Princesses

Whoot. Yet at the same time guh -_- due to a sudden kick to the
butt by life I have to put Pandora's Box, Zero Tolerance and all fics
except Princesses on hold. It's not that I'm busy. Its that I have
absolutely none of the notes. Princesses, it's probably noticable,
has no notes to go along with it besides the previous chapters and I
can get those off of AFF so I can keep it up.

Enter Jamus and a bit of an explaination for the last chapter's
tug about and run around. I should hope I can explain all strange
happenings in it XP.

Oh. Dear Gixi : Your email doesn't show up on comments. The email
is always hidden, but if you're serious about it you can email me, I
believe you can get the email address from my profile. *crosses
fingers*

Mil leaned against the door, listening to the pitter patter of
feet and Cartha’s words. He didn’t care about Peter’s
responses; a hero was just a mass of muscle with enough brain to kill
things. He listened and felt his heart drop.

He pushed off of the door, not caring to hear the last of the
conversation, and stumbled to the mirror. If Cartha hadn’t been
interested before, she definitely wouldn’t be now. Mil sighed
at his reflection; red rimmed eyes of a man he didn’t recognize
stared back at him. Heartbroken.

He could dismiss it; it was bound to happen eventually. He had
looked forward to it. But… Cartha seemed to warm up to him
over those years they had spent together, bound by her spell as the
fairy was the only person Mil could talk to about his previous life.
His future life too.

Even the Queen, who had known about the spell just like Cartha,
had been arrogant enough to demand his services. The Queen. Married
to a man who had four mistresses and she couldn’t get him in
bed? She hadn’t realized he had existed before and wouldn’t
look at him afterwards. He was only a whore after all.

Through it all, lords chasing him from their houses, women groping
him when all he wanted was a dance. Cartha had been there. But there
was no reason for her to stay any longer. Much longer anyways.

He dropped to his knees, the blanket wrapped around his waist
splaying out across the floor as he stared at his reflection. He had
been beautiful. He had been strong and kind and gentle. He had been
the knight in shining armour that all the women, except Cartha, had
wanted to rescue them from the lords. Was that really what Lans was
to become? How could such a man come from the King and Queen?

A fairy tale king. Who Mil had told all about the lords and ladies
and their romps and reputations at the request of Cartha. He’d
know who had sired what bastards and who had hurt who. What would he
do to the lord and ladies of the court when he became king? His
father had let anyone who would pay taxes in, but most courts only
allowed certain lords and ladies to take up residence.

Would the mighty country fall? Drop into poverty and shatter? He
doubted Lans could smile kindly enough to get all the money the
country needed to be run. There was hardly anything left in the
treasury.

Mil played with his short, cropped hair idly. No one would
recognize him. And the damn hair was still cropped badly from that
stint as a sheep shearer. Grey eyes and skin that was nearly free of
blemishes. That’s what he got for using makeup; it had been
free of blemishes before. Maybe they would go away.

The nails on his hands were cracked, clean but cracked, calloused
hands showed just how hard he had worked under the king’s
brother. But at least then he had <I>had</I> a job. A
good paying one too. Thin, but oh so noticeable was a scar running
from below his middle finger down to the wrist of his right hand. So
many people fired him just because of that scar. The mark of a
traitor they said. Mil sighed and wondered if any of his old gloves
would fit him.

He didn’t have to feel around inside his mouth to know that
he was missing two teeth. Nor did he have to turn his back to the
mirror and look over his shoulder to know that the scars were still
there from when the king had shred his back, trying to find where his
brother had fled to. Why would a menial servant be told? No matter
how much Jamus had trusted him, no matter how long they had worked
together, a menial servant was never told exactly where and when
their master was going.

“The gall of that man. Breaking into the palace, what, the
day after the heir is named.” Cartha rarely looked about a room
she was entering, he had tried to tell her how dangerous it was, “But
I managed to drag Peter all the way over here from Lans’ room
so he won’t find the prince very easily. Last thing we need is
him and the prince eloping. Or the prince being told something that
will damage him forever. Mil… you didn’t tell him where
Lans is, did you?”

Because she hadn’t looked, he had managed to pull the
blanket up over his shoulders. He shook his head but didn’t
answer verbally.

“I didn’t think you would. No matter what happened in
the past, Lans will make a good, kind king. Hey. Why are you sitting
in front of the mirror like a lump of dead, Mil?”

Mil turned and looked at Cartha, holding the blanket around
himself as tightly as he could.

“Oh, don’t be such a grumpy bum. It’s almost
over, I’m sure Peter kissed Lans it’s just so hard to
tell.” She hadn’t noticed the change.

Even if he hadn’t completely reverted back to his old self,
Mil looked drastically different.

“And why did you cut your hair? I liked the way it was
before.” Cartha had liked a lot of things the way they were
before.

Despite the years between the prince’s birth and the
present, she was still the same airhead fairy.

Mil stood from his place at the mirror and moved to Cartha. He
gave her a peck on the forehead and wordlessly turned her around,
pushing her from the room. Once the door was closed he retrieved a
chair from his eating area and placed it under the door to lock it.
That brought back memories.

How the king had found a fairy as kind, and he had to admit
stupid, was beyond him. Most fairies were kind and gentle beings but
he had expected some dark creature whose hands were soaked in the
blood of innocent people, not… her.

Cartha stood on the other side of the door and wove a spell so
that no one would disturb him. She sighed. There were still three
months before her parents would accept a human. She also smiled to
herself, he was getting back to normal and the prince. Well.

She glanced in the direction of the prince’s rooms. She had
known the instant when Lans had kissed Peter. If that damn hero had
listened to his dick instead of his heart the transformation would be
complete. But while the love was there it hadn’t been
expressed. Placing Peter as escort had been necessary.

No one would screw with the hero who had slaughtered his king for
being a greedy, perverted bastard. Not that anyone knew about that
just yet. Or how he had allowed princess after princess to reject him
and marry whoever they pleased. Taking no reward in their place.

Choosing an average man would have been simpler, but only Peter
would be able to tame the brat that Lans had become.

On the plus side of it all, Lans got to experience puberty, even
if it was to the extreme. Seventeen. She wondered if Mil’s
looks and attitude after the spell had any bearing on what Lans would
become.

A patrol of guards came from chasing Jamus, the man unconscious
between two of them.

“Where are you taking him?” She stepped out in front
of them. All blinked, saw the wings and scoffed. “Where. Are.
You taking him?”

“Dungeons, king’s orders.”

She didn’t need her wand for magic. It was only for humans
during ceremonies so they might be able to put some kind of
understanding to the bending of elements, the calling of power and
the conversion with spirits, gods and other faeries. For dark magic.
Well, she didn’t need any of that.

The guards disappeared and reappeared elsewhere in the palace. And
then, upon her order, promptly exploded. Oh, she loved that spell.
Rarely did an event occur that justified using it. And pumpkins just
weren’t as fun.

She made Jamus disappear as well, dumping him in a field out at
the edge of town. She didn’t need him interfering just yet.

Humming to herself, Cartha made her way towards Peter’s
room. She needed him to be as grumpy as possible for the ball.