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    Summary

    Up this close, he was a jarring reflection. The hair was too dark to Hans's yellow, the cheeks too round, the eyes too exaggerated in their downward slant. But even with the features jumbled and incorrect, Henry still resembled the lord Hans saw in himself. A reflection of a reflection, warped and befuddling and agitating, a familiar word repeated one too many times until its shape and sound became nonsensical. 

    Henry. 

    Henry. 

    Lord Henry.

    Hans knew the saying: the clothes make the man. At this moment it rang undeniably true. To all the world, Hans was the peasant now, and Henry the lord. Henry's demeanor hadn't even changed; he draped himself on the tub lip as elegantly as a bolt of cloth decorating the arm of a throne – while Hans knelt on the floor like a servant. To change their stations so simply was as ludicrous as it was exciting, and the fact that Henry didn't even need to put on airs to fit the part…

    Well. If tonight was a night for playing dress-up games, Hans wasn't about to lose.

    "Turn around," he commanded. "I'm going to wash your hair."

    ---

    In the Rattay baths, Henry puts on Hans's clothes by accident. Hans returns the favor.

    Language:
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