred the loose hairs around his face and ruffled the pages of his book. He turned the page and stretched. For a moment, he lifted his eyes to appreciate the bright sunlight outside from within the shade of his room. Dazzling gardens spread out before him, a gentle, floral fragrance drifting in his window. He smiled. Now this is a vacation.

Lazily, he lifted a grape to his mouth. Before he could swallow it, his door slammed open. Startled, Twain sat forward, almost spitting the grape. After a second, he recomposed himself, turned and lifted a single eyebrow, half-moon arch questioning the interloper.

“How long are you going to rot away in here?” Dayander burst, eyebrows wriggling ferociously.

“Those hairy caterpillars are going to crawl right off your face if you keep that up,” Twain replied, wiggling his own eyebrows back at Dayander.

Dayander marched over and snatched the book out of Twain’s hands. “Do you even know what’s been happening lately?”

“I know that I’ve done nothing to worsen my standing with the human royalty,” Twain said, sitting up straighter. He reached for the book, but Dayander yanked it out of his reach.

“Whiling away your time in here…” He peered at the book. “What is this, even? This trash?”

“No need to be so childish, Dayander. It’s a fine piece of illustrated romantic literature favored by male humans. Hand it back,” Twain demanded, hand out.

Dayander slapped his hand away with the book. “And your attire!”

Twain looked down at himself. Today, he wore a simple gray gown. Without the straps and padding, it laid loose on his frame, comfortable as a nightshirt. “I’m not going anywhere. Why bother with those pads? They’re stuffy and tight, and they pinch in unpleasant places.”

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“What if someone sees?” Dayander slammed the window shut and pulled the drapes. He shook his head, disappointed in Twain.

Twain gestured. “I’m wearing a dress!”

“You look like a man who’s wearing a dress.”

“Because… I am?” Twain replied, raising his eyebrows.

“You are not. Not right now. Get changed, now.”

“You closed the windows and I’m not going out. Why bother?”

Dayander rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Did I not hear you pledge to help the Mage-Emperor gain power?”

“Mmm… yes. I do intend to do that. I just need a break before I dive on in,” Twain said. He snapped up another grape.

Dayander set the book aside and grabbed Twain’s grape bowl. “Well, Mr. Man-In-A-Dress, you may want to reconsider your order of operations. The Mage-Emperor has made a move.”

“Fantastic. What is it?” Twain lifted his wine.

Eyes narrowed, Dayander grabbed for the wine, too, but Twain swayed out of his reach. Annoyed, he could only cross his arms. “The Emperor is calling each of the princesses to… attend to him.”

“Making friends. Glad to hear it.” He sipped the wine. Eyes shut, he took a moment to savor it.

Dayander’s furrowed brows quivered. A vein throbbed in his forehead. “One at a time. Overnight.”

Wine sprayed from Twain's mouth. It splashed over his dress, staining pale gray to blotchy red. He stared up at Dayander. “And you didn’t lead with that?”

“I tried, but Your Highness was… busy.”

Twain looked down at his soaked dress and set down the wine. Standing, he stripped it and threw it aside, leaving him in a pair of leggings. He shook the dress at Dayander, eyes narrowed. “Dammit, Dayander, the Queen promised me a vacation. I was trying to get in the mood.”

“It’s a working vacation, my liege,” Dayander grumbled.

“That doesn’t sound like a vacation at all.” He began to dress himself, this time with the straps and corset.

“Where are you going?” Dayander asked.

Twain gestured. “To seek knowledge! Knowledge is power. I can’t defend myself if I don’t properly know what’s going on!”

“Well put.” Dayander stepped forward to help do up the buttons at the back of Twain’s neck.

Twain closed his eyes, shook out his braid, and opened them as Mouse. He nodded primly to Dayander, then leaned in close. “I saw you pocket my book. You can borrow it, but I expect to see it back on my nightstand within the week.”

Dayander gaped, speechless.

“Within the week, understand?” Tossing Dayander a wink, he sashayed out the door.

Outside, his shoulders hunched a little. Mouse frowned and glanced around. Where to start?

A knot of maids hurried by. He glanced at them, then nodded to himself. Only one place to go.