After dinner, Rarity and Mac cleaned up, leaving Jack to join Zecora for a few moments. The African walked outside to the shed sitting nearby the barn and opened the door, letting Jack step inside with her.

It was a small thing, hard, packed dirt, with only a few rugs inside for flooring and some threadbare shelves attached to the walls lined with bottles. Zecora walked to the center of the room and sat down on one of the rugs, reaching for the main centerpiece of the shed—a large, cast-iron cauldron.

All three of the Apple clan had told her that she could practice her brewing inside, but the woman had refused, instead moving most of the tools and supplies that had occupied the shed out to the barn and claimed this spot as her own.

Jack sat opposite the cauldron. On any other day, Bloom would be right there alongside the medicine woman, bewitched by the craft.

If that girl was going to get her mark in anything a little on the strange side, Jack bet good bits that it’d be this right here. She was enthused by the trade, and had a surprisingly decent hand at it.

“As the sun retires to his den, it is time for us to begin,” Zecora announced. She reached for the rope securing her robe in place, untying it and letting it fall to the floor. Sitting there, clad in a heavy strap of cloth around her breasts, she put a hand to her rounding stomach, the pitch-black tribalistic sun upon her torso becoming more captivating every day.

Jack undid her shirt, revealing her stomach as well. Though she didn’t understand the significance, Zecora insisted anyone joining her during her ritualistic brewing do the same. Jack assumed it had to do with where Zecora’s tribe held their marks, but never pressed the issue. The medicine woman humored all of Jack and Mac’s little rituals and prayers as it were. It was only fair they did the same.

“We need another ward,” Jack stated, reaching to her pocket and showing the dully marked stone she had picked up from the fence. “Then notes, I guess.”

Striking a fire under the pot, Zecora rose, moving to an ever growing collection of bottles along the shelf. Selecting one, she added it to the pot alongside a pitcher of water. The smell that soon wafted and filled the shed reminded Jack of a sort of glue.

Muttering something in her foreign tongue, Zecora dipped a thin brush into the mixture and applied it to the smooth stone. The rock seemed to drink in the mixture, it vanished into the rock before reappearing, far more pronounced in coloration and giving a slight illumination to the room.

“Jack, the job is done,” Zecora announced, handing it to the farmer. The rock tingled in pulses in her hand, the spell Zecora infused into it reminding Jack of an electric heartbeat. Zecora raised a brow. “Still interested in notes before you run?”

“Of course,” Jack agreed, pulling out a small pocket notebook, its edges showing sign of constant use, and a pen at the ready.

“Oils for the beast or tonics for the heart? Tell me, Jack, where should we start?”

“Oils. I ain’t got the touch fer brewin’ the real complicated junk like you an’ Bloom do yet. Plants though? I can at least get oil from ‘em an’ mix ‘em.”

Zecora moved to the jars and began pointing them out one at a time, the routine practiced and simple for both of them.

“Acacia flower and its yellow bloom, can put a soul-folk in a meditative mood.”

Jack made a few quick notes in the notebook, looking up when Zecora held a flower towards the farmer. Jack took it, made at least a passing facsimile to the thing in her notebook, then handed it back to Zecora.

“So it’s a way ta put a magic user ta sleep?” Jack surmised.

“A sort of half-sleep comes due. In it, they’re still with you. The herb when ingested, more akin to a trance—a sedative, neutered magic, a way to relax.”

She finished writing, then looked up with a nod to “Alright. What we have next?”

“Lime on a weapon or drank in a tea, can be a strong combatant to beasts of the sea.” Zecora reached to another bottle and opened it, fishing inside. “Though for its truth strength to come forth to you, mix with a morning glory and drink in the brew.” She put a finger to Jack’s forehead and gave a small hum, a habit she did around the farm to get someone’s undivided attention. “Take care though not to drink too much, as too much glory can lead to death’s touch.”

The earth-folk nodded, adding a few more notes to the book.

Their talk was routine, usual, comfortable for Jack. Herbs, plants, roots, how they could help, how they could harm. It might not have seen like much to a soul-folk, maybe not even that much to a sky-folk, but to Jack and Zecora, it was a way for them to stand tall alongside the others, another proof, if Jack were to use a term her mentor was fond of, that wings and spells didn’t make a man.

So she sat with the medicine woman and was taught.

“Night Jackie! Night Rarity! Night Mac! Night Zecora!” Pinkie cheered, waving at the group in the living room.

After Jack and Zecora had returned to the house, they all started up a friendly game of cards. Pinkie had came out ahead, surprisingly enough, while Jack was just thankful they weren’t gambling for real.

“We’ll be on yer heels soon enough,” Jack replied, throwing her cards down on the coffee table in disgust.

“At the rate Jack is playing, we may be in bed before you, even,” Rarity dryly quipped, sipping a bloody mary and leaning back in her chair.

Pinkie skipped upstairs and slipped into the guestroom, going over to the chest of drawers where her clothes were packed. Hurriedly, she took off her swimsuit and slipped into a white shirt that cut off at the midriff, and a pair of light blue boxers. Putting away her two-piece neatly, she rocked on the balls of her feet and waited for Spike.

Their room was a simple one. Chest of drawers, mirror, window, a single bed. Pinkie had brought a pink sleeping bag too, but after talking to Jack and Rarity, she had decided she wouldn’t need it.

Rolling her shoulders, she threw herself on the bed, whispering out, “Wheeee!” The mattress bounced up and down from her impact, although thankfully the floorboards didn’t end up groaning in protest.

Spike came in from the hallway a few minutes later, flossing at his teeth.

“They kicked me out of the bathroom,” he explained, working to finish the chore as quickly as he could. “I know sharing one bathroom with one girl sucks, I can’t imagine Mac dealing with four.”

Pinkie had her hands rested behind her hand, but she pointed a finger at Spike. “By ‘they’ you mean Rarity, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike sheepishly admitted. “She said Jack had clothes all over the floor of their bathroom.”

“That’s why I brushed my teeth when I went to the toilet.” A pause. “But not at the same time.”

“Finally met your match on multitasking, huh?” he answered with a smile. “Reminds me of when I was little and tried to eat cereal while taking a shower.” Spike scratched at his nose. “Didn’t think that one through.”

Pinkie giggled, failing to keep it even remotely quiet. “What did Twila say?”

“One of the few times I’ve ever seen her speechless,” Spike answered, a hint of pride in his tone. “When you leave a dictionary drawing a blank, well, you must of done something.”

“Her eye twitches a lot too when that happens,” Diane added sagely.

“And her jaw’s so open you can stick a fist inside!” Spike added with a grin.

Pinkie giggled, leaning back onto the bed. After a beat, Spike gave a self-conscious glance at the woman, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“You look nice,” he said, then glanced away.

“I think so too. And you’re pretty nice yourself,” she said in a sing-song voice. He cracked a grin.

“Who else would reply like that?” he questioned with a rise of his hands. “You’re something alright.”

Pinkie gazed down, smiling fondly at the three balloons on her hand, her mark a picture perfect expression of how she felt right now: lighter than air. “Guess I am. At the very least, I’m pretty good at being different.”

“You know, I’m not exactly normal either,” Spike said, his emerald green eyes and their slitted appearance hinting at the draconic nature of his bloodline. “So it works pretty well.”

“I never said I didn’t like different, did I?” Pinkie smirked, prodding Spike on the nose.

“That makes two of us,” he said. “Enjoy your time with Jack?”

“Yep!” Diane instantly agreed, her smile dipping only for a scant beat as her thoughts turned towards Jack’s brief melancholy. “Did the swim thing! What about you?”

“Acted like a gossip girl to Rarity. She hasn’t seen Twila for a few weeks, and I was telling her about some of the court duties she’s going through.”

“Bet you enjoyed that,” Pinkie smirked.

He tilted his head. “What? Talking about Twila? I mean, the only thing really going for her right now is some of her work putting her next to Celestia.” He scratched the back of his head. “O-or do you mean the, uh, talking to Rarity thing?”

“Don’t lie,” Pinkie almost purred, stroking a finger down Spike’s jaw line. “I know you still have the hots for her.”

The boy took the pink-haired girl’s hand in his own and gently squeezed it. “Diane,” Spike quietly said, his tone surprisingly serious. “You know I’d never hurt you. Yeah, she’s… great still, but you are too. You’re even better.”

Suddenly Pinkie pulled back, yanking Spike fully onto the bed. “Sweet little guy,” she remarked, bringing him to her and giving a peck on his mouth. “I think someone conned their way to the bed tonight, instead of the sleeping bag.”
Though he didn’t want to push his luck, he gave an unsure tilt of his head. “Now, uh, sleeping, or…?”

“A little cuddling. That’s all. Give you a bit of a chance, just not all the way yet.” She offered a mischievous grin, running a thumb under the strap of her bra. “Thought that some of the way might be pretty good for you, Spikie, going by what some said about me.”

“You’re on,” he replied, a grin coming to his own mouth. “I’ve heard I’m a pretty fast learner. I mean, it wasn’t about this, but you—”

Pinkie shut him up, bringing the boy’s lips down to meet her own and throwing an arm over his shoulders.Though the surprise was evident on his face, he quickly followed his instincts, reaching to caress Diane’s thigh and then, a bit more boldly, reaching behind her to give a hard squeeze to her thick asscheck, prompting a snorting giggle from the woman. By the time they broke the kiss, Diane held a full, pleased grin.

“Wow,” Spike said to himself, looking down at the woman in surprise. “That was…”

“I’m sure you’ll be a fast study,” she giggled out out.

“Ya reckon they have ta be so loud?” Jack complained, mostly to herself. She crossed her arms under her breasts and glanced over to the wall connecting their bedroom with the guest bedroom.

“I can hardly hear them, dear,” Rarity remarked with disinterest, not even looking up from the book she read. Jack shook her head and sighed, laying back onto her pillow and trying to focus on the ceiling.

“Besides,” Rarity continued, turning a page on her book. “It’s nice, in a way.”

The other turned, laying on her side to look at the soul-folk. “Nice?” she repeated. “How ya figure?”

“Well… Spike is happy, Diane is happy, a little noise this evening is a worthy sacrifice for that, would you not agree?”

Jack eventually nodded. “Guess so.”

Rarity finally shut her book and turned her head to look toward her partner. “I’m sure Macintosh was in the same situation as you are not even a few months ago.”

“I like ta think we ain’t that obvious when we…” She gave a rise and fall of a hand. “Ya know.”

The tailor took off her glasses, putting them on top of her book and having her smile turn devilish.

“Oh, I know.”

She brought her hand to Jack’s and ran a finger along the deep scar on the farmer’s cheek. A small spark of regret came to her, but was promptly taken care of moments later when she rolled over to put her forehead against Jack’s.

“Their relationship is different than our own. Considering Spike’s age and how we came to know one-another, it’s going to take a lot more talking, a lot more questions, and…” She flicked her gaze to the wall by the guestroom. “More noise to reach where we are in life.”

“Maybe.” Jack shut her eyes, taking in a breath. A good breath, one that took her worries and put them to the side. A breath mixed with the sweetness of the orchard outside the cracked open window and the scent of the sturdy wood the house was made of. But more important, more captivating to her right now was the scent of Rarity’s shampoo and the slight tinge of Rarity’s own musk made from her sweat. The farmer smiled warmly and kissed Rarity on the lips.

“Besides, they’ve been together for quite a few months now. ” Rarity said, brushing a strand of hair away from Jack’s forehead. “I would argue it’s about time, frankly.”

“I reckon yer right.”

“I reckon I am too,” Rarity said in a tone mocking Jack’s drawl, trailing her finger down the earth-folk’s chin, then neckline.

Jack raised a brow, looking down at Rarity’s hand, then back up to her.

“Yer in a good mood.”

Rarity let out a hum, kissing the other’s cheek and rolled further over on the bed until she straddled Jack. She put her arms down beside the farmer’s broad shoulders.

“Well, look at the woman I’m sleeping with. That would put anyone with taste in a good mood.” And look she did. She stared down at the farmer for a long, long moment, soaking in the woman’s body.

“Charmer,” Jack answered, an embarrassed smile on her lips. She looked away, shuffling a bit and running a ghostly, delicate touch of a finger up Rarity’s arm that broke the tailor’s skin into gooseflesh.

Though it was uncommon for her to admit it to anyone but the woman underneath her, Rarity loved this side of Jack. The womanly side. The side only she got to really see. The way that the taller woman turned, contorted, writhed under Rarity’s more dominant hand. The way she looked up at Rarity with such trust in her eyes whenever they made love. It did everything to offset the woman’s thick muscles and scars, transforming her into something pure and feminine.

The scars hurt Rarity, at times more than Jack, she thought. Though none were as obvious to the eye as the one on her face, giving one side of Jack’s mouth a near-permanent smirk, they were still a reminder to Rarity about how she wasn’t there a lot of times. And a lot of times when Jack could of needed her.

“Do you ever get tired of leaving?” Rarity suddenly asked. Jack looked up to her wife, then to the side.

“Do ya even need ta ask? Of course I do, it’s my home.” She brushed her hand up Rarity’s arm once more, this time there came more force to the expression; the tailor felt Jack’s thick, leathery callouses scratch her. “But…”

Rarity waited, allowing Jack to collect her thoughts.

“I shoulda died, back when Dmitri took ya.”

“Jack.”

The earth-folk shook her head. “I shoulda died. What ya did worked, but I ain’t sure if it should've.” She sighed, frustrated at herself. “It’s hard ta explain, but I think I got a reason why I’m still kickin’. I think God gave me a purpose. Somethin’ bigger than the farm. Somethin’ that,” She narrowed her brow, looking through Rarity in thought, trying to find an answer a million miles away. “That I knew’d be hard. An’ I knew it’d be keepin’ me away from here. Away from you. An’ that hurts, but I gotta make sure people are safe. That I help take care of the people that need it.”

“But we need it here too, Jack.”

Jack flinched, wounded. “I know. An’ I try. I try ta be here for the farm, for the family,” She gave another rub to Rarity’s arm. “For you. I can’t jus’ walk away, though.”

“Why not?”

Jack stiffened a bit. “Did ya not hear me? Ya know why I can’t.”

Rarity rolled off of Jack and stared up at the ceiling before finally continuing her train of thought. “If I lost you, I don’t know how I would react.”

“You’d move on. We both know that. Yer stronger than me. Somehow you’d get through it.” Jack wryly smiled. “Ain’t like me. I’m scared ta death of ya goin’ before me.”

“Jack, do not sell yourself short like that ever again,” Rarity remarked sternly. “You are impossible to replace. I have no interest in thinking about it, but there’s nobody else I’d wish to grow old with, and you’re the only one I’d ever want someday as a mother for my child.”

The earth-folk gave a little nod at that, then paused. “A… A what now?” Jack said, briefly thrown for a loop.

Rarity scoffed, seemingly indifferent to her partner’s surprise. “Must I repeat myself?”

Jack shuffled a bit in the bed, looking her over for a moment before speaking again. “Well, considerin’ that when we first got married I thought you were dead set against the whole kid thing, yeah. Maybe ya should repeat yerself.”

Rarity felt a fleeting smile come then fade. “I suppose I saw you were quite apt at multitasking. I could be much the same someday.”

“There’s a difference between holdin’ down two jobs, an’ a kid.” She smiled despite the lecturing words. “But ya know what? I know you’d make a bang-up mom,” Jack added.

“I like to think I’d have my moments, yes,” Rarity replied. “We both would. Together. But together isn’t what’s been happening lately. What’s been happening is I’ve waited for you. I had no qualms at time, and you do the same for me when I’m at school or tending to the shop in St. Charles, but it’s different. I’ll always return, yet, yet… one day I might wait for you and you might not come back.” She let out a frustrated sigh. ”The worst thing would be I’d know nothing of it until that minotaur you galavant around with would tell me. I want us to be partners, Jack, not making busywork hoping to God you haven’t gotten yourself killed.”

“Will’s a Norfolk, not a minotaur, Rare. An’...” Jack kept quiet. What Rarity said was mostly true, she had no real argument against that fact. Rarity hesitated, seeming to want to add something, anything, but keeping her thoughts tucked within her heart.

A silence came to the room, though unlike their normal moments of peace, this one felt dangerous. Like if they treaded too far in either direction, they would be swallowed by a beast.

“Yer mad at me,” she said, rather than asked.

“I do not know,” Rarity admitted. “Perhaps simply frustrated. Or scared.”

“I’m scared sometimes too.” Jack spared a glance over to her partner. “What can I say ta make it better?” she sincerely asked.

“What I want you to say would be a lie.” They were silent yet again, before Rarity sighed. “That you won’t leave. That you will be around when I am.”

“Ya know I can’t. I told ya why.” Jack put her hands over her stomach. The arguments now were different than when they were just dating. It was softer. More of actual conversation than just yelling. Their voices weren’t raised and their tones weren’t harsh, but Jack still felt a pit in her stomach all the same. She didn’t want to hurt Rarity, never had, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

“I know it’s selfish,” Rarity replied, frowning as she put an arm behind her head. “I know what you’re doing is a necessity, at least to your own viewpoint, yet…”

Jack let out a small laugh, not without some humor behind it. “The heart wants what it wants. I know.”

“And I want you.”

Jack turned on her side once more. “Wish I could say what ya wanna hear.”

The silence came once more, this time holding less tension. Less edge. Each knowing the conversation wasn’t through, but maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Rarity bit her lip, flicked her eyes towards Jack, then winced.

“We’re looking at this in the wrong light. Jack, I could come with you,” Rarity blurted out, the statement so abrupt that they both paused, whatever they had on their lips gone.

Jack said nothing, but, as they were coming to learn in their marriage, sometimes a look said it all.

“I’m serious,” Rarity protested, the way her mouth opened up and the way her brows arched childish looking enough that Jack smiled fondly at her, brushing the expression away before Rarity asked what was so funny.

“That’s what makes me worried.” Jack rose to a sit, realizing it was going to be a long night if this kept up. “Because even though there’s all that dirt an’ grime, I know you’d do it.”

“You don’t understand how hard it is waiting for you. How painful. Perhaps I didn’t until recently, but now, more than ever, I want to be by your side. If something were to happen, I’d wish to see it first hand. I want to protect you as much as you did me.”

“Rare. Yer smarter than that. Know what takes care of me?” She reached over, putting a hand to the soul-folk’s. “Knowin’ that the best gal in the world is there fer me when I get back.”

“And I wish to be there for you during too. Is that honestly so bothersome?” Rarity let her free hand rise and fall with a slap on the side of her hip.

“Yer never bothersome, darlin’. Don’t think that fer a second, even if I do complain ‘bout some of yer stuff now an’ again. I don’t want ya hurt. When I’m with Will, Gilda, Dash, we ain’t there fer a playdate. We got a job an’ that job’s got risks.”

“And it’d have less risks if a soul-folk were there, would it not?”

“Well—”

“Would it not?” Rarity interrupted. Jack frowned, not liking being lead but complying for the moment.

“There’d be some perks, yeah,” she finally, reluctantly, agreed. ”But what’s gotten inta ya? Why now?”

“Because if the worst were to happen and I saw it, I’d be able to live with it easier.” Moving her other hand over, she put it on top of Jack’s. “I would believe there was nothing anyone of the people you travel with could of done. Do you understand?”

“They do everythin’ they can. Dash has had my back since day one, sug.”

“Dash is not the one I’m concerned with.”

“Gilda,” Jack said, rather than guessed.

Jack couldn’t blame Rarity for having ill will towards the woman. If things had played out even slightly differently, the griffon-folk would of got Jack killed, not to even mention what Rarity was expected to do for Gilda’s employer.

“Gilda,” Rarity agreed, her nose curling up in distaste. “I do not approve of William’s actions at times, but I know he means no harm. The griffon, however…”

Reaching forward, Jack put a hand on Rarity’s wrist. “Was I dumb? Givin’ her a second chance?”

The tailor sighed, looking towards the foot of their bed. “I suppose it depends on the day you ask me, Jack. I do not truly know.”

“Neither do I. It’s why I can’t get mad at ya fer thinkin’ like ya do. But I think if I didn’t, then I woulda regretted it. Jus’ like how if I didn’t go out there an’ do what I can fer people, I’d regret it.”

The conversation died, neither sure what to add. As Rarity reached over to put her sleeping mask on, Jack spoke up again.

“Rare.”

“Yes?” she questioned, turning over to come face-to-face with a stern expression from Jack.

“If I agreed ta take ya with me, would ya do exactly what I say?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie Promise?”

Rarity did the gestures and Jack visibly relaxed.

“When Will calls me, as long as ya ain’t go no clothin’ shit ta take care of…”

“I’d appreciate you refrain from that sort of crass language when speaking of my profession, dear.”

“Clothin’ stuff,” Jack corrected, “next time… you’ll see. Gilda ain’t a bad girl. She has my back jus’ as much as Dash.”
“I hope you’re right.”

Jack nodded, moving closer to Rarity and wrapping an arm around her.

“Me too.”

The evening winds blew gentle on king Frederick as he stared out of his chamber window, collecting his thoughts.

It had been a hard fight today at German parliament. Though his mind was still sharp, his age showed. It was getting harder and harder for him to connect with the youthful faces under his lordship. Their views, wants, desires, all of it seemed so alien to him. Yet, somehow, he remained well-loved on the island-country, perhaps due to his earnest nature, perhaps it was because their fathers and mothers loved him, so the children did as well.

Tapping a quail pen into a vial of ink, he began writing a correspondence letter to Napoleon the 3rd, the current king of the French isles.

President, he corrected himself, already crumpling his letter into a ball and throwing it into a wastebasket.

Such an odd word to him. He was always raised to be a man that respected the altar as much as the throne, so now, with some of the world adapting to a reign selected by the people, rather than a lineage of blood, he found himself unable to comprehend why the movement was being encouraged. A king gave power to his people, inspired them. A president, an everyman thrust into a position of power, would do no such thing. With no backbone, no man to inspire them, the people would surely be just as inadequate.

So he took another sheet of parchment and began to write once more, this time more mindful of his wording.

The war between the countries had gone on far too long. Any war was a bad one—he had served as a soldier during the great war against the English, when the third generation of nobles left in charge of the throne after the rightful heirs had traveled to the New World had gone mad with power—so he knew firsthand the travesty of it, something his successor could stand to learn.

His younger self might of stipulated that French would forgo their rights to a cluster of islands off their coast, but sensibility came with his age. He knew stretching his hand that far would only lead to more war and more civil unrest.

Lighting up a cigar, Frederick rose, moving past the window and to the door leading to the balcony. Opening it, he stepped outside, looking over the lands.

The castle, his castle, was always one of his favorite places to think. The view from the castle walls that overlooked the western seas inspired him. He wasn’t a poet, an artist, a thinker, but the sight of the waves crashing below him against the rocks moved him. Let him forget of the troubles of old age, the aches and pains it brought to him, both mentally and physically, and instead just be for a few minutes.

His bedroom door opened. Instinctively his grip tightened on the banister he stood by, but he relaxed soon enough, knowing how it was just from the even footsteps approaching him.

“Here once more, I see,” the curt voice of his wife, Victoria spoke. He let out a huff of a laugh and wryly smiled.

“Like clockwork, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“Could set a watch and wallet on it,” she agreed, moving to join him. Frederick spared a small glance her way.

It had been forty years ago when they had said their vows, he a strapping young man, she, a girl fresh out of adolescence. It was an arranged marriage, a unification between England’s new monarchs and Germany’s, a way to signify to the public that the war had truly ended between the countries.

Fredrick would of had it no other way. Victoria had proven to be a shrewd diplomat, able to extract information and relay it to him with ease. Likewise, she had shown a sincere devotion to the German people he reigned over, a sentiment many in her country didn’t have.

His respect had deepened into an admiration of sorts, then, finally, love blossomed between the two. It was why he could barely listen to the younger generation. Their talk about love at first sight had no merit in the real world.

Fredrick's smile grew wider as he took in her silvery-grey hair and crow’s feet.

“I thought you were playing bridge tonight,” he said, tapping his cigar against the banister.

“Bethany came down with a chill, we rescheduled,” she answered. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at his writing desk.

“And how are the savages in France?”

He paused for a brief moment at her word choice, but shrugged soon enough.

“Our differences are being put to the side. Mostly. It still has a potential for disaster, though. A troop of our guards bombed a ship filled with clergymen not even a week back.”

“Because they were riding with no colors on their ship in known lair of pirates. Besides, it hardly seems as dreadful as what the French did to one of our missionaries.”

“That was an individual act, Victoria. You of all people should know judging the many for the individual is woefully ignorant.”

She stared at him, Frederick wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a small spark of something… strange in his wife’s eye. A moment later, she let out a low laugh.

“The only thing ignorant is attempting to reach an agreement with them. The French will just take it as a sign of weakness.”

“Weakness? They know how strong our standing army is. If anything, offering an olive branch stops a massacre of their people.”

“I have my doubts that warm words will be enough. You know how the younger generation are. Sometimes strong-arming your views is the only answer.”

He leaned forward on the balcony, looking down at the image of a scepter on the back of his hand. His mark. Found when he was declared the leader of the country.

“Not this time,” Frederick replied. “This time we put away our swords and listen to the people.”

“You should've listened to someone else, Frederick,” Victoria replied, her tone colder.

“Victoria?” he questioned, turning to face her. She adjusted herself, stepping to the side, blocking the way between him and the doors.

“You’ve had experience against enthrallment spells. I assume that’s from your days in the guard?” she asked, unmoving.

“”You’re not Victoria, are you?” he questioned, knowing the answer before it even was fully asked.

“Oh, Frederick. I’m a little bit of everyone,” she replied, her eyes taking on a sickening green and her smile showing too-sharp teeth.

“Victoria’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked, a stone in his stomach aching worse than any sickness he had in his years, but him staring eventually at her, wanting to stand tall in what may be the last moments of his life.

“Of course,” she agreed with a nod, as if it were simple business they were discussing. “An overdose of Barbiturates after finding out of the death of her husband.”

“Ties up loose ends.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” the woman said, Victoria’s cream skin began to fade, almost melted off, revealing the first hints of a tar colored chitinous shell around her forehead.

“I’m an old man. Dying’s just a part of living.” Still staring at her transformation, he took a deep pull of his cigar. “Plus, my death will do nothing. The parliament was pushing for peace between the countries anyway. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

She, or rather, the creature she was turning into, took a small curtsy. “Astute. But you’re a figurehead. Your death will prompt retaliation.”

Smirking, he dropped the cigar, crushing it underfoot. “The damn kids don’t give a shit about me.”

A small splash of sickly green magic came forth, blinding him briefly. Standing before him was now something only vaguely woman. A black, disgusting insectoid with wispy green hair that fell over her beastal face. The dress she wore was misshapen, maligned with the rest of her body, making it almost comical in appearance.

“We’ll see,” she replied, her voice raspy, threatening. The sound of a hearse’s wheel along a cobblestone road. Snapping forward, she pushed him before he could react. He pinwheeled his arms backwards as he tumbled off the guardrail, managing to snag the sleeve of the creature’s dress. It tore off from his weight and he plummeted.

Fredrick didn’t scream. He fell like a ragdoll, limp and unmoving, the scrap of cloth in his hand snapping and twisting as the wind battered him.

The last seconds of his life were like most of the others he spent, his mind wandered to other matters. How his children were faring, his dogs, his country, how beautiful the castle looked above the rocky shores of his homeland.

And his last thought, Victoria. He was coming home to her. The thought made him weakly smile even as his head cracked against the stone, splitting the back like an overripe melon.

The creature watched him fall, stared at his body as the waves lapped against his bare feet, tugging at his corpse, then turned, returning into the bedroom. Catching glance at the desk by the window, she took the letter the man had been working on and crumpled it in her hands, her sharp claws tearing through the paper within seconds. With that out of the way she shut her eyes and concentrated. A wave of magic trembled through her body, rising from her feet to the top of her head, coating it. She felt her face, her snout, punch in, becoming petite, her teeth were ground in, becoming less beastial, her catlike eyes dilated, rounded, becoming warm and caring orbs of blue. Her skin softened and paled, becoming a healthy color of bronze. Her hair retreated, turning a pale blue color and forming into a bun at the back of her head. A few more minor alterations to her chest, hips and height happened in mere seconds before she was finished, a brand new shell for her to use.

She looked in disdain at the ruined strap of her dress, but decided to press on regardless. She’d be out, long before they found Victoria’s body in the lounge, let alone Frederick's body dashed upon the rocks. If she was fast enough, she might even make it to the next galleon heading to France before they started to look for the king’s killer.

With a cruel smile not matching her homely appearance, the creature tromped down to the foyer and was out of the castle in a matter of minutes.