Chapter Text
In the large city of Amour-Propre, in the kingdom of L’heure du Conte, there was a little house that was always full of dogs. If someone was missing a dog, it had probably been dognapped by the man living inside the house. Patton would never deny that he had taken the dogs, he would even give them back if the original owners asked politely, but he would never stop stealing them. It was a habit that had become hard to break.
Currently, he was not in his house. Leaving the time opportune for confused and annoyed dog owners to break in and take their dogs back. Patton was, instead, on his way to visit his adopted son who lived on the city borders (not that he didn’t consider everyone to be his kid in some way, he had tried to get everyone to call him Amour-Padre at one point in time, he had watched most of the people in his city grow up, after all). He didn’t visit as much as he would like because of all the spiders that lived in Virgil’s house, but he made the effort whenever he could work up the courage.
Not to mention that Virgil lived on the line between the cities of Amour-Propre and De Trop. The two cities were in a sort of cold war. The ruler of Amour-Propre, Prince Roman, and the head of De Trop, Duke Remus, were twin brothers seemed to be at a standstill that was somehow both childish and deadly. There were rumors of a civil war breaking out between them, which caused King Thomas much anxiety.
Visting his son was tricky for Patton, to say the least.
The air that blew through the thick woods suddenly grew colder and Patton wrapped his grey shawl tighter around his shoulders. The shawl had been a gift from a friend and cat paws embroidered around the edges. The bearded man adjusted his glasses and knocked on the door of the dark-wooded cabin that he had journeyed to reach.
The sound of something crashing to the ground, quickly followed by some indecent language, came from inside the cabin. Soon after, footsteps were heard approaching and the door swung open to reveal a very grumpy warlock. The warlock was pale enough to be a ghost, which contrasted with his dark purple hair that was partially covered with a dark purple witch hat. He wore a robe that was mostly the same color, but had patches of various shades of pink, purple, and blue scattered across it. Virgil’s green and purple eyes lit up when he realized that his visitor was simply Patton.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping out of the doorway so that the old man could enter. The cabin looked the same as it always had, cobwebs covered the walls and a mattress with a stack of books and a conch shell on top of it was shoved off in a corner. In the center of the room, a large cauldron stood, filled with something that smelled strangely good. Virgil closed the door and returned to stirring the concoction.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“I took Elise out for a walk this morning,” he said.
“Patton,” Virgil said, a warning tone in his voice as he stopped stirring whatever was in the cauldron. “Did you steal another dog?”
“You know, I think I might have.”
“That’s the fifth one this month. You can’t keep doing that, man.”
The old man simply shrugged and moved over to an area of the room that had the least amount of spider webs. From what he could see, there weren’t actually all that many creepy-crawly-death-dealers in the building, but that ones he could see were large and terrifying. The purple-clad warlock looked over to where his father stood and raised an eyebrow in a way the suggested that if Patton had something to say, he better say it.
“What are you making, kiddo?” he asked in an attempt to take attention off of his fear.
“Lunch,” Virgil supplied before putting the spoon down. “Don’t worry, I use a different cauldron for potions.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Oh. Well, I’m always worried that I’ll mix them up, so I triple checked this time.” The warlock opened a beat-up wooden cupboard and pulled out two bowls.
“Do you want some soup?”
“I would love some! After all, it smells souper duper.”
Virgil paused what he was doing to give his paternal figure a look. “Did you just make a soup pun?”
“What? Me? Don’t be stew-pid!”
A few miles away, in the heart of Amour-Propre, stood a beautiful castle that looked like it had immerged directly from a storybook. The walls were made of white marble and the roofs were made of oak that had been painted a brilliant scarlet. The castle had no gate or moat, but was instead surrounded up a lush garden full of flowers and trees that should not have been able to blossom and thrive in the cold weather, but somehow found a way.
The buildings that surrounded the castle were equally fantastical with their thatched roofs and gardens growing flowers of various, vivid colors. The streets were all made from cobblestone that twisted and winded throughout the city, although it didn’t swerve too much, nobody wanted a kingdom full of dizzy citizens. In short, it wouldn’t have been surprising if someone suddenly started dancing and burst out into a song about following their hopes and dreams, an activity which was one hundred percent encouraged in Amour-Propre, by the way.
Sitting in his throne made of red velvet cushions and gold, elegantly sat Prince Roman the creative. A title that had definitely been gifted to him by the good people of the city and not one he had given himself (don’t listen to what anybody else tells you). The throne room wasn’t his favorite room in the castle, that honor went to the theater, but he liked it well enough.
It was a glorious city full of laughter and light. Music and wonder. Its neighboring city, however, was another story.
The city of De Trop was amazingly different from its neighbor. Even though they weren’t that far apart, the duke’s city seemed to have different, darker weather patterns then Amour-Propre. The buildings were all made of various kinds of black stones and looked less like something out of a fairytale and more like something out of a nightmare where everything was cast in a sickly green hue.
There was a large hill that stood over the city, at the top of which was a manor house with an exterior made of black marble and windows made from green stained glass. There were no plants surrounding the manor, instead there was a large moat with a basil green liquid and an occasional skull breaking the surface. Obsidian steppingstones led across the moat to the front door from the large gate made from black rhodium.
Currently in the process of crossing the moat was a short figure in a sinister looking black cloak with yellow accents. Their hands, which were covered in yellow gloves, could be seen pulling the cloak tighter around themself. The figure hopped off of the final stone and landed on the manor’s stoop before quickly opening up the door and closing it behind him.
The inside of the duke’s manor wasn’t much different from the outside. It was still made of black marble and was cast in a green light that gave it an aquatic feel, although a polluted one. Lining the walls were expertly carved statues of monsters, each more horrific then the last, that all seemed to be looking towards a grand staircase which led to the upper floors. On either side of the staircase was a small door that led to the other rooms on the first floor.
Once the figure had confirmed that there was no one else in the foyer, they removed their cloak and deposited in in the mouth of one of the monsters. They smoothed down their onyx colored robe that was customary for royal advisors and checked their appearance in the reflection of the windows. They appeared the same as they normally did: dark brown hair covered with a black burette, gold and brown heterochromia, half of their face a light brown while the other half was spotted with golden scales due to a curse that they didn’t particularly like to think about.
They smoothed back their hair, readjusted their hat, and quickly ran up the stairs, turning right, down a hallway, up another flight of stairs, down yet another hallway, before swinging open the door to their room and slamming it behind them. The figure, whose name was Janus, slumped against the door and let out a sigh of relief. It seemed like a miracle that the frantic clicking of their heels hadn’t given them away.
Janus slowly walked over to their bed and grabbed the ring that they had left on the nightstand. It was made of yellow serpentine and was in the shape of a snake eating its own tail. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t safe to wear it during the advisor’s outings. Someone might try to steal it or, worse, recognize the meaning it had. Both outcomes were unfortunate but one had far more dangerous consequences then the other.
The advisor glanced at the clock on their wall and cursed under their breath. They were going to be late for their duties if they stayed up here much longer.
After readjusting his hat for probably the tenth time since he had woken up this morning, Janus slipped the ring on their finger, over their bright yellow gloves and stepped back out into the hallway. The duke’s staff had somehow managed to wake up and begin running through the hallways in the short amount of time that Janus had been in her room.
One of the maids ran up to the advisor when she saw him. “The duke requests your presence,” she said, out of breath as if she had just run a marathon. Janus gave her a curt nod of thanks before swiftly turning heel and walking at a brisk pace towards what Duke Remus had deemed his ‘throne room’.
She opened the door and stepped into a room that didn’t look much different from the rest of the manor except for the large throne-like chair at the end of the room and the portraits and tapestries that decorated the walls. Most of the artwork was destroyed or at least damaged beyond repair. The few that somehow managed to survive depicted anything from grotesque monsters covered in gore to graphic depictions of coitus.
Sitting atop the contrastingly white throne, which was rumored to be made out of bone—Janus could neither confirm nor deny these theories—was the duke himself. He had an unclean mustache on his face and wore a black tunic with a green sash which was stained with something that no one could guess at, and didn’t particularly want to. His feet, which lacked any shoes or socks (yes, they did look he had walked through something unpleasant), were dangled over one of the throne’s arm rests and he was currently picking his nose. Janus raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected him to be so put together.
“Your Disgrace.”
Remus perked up when he spotted his advisor. “Jan!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, waving his arms about excitedly. Almost causing him to fall out of his chair in the process.
“Why did you request my presence, Your Disgrace?”
The duke pouted at this and slid off the throne headfirst. “I fried some human fingers today! Join me for dinner?”
“That will make you sick, Remus,” Janus deadpanned.
“I know,” he responded, jumping to his feet. “That’s part of the fun!”
“It’s also cannibalism. You can go to Hell for that,” they said in an almost playful manner.
Remus swung an arm that wasn’t his own over the shoulders of his consort. “Hot. Pun intended.” The duke tapped his chin for a moment before leaning in towards his companion. “Say, Snakey, would that even count as cannibalism for you?
Janus rolled their eyes delicately removed the disembodied arm from around her shoulders with a disgusted look on her face.
A knock sounded from the door and a servant timidly stepped into the room. “Your Grace,” she said, her eyes widening in horror when she spotted the bodiless arm. “Someone wishes to have an audience with you.” Her voice was trembling, and Janus almost felt bad for her. “Send them in,” Remus said dismissively before sauntering back to his throne, his advisor taking his place standing a few feet off to the left.
The door opened and a green dragon only slightly bigger than an average human wearing witch’s robes entered the throne room.
“Your Grace,” the dragon said. She opened her mouth to speak before closing it again once she noticed the duke’s scale-faced companion.
“This is my secretary,” Remus said.
“Royal advisor,” Janus corrected.
“Pfft. Same thing.”
“Undoubtably correct, Your Grace,” he said, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.
The dragon snorted and smirked at Janus. “I like the snark with this one.”
Remus made a farting noise with his tongue and leaned back on his throne, sticking his finger up his nose. “What you here for, Scaley?” Janus internally cringed at his behavior, but the dragon simply smiled politely.
“You may call me the Dragon Witch. I am actually here to seek out an audience with your personal saboteur. Deceit, I believe they are called.”
Janus tensed ever so slightly, but for the most part managed to keep their composure. Before they had been promoted to royal advisor, they had been sent on undercover missions by the duke to other kingdoms or even just to peak in on his brother. It had been Remus himself who insisted he retire from the more dangerous occupation once the two of them had grown closer.
“He’s right here,” Remus said, interrupting the advisor’s thoughts. “He doesn’t do it anymore, though. Shame, he was a lot more fun back then.”
Janus glared at the nobleman, who only flashed a teasing grin in the direction of his advisor.
“I can’t help but agree with the duke,” DW said. “Your skills as a faux delegate are legendary. The prince still has no idea that you were the one who leaked his security plans to the public of De Trop.”
Janus frowned; they knew exactly what she was doing. He had used the same strategy on both Remus, when he first came to the manor, and Prince Roman on some of his spy missions. Flattery could get you almost anywhere if you knew the right songs to sing.
“I simply want to meet and discuss potentially hiring you for a small, inconsequential mission. If you are interested, please come by my place on Hemlock Lane tomorrow.” She bowed her head to Remus once more before turning heel and exiting the room.
Once the doors closed the duke turned to his consort with a manic grin on his face. “So, what do you think, snake? Gonna’ take up her offer?”
Janus frowned. “What do you think, Your Grace?”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You can drop the act, Jan, no one’s here.”
The slithery secretary raised an eyebrow and smirked up at the man dressed in green. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That night, after the dinner where Janus had talked Remus into serving roasted doves instead of human fingers, the snake-like advisor took up the mantle of saboteur-for-hire once more. Dressed once more in their black cloak, they knocked on the door of the house in front of them.
The cottage door swung open and Janus was met with the scaley snout of the Dragon Witch. “Deceit?” she asked, a grin breaking across her face when she recognized him. “Please come in!” She moved over to the side so that he could enter before removing his cloak and closing the door behind her.
“You said you have a job for me?”
The Dragon Witch nodded. “Not just yet, though. Let me make some tea.”
Janus snorted. “Ah, yes, tea. The perfect precursor to destroying someone.”
DW grinned. “I knew I liked you.”
She hurriedly herded him over to a small table made of expertly polished dark wood that sat on top of a rough spun carpet. He sat down in the chair he had been directed towards and tapped their fingers on the table impatiently while waiting for the witch to come back. The tea was a nice thought, but Janus would have easily preferred wine. It didn’t take as long and made it easier to negotiate the price of the operation if it ended up being amoral. Not that something like that would stop him.
The Dragon Witch finally came back with two cups of blood red tea that smelled like cinnamon and pumpkin pie. He would have to ask her for the recipe. She placed one of the cups down in front of her visitor and watched as they slowly took a sip of the warm drink. It was impossible for something to taste like a season, yet somehow, when Janus took a sip of the tea, he couldn’t help but think of gentle winds and the golden memories of autumn.
Against his better judgement, Deceit allowed himself to relax.
“I couldn’t help but notice the ring you wore back at the manor,” she said. Janus froze, lowering the cup but not setting it down. “It’s used in ‘best friend ceremonies’, correct?” The grin on her green scaled face was enough to inform Janus that the Dragon Witch knew exactly what the snake wrapped around their finger meant. The saboteur set down their cup of tea and faced the dragon.
“What do you want? Money?”
DW laughed. “I’m richer than your pathetic duke could ever hope to be. I have no use for his or your money. What I want is power.”
Janus snorted. “Good luck with that.” A shiver rose up the deceitful delegate’s spine. Why were they suddenly so tired? He needed to take a nap after this.
The winged reptilian witch let out an amused chuckle. “I’m actually pretty close to having two cities of my own.”
Janus’s brow creased. “What do you mean by—.” They burst into a coughing fit, causing them to fall to the floor. The rough carpet scratched their hands as they tried to push themself back up, but their muscles refused to work with them and their eyelids were growing heavy.
“Don’t worry, my dear, the spell will kick in soon,” the Dragon Witch said as she kneeled in front of Janus.
“Spell?” they asked in a shaky voice.
DW clicked her tongue sympathetically and tilted Janus’s head upward so they looked her in the eye. “The little puppeteering potion I put in your tea. I needed someone who was close to either the prince or the duke to assist me in my plan. I feel the need to apologize, I really did like you, but you’re simply the best choice. You’re close enough to the duke to carry out an assassination and you’re in charge of the city if he should die. It’s perfect!”
Janus flipped a feeble bird at the witch, which only caused her to sigh as she let go of her unwilling conspirator. “The duke’s untimely demise will be blamed on Amour-Propre and war will be waged between the two cities. In the end De Trop will win and you’ll be instated as my puppet ruler. How does that sound?”
She looked back down and saw that Janus had been knocked out cold by the potion’s effects. The Dragon Witch blinked. She didn’t know whether to be proud of her magical abilities or offended.
The reign of Prince Roman and Duke Remus was coming to an end.
Even if Janus managed to break free of her spell, it would be too late. Besides, there were other ways to convince someone to do what you wanted. The snake was engaged to the duke, but the Dragon Witch could spot someone who had been forced to drag their aching feet to the top if they had wanted any chance of climbing the ladder. Janus had wheedled and deceived their way into the position they were in now. DW knew how to work with someone like that. A kindred spirit.