“Well, that was a bit hard to watch,” Momo mumbled.

What remained of the knights’ dignity lay in a moaning heap of limbs. All it had taken was one round of [Maladaptive Daydreams] to have them pulling their own hair out, screaming and flailing into the prickly fence. After the effects faded, they settled into a corner of the camp, whimpering.

“That’s on you for using one of your Dokkaebi spells on a bunch of Intermediates,” Radu said, fiddling a lockpick into the camp’s warchest. “The jump to Expert is severe. It doesn’t take much to flatline some knights who just made it past Novice.”

Momo frowned. She hadn’t come here to flatline anyone.

In fact, quite the opposite. She had come to make friends.

Sitting in the capital making statements of peace, love, and compassionate necromancy had done nothing to help her poll numbers. If she wanted the new Queendom to be ready to receive a counterattack from Jarva, she needed it to be united. And if she wanted it to be united – she needed people to like her.

Okay – fearing her was an option too, but it wasn’t the direction Momo wanted to take this thing. She didn’t want to be a dictator. She didn’t even want to be a queen. But Sumire insisted that she could redefine the role. Do it her way. The Momo way. Trademark pending.

Thus: hitting the campaign trail. No army. No undead guardsmen. – well, mostly. Sumire insisted a small skeletal contingent followed a few miles behind. Other than that, it was just Momo, her cat, and, on this occasion, her comfort knife lizard. The plan was to chart a course from the capital back to Kalendale, doing press conferences at swing-cities and visiting a few Holy Resistance camps along the way.

Her army would keep the capital strong and develop its infrastructure; Sumire, blush, would make sure things actually got done; Excalibur would handle the droves of press showing up in caravans outside the city each day, and Momo would do the most crucial work of all: talking to the people. All the people.

The thought made her nauseous.

“Finally,” Radu cheered, his grin accompanied by the click of a lock. The chest opened wide.

“Ugh, is this all?” the bard complained, leaning over Radu’s shoulder to inspect the contents of the chest. Radu glared at him, swatting his hands away.

“I agree with him. Boring,” Momo said. “It’s just a bunch of paper and a half-eaten sandwich.”

And it was – two slices of white bread over gouda, and an assortment of letters. All of them were dated recently, and addressed to a specific person in particular. Marcella Celestina.

“That is an insane name,” Momo said.

“It’s alright,” Radu said, taking the sandwich. Deeming it fresh enough, he bit into it. “Do you remember where I’m from? I have to deal with people named Bartholomew.”

Momo unfortunately did remember. “Fair enough.”

While Radu and the bard fought over the last quarter of the sandwich, Momo took the letter out and examined it.

And – Oh crap.

“I’ve got bad news and worse news,” Momo mumbled.

The two paused their sandwich-fighting and looked at her. Radu frowned. “Worse first.”

“Not all of the Knights of the Sun fled Jarvirium.”

—

“So, this complicates things,” Radu sighed.

“You think?” Momo glared.

The two – well, three, now accompanied by the clingy bard – sat around a campfire in the woods just outside Drachenheim. Radu was able to get away from dinner early, citing official diplomatic duties with the Queendom of Morgana, which really meant giving Momo a before-bed therapy session.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Radu said. “We’ve dealt with that already.”

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“It’s worse,” Momo sighed. “It’s the end of me proving to Sumire that I can run a kingdom.”

“That can’t possibly be your sole motivation for this.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not,” Momo said, peeling the flap of a tin can backwards and pouring out some tuna fish. “I’m proving it to Valerica too.”

Radu glared at her while Dusk hungrily lapped up the fish. Momo tried not to look as the remains of it traveled oddly through her half-skeletal body. The oncilla-zation process had resulted in her being half skin and fur, half bones. It was somehow more disconcerting than her original build.

“So gross,” she mumbled.

“The letters don’t have a return address,” Radu said, inspecting the papers they found in the warchest. He looked towards the bard. “You must know something about these two?”

The bard looked up from his notebook, eyes wide.

“Me? I’m just a wee bard.”

“And I’m just a little lizard,” Radu rolled his eyes. “You were hired by someone. Who?”

The bard looked towards Momo. Momo gave him an enthusiastic smile, which most likely came across as a vaguely threatening one. Her [Innocent Look] skill seemed to have been impacted by the Nether Dokkaebi class. No matter how hard she tried, she just looked a bit up to no good.

“Promise not to kill me?” he whimpered. “I’ll be your own personal musician. I can write all kinds of genres. Not just propaganda music.”

“I don’t kill people,” Momo frowned. “Least of all musical geniuses.”

He blushed, looking down at his lute. He reached into the center of it and extracted a small business card, which he handed to Momo. It was white, and said Grimli Copperstrings, Expert Bard for Hire in golden lettering.

“Grimli Copperstrings, pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, extending a hand as if he hadn’t been following them around like a lost puppy dog for the last two hours. “My family’s from Deepgroove in the west, and I’m the eighth son of the Copperstrings clan.”

“All we asked is who hired you,” Radu said.

“Let the man speak,” Momo said, egging him on with a smile. “Go on.”

He smiled warmly back at her. “What a gentlewoman you are, Ripper Momo. I have met few kinder souls in my journey around this continent. The Holy Knights are a rancid bunch, really, concerned with little else than screaming profanities at the top of their lungs. It’s artless.”

Momo shook her head solemnly. “Sounds like it. Did they pay you well, at least?”

“Terribly. Just terribly. A few gold pieces per ballad. Art cannot be measured this way.”

“That’s pure exploitation.”

“It is! What a soul you are to recognize my plight,” he said, getting to both knees in a praying position. “I’m sure someone of your esteem and wealth can afford a much higher, more appropriate price. Something worthy of an artist.”

“Oh, great. Now he’s marketing,” Radu grumbled. “Momo, let’s get Dusk to escort this guy out.”

The cat’s eyes brightened, staring intently at the bard. Grimli squeaked.

“Be nice,” Momo murmured. “Grimli, I’m going to need you to tell us who hired you. It’s not very good business if I don’t know who I’m stealing you from. I don’t want any lawsuits.”

He bit at his nails nervously. After a while, he sighed, and nodded his head.

“I never met Ms. Celestina. No one has. She only communicates via bird. Pigeon. There’s two others – Ms. Bellafor and Ms. Slythorn. Only Ms. Bellafor shows her face. I met her in Deepgrove, an odd place to meet a human woman, it is. An odder place still to meet a Knight of the Sun.”

“By pigeon?” Momo said, interrupting him. She had an odd sense of deja-vu. “Weird. And what did Ms. Bellafor tell you about the Holy Resistance? About the knights’ plan?”

“Nothing much.”

“I’m starting to think the knights back there had a point,” Radu added. Grimli looked startled.

“Listen, she didn't say much - but I’m an observant man, I am! Deeply so! I don’t need people to run their mouths for me to get a clear picture,” he added, trying to preserve his place in their makeshift group. “I overheard Ms. Bellafor telling one of her associates that she’s headed for Mekna. Something something about an important package.”

Mekna. That’s where the Knights of the Sun had left from. Maybe there are still some lurking there?

“I don’t miss that place,” Radu groaned. “But Kelly Kraken is very interested in meeting you in-person. It could bolster your poll numbers if you gave her a face-to-face interview.”

“Does that mean we can skip the campaign event tomorrow?” Momo whimpered.

“Nope,” Radu said with a glare. “You’re the one who signed up to be Queen. You’re going to have to get used to this.”

“Fine,” Momo said. “But I’m assigning you to catch any tomatoes they try and throw at me. We’ll use them for dinner later.”

Radu groaned.

“I want to elect a normal monarch next time.”

—

The small forest city of Refuge’s End sat halfway between Drachenheim and Nam’Dal. It was the culmination of many bumpy, forking roads, haunted trees with beady eyeballs, and wild boars roaming the brush. Momo would have missed it a thousand times over if it wasn’t for the Campaign Trail, a true masterpiece of a map that Sumire had pieced together.

“If we have to fight another tree, I’m going to get depressed,” Momo said as they turned another corner on horseback. Grimli sat behind Momo, his hands wound tightly around her middle.

“I won’t be depressed, but I will be the cause of a forest fire,” Radu muttered.

Momo laughed. “Well aren’t you grumpy.”

“I was born grumpy.”

Much to Nightmare’s chagrin, they passed through another long wall of vines. Leaves tickled her neck as Momo came out the other side, an overwhelming scent pouring over her.

“Oh my god,” Momo said.

Lavender – it was as thick and dreamy as the candles her mom used to spread around the house. Purple herbs danced through the air, doing pirouettes around the alcove of a city. White and purple ivy climbed up small humble homes, inns, and garden walls. It was the perfect picture of a cozy fantasy, all except one thing.

At the center of town was a tall, wide board with an advertisement of her visit. Queen Momo. 12th Day of Spring. Q&A Welcome.

And right next to it, was another, slightly different advertisement.

Death to Queen Momo. Protest and Strike. 12th Day of Spring. Weapons welcome.