Chapter Text
Dark Choco didn't understand the Crème Republic. That was not an unusual state of affairs.
He had long accepted that many nations possessed customs that seemed entirely irrational to outsiders. The Hollyberry Kingdom settled legal disputes with tournaments. The Vanilla Kingdom held festivals for events as mundane as successful harvests. Even the Republic itself appeared convinced that every building required at least three decorative swirls of frosting to be considered structurally complete.
No. What Dark Choco did not understand was why this nation insisted upon making bureaucracy unnecessarily romantic. He looked down at the thick folder in his hands.
Requirements for Archive Access – Special Collections.
Requirement One: Proof of Identity. Reasonable.
Requirement Two: Recommendation from a recognized institution. Annoying, but understandable.
Requirement Three, on the other hand…
"Marriage Certificate recognized by the Republic."
"...Why."
Pomegranate, seated gracefully across from him in the throne room, didn't even look up from the parchment she was reading.
"Tax exemptions." She paused. "And inheritance law." She squinted at the parchment. "And several hundred years ago one of the archivists decided spouses were less likely to steal classified relics."
Dark Choco stared.
"...That makes no sense."
"It doesn't."
“They never-?”
"They never changed it."
Dark Choco closed the folder.
"...Why."
"The Republic."
That somehow explained absolutely everything and nothing simultaneously. Across the room, Licorice leaned over the back of Dark Enchantress Cookie's throne with all the caution of someone who had never feared consequences in his life. Dark Enchantress herself was seated elegantly on the floor without seeming to care.
"So..."
Nobody acknowledged him.
"So..."
Still nothing.
"So we're getting married?"
Dark Choco's eye twitched.
"No."
Pomegranate looked up.
"...Technically."
Dark Choco slowly turned toward her.
"...Technically?"
"The certificate merely requires that a marriage be legally recognized within Republic jurisdiction. It says nothing about sincerity."
Dark Choco considered screaming.
"Nor duration."
Licorice seemed intrigued by that.
"Nor affection."
Dark Enchantress seemed to hide a snicker.
"Nor sanity."
Dark Choco pinched the bridge of his nose. Mistress Dark Enchantress - though lately Dark Choco occasionally wondered whether mother would be the more appropriate word for the cookie that had taken him in and had filled that void - finally looked up from the crystal orb resting upon her lap.
"I require the Codex of First Frost."
Her voice remained calm, almost absentminded.
"It contains information regarding pre-Ancient Soul Magic."
Dark Choco nodded.
"I will retrieve it."
"You cannot. It is located in the Restricted Custodial Archive beneath the Crème Republic."
"I will infiltrate it."
"You cannot."
"I will destroy the doors."
"You cannot."
Dark Choco really didn’t want to be married.
"I will-"
"The archive is anchored outside conventional space."
Dark Choco stopped.
"The entrance only opens for individuals possessing Registry Authorization. And Registry Authorization is only granted to married couples. There are no exceptions."
Silence settled over the throne room. Dark Choco considered every solution he knew. Assassination. Bribery. Forgery. Military invasion. Teleportation (though he wasn’t trusting either of the two magic-wielding people that were in the room. He didn’t want to be purple or suddenly in the sky). Digging. He discarded each one.
"...Who made this law?"
Pomegranate answered immediately.
"Nobody remembers."
"Can it be repealed?"
"They've tried. The paperwork required approval from the Archive."
Dark Choco stared into the distance.
“The… Archive is sentient?”
"The Archive denied it."
She didn’t answer his question. Rude.
“Why?”
"Because the committee proposing the repeal wasn't married."
Dark Choco contemplated simply lying down on the throne room floor and accepting defeat. Licorice burst into laughter.
"I love this country already."
Dark Choco did not.
Planning began that afternoon. Maps of the Republic covered the war table. Schedules, transportation routes, diplomatic etiquette so confusing that his father would be worried, and marriage regulations. Dark Choco wished there were more military objectives involved.
"There is another complication," Pomegranate announced.
"There usually is."
"The Registry requires all participants to appear in person."
Dark Choco nodded.
"Acceptable."
"They also require witnesses."
"...Acceptable."
"The ceremony is public."
Dark Choco frowned.
"...Less acceptable."
"They verify identities."
Dark Choco reached for another map.
"I'll wear armor."
"No."
"A mask."
"No."
"A hood."
"No."
Pomegranate finally produced three fashion catalogues.
"They require formal attire."
Dark Choco looked at the covers. Then did a double take. They were catalogues for women’s fashion. He looked at Pomegranate.
"...Explain."
"We require disguises."
"I understand disguises."
"Good."
He raised a brow.
"You are the bride."
Dark Choco was silent for a full thirty seconds.
"I refuse."
"You are over six feet tall."
His eye twitched. What did that have to do with anything?
"You possess excellent posture."
He was an exiled prince, of course he did.
"You naturally intimidate people. You almost never smile."
What?
"You are, unfortunately, perfect for portraying a mysterious noblewoman."
Licorice fell out of his chair laughing.
"Oh, this is the greatest mission we've ever had."
Dark Choco looked hopefully toward Dark Enchantress. Surely she’d-
"The disguise is practical."
Traitor. Absolute traitor. Pomegranate continued, already making notes.
"I shall pose as a gentleman."
Licorice raised a hand.
"And me?"
"You."
Pomegranate smiled.
"Look young enough to convincingly portray a heartbroken debutante."
Licorice blinked.
"...Really?"
"You cry frequently."
"I do not!"
"You cried because your spellbook got wet."
"It was sentimental!"
"You cried because someone criticized your handwriting."
"It was unfair criticism!"
"You cried because Dark Choco finished the last chocolate scone."
"...That one was justified."
Pomegranate simply nodded.
"You will be excellent."
Licorice looked thoughtful.
"...Can I have a parasol?"
"...Yes."
"...Lace?"
"...Fine."
"...Big hat?"
"If you insist."
Licorice gasped.
"I've always wanted a big hat."
Dark Choco wondered if voluntarily fighting the Ancient Heroes would somehow be less humiliating than whatever this mission was becoming. It only grew worse when Pomegranate unfolded the final document.
Cover Story.
Dark Choco read the first sentence. Then the second. Then slowly looked up.
"...Absolutely not."
Pomegranate remained unmoved.
"It is statistically the most believable explanation for three unrelated individuals arriving together to request an immediate marriage."
"It says we were all engaged to the same person."
"Correct."
"It says they abandoned us."
"Correct."
"It says we are marrying each other out of spite."
"Correct."
Dark Choco stared.
"...Who believes these things?"
"The Republic will."
"What?"
"We're merely giving them a starting point for them to build the rest of the cover."
Licorice's grin widened into something genuinely dangerous.
"Oh."
He clasped his hands together.
"I have ideas."
Dark Choco had never been more afraid.
The fitting room was somehow larger than several villages Dark Choco had visited. Golden mirrors stretched from floor to ceiling. Dress forms stood in orderly rows, draped in silks, velvet, lace, chiffon, and fabrics whose names Dark Choco suspected had been invented solely to justify higher prices.
Three tailors circled him. One held a measuring tape. One held a notebook. One looked at him with the hungry expression of an artist discovering an untouched canvas.
Dark Choco had negotiated with eldritch beings capable of destroying time itself with less apprehension.
"...No."
The head tailor smiled serenely.
"My lady, we haven't even begun."
"I am not your lady."
"Oh?"
The tailor glanced at Pomegranate. Pomegranate smiled pleasantly.
"She is simply nervous."
"I am not nervous."
"Pre-wedding jitters."
"I am not-"
"Perfectly understandable."
The tailor nodded sympathetically.
"So many brides experience denial."
Dark Choco blinked.
"...Bride?"
Licorice gasped dramatically from across the room.
"You forgot she's the bride?"
"No one could forget," the tailor laughed. "Look at those shoulders! She'll look magnificent."
Dark Choco had never before considered shoulders an insult.
Meanwhile, Pomegranate's fitting lasted approximately eight minutes.
"A charcoal waistcoat?"
"Excellent."
"Walking cane?"
"Certainly."
"Mustache?"
"We have seventeen varieties."
"I'll take the distinguished one."
"An excellent choice, sir."
She was done. Dark Choco watched in mounting disbelief as Pomegranate emerged looking every bit the picture of an aristocratic gentleman.
"You finished."
"I finished."
He stared.
"It helps that menswear is uncomplicated."
Dark Choco looked back toward the mountain of crimson fabric now surrounding him. One tailor held up a skirt. Another added more layers. A third muttered something about silhouettes while pinning what he thinks is a corset.
Dark Choco briefly wondered whether the outfit qualified as siege equipment.
Licorice, meanwhile, had become everyone's favorite customer.
"Oh!"
He twirled in front of the mirrors.
"What about this ribbon?"
"Adorable."
"And these gloves?"
"Wonderful."
"And can we make the hat bigger?"
The tailor hesitated.
"...Bigger?"
"I want people to see me from orbit."
The tailor's eyes sparkled.
"...I accept this challenge."
Dark Choco watched in horror as sketches began appearing. Each hat was somehow larger than the previous one. One possessed feathers. Another possessed flowers. The third seemed capable of sheltering a family of four during heavy rain.
"I love Republic fashion," Licorice sighed happily.
"You haven’t even gone to the Republic. This is a boutique specializing in their fashion."
"Doesn’t mean a thing. I already feel understood."
Two hours later, Dark Choco stood before the largest mirror in the establishment. Silence fell. The gown was objectively impressive.
Deep crimson velvet flowed into black embroidery resembling thorned vines climbing the skirt. The sleeves were elegantly fitted before widening dramatically near the wrists. Silver thread caught the light like moonlit steel. The long black wig cascaded almost to his waist. The subtle cosmetics sharpened rather than softened his features. Even the sword hidden beneath the skirt had been positioned so naturally that only Dark Choco knew it was there.
The tailor dabbed at her eyes.
"...Perfect."
Dark Choco looked into the mirror. The woman staring back possessed his eyes, his posture, his expression. She looked like someone who could absolutely kill a man for fun and get away with it. Pomegranate nodded approvingly.
"Excellent."
Licorice stared for several long seconds.
"...You know?"
"What."
"If I didn't know it was you..."
"What."
"...I'd actually be intimidated."
Dark Choco frowned.
"You are already intimidated."
"True."
Licorice nodded thoughtfully.
"But now I'm intimidated respectfully."
Dark Choco wasn't sure what that meant. He wasn't convinced Licorice knew either.
Pomegranate spoke up once they were in the carriage heading towards the Republic.
"There is one final matter."
Dark Choco immediately distrusted those words. Pomegranate produced a small wooden box. Inside rested three rings.
Dark Choco stared.
"...Explain."
"They're required."
"I thought we only needed the paperwork."
"We do."
"So why the rings?"
"Because married couples traditionally exchange them."
Licorice seemed to vibrate.
"If we fail to do so, people will become suspicious."
Dark Choco sighed.
"...Fine."
Licorice immediately grabbed one.
"Ooh! Mine has little skulls!"
Pomegranate blinked.
"...No, it doesn't."
Licorice looked closer.
"...Those are roses."
"You've been spending too much time around poison magic."
"I still like them."
Dark Choco picked up the plainest ring. Simple, silver, and functional. Acceptable. Pomegranate selected the remaining one, a simple ring as well with a singular stone in the center.
"There."
She closed the box.
"We have attire."
"We have disguises!"
"...We have forged identities. We have transportation. We have documentation. We have rehearsed signatures. We have contingency plans. We have emergency escape routes."
Dark Choco finally relaxed. Perhaps this mission would proceed smoothly after all. Pomegranate unfolded one final sheet of paper.
"We should rehearse the cover story."
Dark Choco took the page. He read the first paragraph. Then the second. Then slowly lowered it.
"...Why does it say our fiancé proposed with a seventeen-layer cake?"
Licorice raised a finger.
"I added that."
"...Why?"
"It makes him sound more dramatic."
Dark Choco continued reading.
"...Why does it say he abandoned us by carrier pigeon?"
"Symbolism."
"...Why," Dark Choco asked with mounting dread, "does this document contain a complete relationship timeline spanning four years?"
Licorice looked almost offended.
"What if people ask follow-up questions?"
"They won't."
"They absolutely will."
"They shouldn't."
"They're the Crème Republic."
Pomegranate quietly nodded.
"They absolutely will."
Dark Choco closed his eye.
"...How detailed?"
Licorice proudly produced an even thicker binder.
"The full version is only ninety-three pages."
Dark Choco opened his eye.
"...Only?"
"I color-coded it."
There were tabs. There were appendices. There was no less than fifteen pages dedicated to the fiancé’s family’s favorite everything. There was, Dark Choco realized with horror, a family tree for a fiancé who did not exist.
He silently concluded that infiltrating the Crème Republic was going to be the easy part. Surviving its citizens would be the true mission.
The journey to the Crème Republic took five uneventful days.
Dark Choco spent four of them praying - silently and with increasing desperation - that nobody would actually ask about their fabricated lives.
Licorice spent all five adding to the binder.
"...Why are you writing?"
"I'm expanding the backstory."
"You said it was finished."
"It was."
Dark Choco looked at the growing stack of pages.
"It is now one hundred and twelve pages."
"One hundred and thirteen."
"You just added another."
"I remembered our fake anniversary."
"We don't have a fake anniversary."
"We do now."
Dark Choco briefly considered pushing him out of the carriage.
Pomegranate looked up from polishing her borrowed monocle.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking about it."
"...Perhaps."
"It would delay the mission."
"...Fine."
The towering gates of the Crème Republic shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
Unlike the grim fortifications of the Dark Cacao Kingdom or the vast, dark forests surrounding the Cookies of Darkness’ headquarters, these gates seemed almost absurdly welcoming. White arches spiraled like whipped cream into the sky, golden sugar-glass windows caught the light, and flower boxes overflowed with pastel blossoms.
Even the guards smiled. Dark Choco distrusted smiling guards. He distrusted smiling countries.
The line moved steadily forward. Merchants. Travelers. Families. A troupe of musicians. Each was welcomed with cheerful efficiency.
"No inspections?" Dark Choco murmured.
Pomegranate answered just as quietly.
"They inspect with magic."
Dark Choco felt the faint pulse of enchantment wash over them. His illusion held. Good.
"Next!"
The three stepped forward together.
Lady Dark Velvet stood with dignified poise, crimson skirts pooling around polished boots and a sword hidden beneath layers of velvet. Her long black hair framed a face that was beautiful in the severe, untouchable sort of way nobles often cultivated. Lord Pomelo offered a courteous bow, cane tucked beneath one arm, immaculate mustache perfectly aligned. Miss Licorice Twist clutched a lace parasol with both hands, blonde curls spilling over her shoulders beneath a hat large enough to legally qualify as architecture.
The first guard smiled brightly.
"Welcome to the Republic! Purpose of your visit?"
For one glorious second, everything went according to plan. Licorice smiled sweetly.
"...Marriage."
"Oh!"
The guard's face lit up.
"Congratulations!"
Dark Choco allowed himself the smallest flicker of relief. Simple. Brief. Efficient. Then Licorice inhaled. Pomegranate's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Dark Choco recognized that inhale and that expression. It was the same one she wore moments before laboratory explosions.
"It isn't a happy marriage!"
Dark Choco closed his eyes. No. The guard froze.
"...I'm sorry?"
Licorice's lower lip trembled. Then his shoulders shook. Then, with horrifying conviction, tears poured down his face. Not polite tears. Not elegant tears. The kind of tears usually associated with funerals, tragic operas, and children discovering their favorite bakery had burned down.
"He left us!"
The cry echoed beneath the great archway. Every conversation nearby stopped. Licorice stumbled dramatically into Dark Choco's side, burying his face against Lady Dark Velvet's shoulder. Dark Choco automatically caught him. Years of battlefield reflexes, and it now made him accidentally become emotionally supportive.
"Our beloved Lord Crème de la Crème-"
Dark Choco mentally noted that Licorice had invented another name.
"-promised me..."
A hiccup.
"...Us..."
Another sob.
"...Eternal love!"
The nearby guards exchanged horrified glances. Licorice pointed accusingly toward absolutely nowhere.
"First he courted me!"
A gasp.
"Then Lord Pomelo!"
Pomegranate lowered her head with the practiced dignity of someone enduring great suffering.
"Then Lady Velvet!"
Dark Choco remained perfectly still. He had discovered that remaining silent encouraged people to invent explanations themselves.
"It was all lies!"
Licorice wailed.
"He abandoned every one of us!"
Someone in the gathering crowd gasped. A woman covered her mouth.
An elderly gentleman muttered, "Monster..."
Licorice was only gaining momentum.
"He married..."
A dramatic pause and hiccup.
"...the day after dumping us!"
Collective horror swept through the crowd.
"The day after?"
"How heartless!"
"I knew nobles couldn't be trusted!"
"My cousin's fiancé did something similar!"
"He only courted two people at once," someone corrected solemnly.
"Oh."
"Then this is much worse."
Dark Choco watched the rumor mutate in real time. It was fascinating. And deeply concerning with how much the citizens were buying it. Licorice raised his parasol toward the heavens.
"So we came here!"
Another theatrical sob.
"To marry each other in glorious, petty revenge!"
Someone applauded. Dark Choco had not expected applause. Based on her startled expression, neither did Pomegranate.
"If the Republic won't let us heal our broken hearts together..."
Licorice sniffled dramatically.
"...Then what is the point of anything?"
The silence that followed lasted exactly three seconds.
"LET THEM IN!"
The shout came from somewhere in the back.
"They've suffered enough!"
"They deserve happiness!"
"Someone fetch tissues!"
"My daughter has spare flowers!"
Dark Choco blinked. Things were escalating, rapidly. He gently patted Licorice's shoulder.
"There, there, my dear."
His voice came out perfectly flat.
"My apologies."
He inclined his head toward the guards.
"The pain is still... fresh."
He searched desperately for something sympathetic to say.
"...She is the youngest among us."
One guard visibly teared up.
"Oh..."
Another sniffed.
"Poor thing..."
Pomegranate stepped forward, every inch the dignified gentleman supporting his grieving spouses.
"We seek only sanctuary."
His deepened voice carried just enough exhaustion to sound convincing.
"A modest ceremony."
He sighed heavily.
"And perhaps the necessary documentation to make our union official."
The chief guard didn't even glance at their papers. Instead, he reached out and squeezed Pomegranate's shoulder.
"You have our deepest sympathies."
"...Thank you."
"The Cathedral of Whipped Peaks performs weddings every afternoon."
"Wonderful."
"We'll notify them you're coming."
Dark Choco's head snapped up.
"...Notify?"
"So they can prepare something special!"
"That won't be necess-"
"Nonsense!"
Another guard was already running toward the city.
"They deserve the deluxe package!"
"The heartbreak discount!"
"The heartbreak... discount?"
"It's twenty percent off."
"It was introduced after the Duchess of Meringue's third divorce!"
Dark Choco decided he no longer wished to understand the Republic. The gates swung open. The guards bowed.
"The Republic welcomes all who seek solace."
"...Or spite," another added with a solemn nod.
Licorice sniffled one last time.
"You've all been so kind..."
"It gets better."
"I know."
"No, really."
The elderly woman from the crowd stepped forward and pressed a small paper bag into Licorice's hands.
"Cinnamon cookies. They always helped me after my Harold left."
Licorice accepted them with watery eyes.
"Thank you..."
Dark Choco was beginning to feel guilty. Not enough to abandon the mission. But enough that he silently resolved to leave an anonymous donation somewhere before they departed.
As the three of them walked into the city, Dark Choco noticed something. People were whispering, pointing, watching.
A young courier sprinted past them at alarming speed, shouting at someone farther down the street.
"They're here!"
"What?"
"The tragic lovers!"
Dark Choco looked at Pomegranate. Pomegranate looked at Licorice. Licorice was trying very hard not to smile.
By the time they reached the first café inside the city walls, someone was already saying-
"I heard the fiancé ran off with a countess with a fallen family!"
Dark Choco sighed. The story had been alive for less than five minutes. It already had a life of its own.
By the time they reached the Grand Éclair Hotel, the rumors had evolved beyond anything Licorice himself could have invented. Dark Choco discovered this because the newspaper boy nearly collided with him.
"EXTRA! EXTRA!"
The young cookie waved freshly printed papers over his head.
"THE TRAGIC TRIO ARRIVES IN THE REPUBLIC!"
Dark Choco stopped walking.
"...Already?"
Pomegranate quietly took a paper from the stack and handed over a coin. The headline occupied nearly half the front page.
HEARTBROKEN NOBLES DEFY FAITHLESS FIANCÉ
Three abandoned lovers choose love over bitterness!
Dark Choco frowned.
"We aren't choosing love."
Licorice peeked over his shoulder.
"Ooh! They drew us!"
Someone had produced surprisingly flattering illustrations. Lady Dark Velvet looked like a mysterious heroine from an epic romance. Lord Pomelo looked wise and steadfast. Miss Licorice Twist looked as though she had been crying continuously for three months.
"...I look beautiful," Licorice said proudly.
Dark Choco continued reading.
"...Where did they get this?"
Pomegranate leaned over.
"They're... improvising."
Dark Choco read aloud.
"'Sources close to the victims claim Lord Crème de la Crème secretly maintained three separate engagements while writing identical love letters to each.'"
Licorice blinked.
"I didn't say that."
"'Witnesses report he once compared Lady Velvet's eyes to bittersweet cocoa before repeating the exact same compliment to Miss Twist the following afternoon.'"
"I definitely didn't say that."
"'Anonymous servants allege the scoundrel frequently forgot birthdays.'"
"There aren't even birthdays in the binder."
Pomegranate continued reading farther down.
"...Apparently he also burned soup."
"...Soup?"
"And insulted someone's grandmother."
Licorice looked offended.
"I would never invent a villain that badly written."
The Grand Éclair Hotel occupied an entire city block. Golden balconies overlooked fountains shaped like spun sugar. Crystal windows reflected the afternoon sun. Uniformed attendants hurried down the steps the moment they spotted the trio.
"There they are!"
The concierge - a perfectly groomed cookie with silver frosting swept elegantly back - placed both hands over his heart.
"...My deepest sympathies."
Dark Choco had been sympathized with seventeen times in the last ten minutes. He was beginning to understand why villains rarely infiltrated the Republic. The emotional labor was exhausting.
"We have prepared our finest suites."
"That won't be necessary," Pomegranate said politely.
"We insist. It is the Bridal Confection Suite."
Dark Choco froze.
"...Suite?"
"The Triple Bridal Confection Suite! It was originally designed for the Duke of Ganache and both of his spouses."
Dark Choco did not ask. He did not want the answer.
The suite was enormous with three bedrooms, a sitting room, a library, a balcony overlooking the city, and enough desserts to feed a small army three times over. Licorice immediately flopped onto a velvet sofa.
"I could get used to this."
Dark Choco closed every curtain before checking the room for magical surveillance. Satisfied, he finally removed his wig. Silence settled over the room. Then Licorice burst into laughter.
"You actually patted my back."
Dark Choco stared.
"You comforted me."
"...I caught you because you were falling."
"You comforted me."
"You were making a scene."
"You called me 'my dear.'"
He grinned.
"'There, there, my dear.'"
Dark Choco felt a very familiar urge to throw Licorice out the nearest window.
"We were in public."
"You sounded so awkward."
"I was improvising."
"You were adorable."
Dark Choco reached for his sword. Pomegranate calmly pushed it back into its sheath.
"Not inside the hotel."
A knock came at the door. All three froze. Dark Choco had a dagger in his hand before the second knock.
"Room service!"
Dark Choco hastily dropped it back into his dress and shoved the wig back in place.
"And complimentary éclairs!"
Pomegranate cautiously opened the door. Outside stood four hotel employees balancing trays. One carried pastries. Another flowers. The third champagne. The fourth-
"...Why is that a violin?"
"Entertainment for the happy couple!"
"There are three of us."
"...Entertainment for the happy throuple!"
Dark Choco considered pretending nobody was home. Unfortunately, Pomegranate had already opened the door.
Within moments, flowers covered the table. Desserts covered the dresser. Someone lit scented candles. The violinist began playing an aggressively romantic melody. Licorice accepted every bit of it with delighted enthusiasm.
"This is wonderful."
Dark Choco stood motionless while a maid attempted to pin a flower onto Lady Dark Velvet's dress.
"...No."
"Oh!"
She smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, my lady. You simply looked so elegant."
Dark Choco accepted the flower. He wasn't sure why. The maid beamed.
"So stoic..."
Then she hurried away. Dark Choco stared at the flower for several long moments. Without a word, he set it in a vase. Licorice noticed.
"You kept it."
"It would have been rude not to."
"I knew there was a soft heart underneath all that armor."
"There is not."
"There absolutely is."
"There absolutely is not."
That evening, after the hotel staff finally stopped bringing gifts, the three gathered around the sitting room table. Pomegranate spread out a map of the city.
"The archive is beneath the Hall of Civic Records."
Dark Choco immediately focused. Finally, the mission. Something that made Witches-damned sense.
"Security?"
"Primarily magical."
"Patrols?"
"Minimal."
"Escape routes?"
"Three."
Licorice nodded thoughtfully.
"And our wedding?"
Dark Choco looked up.
"Our... what?"
"The ceremony."
Pomegranate checked her notes.
"Tomorrow evening."
"I thought we could simply sign paperwork."
"The Republic doesn't work that way."
Dark Choco had feared that answer.
"The ceremony is mandatory."
"...How long?"
"Officially? About twenty minutes."
"...Unofficially?"
"If the officiant is feeling sentimental… potentially several hours."
Dark Choco slowly lowered his head onto the table. Licorice reached over and gently patted his shoulder.
"There, there, my dear."
Dark Choco contemplated murder. As a wedding present.
Dark Choco awoke the next morning to screaming. He was not alarmed. Screaming in the Dark Enchantress' castle usually meant one of three things: Licorice had attempted something ambitious or summoned another eldrich being. Dark Enchantress had attempted something subtle or had attempted to declare war on the fridge. Again. For the fifth time in twenty four hours. Or someone had discovered the consequences of any of the above.
He rolled out of bed, reached automatically for his sword and found only layers of crimson skirts. Right. He was still Lady Dark Velvet. He had slept in the gown because removing and reassembling it required written instructions, Pomegranate, and apparently six different kinds of pins. The screaming continued. It sounded… Happy?
Dark Choco frowned. He opened his bedroom door. Licorice flew past at alarming speed. Still wearing the blonde wig. Still carrying the enormous hat. Still somehow crying.
"They're here!"
Dark Choco watched him disappear into the sitting room.
"...Who."
Pomegranate appeared from her room, already dressed as Lord Pomelo and looking as though she'd been awake for hours.
"The wedding planners."
Dark Choco stopped walking.
"...Plural."
"Yes. There are eight and they brought assistants."
Dark Choco considered climbing out the balcony instead. Pomegranate seemed to read his mind.
"The balcony is occupied."
"...Occupied?"
"The florists."
Dark Choco closed his eyes.
"...Of course."
The sitting room had become a battlefield. A battlefield fought entirely with ribbons. Cookies bustled everywhere. Fabric swatches covered every surface. Flowers had somehow multiplied overnight. Someone was measuring the windows. Someone else was arguing passionately about the symbolism of white roses versus cream roses. A cookie wearing enough lace to qualify as upholstery spotted them immediately.
The planner gasped.
"Our beautiful brides!"
Dark Choco looked behind himself. There was no one there. Oh. Right. The planner seized both of his hands.
"My poor, poor Lady Velvet."
Dark Choco allowed this because he was too surprised to resist.
"I heard everything. You've suffered so much and yet you still found the courage to love again."
Dark Choco glanced desperately at Pomegranate. Pomegranate offered a look that very clearly said Endure. The planner sniffled.
"Such resilience..."
Another planner approached Licorice.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Licorice's eyes sparkled. Here we go.
"We've planned the most beautiful ceremony."
"Really?"
"Everyone in the city donated something."
Dark Choco felt a sinking sensation.
"...Everyone?"
The planner nodded proudly.
"The baker's guild made the cake."
"The florist association provided flowers."
"The musicians volunteered."
"The cathedral choir insisted."
"The confectionery academy designed commemorative chocolates."
"The mayor declared today a celebration of enduring love."
Dark Choco stared.
"...The mayor."
"Such a romantic."
"This happened overnight."
"Oh, no."
The planner laughed.
"The city council held an emergency meeting."
Dark Choco had faced armies with less dread. A tailor approached carrying another dress. Dark Choco immediately stepped backward.
"...No."
"It only needs a few adjustments."
"No."
"The shoulders."
"They're fine."
"The waist."
"It exists."
"The hem."
"It covers my feet."
The tailor smiled kindly.
"My lady..."
Dark Choco had developed an instinctive distrust of that phrase.
"...You've lost weight from stress."
"I have not."
"We'll let it out just a little."
"I refuse."
The tailor looked heartbroken.
"...You don't trust my craftsmanship?"
Dark Choco froze. He knew that expression. It was weaponized disappointment. He had no defense against it.
Five minutes later, the tailor was happily pinning the skirt. Dark Choco silently admitted that emotional manipulation was far more effective than torture.
Licorice, meanwhile, had become the center of attention. One planner held up bouquets.
"Peonies?"
"They're lovely."
"Roses?"
"They're beautiful."
"Lilies?"
Licorice tilted his head.
"What do heartbroken people usually carry?"
The room fell silent. Every planner looked thoughtful. One elderly florist quietly dabbed at her eyes.
"...Whatever reminds them to hope."
Licorice blinked.
"...That's actually really sweet."
"It is."
"I was expecting something funnier."
The florist smiled.
"Oh, dear."
She gently tucked a white flower into his wig.
"Sometimes sincerity is stronger."
For just a second, Licorice forgot to act. He smiled. A small, genuine one.
"...Thank you."
Dark Choco noticed. So did Pomegranate. Neither of them commented.
A knock echoed through the suite. The concierge entered carrying an enormous stack of letters.
"Your fan mail."
Dark Choco frowned.
"...Our what."
The concierge cheerfully handed him the pile.
"The city insisted."
Dark Choco looked at the top envelope.
To Lady Velvet,
You don't know me, but after hearing your story I wanted you to know that my first husband also left me for someone else. It gets better.
He opened another.
Dear Miss Twist,
Never let any cookie dull your sparkle.
Another.
Lord Pomelo,
Your dignity in the face of betrayal has inspired us all.
Dark Choco slowly lowered the letters.
"There are more downstairs," the concierge added helpfully.
"...More."
"Quite a few."
"...How many."
"We stopped counting around three hundred."
Silence. Licorice had started reading one of his.
"Oh!"
He laughed.
"Someone knitted me a scarf."
Pomegranate opened one.
"...Someone enclosed tea."
Dark Choco opened another. Inside was a recipe.
For difficult days.
He stared at the carefully folded paper. None of these people knew them. Not really. They believed they were comforting strangers. The deception suddenly weighed just a little heavier. Pomegranate quietly noticed his expression.
"We'll make a donation before we leave."
Dark Choco nodded.
"...Yes."
"Several donations."
"...Yes."
Licorice looked up from a letter decorated with tiny hearts.
"...Can we also anonymously fund the city's orphanage?"
Dark Choco blinked. Licorice shrugged.
"I feel kind of bad."
"So do I."
Pomegranate smiled faintly.
"Agreed."
For a moment, the room fell quiet. Then the doors burst open.
"The rehearsal is ready!"
Dark Choco looked up slowly.
"...Rehearsal?"
The wedding planner beamed.
"Of course!"
She clasped her hands together.
"We simply must practice the kiss."
Dark Choco froze. Licorice froze. Pomegranate froze. Three veteran operatives. Three elite servants of Dark Enchantress Cookie. Three individuals who had infiltrated kingdoms, stolen relics, survived battles against Ancient Heroes, and were collectively defeated by a wedding planner. The planner smiled expectantly.
"Whenever you're ready."
Dark Choco's mind raced. Absolutely not. Pomegranate subtly cleared her throat. Dark Choco recognized the signal. Stall. Licorice caught on immediately. His eyes widened. Then, with astonishing speed, they filled with tears.
"...We..." He sniffled delicately. "...We couldn't possibly."
The planner's expression softened at once.
"Oh?"
Licorice looked down at the floor, twisting his lace gloves together.
"We... we promised ourselves..." His voice grew smaller. "...That our first kiss would be at the altar."
A silence fell over the room. Pomegranate stepped in smoothly.
"Our previous... relationship..." She paused just long enough to imply painful memories. "...left us feeling rather used."
The planner's eyes began to glisten. Dark Choco, catching on, gave the smallest nod.
"We wished..." The words felt strange. "...to keep at least one moment entirely our own."
Another planner placed a hand over her heart.
"Oh..."
The elderly florist sniffled loudly.
"After everything you've endured..."
Licorice lowered his head further.
"We wanted..." He smiled sadly. "...one beautiful memory that belongs only to us."
A wedding planner let out the tiniest, most emotional squeak. Another covered her mouth. Someone in the back whispered, "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard." A bridesmaid outright burst into tears. The violinist, who nobody had realized was still present, quietly began playing a softer melody.
Dark Choco had the distinct impression they had accidentally made the situation much, much worse. The lead planner wiped at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
"My dears..." She took a shaky breath. "Of course. We would never dream of taking that moment away from you."
Another planner had begun crying openly.
"I-it'll be..." Sniff. "...So meaningful..."
The elderly florist looked heavenward.
"True love still exists..."
One of the assistants gave a dramatic sigh before promptly fainting onto a conveniently placed chaise lounge. Another caught her.
"She's swooned."
"Again?"
"She gets emotional."
"I understand."
"No, really. She fainted during a proposal last week."
Dark Choco stared.
"...This happens often?"
"Occupational hazard."
The assistant fanned the unconscious planner with a clipboard.
"Give her a minute."
Licorice blinked.
"...I made someone faint."
Pomegranate leaned closer.
"Congratulations."
"I wasn't trying to."
"I know."
Dark Choco quietly decided the Republic employed entirely too many romantics
The Cathedral of Whipped Peaks had been magnificent from the outside.
Inside, it was overwhelming. Sunlight streamed through towering stained sugar-glass windows in shades of amber, rose, and cream, bathing the sanctuary in warm light. Spiraling columns resembled whipped frosting frozen into marble. Hundreds - no, thousands - of sugar lilies and buttercream roses lined the aisles.
Dark Choco had expected a small ceremony. He had not expected the entire city. Every pew overflowed with spectators. Families. Nobles. Journalists. Artists with sketchbooks. Several elderly ladies already dabbing at their eyes with embroidered handkerchiefs. Even the choir loft was packed.
"...Why are there so many people?" Dark Choco murmured from behind Lady Dark Velvet's veil.
Pomegranate, adjusting his cuffs beside him, answered without moving his lips.
"The newspaper announced it. 'The Wedding of the Century.' There were illustrations."
Dark Choco resisted the urge to sigh. From somewhere in the congregation-
"There she is!"
"Lady Velvet!"
"The poor dear..."
"I hope she's smiling today."
Dark Choco very nearly turned around. Pomegranate coughed once. Don't. He remained facing forward.
The great cathedral doors opened. A hush swept through the crowd. Then the organ began to play. Dark Choco had marched into battle before. This felt strangely similar. Only instead of soldiers lining his path, children scattered flower petals across the aisle. Instead of banners, ribbons fluttered overhead. Instead of enemy generals, there was Licorice.
Miss Licorice Twist looked radiant in layers of pale lavender and cream, blonde curls bouncing beneath the absurdly enormous hat that had somehow acquired even more flowers since yesterday.
He caught Dark Choco's eye, grinned, then immediately remembered where they were and resumed looking tragically heartbroken. Professional.
Pomegranate waited at the altar, every inch the dignified nobleman, one hand resting upon his cane. The officiant smiled so brightly Dark Choco suspected she had been crying earlier.
"My beloved children..." She sniffled before continuing."We gather today not merely to celebrate marriage..." Another sniff."...But resilience."
Someone in the front pew sobbed.
"We gather to witness three wounded hearts..."
More sniffles spread through the congregation.
"...Choosing hope over despair."
Dark Choco looked toward the ceiling. The architecture was impressive.
The ceremony itself progressed with remarkable efficiency. Their forged paperwork disappeared into the officiant's records. Magical seals flared softly. Identity enchantments accepted their aliases without issue. Everything was proceeding exactly according to plan. Then came the vows.
The officiant smiled warmly.
"Lady Dark Velvet."
Dark Choco stepped forward. He had practiced this.
"I vow..." His voice echoed through the cathedral."...to shield our shared honor with blade and bitter cocoa."
A murmur rippled through the audience.
"So romantic..."
"...To stand unwavering against every hardship." He glanced briefly toward Licorice and Pomegranate."...And to ensure no one shall ever wound this family again."
The wording carried enough truth that speaking it felt unexpectedly natural. The applause began before he'd even stepped back.
The officiant dabbed delicately at her eyes.
"Beautiful."
"Miss Licorice Twist."
Licorice sniffled before he'd even reached the center.
"I..." His lower lip trembled."...Vow endless mischief..." Several people laughed softly."...And the stickiest loyalty." He smiled through watery eyes."I promise..." Another sniff."...That no matter how gloomy life becomes..." He reached out, taking both of their hands."...None of us will ever have to cry alone again."
Half the congregation dissolved into tears. Dark Choco suspected Licorice had improvised. It was disturbingly effective.
"Lord Pomelo."
Pomegranate stepped forward with measured dignity.
"I vow..." His voice carried effortlessly through the cathedral."Wisdom before anger. Patience before judgment. And curses upon any who would jilt us again."
Laughter echoed throughout the sanctuary. Even the officiant chuckled.
"As any reasonable spouse should."
As she accepted the ceremonial documents, Pomegranate smoothly slipped the genuine sealed authorization papers into the stack. The movement was flawless. Invisible.
Dark Choco watched the documents disappear beneath the officiant's hands. Mission objective complete. Now all they had to do was finish the ceremony.
The officiant raised her hands.
"Then by the authority vested in me by the Crème Republic..."
Golden magic spiraled around the three forged marriage licenses.
"...I declare you spouses..."
The spell completed.
"...In spite..."
Another ripple of laughter.
"...And solidarity."
The cathedral erupted. Thunderous applause. Cheers. Flowers rained from the balconies. The choir burst into triumphant song. Someone released white doves. Dark Choco wasn't sure where the doves had come from. Confetti cannons exploded with enough force to startle even him. Licorice laughed - genuinely this time. Pomegranate actually smiled. The officiant beamed.
"You may embrace."
That, at least, they had rehearsed. Dark Choco wrapped one arm around each of them. Pomegranate returned the gesture with dignified restraint. Licorice squeezed both of them enthusiastically enough to nearly knock all three over. The crowd collectively sighed.
"So sweet..."
"And now…” The officiant smiled knowingly."You may share your first kiss."
Dark Choco felt every muscle in his body lock.
They had successfully avoided rehearsing this. That had seemed like victory. It now appeared merely to have delayed the inevitable. Licorice's eyes widened. Pomegranate's smile became infinitesimally strained. The cathedral waited. Hundreds of expectant faces stared at them. Dark Choco calculated options.
Running? Not viable.
Fighting? Definitely not viable.
Fainting? Tempting.
Instead, he remembered what Pomegranate had said. Strategic. They had discussed this. Very briefly. Very reluctantly.
Pomegranate stepped forward first. A gentleman kissing Lady Velvet's hand was entirely appropriate. He bowed with perfect elegance. Pressed the lightest, most respectful kiss against Dark Choco's gloved knuckles. The audience sighed dreamily.
"So refined..."
Before anyone could question it, Licorice threw his arms around Dark Choco's shoulders.
"My lady..." He whispered just quietly enough for only the three of them to hear."...I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"This."
He leaned up. Instead of kissing Dark Choco's lips, he planted an exaggerated kiss against his cheek. Loud enough to echo. The audience erupted into delighted laughter.
"There!" An elderly woman clapped excitedly."She's too shy!"
Finally, Dark Choco turned toward Pomegranate. There was no escaping it. Pomegranate gave him a look that clearly said, Mission first. Dark Choco nodded once. Pomegranate leaned in. At the last possible moment, Dark Choco subtly turned his head. The kiss landed lightly against the corner of his temple, hidden almost entirely by Lady Velvet's long black hair from everyone except those directly beside them. From the audience's perspective, it was perfect. The cathedral exploded with applause.
"They're precious!"
"So tasteful!"
"Such respect!"
"They truly waited!"
"They're healing together!"
Dark Choco had survived wars. He had survived betrayal. He had survived ancient magic. Yet somehow, enduring enthusiastic applause for a fake triple wedding ranked among the most difficult experiences of his life. Beside him, Licorice was vibrating with barely restrained laughter. Pomegranate maintained flawless composure. The officiant wiped away happy tears.
"I have officiated weddings for thirty-seven years," she declared emotionally, "and I have never witnessed a more touching union."
The mission should have ended there. That was the problem. Dark Choco had learned, over years of warfare and strategy, that the moment a plan succeeded was often the most dangerous moment. Victory made people careless. Celebrations distracted from exits. And apparently, in the Crème Republic, a legally recognized marriage was considered a public event that could not simply end.
The moment they stepped out of the Cathedral of Whipped Peaks, Dark Choco saw the crowd waiting. He immediately knew something was wrong. Not because anyone looked suspicious. Quite the opposite, everyone looked delighted. Children held flowers. Musicians stood ready with instruments. Bakers carried trays of pastries. A group of elderly cookies had somehow acquired matching handkerchiefs.
The mayor himself approached.
"My dears!"
Dark Choco's expression remained perfectly neutral. That was becoming increasingly difficult.
"Congratulations!"
"Thank you," Pomegranate replied smoothly."We are honored."
"Now!" The mayor clapped his hands."To the reception!"
Dark Choco paused.
"...The what."
The mayor laughed.
"The reception!"
"No."
The word escaped before he could stop it. The mayor blinked. Then immediately looked heartbroken.
"Oh."
Dark Choco recognized the danger. Not physical danger. Worse, emotional danger.
"We simply thought..." The mayor glanced toward the crowd."After everything you've suffered..."
A child nearby looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Don't they deserve a party?"
Dark Choco stared. The child was holding a tiny flower crown. For some reason, that was more effective than any weapon. Pomegranate quietly leaned closer.
"We cannot refuse."
"I know."
Licorice leaned over from the other side.
"We absolutely cannot refuse."
Dark Choco narrowed his eyes.
"You seem pleased."
"I am."
"Why."
Licorice smiled.
"Because we're victims."
Dark Choco stared.
"...Explain."
"We're tragic. Tragic people get free food. And sympathy. …And apparently fireworks?"
Dark Choco looked toward the sky. Sure enough, workers were already preparing enormous sugar-crystal launchers. He closed his eyes. This mission was a mistake.
The first day of celebration was manageable. Technically. The bakers insisted they needed to "restore sweetness after such bitter heartbreak." Which resulted in three enormous dessert deliveries. The first contained cakes. The second contained cookies. The third contained enough chocolate truffles to supply a royal banquet. Dark Choco stared at the pile.
"...There are only three of us."
The baker smiled.
"Of course. We made enough for your future children."
Dark Choco nearly choked. Licorice immediately looked delighted.
"Our future children?"
"Ignore her."
Dark Choco turned away.
"We will not be discussing imaginary children."
The baker's smile softened.
"You've already protected each other so fiercely." She sighed."I think you'd make wonderful parents."
Dark Choco walked away before he said something that ruined their disguise.
The second day was worse. Because people started recognizing them. Not their true identities, of course. Their fake ones.
"Lady Velvet!"
A group of children ran toward him. Dark Choco froze. Children. He had fought monsters. He had fought armies. He had never been prepared for children.
"Can we have flower crowns?"
One child held up a tiny ring of flowers. Dark Choco looked at Pomegranate. Pomegranate looked away. Traitor. Slowly, awkwardly, Dark Choco accepted the crown. The child beamed.
"There!"
A second child placed another on Licorice. A third carefully adjusted Pomegranate's.
The three stood there. Three terrifying agents of darkness, wearing flower crowns. Dark Choco felt something inside him die. Licorice, however, looked absolutely delighted.
"I look magnificent."
"You look ridiculous."
"I look magnificent while ridiculous. There's a difference."
Unfortunately, he was correct.
The rumors continued. They evolved, rapidly. By the third day, Dark Choco stopped listening, but he heard fragments.
"The fiancé escaped by ship-"
"-joined pirates-"
"-lost everything in a gambling match-"
"-then was chased by geese-"
He slowly turned toward Pomegranate.
"...Geese."
Pomegranate looked equally confused.
"I don't recall geese."
"I don't either."
Licorice raised a hand.
"I may have mentioned birds."
Dark Choco stared.
"You added geese."
"They're very aggressive."
"Why."
"They improve the villainy."
Pomegranate sighed.
"The fictional man has now committed crimes against poultry."
"Good."
Dark Choco looked at Licorice.
"No."
"It was funny."
"No."
"It was."
"No."
By the evening of the third day, Dark Choco had accepted that escape was impossible until the celebration ended. So he stood on the balcony of the Grand Éclair Hotel. Below them, the Crème Republic glittered. Sugar-spired towers reflected the moonlight. Lanterns floated through the streets. Music drifted upward. It was beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful.
The three had finally removed their disguises. Dark Choco's wig sat discarded on the table. Pomegranate's mustache rested beside it. Licorice had abandoned the parasol entirely and was currently using it as decoration. Three glasses of sparkling crème soda sat between them. Licorice raised his first.
"Best wedding ever."
Dark Choco stared at him.
"It was not a real wedding."
"Tell that to the city."
He couldn't. Because the city absolutely believed otherwise.
Dark Choco allowed the smallest smirk.
"The tears worked better than any forged passport."
Licorice grinned.
"I told you."
"You nearly exposed us."
"But I didn't. Therefore, it was perfect."
Pomegranate lifted her glass.
"To spite."
Dark Choco raised his.
"To successful missions."
Licorice raised his higher.
"To marriage."
Both stared at him.
"What?"
"You enjoyed this too much."
"I did not."
"You signed autographs."
"They asked."
"You wrote dramatic retellings."
"They needed accurate history."
"You flirted with both of us."
Licorice smiled innocently.
"I was maintaining the illusion."
Dark Choco looked away. Pomegranate sighed.
"To marriage..." She paused."...and never wearing this witch-damned mustache again."
She held up the offending accessory with a wrinkled nose. For the first time in days, Dark Choco laughed. Quietly, briefly, but genuinely.
Below them, fireworks exploded over the city. Golden sugar sparks painted the sky. The Crème Republic would tell the story of the Tragic Trio for years. They would tell of three wounded hearts who found strength together. Of love after betrayal. Of loyalty forged from heartbreak. Of a wedding that restored hope to an entire nation.
The truth was much simpler. Three very tired cookies had needed a document. They had lied. They had exaggerated (more like Lirorice had exaggerated). They had manipulated an entire country. And somehow - somehow - the country had decided to love them for it.
Later that night, beneath the cover of darkness, three perfectly disguised cookies slipped out of the Republic with the artifact secured, the mission complete, the fake marriage legally recognized, and enough leftover desserts to last several months. Dark Choco looked back once at the glowing city.
"...I still do not understand this place."
Pomegranate adjusted her coat.
"Neither do I."
Licorice smiled.
"I do."
They both looked at him.
"You do?"
"Absolutely." He held up the stolen archive records."The Republic runs on three things."
"Which are?"
Licorice counted on his fingers.
"Paperwork. Drama. And people being too polite to question obvious nonsense."
Dark Choco considered this.
"...That is disturbingly accurate."
And with that, the Tragic Trio disappeared into the night, leaving behind a legend, a mystery, a very confused archive committee, and one extremely fictional fiancé who would somehow continue getting worse with every retelling.