"Well, if that's how it's gonna be" the enchantress sighed before raising her arms, palms-up. A bowstring of a smile drew across her face.

Percy sat next to a woman who wore a ridiculous headdress. It was far too tall and covered in feathers, and she kept bumping her elbow on his face as she lifted her arms to steady it. If this dinner went on for much longer, he would be bruised all over.

Gods, he was bored. He looked around him, taking in the gilded surroundings and the dazzling reflections of the chandeliers. Somehow, the skewered and honey-glazed boar served in front of him with an apple in its mouth and a lemon up its arse wasn't the most fucked thing at that dinner table. Every guest was weighed down with jewels and headpieces and the misery of having to hide how miserable they were. Someone proposed a toast, he didn't quite know to whom or what, and chairs scraped and rattled as everyone stood with their glasses raised. It proved too much of a challenge for his neighbour's headdress. It toppled backwards from her tiny head and flung itself at a passing server with a tray of salmon, which he served immediately, on her. The woman said something about good help these days, and someone across the table said something about aunt Bethany, sit down, we'll get someone to wipe that salmon off you.

"Kill me."

Percy looked to his left, to the woman who had just spoken.

"Valeria?"

She was wearing a dark blue uniform that was perfectly tailored to her, and her blond hair was intricately braided behind her back. He had never seen her look so formal.

"Yes, alas, it is still me. Still stuck here. Did you think I'd left? Nah. That's a coward's way out. They'll have to drag me out of here, either because I've died of boredom or because I've killed everyone else."

Percy saw the room around him flicker for the briefest of seconds. This time, he was certain it was not him who had blinked. It had been everything else.

"Wait – where are we?"

Valeria stared at him with her usual stony expression.

"What do you mean, where are we? You didn't drink that much yet. Maybe you wish you did. We're in cousin Jaxon's birthday party. Here, have some more wine."

"Who the hell is cousin Jaxon?"

This time, her hardened expression softened into a look of concern. He half expected her to check his temperature and spoon-feed him sugar, but his other half knew better.

"Are you alright? Evans' cousin, Jaxon. It's just another party we need to show ourselves in."

Evans? Percy leaned back in his chair and craned his neck to see beyond Valeria's towering, stately figure. He spotted Evans' head of copper hair, right next to her, but he couldn't see more from that angle. He flung himself forward instead, nearly splattering a bowl of consommé all over his blue and gold-trimmed tunic.

"Evans?" he called out.

He turned his head to look at Percy, with as spiritless and resigned a look as Percy had ever seen in him. It was only then that Percy became aware of how peculiar Evans' ever-present calm was, how vivid and awake and unsubdued it was, even if it was calm. Percy realized it now because it wasn't there anymore. It had been replaced by doldrums.

"Something's not right" Percy said.

Evans shrugged. Percy had never seen him do that. Those shoulders had not been made for shrugging.

"It's just a dinner party. It'll be over in a bit. We needed to come, you know" he said.

"We're not supposed to be here" Percy insisted. Panic stirred in his voice.

"Oh, we are very much supposed to be here, that's the bloody problem" Valeria interjected. "How do you think it would look if we didn't come? Gods, there goes uncle Alvor again, talking about foreign peasants coming in and stealing local jobs and lazing about waiting for handouts. Amazing, all the things those foreign peasants can do. No, thank you, no more wine, I like to be sober when I despise."

A few strange words barged into Percy's mind, unannounced. It was all going a little cattywampus.

His head snapped up and he glanced about the room frantically, trying to find something, anything at all, that looked as off as he felt. And suddenly, standing across the table, serving a tray of scrambled eggs to a man who seemed pretty scrambled himself, he saw the enchantress. She caught his stare and winked at him with a grin.

He stood up, dazed and drunk with confusion, and stumbled over to her, swerving to avoid guests and servants. He faintly heard Valeria's voice behind him telling him to sit down and behave himself, but for once, as scared as he was of disobeying her, he was more scared of ignoring his instincts.

When he reached the sorceress, she gave him a mocking curtsy as she held the tray with perfect posture.

"Where the hell are we? Who are all these people?"

"Why, you're right where you're supposed to be, at cousin Jaxon's birthday party" she smirked. "And you don't know any of these people because this isn't about you. It's about him" she said, looking towards Evans. "He knows them. Relatives and acquaintances."

"Where are we really?"

She had another of her little pouts, though Percy could see how amused she truly was.

"I did suspect you would cause problems, seeing as you'd be confused quicker than them. I know your type. You're so used to stories being about you that you go off the rails when you no longer fit in. But they'll be fine. Because they're fitting in."

Percy followed her stare towards Evans and Valeria. They sat there still, expressionless as they waited for the evening to pass. He knew at once that it wasn't going to.

"We're all asleep, aren't we? We're all asleep at your feet in that room" he said slowly. "Hell, the way things have been going, I'm sure I look ridiculous. Drooling on your shoe or something."

"Eh, I'll pass, I'm not much into foot stuff."

"I – what?"

"Actually, you're a very peaceful sleeper. You must have been having some rough nights. I'm poking your chin right now and you're not even budging."

He scrunched his nose at her.

"Stop doing that."

"No" she smiled wider.

"Alright, fine, what do you want us to do to break your stupid curse?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Your friend is a lot more respectful of my calling. Although he really should have just kissed that girl. Then we could all have gone home. And really, no one would have minded in the end."

"I think he would have, and her as well most likely. Come on – there has to be something else we can do right now to break it?"

"Feeling guilty, are we?"

He'd forgotten about that. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead into numb nothing. The palace seers had seen him by Evans' side, but that didn't mean they'd seen him helping.

A perfidious little thought hurried past his mind, fast enough to escape being caught, but not so fast that it didn't leave its shadow there.

The sorceress stood behind him and placed her soft, warm hands on his shoulders, turning him to face Evans and Valeria.

"I don't think you'll get them out of there any time soon" she murmured into his ear. "Do you know why? All these relatives of his, they've taught him to be unafraid of everything, except of not showing up and not being seen where he should be. That sweet thing will face down the most bloodthirsty foes if he needs to, but he's terrified of being excluded. Uninvited, unwanted, not there. Even if he hates being there. But what would they say if he wasn't? If he didn't show himself? He likes nice things to be said about him. They taught him that, too."

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She stayed behind Percy, whispering to him, her hands on his shoulders and his mind. He turned his head ever so slightly, just enough for the tip of his nose to nearly touch hers. He could feel her grin and her rose-scented cheeks brushing against his skin.

"You weren't very understanding of my motives" she murmured on. "Do you understand me now? Do you understand why I cursed them? I didn't even want to go to that stupid party anyway. But how dare they overlook me."

A growing sense of dread slithered inside him. He stared at Evans, who looked at him – no, through him. There was something about not being caught by Evans' eyes that made Percy feel less than smoke.

The enchantress' voice wove a taunting thread into his ear.

"He's afraid of missing out and of not being missed. But aren't you as well? Why did you go with them in the first place? Why did you leave that cushy house of yours to go with people you didn't believe, and who didn't believe in you? So certain you would hate what you would find, yet so afraid of missing out and not being there, in the stories."

There was a strange torpor settling over him like deep winter snow.

"Oh, now this is something."

She cupped his chin to keep him staring straight at Evans. A man as tall as he was loud strode over to Evans and patted him on the back, swinging his hand with such eagerness that he sloshed half of the contents of the wine cup he was holding.

"That carbuncle of a man is asking your knight when he's going to get married, and if he's had his first kiss yet. Golly, look how he hates it. And still he doesn't get up and leave. Above all, one must never offend or cause a scene."

Percy shivered free of her hand.

"Are you going to keep us trapped in this dream forever?"

"It's amusing me" she shrugged.

"Right. Then I'm sure you'll understand if I amuse myself as well while we're at it."

He stepped away from her embrace. It could hardly be said he broke free: her hands released him with the light touch of the filaments of a cobweb. He walked over to the man towering over Evans, who merely sat there, enduring it. As he approached, Percy vaguely heard the man say something to Evans about going out there and picking up someone to sow his wild oats. Percy too had been served that monologue a hundred times before, with words so well-worn that they were frayed at the seams. He recalled sitting through very similar moments as the one Evans sat through now.

A feeling of drunken, unbridled freedom danced about his arm. He reached for the nearest wine bottle and swung it at the man's head. It shattered in a shower of shards and blood red wine. It was a dream, after all, so wine bottles could smash in satisfying ways. Screams of outrage and shock shattered around him, too.

"Percy!" Evans bellowed, jumping from his chair. "What the hell are you doing? That's uncle Bruce!"

"Which is as good a reason as any to do it" Valeria said as she stood up too, "but yes, Percy, what are you doing?"

"It's just a dream!" he shouted, stretching his arms wide as he gestured about him with a frenzied grin. He pointed at the sorceress. "She's keeping us here!"

"That's still not a reason to knock out uncle Bruce" Evans protested, though his voice increasingly had the unsteady tilt of doubt.

Another man lunged at Percy and attempted to restrain him. He ducked out of the way with the nimble speed that he had always relied on, and yanked at the man's leg to flip him on to the ground. This, at least, was not because of the dream; he'd always been this good at being a slippery weasel in fights. There were few things he enjoyed as much.

A woman rushed him while brandishing a large silver tray aimed at his head. He quickly grabbed it and slammed it against hers instead.

"Well, this is escalating just as quickly as I like" Valeria grinned. She grabbed by the collar a swarthy teenager who was running towards Percy with a knife and an obvious eagerness to prove himself. "Walk back to your room, before I make you crawl back."

Evans stood by Percy, looking about him with a dazed, bewildered look. The room had sparked into absolute chaos. Guests were getting tangled in dresses and hairpieces, as the shockwaves of the fight tore through their elegance and ripped it to shreds. A woman who Percy recognized as aunt Bethany, still sauce-bloodied from her previous encounter with an accidental serving of salmon, tried to fling a vase at him, but tripped on the teenager that Valeria had just pushed back.

Evans stood staring at the enchantress, who watched the scene unfold from a corner of the room with a vexed look about her. His eyes sharpened with understanding.

"Oh fuck, it is a dream!"

Percy beamed a wide smile as he realized with a giddy, stupid joy that he'd never heard Evans curse before.

As soon as she heard Evans, Valeria had one of her workmanlike nods. She unsheathed her sword and swung it with ruthless efficiency at a courtier who was about to lunge at Percy's throat. Percy gasped when a streak of blood scratched at his face. The man, who had been an inch from choking him, fell to the ground, slashed by Valeria's sword.

"Holy shit, Valeria" he gulped.

She pulled her sword out of the man's body with a squelching sound that was mercifully brief, and a gesture that was frighteningly practiced.

"I find the quickest way to wake up from a dream is to go extreme" she shrugged.

She threw her elbow back as she sensed someone charging at her from behind, and hit aunt Bethany right in the stomach. The woman collapsed with an enraged wheeze.

"Hah! I've always wanted to do that to her. Never thought I'd actually get a chance" Valeria mused.

Evans shuffled to and fro as he dodged blow after blow, some dealt with candlesticks and butter knives, others with rapiers and axes. He seemed unwilling to swing back at first, but Percy soon saw him shed his reluctance like an old, dry skin.

Unencumbered by it, his fighting style had a polished brutality that struck Percy. He wielded his sword expertly, but avoided a fascination with his own swordsmanship which might have tempted him into the pointless pride of using only his blade. Instead, he summoned everything in and around him that might serve as a weapon, kicking, elbowing, throwing platters and bottles and chairs in a studied frenzy. The air around him seemed to clack and clatter as he fought back the drove of dream-guests that surged at him.

The courtiers swarmed them with a buzzing wildness. Percy's body sharpened with the focus of a fight. He drew himself to his full height – which, while not much, was all he had – and held his sword at the ready. The first to reach him was another sword-wielder, and their blades met with a clink of metal that had an unsettling distance to it. Their duel was clumsy, and Percy was almost offended by it, knowing, as he did, that he was an efficient swordsman. But their movements seemed at times slurred and at others sped up, and the chaos of the room was a shattering din that rushed Percy and wore his senses ragged.

When he at last plunged his blade in his opponent, the man made a sound like a squawking bird. Percy shivered in disquiet. He'd done this plenty of times before in dreams; and he wondered if, were he ever to do it awake, that strange sense of detachment would be the same, as though the blade was not his, and the body not someone else's.

He knew it was a dream, and yet, just like in dreams, he felt a keen danger. Knowing he could wake up was of little use when he knew he could die in his sleep. But the dream also brought a feeling of morbid fun that horrified him and gripped him irresistibly.

"Percy!" he heard Evans cry out behind him.

As he turned to Evans, he saw him swinging his sword wide at three courtiers. They were rushing at Percy with their rapiers drawn, but Evans cleaved them down in one ruthless, silk-sleek swoop. Percy stared at him, awestruck. He half expected Evans to stare back with a look of abyssal darkness, deep as the eye of a well. But Evans merely looked at him with genuine concern softening his features. Everything in him was soft: even the smooth, lustrous blow that had brought down three of his foes. Who, Percy suddenly remembered, appeared to Evans as relatives and acquaintances. It had not mattered: it had not stilled his arm with any uncertainty.

Percy saw an outstretched arm raise itself behind Evans, holding thunder-like a sharp, glinting dagger. A man stood ready to stab Evans, and Percy cried out a warning as he reached for the nearest piece of cutlery on the table by his right. He hoped for a knife, grabbed a fork, and threw it anyway. It hit the man's forehead and bit onto it like a rabid four-toothed creature.

Percy had a savage grin as the man went rigid and collapsed backwards like a felled log. He was skilled at most weapons that were wielded at a distance: his problems always seemed easier to solve when they were far away. And he had become used to the dream's awkward, twitching, lurching movement: he slipped his body and gestures into its peculiar rhythm, and his attacks now had the satisfying sleekness of a well-rehearsed choreography. A part of him felt a childlike glee at the thought of showing Evans and Valeria he was not as inept as they might have presumed.

He was too glad of his own finesse now. He turned on his heels, even before taking in Evans' surprised expression at his feat of cutlery throwing. He dodged a woman swinging a mace at him and slashed at her shins, wielding his limbs with immense satisfaction as his arm became sword. Another woman dressed heavy with gold charged at him with a meat cleaver, but Valeria got to her first, smashing her elbow against the woman's head.

He exchanged a blade-quick grin with Valeria as they spun in place and stood with their backs together. They faced the horde of dinner guests swarming them in a writhing mass of colourful frills, flounces and fabrics.

"I can't believe you're enjoying this" he panted, shouting over his shoulder.

"I can't believe you're skilled enough at this to enjoy it!"

"But – you know these people in real life!"

"Precisely, darling!"

He felt her body impact against his as she reared up to kick back an old man, who had now thrice tried to swat at her with a dirty napkin. Percy noticed from the corner of his eye that uncle Bruce was making a late comeback from his wine-stained prostration on the ground, and he stomped at the swarthy man's arm as he tried to grab Percy's ankle.

There was a deafening smack. His head snapped to its direction, and he saw Evans brandishing a massive chair, having just swung it at the heads of three superbly coiffed ladies.

"Does he have some kind of personal rule against hitting only one person at a time?" Percy yelled at Valeria.

She was too busy grabbing a man by the collar to ram her knee in his face. There was obvious delight in her features: she was relishing the opportunity to unleash a fury that she had lovingly nurtured over many a dinner in the palace, when she had been in her best behaviour and worst mood. Percy noticed how skilfully she fought, and how similarly to Evans, with a disconcerting combination of brute force and elegance. She had fought that way in the tavern, too. It wasn't the dream; it was simply her.

Sudden, blinding agony roared in Percy as a man ran a dagger through his hand. He dropped his sword, heaving in a red spasm, feeling the pain gush from his hand and drench his clothes. A clang, a crash and a crack as he grabbed a silver tray, already dented by many a dignified dignitary's head. He thwacked it against the man with such enraged force that the man spun round with a ridiculous little gargle before crumpling to the ground.

Percy felt the dream start to founder and enshroud him. In his pain-ridden haze, it reminded him of the white sheets that covered the furniture of unused rooms in his parents' house. With a clacking hiss of linen, he was covered too.