“Do I look good? It feels kind of tight…” I tug at the frilly skirt a little. “And why does it have to be WHITE? I’d be more okay with a pink dress, honestly.”

“A pink dress? Don’t be silly, your highness. Such cheap, half-dyed articles could never properly fit your gracious form. This pristine WHITE, on the other hand, perfectly shows the gentle purity you are so known for.”

My nose furls. Was that what she was known for? An image of a vomiting chimaera flashes through my head. Yeah, no, I have to disagree.

Turning away from the seamstress, I look over at Simel instead where he stands in the doorway of my assigned room, looking markedly pale. I catch his gaze. “What do you think, Simel? Do I look like a pretty princess to you?”

He averts his gaze. The coward’s way out? Possibly.

“I think pretty would be an understatement, your highness,” the seamstress comments with what I think is absolute honesty. Wonderful woman, really. Then, she continues placing pins here and there to refit more parts of the dress. Just so we’re all on the same page, this is the first time I have ever worn a dress and I am only wearing a dress to complete my princess disguise.

Of course, to be completely honest, the disguise had worked wonderfully even without an overly prissy gown.

It had almost been too easy to get in. For the sake of my disguise, we ‘borrowed’ a drake to carry our things and myself. Combined with a dress I looted from a totally willing and breathing villager and the princess’ very own crown—supplied by Simel—I made quite an impression when we rode up to the city gates.

“Isn’t that…?”

“But I heard she was—”

“It’s her! It’s Princess Swee-Swee!”

At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure what the proper code of conduct was, so I just did a Queen Elisabeth wave by holding up my hand and rotating it one-eighty degrees back and forth. The guards greeted us by bowing, and we entered. Just like that! Those suckers didn’t even check our ID’s, hah!

I kind of hadn’t expected it, but we did actually accrue a parade of sorts. There were guards riding behind us on big buff drakes, more guards at our front and sides, and the whole thing was eye-catching enough to form a crowd of a sort I haven’t seen since the third floor. We even got a little guide feller of some sort, walking at our side, telling us the way to the emperor’s palace. Crazy stuff. By the time we got there, my wrist was kind of dead from all the waving. It’d probably have been better off if I’d gone to a jazz-hands competition.

Once we reached the palace, I had sort of expected that we’d get brought straight before the emperor, but not so. Someone—I can’t remember who or where—had said something along the lines of ‘we can’t possibly let the princess greet the exalted emperor in her travel clothes!’ and then I’m pretty sure I heard someone whisper to Simel that ‘the exalted emperor is not quite ready for your visit, please distract the princess while his grand self prepares the final aspects.’

Which is… kind of weird, but okay. I mean, don’t get me wrong, just getting a procession of what feels like half the empire’s army is great and all, but shouldn’t he at least greet me now that we’re here? Then again, this was on a mere day’s notice, so… Yeah.

And that is why I am now in a little room off to the side, getting the final bits of a dress fitted. During the course of this, the seamstress has commented on my height, my slim figure, the weird scars here and there in the princess’ skin, and how cold I am. Luckily, she made no mention of the fact that I smell like rotting flesh, which might be because that’s what I’m literally wearing. I’ve been wondering for a while how long a skin can sit in my inventory before it no longer works as a disguise, and going by what I’m currently wearing, it might actually take years. Insane.

A butler pops his head in through the doorway Simel’s in, his eyes falling on me and then back at Simel. He steps inside, bows to the both of us, and says, “Your Highness; your Majesty. His Excellency the Emperor of the Sun, Blind of the Seventh Heaven, is now ready to greet you.”

I smile at him and lick both of my pairs of lips. “Oh, that’s great!” As I step off the little fitting pedestal, the seamstress hurriedly removes the final few pins here and there, tying invisible knots of thread faster than I can see. I turn to Simel. “Shall we go, then?”

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After a moment’s hesitation, he nods back at me with an odd determination on his face.

We walk through the hallway, surrounded by what has to be at least a dozen guards, some in full armour. I’d be more flattered if the clinking and clanking of the metal wasn’t so annoying. But I can’t kill them now. Hopefully, with my speed, I shouldn’t need to face them at all.

…Is it just me, or is this kind of awkward?

I’m not saying anything. Simel won’t stop sweating. The guards all stink of fear. Maybe some witty banter would help the situation?

I look at Simel. His eyes are affixed to the front, back straight and brow furrowed. Yeah, no, if I said anything now I’m pretty sure he’d leap out of his own skin. Is the emperor really that scary? Well, that’s for me to decide, I guess. In the meantime, if only to distract myself, I suppose I’ll admire the architecture. It really is quite nice. Sure, every single doorway I step through forces me to hunch even more than I usually do, but the actual designs are very cool. Blocky. Almost brutalist in design. Yet, at times, very human. Or goblic, as the goblins call it. Looking out of the window, the city itself is much the same in terms of design. Efficient. Structurally sound. Built in stone to last hundreds of years. Not very flammable.

We pass through the hallway and into a larger room containing a statue and a number of murals showing all types of war and divine-looking goblins and… and dragons? They have dragons?! No way. No way. How did I not know this before? It’s dragons!

Damn, that’s cool. Sadly, I don’t have time to linger before we’re brought into another room, filled with purple bannisters showing a setting sun and some other stuff alongside a fair few bits of gold and other precious medals. It’s a cool place, but my eyes are fixed on the doors before us. Big. Intricate carvings. And if I take a deep breath, I can feel my skill activate, and my attention settle on a single presence in the room right before us.

The guards that had previously crowded around us suddenly step away, and a pair of servants take their places on each side of the door. They push the door open. Simel and I step inside.

There he is.

Seated atop a throne of gold and purple, wearing a cloak of deepest indigo and a collar of white fur. The crown atop his head is adorned with various gemstones, somehow going down the back of his head to also become a pair of bejewelled rings around the base of his ears. His face has all the graveness of any king, with a malicious quirk to his lips that tells me his rule is all but benevolent.

Simel goes down on one knee before him and I follow suit.

His eyes slide across the room and onto me. I can practically taste the sweat on his forehead. Somehow, it feels as though his eyes see through everything I am, every layer of skin I wear, all the way down to my soul. He’s got those kinds of penetrating, all-seeing eyes.

But, apparently, he doesn’t have an ounce of manners, because he doesn’t even so much as stand up to greet me—a princess.

Rather, he lets his deep-set eyes move from me, to Simel, and then back to me, before he finally says, “Princess Swee-Swee, my given daughter. How glad I am to see you alive.”

I let my eyes move across the room. The only other people are a pair of servants behind us, by the doors. Witnesses, not enemies. I look back at the emperor. There’s seriously only him here? Not even a single guard? Wow. I didn’t think he was that arrogant, but, you know… If he wants to get killed, who am I to refuse?

And only after almost a full minute of silence do I realise that he’s waiting for a response from me.

“O—oh!” I say, totally not trying to talk in a more lady-like fashion. “Of course, Father, I am certainly very happy to be not-dead. Very cool, all things considered.” He continues staring down at me. What? What does he…? I glance over at Simel to find him holding a crown in both hands. Whoa, shiny! Oh, wait, uhh— “It is a great shame about your son, though. That is, my husband. To be. My former one. Yeah, sorry.”

He gestures towards himself. Looking at Simel, I see him nudge the crown towards me. Ahh, I see how it is. Yes, hehe, thy will be done!

Taking the crown from Simel’s hands, I stand up and step towards the emperor, holding it in both hands, walking carefully up the stairs to his throne, my body more relaxed than it really should be considering what I’m about to do. I’m next to him now, almost within arm’s reach. My fingers clench around the crown in my hands.

He’s right in front of me. Easy pickings. Neck exposed. Arms shown. Bowels easy to reach. Simpler than picking a flower. So many ways to do it. Bite. Scratch. Tear. Rupture. Slice, slice, slice, and it’ll all be over. The right thing is at hand. I can smell his breathing. I can hear the beating of his heart. I can feel the warmth of his flesh. Almost quaint.

My fingers flex, my body tenses, my lips twist into a grin, my jaw opens, my eyes set themselves on the prize and I can practically taste his blood on my lips already—the sweet, sweet taste of doing what is right.

So easy.

So simple.

So—

“Wait!”

My hand, only slightly raised, freezes in place. Huh? Who was that?

I turn around. Not the servants. They’re both gone. Not the emperor. Not the air. Not…

I look down and my eyes meet Simel’s. “...Simel?”

A pair of doors slam open and there’s a rush of heavy footprints but I remain frozen even as a loop of barbed metal hooks around my throat and drags me down, spikes stabbing into the flesh of my throat as I crash to the floor, not even having time to realise what is happening before more such loops, each connected to a long metal pole, stab to grab all four of my limbs, pushing down my ankles, my wrists, my forearms and my legs, all the while yet another slips around my thin waist.

Mancatchers.

“Hold it down!”

“Don’t let it get up!”

“More men on the legs!”

I’m pinned to the floor but I can’t fight back or think because all I can see is Simel where he stands across the room, atop a fine mat of purple, his chest rising and falling, looking at me as though I’m a wild beast that’s finally been caught.

Well and proper.