Waiting was tedious, even on the fair grounds, despite wonders of art and technology displayed on all sides. The black cloth covering the blue mirror was nothing to see. Women and men passed by, indifferent to the plain shroud concealing the mirror.

Prince Felderon couldn't display it yet—not until a sizable audience assembled around. But it didn't matter. The crowd would come. Within the hour—he checked his pocket watch—in fifty minutes King Olanda himself would enter the grounds. Until then, he would hide the mirror behind a black shroud and wait.

At last, a trumpet sounded, and a footman proclaimed the Renada family's arrival. A short parade of armed guards pushed through the grounds, thrusting curious onlookers back. A young peasant yelped as a guard threw him behind a booth. "I said back!"

The crowd pressed backward as though pulled by the moon. Soon, the royal procession appeared before the table. The prince glanced around, wondering where the woman from the balcony was, but she was nowhere in the procession. The King shot Felderon a questioning glance at the mystery item, propped up at eye-level.

"What mystery is this?" King Olanda waved his hand to Felderon's veiled exhibition. "They say you will not reveal your object except to me. Well!"

Felderon bowed. "I am Felderon, sixth prince of the Chalbeams, Your Majesty. And this--”

The king chuckled. "Not that sixth prince of the infamous love letters! Isabel, remind me again of my favorite phrase!"

The King glanced back at his daughter, who simpered, "Two lips like tulips." She merely giggled, but the king roared in open-mouthed laughter.

Prince Felderon's face burned, but what could he say? There was nothing left but what he must do. The moment had come.

The prince deepened his bow, and with a flourish, whipped the covering away from the blue stone mirror. In the same motion, bearing in mind the sage's warning, he opened his left palm, which clutched the mysterious dark mirror. Opening his eyes, he steadied his gaze, peering into the mirror’s depths.

The gasps and applause from the royal family faded in Felderon's ears as he let his eyes lock on the image of himself in the black mirror.

Blood fled from his face, and a low grown issued from his closed throat as the mirror held him gripped. When he stared into the blackness, scales fell from his eyes, and he saw with perfect clarity that he was no more a shamed sixth prince.

Sweat dampened his face and his hands trembled. Not a shamed prince. He was loathsome. He was a blister on the face of existence. He shut his eyes, but could not unsee himself, floating in the mirror's face.

A maggoty round of rotten flesh.

The flagellation of a hippopotamus's ass.

More horrible than a pit full of smiling devils.

He could scarcely breathe. His stomach heaved and acid rose up his throat.

For the first time in Felderon's life, he saw himself:

An impoverished prince, throwing his bloated body upon a wealthy young woman, leaning over her frailty, which frailty buckled under the weight of his need.

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Unwilling, if unable to support himself, willfully blind and morally destitute. His dodgy black eyes, full of avarice, plunging a knife into his brother’s—his own kin's back—if not in fact, then at least a million times in his own mind. His guts bloated with jealousy and indolence, recoiling from work, shrinking from even an ounce of self-respect.

What decent thing could ever be brought out of this volume of pig vomit wrapped in skin?

Prince Felderon stood before the world, broadcasting his loathsome self, and the crowd watched with eyes glazed, and faces upturned, blind to the horror that stood unmasked to them.

The Renadan Queen, on the other hand, gasped in delight at her first glimpse into the blue mirror.

The king crowded, grasping it from her hands. "This is a remarkable thing of beauty! Who is responsible for this valuable object?"

Felderon recoiled as the King of Renada and all of the crowd turned as if one body to stare at his gray and stricken visage.

"How came by you this mirror?"

"I sought it of the Sage of the Sun, who meditates in the Illusion Mountains. He gave it to me, for a price I cannot swear I will live to pay."

"I can well believe the cost. Come what will you have for it? I will give you a storehouse full of saffron for the pleasure of owning it!”

"I have no use for saffron, King. I have no use for any earthly thing."

"I must give you something for it!”

"Give my fifth brother the honor of your daughter's hand. He is, next to me, the most unfortunate of my brothers in birth order, and this mirror may well be his only fortune. He is a handsome fellow, I think, notwithstanding his penury and as blue blooded as they come."

The King thought for only a minute. “I will accept him, for the sake of this brilliant mirror!”

The Queen argued not a word, but kept her gaze fixed upon her own image in the mirror, smiling sweetly and turning to gaze at herself at various angles. "Have you ever seen me looking so fresh and young? Let me hold the mirror!" She took it in both hands.

The King clapped Prince Felderon on his back. “Come with me! Call your good father and mother. Call your fifth brother!”

Felderon shuddered. Was the King of Renada blind? He couldn't show his face in the palace! If they couldn’t see through him now, then he would eventually betray the truth to them soon. His stomach grumbled and he forced back the acid in his throat. “I—I will call my father and mother to come meet you this instant, please excuse—“

Felderon's blood fled to his thighs and calves. He stumbled and ran, frantic, for the palace gates.

* * *

Prince Felderon tucked the dark mirror into his coat and, covering his head and face, dashed across the grounds, knocking a display of spun silk askew, and toppling a booth showcasing dental implants. In so doing, he upset a pair of tethered parrots. Flapping and squawking, they blustered after him, "Thief, squawk, thief!"

The commotion drew every eye on the premises.

A royal guard clad in blue velvet bolted after him. "Hey, you! Stop! I said STOP!"

Felderon didn't pause. He muscled past a dark man, several royal guardsmen and a woman in gray, who screamed something he couldn't be sure.

Then came the sound that froze him cold.

"FelderON! I demand you ConTROL yourself!"

The prince's knees buckled, and he pitched forward and tumbled to the ground.

The straight backed woman in gray silk stood over the prince, frowning. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"Mother?"

She arched her brow. "I would say son--but at the present moment, I'm not sure I dare claim you, Felderon."

Sweat beaded his brow and his face heated. "Mother!"

"Shhhh!" His mother hushed. "What in Heaven's name is on your face?"

Felderon's hands went to his cheeks, and he pulled a foreign object from his beard. "A tooth?"

Two guards grabbed him by the shoulders. "Don't be afraid. We have him Queen Aladora."

The Queen sniffed. "What is the meaning of this froo-frah? How have you disgraced yourself this time, Felderon?"

Blood rushed to his face and he hung his head. How had he not disgraced himself?

His mother raised her head and turned away. "Fine, then. I no longer care. Do whatever you must with my failure of a son."

Two more guards rushed forward. "Release him! On order of King Olanda!”

The Queen half turned again. "On order of King Olanda of Renada?"

"We beg your pardon Your Highness. Prince Felderon has pleased the King. Your Highness and King Mensa of the Chalbeams are most humbly required at Palace de la Renada at the earliest possible convenience."

The Queen narrowed her eyes for only a moment before assuming a more more dignified posture. “My dear Felderon. Son of my old age. Come with your mother!"