Chapter Text
The kingdom loved celebrations.
Every excuse became a festival.
A good harvest?
Festival.
A noble wedding?
Festival.
Someone's horse learning a new trick?
Somehow also a festival.
So when bells began ringing from The Grand Empire’s capital before sunrise, people poured into the streets immediately.
Market stalls opened early.
Children ran through the squares.
Bakers started handing out pastries.
Nobody even knew what was happening yet.
They were simply excited to find out.
At the center of the city, a town crier climbed onto a wooden platform.
He unrolled a scroll with dramatic flair.
The crowd fell silent.
Then he shouted:
"HEAR YE! HEAR YE!"
The crowd cheered.
Nobody had heard anything yet.
The crier cleared his throat.
"BY DECREE OF THE ROYAL FAMILY, I BRING WONDERFUL NEWS!"
A woman in the crowd gasped.
A man dropped his basket.
A child nearly climbed onto the stage.
The crier grinned.
"LAST NIGHT, THE ROYAL FAMILY WAS BLESSED WITH NOT ONE CHILD..."
The crowd leaned forward.
"...BUT TWO!"
For a heartbeat, the city was silent.
Then it exploded.
Cheers erupted from every direction.
People hugged strangers.
Someone started crying.
A merchant immediately began selling "commemorative twin pastries."
Nobody knew what made them commemorative.
Nobody cared.
The crier raised his arms.
"A PRINCE AND PRINCESS HAVE BEEN BORN!"
The cheering somehow became louder.
"The prince shall be known as WEMMBU!"
More cheering.
"And the princess shall be known as SQUIDDO!"
The square shook with applause.
Nearby church bells began ringing.
Children ran through the streets shouting the names.
"WEMMBU!"
"SQUIDDO!"
"WEMMBU!"
"SQUIDDO!"
The crier smiled.
"LONG MAY THEY LIVE!"
"LONG MAY THEY LIVE!"
The crowd echoed it back.
Far above the celebration, inside the royal palace, two newborn babies slept peacefully.
Completely unaware that an entire kingdom was celebrating their existence.
One tiny hand reached upward.
The future Prince Wemmbu yawned.
Beside him, Princess Squiddo sneezed.
A nurse immediately declared it adorable.
History would remember that day as one of joy.
One of hope.
One of beginnings.
Several hundred miles away, another city awoke.
This one was different.
The streets were cleaner.
The buildings darker.
The soldiers stricter.
People still gathered when the bells rang.
But they stood in neat rows.
Orderly.
Disciplined.
Watching.
Waiting.
A second town crier stepped onto a stone platform.
Unlike the first crier, he did not grin.
He simply unrolled a scroll.
"Hear this announcement from the Royal family."
The crowd immediately fell silent.
"The royal household welcomes a son."
A murmur spread through the people.
The crier continued.
"The child is healthy."
More murmuring.
"The child shall be known as Flame."
The name echoed through the square.
Flame.
Short.
Sharp.
Like a spark striking steel.
The people bowed their heads respectfully.
Soldiers struck their spears against the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A traditional salute.
"May Prince Flame grow strong."
The crowd repeated it.
"May Prince Flame grow strong."
Far above them, within the royal fortress, a newborn child rested in a cradle.
His tiny hands were curled into fists.
The nurses joked that he already looked ready to start a fight.
No one knew how accurate that statement would become.
...
The training yard was in danger.
Not from invading armies.
Not from dragons.
Not from assassins.
The danger was eight-year-old Squiddo.
"Again!" barked the weapons instructor.
Squiddo saluted dramatically.
"Sir yes sir!"
The instructor immediately regretted his life choices.
Across the training grounds, young nobles and knights-in-training practiced sword forms.
Among them stood Prince Wemmbu.
Even at eight years old, he moved with unnatural precision.
His wooden sword cut through the air in clean arcs.
Step.
Swing.
Block.
Turn.
Everything seemed effortless.
The instructor had once joked that Wemmbu came out of the womb knowing basic swordsmanship.
After watching him train for years, he was beginning to suspect it wasn't a joke.
"Excellent!" the instructor called.
Wemmbu smiled.
Nearby, Squiddo attempted her own practice swing.
Her wooden sword flew from her hands.
It sailed through the air.
Everyone watched it.
The sword struck a barrel.
Bounced off.
Hit a scarecrow.
Bounced again.
Then somehow landed directly in a fountain.
Silence.
The instructor closed his eyes.
A bird immediately flew away from the area.
Even it didn't want to witness this.
Squiddo raised a hand.
"I can explain."
"No," said the instructor.
"You cannot."
An hour later things somehow became worse.
"Archery training!" announced the instructor.
Wemmbu brightened.
Squiddo looked nervous.
The instructor handed them each a bow.
"Simple."
He pointed toward a target.
"Hit the center."
Wemmbu nodded.
Squiddo nodded.
Wemmbu drew his bow.
Released.
THUNK.
Dead center.
The instructor smiled.
"Excellent."
Another arrow.
THUNK.
Dead center.
A third.
THUNK.
Dead center.
The instructor looked ready to cry tears of joy.
"Wonderful, Your Highness."
Wemmbu grinned.
Meanwhile Squiddo prepared her shot.
She pulled the string back.
Aiming carefully.
Very carefully.
Extra carefully.
She released.
The arrow flew.
Past the target.
Past the fence.
Past another fence.
Past a tree.
A distant goat screamed.
Everyone froze.
The instructor slowly turned.
"Did you hit a goat?"
"I don't know."
"HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW?"
By lunchtime the entire training yard had gathered.
Word had spread.
People wanted to witness the phenomenon.
A prince who could do everything.
And a princess who apparently couldn't do anything.
"One final test," declared the instructor.
He placed two practice dummies in the center of the yard.
"Wemmbu."
The prince stepped forward.
"Defeat the dummy."
Wemmbu nodded.
Three seconds later the dummy was on the ground.
Its wooden sword had been knocked away.
The crowd applauded.
The instructor beamed proudly.
Then he pointed.
"Squiddo."
The princess marched forward confidently.
"Watch and learn."
The crowd watched.
Squiddo charged.
The dummy stood perfectly still.
Squiddo somehow tripped over her own feet.
She crashed into the dummy.
The dummy fell.
Squiddo fell.
A nearby rack of training spears fell.
A bucket fell.
A banner fell.
Nobody understood how.
The dummy remained undefeated in spirit.
The instructor stared into the distance.
Somewhere beyond the horizon.
Searching for answers.
The royal physician was eventually summoned.
Not because anyone was injured.
Because the instructor had become concerned.
"Is something wrong with her?"
The physician blinked.
"What?"
"Medically."
"With the princess?"
"Yes."
The physician watched Squiddo accidentally walk into a pole.
Then apologize to the pole.
Then walk into it again.
"...No."
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Then explain this."
"I cannot."
Later that evening, Wemmbu found Squiddo sitting on a castle wall.
She was kicking her feet gloomily.
The sunset painted the kingdom gold.
For once she wasn't smiling.
Wemmbu sat beside her.
"You okay?"
Squiddo shrugged.
"I guess."
"You hate training."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I really do."
Wemmbu laughed.
She laughed too.
Then her smile faded.
"Everyone's good at something."
"Yeah."
"I'm not."
Wemmbu frowned.
"That's not true."
"I almost lost a fight against a dummy."
"The dummy was cheating."
Squiddo looked at him.
"The dummy wasn't moving."
"Exactly. Nobody expected that."
She snorted.
Wemmbu smiled.
Then pointed toward the palace kitchens below.
"What happened this morning?"
Squiddo blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"The cooks."
"Oh."
Immediately she brightened.
Earlier that day she had wandered into the kitchens.
Two hours later she'd somehow reorganized everything.
The cooks had loved her.
She'd learned recipes.
Decorated pastries.
Helped prepare lunch.
And received approximately seventeen compliments.
"They said my bread was good."
"See?"
"That's not fighting."
"So?"
Squiddo hesitated.
Wemmbu leaned back against the stone wall.
"You're not supposed to be me."
"What?"
"Everyone keeps comparing us."
He looked out across the kingdom.
"They shouldn't."
Squiddo stared.
Wemmbu rarely sounded serious.
"You don't have to be good at swords."
"But princes and princesses are supposed to fight."
"Maybe."
He nudged her shoulder.
"But I'd rather have a sister who's good at making bread than another person who's good at stabbing things."
Squiddo laughed.
The sadness eased.
Just a little.
Below them, the castle lights began to glow.
Warm and golden.
Comforting.
…
The training yard of the [PLACEHOLDER] Faction was very different from the Grand Empire’s.
There were no laughing children.
No friendly instructors.
No spectators eating pastries while watching lessons.
The air smelled of sweat, steel, and dust.
Soldiers trained from sunrise until sunset.
Failure was corrected.
Success was expected.
And in the center of it all stood two boys.
Prince Flame.
And his older brother, Mane.
"Again."
Mane's voice was calm.
Flame tightened his grip on the wooden training sword, pausing before he charged.
Wood cracked against wood.
Mane parried.
Flame twisted.
Attacked low.
Mane blocked.
Attacked high.
Blocked again.
The exchange happened so quickly that several watching soldiers struggled to follow it.
Their swords became blurs.
Strike.
Block.
Counter.
Step.
Strike.
Block.
Counter.
The rhythm was relentless.
Neither spoke.
Neither smiled.
This wasn't play.
This was war in miniature.
Finally Mane landed a strike against Flame's shoulder.
THWACK.
Flame stumbled.
The watching soldiers relaxed.
The fight was over.
Or it should have been.
Instead Flame lunged forward again.
Mane barely dodged.
The prince attacked once.
Twice.
Three times.
Faster than before.
A grin spread across Mane's face.
"Good."
Flame said nothing.
He attacked harder.
The soldiers exchanged glances.
Most children their age could barely handle basic forms.
Flame and Mane looked like young officers.
One veteran crossed his arms.
"They're doing it again."
A younger soldier swallowed.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to kill each other."
"They're using wooden swords."
The veteran watched Flame nearly sweep Mane's legs.
"That's not the point."
An hour later both brothers were covered in dust.
Neither had stopped.
The king watched them from above, standing near an advisor.
"They've been training since dawn."
"Yes."
"They should rest."
"No."
The advisor wisely decided not to continue that conversation.
Back in the yard, Mane lowered his sword.
"Enough."
Flame immediately attacked.
Mane blocked.
Sighed.
"I said enough."
"You left an opening."
"I was talking."
"You left an opening."
Mane laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was true.
Flame saw openings everywhere.
Doors.
Windows.
Defenses.
Conversations.
If something could be exploited, he noticed it.
It was both impressive and mildly concerning.
The next exercise was archery.
Several targets were placed at varying distances.
Mane grinned.
"Watch."
He drew an arrow.
Released.
THUNK.
Bullseye.
Another arrow.
THUNK.
Bullseye.
A third.
THUNK.
Bullseye.
The younger soldiers erupted into applause.
Mane bowed dramatically.
Flame looked unimpressed.
Then he picked up a bow.
Drew.
Released.
His arrow split Mane's previous shot down the middle.
The applause stopped.
Mane stared.
Even through the blindfold somehow.
The younger soldiers stared.
The older soldiers stared.
One soldier quietly whispered:
"Oh no."
"What?"
"He's getting better."
By afternoon the training had moved to horseback combat.
Then endurance drills.
Then strategy exercises.
The brothers excelled at all of them.
But there was one area where they differed.
Mane enjoyed victory.
Flame expected it.
When Mane won, he smiled.
When Flame won, he immediately looked for the next challenge.
The next weakness.
The next obstacle.
The next enemy.
As the sun began to set, the brothers sat atop a stone wall overlooking the fortress.
For the first time all day, neither was training.
A rare event.
Below them, soldiers marched through the courtyard.
The banners fluttered in the wind.
Orange and black.
Like sparks against ash.
Mane leaned back.
"You know."
Flame groaned.
"Whenever you start a sentence like that, it's annoying."
"I'm serious."
"That's usually worse."
Mane laughed.
Then looked toward the horizon.
Far beyond the mountains.
Far beyond the forests.
"You'll have rivals someday."
Flame shrugged.
"Good."
"Most people don't want rivals."
"Most people are boring."
Mane snorted.
Fair enough.
Flame folded his arms.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you want rivals?"
Mane thought for a moment.
Then smiled.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because then I'd have to share the fun."
For the first time that day, Flame laughed.
A short laugh.
But genuine.
The brothers sat in comfortable silence.
Neither knowing what the future held.
…
The palace kitchens smelled wonderful.
Fresh bread.
Honey.
Spices.
Warm pastries cooling on wooden racks.
It was Squiddo's favorite place in the entire castle.
Which was exactly why she was currently stealing from it.
"You're not supposed to take those."
Squiddo looked up.
Wemmbu stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
She stuffed half the pastry into her mouth.
"I wasn't taking it."
"You literally have it."
She swallowed.
"I was borrowing it."
"That's not how food works."
Squiddo considered this.
"...temporary borrowing?"
Wemmbu sighed.
She handed him another pastry.
His expression immediately softened.
"Thank you."
"See? Now you're stealing too."
"We're royalty."
"Oh."
She nodded.
"Strategic borrowing."
A few minutes later, the twins were wandering the halls together.
Squiddo was happily munching away while Wemmbu read a book he'd stolen from the library.
Which, according to Squiddo, was also strategic borrowing.
They rounded a corner.
Then stopped.
Voices.
Several voices.
Coming from the council chamber.
The large doors weren't completely closed.
A narrow gap remained.
Squiddo's eyes lit up.
Wemmbu immediately recognized that expression.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Absolutely yes."
"Squiddo."
"We're already here."
"We should leave."
"We should investigate."
"We are nine."
"Exactly."
Before he could stop her, she crouched beside the door.
Wemmbu groaned.
Then crouched beside her.
Because if Squiddo got caught alone, she'd somehow make everything worse.
Inside the chamber, nobles sat around a long table.
The king sat at its head.
Advisors stood nearby.
Generals.
Ministers.
Powerful people discussing powerful things.
The twins listened quietly.
At first the conversation was boring.
Taxes.
Trade routes.
Border disputes.
Squiddo nearly fell asleep.
Then someone spoke.
"What of the royal children?"
The twins immediately paid attention.
A noble with silver hair leaned forward.
"Prince Wemmbu continues to excel."
Several others nodded.
"The boy is exceptional."
"A gifted swordsman."
"A gifted strategist."
"Strong leadership potential."
Squiddo grinned.
See?
Everybody liked Wemmbu.
That was normal.
Everybody liked Wemmbu.
Then another noble spoke.
"And Princess Squiddo?"
The room grew quieter.
Something felt wrong.
Squiddo stopped chewing.
The silver-haired noble sighed.
"The princess is..."
He hesitated.
"...kind."
Another pause.
Nobody said anything.
The silence was somehow worse.
Finally someone cleared their throat.
"Her combat instructors have submitted reports."
Wemmbu frowned.
A stack of papers slid across the table.
One noble skimmed through them.
His expression became increasingly concerned.
"These can't be accurate."
"They are."
"She accidentally disarmed herself?"
"Twice."
"During the same exercise?"
"Yes."
Another noble rubbed his temples.
"Oh dear."
A few people laughed.
Not cruelly.
But not kindly either.
Squiddo's stomach twisted.
The king remained silent.
Listening.
Watching.
A minister folded his hands.
"The princess possesses many admirable qualities."
Squiddo brightened slightly.
Then he continued.
"But in the current political climate..."
The hope vanished.
"...she represents a vulnerability."
The words landed like stones.
"A vulnerability."
"Other factions will notice."
"She could be used against the Crown."
"Captured."
"Manipulated."
“Held hostage.” (i couldn’t think of any other situations)
Each sentence hurt more than the last.
Squiddo stared at the floor.
The forgotten pastry sat in her hands.
No longer tasting sweet.
Wemmbu's jaw tightened.
He hated this.
Every second of it.
Inside the chamber the discussion continued.
One noble spoke carefully.
"The prince strengthens our position."
"The princess weakens it."
Another nodded.
"It is unfortunate."
"But true."
Squiddo felt something crack.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a small fracture.
Like a chip forming in glass.
For years she'd known she wasn't good at fighting.
She knew she wasn't like Wemmbu.
She knew she wasn't what people expected.
But hearing it spoken aloud was different.
Hearing important people discuss her like a problem that needed solving.
Like a mistake.
Like a burden.
That hurt.
"We should go."
The words came quietly.
Wemmbu looked at her.
For once she wasn't smiling.
For once she wasn't making jokes.
She simply stood up.
And walked away.
The hallway felt much colder.
The castle felt bigger.
Empty somehow.
Squiddo walked quickly.
Not running.
Not crying.
Just walking.
Wemmbu followed.
Neither spoke.
Eventually they reached a balcony overlooking the gardens.
Squiddo sat on the stone railing.
Silent.
The sunset painted the kingdom gold.
Usually she loved sunsets.
Today she barely noticed.
"They're wrong."
Wemmbu said it immediately.
Squiddo stared ahead.
"They're not."
"They are."
"They literally aren't."
"They are."
"Wemmbu."
She laughed.
A small bitter laugh.
"I'm terrible at fighting."
"So?"
"I'm terrible at riding."
"So?"
"I'm terrible at archery."
"So?"
She finally looked at him.
"Those things matter."
Wemmbu looked frustrated.
Because he didn't know how to explain what he was feeling.
He wasn't good with words.
He was good with swords.
Unfortunately swords weren't useful for this.
"They only look at one thing."
"What?"
"Fighting."
He sat beside her.
"They only care about whether you can win battles."
Squiddo shrugged.
"That's important."
"Not as important as they think."
She didn't answer.
After a moment, Wemmbu pointed toward the kitchens below.
Lights glowed warmly through the windows.
Cooks moved between ovens.
Preparing dinner.
"How many people know every cook's name?"
Squiddo blinked.
"What?"
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"Nobody."
He pointed again.
"But you do."
She frowned.
That was a strange argument.
"When one of the servants is sad, who notices first?"
"...me."
"When somebody gets sick?"
"...usually me."
"When the kitchen ran out of food during the winter storm?"
Squiddo looked away.
"I helped."
"You organized the supplies."
"It wasn't a big deal."
"It was."
For the first time, she hesitated.
Because she remembered.
The storm.
The panic.
The shortages.
The adults arguing.
The cooks overwhelmed.
And somehow nine-year-old Squiddo had managed to keep everything running.
Not because she was strong.
Not because she was powerful.
Because she cared.
Wemmbu looked out over the kingdom.
"The nobles see armies."
His voice was quiet.
"I see people."
Then he glanced at her.
"And you're better with people than anyone I know."
Squiddo stared.
The crack inside her didn't disappear.
But it stopped growing.
Just a little.
Far below them, the kingdom continued as normal.
Servants worked.
Guards patrolled.
Citizens laughed in the streets.
And hidden within the council chamber, nobles continued discussing strengths and weaknesses.
Assets and liabilities.
Power and politics.
They did not realize that the princess had heard every word.
They did not know about the absolutely horrible plan being concocted up.
…
The plan began with a terrible idea.
Which was unfortunate.
Because it was also the best idea they had.
Wemmbu was pacing back and forth across his room.
Squiddo sat upside down in a chair.
A position that probably wasn't helping anyone think.
The twins had spent nearly an hour discussing what to do.
Finally Wemmbu stopped pacing.
"I have an idea."
Squiddo perked up.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
Wemmbu took a deep breath.
"We fake your death."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
A bird outside stopped singing.
Even nature seemed confused.
Squiddo blinked.
"What."
"We fake your death."
"WHAT."
"We fake your death."
"THAT'S THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH?!"
"It's a good plan!"
"IT'S A TERRIBLE PLAN!"
"It solves everything!"
"It stops me from being alive!”
The argument continued for approximately three minutes.
Neither child noticed the door slowly opening.
Or two figures sneaking inside.
Or the fact that those figures had already been listening.
The door burst open.
"ARE WE PLOTTING A FAKE DEATH?!"
The twins screamed.
Standing in the doorway were two children.
Jumper.
And Kab.
Both exactly the same age as the twins.
Both grinning.
Both somehow appearing at the worst possible time.
"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?" shouted Wemmbu.
Jumper thought for a moment.
"Long enough to hear the fake death part."
Kab nodded.
"And the screaming."
"There was a lot of screaming."
Squiddo buried her face in her hands.
"This is going horribly."
Kab sat down.
"Counterpoint."
She folded her arms.
"This is fascinating."
Jumper immediately jumped onto the bed.
"Who's dying?"
"Nobody."
"Then why are we planning a fake death?"
"Because apparently that's my brother's solution to everything."
Wemmbu pointed accusingly.
"I have other solutions."
"Name one."
"..."
"Exactly."
Unfortunately.
The more they discussed the idea...
The less terrible it seemed.
And that was deeply concerning.
Kab quickly took control.
Which was a mistake.
Because Kab loved schemes.
"We need witnesses."
"We need evidence."
"We need a believable cause."
Jumper nodded excitedly.
"We need drama."
"Not drama."
"A little drama."
"Fine. A little drama."
Squiddo stared.
"Why are you both good at this?"
Neither answered.
The poisoning idea came from Jumper.
Which should have been everyone's first warning sign.
"What if Squiddo gets poisoned?"
"No."
"Fake poisoned."
"No."
"A mysterious illness."
"No."
"A magical curse."
"No."
Jumper pointed dramatically.
"A suspicious pastry."
Squiddo gasped.
"Not the pastries."
Eventually they settled on a story.
Princess Squiddo would become gravely ill.
A healer would be summoned.
The healer would fail.
The princess would need treatment elsewhere.
Then, during transport...
Bandits would attack.
Squiddo would be kidnapped.
The kidnappers would flee toward the cliffs.
A struggle would occur.
And finally...
The princess would supposedly fall.
Body lost forever.
Tragic.
Convincing.
And most importantly...
Impossible to verify.
Kab volunteered for the role of healer.
For reasons nobody understood.
A week later she appeared wearing a giant cloak.
A fake beard.
And spectacles.
The beard kept falling off.
Inside the royal chambers, nobles gathered around Squiddo's bed.
The princess lay dramatically beneath blankets.
"She's dying," whispered Jumper.
Squiddo gave her a thumbs up.
"Stop doing that," hissed Wemmbu.
Kab entered.
The fake beard immediately fell off.
Everyone stared.
Kab picked it up.
Put it back on.
Continued walking.
Nobody questioned it.
Years later nobody would admit this happened.
The fake healer examined Squiddo.
"Hmm."
Kab nodded seriously.
"Hmm indeed."
The king looked concerned.
"Can you save her?"
Kab stroked her beard.
Which detached again.
"It is beyond my abilities."
Gasps filled the room.
The rumors spread quickly.
The princess was sick.
The princess was dying.
The princess might not survive.
The kingdom mourned.
And hidden beneath the blankets, Squiddo felt increasingly guilty.
Then came the second phase.
The kidnapping.
A royal carriage departed at dawn.
Inside sat Squiddo.
Wemmbu.
Jumper.
Kab.
And approximately twelve snacks.
Priorities.
Halfway through the journey, "bandits" attacked.
The bandits were actually several loyal knights.
Wearing extremely unconvincing disguises.
One forgot to remove his royal crest.
Another waved at Wemmbu.
The prince had to pretend not to notice.
The carriage overturned.
A staged struggle followed.
Tracks were planted.
Evidence scattered.
And by sunset the kingdom received horrifying news.
The princess had been taken.
Search parties rushed out.
Soldiers combed forests.
Knights searched mountains.
Then, three days later...
More evidence appeared.
Broken wagon pieces.
Footprints.
Signs of a fight.
Leading toward a cliffside.
And then...
Nothing.
No body.
No survivors.
No answers.
Just a sheer drop into the crashing sea below.
The official conclusion was unavoidable.
Princess Squiddo had died.
The funeral was held a week later.
The kingdom wept.
Servants cried openly.
The cooks mourned.
Even some nobles seemed genuinely saddened.
Because despite everything...
People had liked Squiddo.
High above the crowd, hidden beneath a cloak, Squiddo watched.
Beside her stood Wemmbu.
Neither spoke.
The bells rang.
The kingdom mourned.
And for the first time...
The lie became real.
…
The town crier stepped onto the platform.
His voice echoed across the city.
"HEAR YE! HEAR YE!"
The crowd fell silent.
The crier lowered his head.
"It is with great sorrow that I announce the death of Princess Squiddo."
A wave of grief swept through the square.
"The beloved daughter of the Crown Faction has perished."
Many people began crying.
Flowers were laid throughout the city.
Candles burned through the night.
The kingdom mourned its lost princess.
…
Hundreds of miles away, another town crier climbed onto another platform.
The people of the [PLACEHOLDER] Faction gathered.
The crier unrolled a scroll.
"OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE GRAND EMPIRE."
People listened politely.
"The Princess Squiddo has died."
A pause.
Someone nodded.
"That's unfortunate."
Another person shrugged.
A third continued eating lunch.
In a training yard nearby, a young Flame listened while practicing with Mane.
The messenger finished the announcement.
Flame twirled his sword.
"Huh."
Mane glanced over.
"Someone important?"
"A princess."
"Oh."
Mane returned to training.
"Anyway."
"Anyway."
And the brothers continued sparring.
…
The shack was terrible.
That was the official consensus.
It was small.
Dusty.
Drafty.
And located in the middle of nowhere.
Which was exactly why nobody would think to look there.
Unfortunately, that also meant there was absolutely nothing to do.
For three days.
Three entire days.
Squiddo had been hiding there while the kingdom mourned her “death”.
At first it had been exciting.
Secret plans.
Secret hideouts.
Secret identities.
Now?
Now Squiddo was lying face-down on the floor.
"I'M BORED."
Nobody looked up.
They'd heard this twenty-seven times already.
Wemmbu was reading reports.
Jumper was sharpening a dagger.
Kab was writing something in a notebook that was probably illegal.
Life continued.
"I'm bored."
No response.
"I'm bored."
Nothing.
"I'm bored."
Kab finally looked up.
"Fascinating."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Squiddo rolled over dramatically.
The wooden floor creaked.
"I can't just sit here forever."
"You've been here three days."
"Exactly."
"Three days is not forever."
"It feels like forever."
Wemmbu finally sighed.
Without looking up from his papers.
"Get a job."
Silence.
Squiddo sat upright.
"A what?"
"A job."
"I'm a princess."
"No."
Wemmbu pointed at her.
"You're dead."
"Right."
"You need a new identity."
Squiddo groaned.
Jumper immediately brightened.
"Ooh."
That tone never led anywhere good.
"You should become a knight."
Kab looked interested.
Wemmbu looked concerned.
Squiddo looked horrified.
"A knight?"
"Yeah!"
Jumper jumped to her feet.
"You can train with us."
She swung her dagger dramatically.
"We'll go on adventures."
Kab nodded.
"Blackmail people."
"That's not a knight thing."
"It's a Kab thing."
"Fair."
Squiddo stared.
Then pointed at herself.
"Do you remember why we're here?"
Jumper blinked.
"No."
"I can't fight."
"Oh."
"You literally watched me lose to a training dummy."
"Right."
"The entire reason I'm technically dead is because I can't fight."
Jumper slowly sat back down.
"Good point."
Kab tapped her notebook thoughtfully.
"Become a cook."
Everyone turned.
"What?"
Kab shrugged.
"You already spend all your time in the kitchens."
Squiddo blinked.
"That's true."
"You know all the cooks."
"Also true."
"You can actually cook."
"Very true."
Wemmbu lowered his reports.
For the first time all day he looked genuinely interested.
"Wait."
Kab nodded.
"The palace cook."
Jumper tilted her head.
"...that's actually a good idea."
Squiddo sat thinking.
The palace kitchens.
The smell of fresh bread.
The ovens.
The cooks.
The recipes.
The organized chaos.
The place she'd always liked more than training grounds.
More than lessons.
More than royal ceremonies.
A smile slowly appeared.
"Oh."
Kab pointed.
"See?"
"Oh!"
The smile became bigger.
"WAIT."
She stood up.
"I ACTUALLY WANT TO DO THAT."
The others blinked.
Usually it took far more convincing.
"I could learn recipes."
Squiddo began pacing.
"I could bake things."
She pointed dramatically.
"I could make soup."
Jumper nodded.
"An admirable goal."
"I could make pastries."
Kab nodded.
"Excellent."
"I COULD MAKE GIANT PASTRIES."
"Maybe start smaller."
The more she talked, the more excited she became.
For the first time since the fake death, she looked genuinely happy.
Not pretending.
Actually happy.
Wemmbu noticed.
And quietly smiled.
Because he'd been worried.
The fake death had solved the political problem.
But it had also taken away Squiddo's entire life.
Her name.
Her title.
Her future.
He'd been afraid she would resent it.
Instead she was currently planning an empire of baked goods.
"I'll need a fake name."
"Obviously," said Kab.
"A disguise."
"Obviously," said Jumper.
"A chef hat."
"...yes," admitted Wemmbu.
Squiddo pointed at him.
"And when I'm the greatest cook in the kingdom..."
"Yes?"
"You'll get free pastries."
Wemmbu considered this.
"Best plan we've had all week."
Kab closed her notebook.
"It is settled then."
Jumper raised a hand.
"What should her fake name be?"
Everyone fell silent.
Five minutes later they had somehow produced:
Lady Dough
Susan
The Muffin Phantom
Princess Definitely Not Squiddo
None were accepted.
…
The palace kitchens were in the middle of a crisis.
Not a serious crisis.
Not a kingdom-ending crisis.
A kitchen crisis.
Which, according to the head chef, was worse.
"WHO PUT CINNAMON IN THE STEW?!"
A dozen cooks immediately pointed at each other.
The head chef looked ready to declare war.
Right in the middle of this chaos, the doors swung open.
Prince Wemmbu entered.
The entire kitchen froze.
Because princes did not usually visit.
And when they did, it was never a good sign.
The head chef immediately straightened.
"Your Highness."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Chef."
The head chef blinked.
The prince looked oddly nervous.
Which was unusual.
Behind him stood a girl.
Brown hair.
Simple clothes.
A large hat pulled low over her face.
And an expression that screamed please don't notice me.
The chef frowned.
"Who is this?"
Wemmbu opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then pointed at the girl.
"This is Florence."
Squiddo nearly choked.
Florence?
Florence?!
That was the fake name they'd chosen?
The chef raised an eyebrow.
"Florence."
"Yes."
Wemmbu nodded confidently.
Far more confidently than somebody who had clearly invented the name five seconds ago.
Squiddo, now apparently Florence, gave an awkward wave.
"Hello."
The head chef looked between them.
Slowly.
Suspiciously.
Very suspiciously.
"Why is Florence here?"
Wemmbu immediately answered.
"She wants to be a cook."
Silence.
The chef stared.
Wemmbu stared back.
The kitchen staff watched like spectators at a tennis match.
Finally the chef folded his arms.
"And why are you telling me this personally?"
Wemmbu blinked.
Because he had not actually prepared for this question.
"...because she wants to be a cook."
The chef continued staring.
Wemmbu pointed at Squiddo.
"Take her in."
The chef blinked.
"What?"
"Take her in."
"Your Highness."
"Yes?"
"You cannot just walk into my kitchen and hand me random people."
Wemmbu looked genuinely confused.
The possibility had apparently never occurred to him.
Squiddo buried her face in her hands.
This was going horribly.
The chef sighed.
"Can she cook?"
Immediately Wemmbu pointed at Squiddo.
Squiddo pointed at herself.
"Yes," she said.
The chef raised an eyebrow.
"Can you prove it?"
"...probably."
"Probably?"
A nearby cook whispered:
"She's doomed."
Another nodded.
"Absolutely doomed."
The head chef pointed toward a work station.
"Fine."
Squiddo froze.
The chef continued.
"Make something."
"What?"
"Anything."
"What if it's bad?"
"Then you fail."
"Oh."
Wemmbu quietly stepped backward.
Very far backward.
He was not about to save her from this.
Squiddo stared at the ingredients.
The ingredients stared back.
A battle of wills commenced.
Finally she rolled up her sleeves.
"Okay."
An hour later...
The kitchen smelled amazing.
The head chef frowned.
Then frowned harder.
Then frowned even harder.
Because he was trying very hard not to be impressed.
A tray of pastries sat before him.
Perfectly golden.
Perfectly baked.
Perfectly shaped.
The chef took a bite.
The entire kitchen watched.
Silence.
The chef took another bite.
More silence.
Then another.
"Chef?"
No response.
"Chef?"
Still nothing.
Finally he swallowed.
Pointed at Squiddo.
And declared:
"She's hired."
The kitchen erupted.
Squiddo blinked.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
The chef grabbed another pastry.
"Nobody who bakes like this is leaving my kitchen."
A cheer erupted from the cooks.
Several immediately dragged Squiddo toward the workstations.
As far as they were concerned, she'd already been adopted.
Wemmbu watched from the doorway.
Relieved.
For the first time since the fake death, everything seemed like it might actually work.
The head chef approached him.
Quietly.
"Your Highness."
"Yes?"
The chef glanced toward Squiddo.
Who was already laughing with the other cooks.
Already fitting in.
Already looking more at home than she ever had in the training yard.
"Where did you find her?"
Wemmbu looked at Squiddo.
Then back at the chef.
"A cliff."
The chef blinked.
"What?"
"What?"
Neither elaborated.
The chef decided he didn't want to know.
Across the kitchen, one of the cooks handed Squiddo an apron.
Another handed her a tray.
A third immediately started teaching her recipes.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn't Princess Squiddo.
She wasn't a political problem.
She wasn't a weakness.
She wasn't a dead girl.
She was Florence.
A cook.
A very good cook.
…
(TIMESKIP)
A lot could change in nine years.
Some things, however, remained exactly the same.
For example:
Squiddo was still causing problems.
Just different ones.
At eighteen years old, Florence, formerly known as Princess Squiddo, was officially the Head Chef of the royal palace.
Nobody questioned how she'd gotten the position so young.
Mostly because nobody wanted to argue with the woman responsible for their meals.
The cooks adored her.
The servants adored her.
The guards adored her.
Half the kingdom would probably start a rebellion if she stopped making pastries.
Prince Wemmbu had become exactly what everyone expected.
Tall.
Respected.
Dangerously intelligent.
One of the finest duelists in the kingdom.
The nobles practically worshipped him.
The soldiers followed him without question.
His enemies hated him.
Which, according to Jumper, was usually a good sign.
Jumper had become a knight.
Officially.
Unofficially she now commanded an absurdly large spy network.
Nobody knew how many spies worked for her.
Every time somebody asked, the number somehow increased.
Kab had also become a knight.
Which remained deeply concerning.
She still collected secrets.
She still blackmailed people.
She simply had official paperwork now.
And somehow...
The four of them were still friends.
Currently they occupied a private sitting room overlooking the palace gardens.
It was supposed to be a meeting room.
Instead it had become their designated location for nonsense.
"Soup is a beverage."
"No."
"It literally is."
"No."
Squiddo pointed dramatically.
"It is a liquid."
Kab didn't even look up from her notebook.
"So is poison."
"Poison isn't a beverage."
"Exactly."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"It proves enough."
Jumper was nearly falling out of her chair laughing.
Meanwhile Wemmbu had developed the exhausted expression of a man trapped in a conversation against his will.
"It's not a beverage."
"It is."
"It's a food."
"It's a drink."
"It's a food."
"It's both."
"That's illegal."
Squiddo slammed her hands on the table.
"YOU CAN DRINK SOUP."
"You can drink gravy."
"Nobody drinks gravy."
Kab looked up.
"I know three people who do."
Everyone turned.
A brief silence followed.
"Were they arrested?"
"No."
"They should've been."
"Fine."
Squiddo crossed her arms.
"What about cereal?"
"Oh no."
Wemmbu immediately knew where this was going.
"Oh yes."
"Cereal is soup."
The room exploded.
"IT IS NOT."
"IT LITERALLY IS."
"KAB TELL HER."
Kab thought for a moment.
"I think cereal is closer to a stew."
Wemmbu buried his face in his hands.
At that exact moment the doors burst open.
BANG.
A guard stumbled inside.
Out of breath.
Panicked.
Covered in dust.
Everyone immediately stood.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Years of training kicking in.
For everyone except Squiddo.
"What happened?" Wemmbu asked.
The guard saluted.
"Your Highness."
His breathing was still ragged.
"The castle is under attack."
Silence.
The joking vanished.
Wemmbu's expression hardened.
"Report."
"An armed force arrived at the southern gate."
"How many?"
"About fifty."
Jumper frowned.
"Only fifty?"
The guard swallowed.
"They aren't trying to breach the walls."
"What?"
"They haven't attacked anyone."
Now everyone looked confused.
"What are they doing then?" Squiddo asked.
The guard hesitated.
Then answered.
"They're requesting a duel."
Silence.
"What."
The guard looked directly at Wemmbu.
"They requested a formal duel with Prince Wemmbu."
Jumper blinked.
Kab blinked.
Squiddo blinked.
Wemmbu sighed.
A very long sigh.
The sigh of a man who already knew exactly who was responsible.
"Let me guess."
The guard nodded.
"They're carrying black and orange banners."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Wemmbu sighed again.
Jumper groaned.
Kab pinched the bridge of her nose.
Squiddo immediately burst out laughing.
"No."
Wemmbu pointed at her.
"Don't."
"IT'S FLAME ISN'T IT?"
"Yes."
Squiddo doubled over.
"HE BROUGHT AN ENTIRE ARMED ESCORT JUST TO ASK FOR A DUEL?"
The guard looked confused.
"Is... that unusual?"
All four answered simultaneously.
"NO."
Because this was not the first duel request.
Or the second.
Or the tenth.
Prince Flame had been finding increasingly creative excuses to challenge Prince Wemmbu for years.
Last month it had been:
"I believe your horse looked at me disrespectfully."
Before that:
"Your banner is ugly."
Before that:
"I was bored."
And somehow those had been among the more reasonable explanations.
The guard looked between them.
Wemmbu grabbed his sword belt.
"What's his excuse this time?"
The guard unfolded a letter.
Cleared his throat.
And read aloud.
"Prince Wemmbu."
"You have avoided my challenges for three whole weeks."
"This is unacceptable."
"Come outside."
"Flame."
Silence.
Then a second line.
Written much smaller.
"Mane says this is childish but I disagree."
Jumper immediately started laughing.
Kab looked disappointed.
"I was expecting something more threatening."
Squiddo wiped tears from her eyes.
Wemmbu stared at the ceiling.
Questioning every life decision that had led him here.
Outside, beyond the castle walls, Prince Flame waited.
Armed.
Dangerous.
One of the greatest fighters in the kingdom.
Standing in front of fifty soldiers.
Just to challenge his rival to a duel.
…
Some things never changed.
…
The duel field outside the palace was packed.
News traveled fast.
Especially when it involved two princes with a history of attempting to inconvenience each other.
Hundreds of spectators crowded the walls.
Guards lined the perimeter.
Nobles placed bets.
Somebody was already selling snacks.
Capitalism always found a way.
At the center of the field stood two figures.
Prince Wemmbu.
Prince Flame.
"This is stupid."
"Then leave."
"You came to my castle."
"You took three weeks to respond to my last duel request."
"Because I was busy."
Flame pointed his sword.
"Excuses."
The referee sighed.
He had refereed seven of their duels already.
He deserved hazard pay.
Nearby, Squiddo, Jumper, and Kab occupied a section of the viewing area.
Officially, Florence the Head Chef was not supposed to be there.
Unofficially, nobody was going to stop her.
Mostly because she had brought pastries.
Several seats away sat Mane.
The older prince looked significantly less enthusiastic about the entire situation.
Which made sense.
He had probably spent the entire trip listening to Flame talk about this duel.
Squiddo noticed him.
Thought for a moment.
Then held out a tray.
"Pastry?"
Mane accepted immediately.
"No hesitation?" asked Squiddo.
"No."
The prince took a bite.
His eyes widened slightly.
"That's excellent."
"Thank you."
Kab stared.
Mane continued eating.
Kab continued staring.
Finally she spoke.
"You know those could be poisoned."
Mane swallowed.
"Yes."
Silence.
Kab blinked.
"That's your response?"
Mane shrugged.
"If they wanted me dead, there are easier methods."
Squiddo looked pleased.
"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"I don't think it was intended as a compliment.”
Jumper was already stealing pastries from the tray.
Meanwhile, in the center of the field...
The duel began.
CLANG.
The crowd erupted.
Flame attacked first.
Fast.
Aggressive.
His blade cut toward Wemmbu's shoulder.
Wemmbu blocked effortlessly.
Countered.
Forced Flame backward.
CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
Steel rang through the air.
Most duels had moments of hesitation.
Moments of uncertainty.
These two skipped that part entirely.
Years of rivalry collided in a storm of strikes.
Flame pressed forward.
Relentless.
Every attack flowing into the next.
Like fire consuming dry wood.
Wemmbu remained composed.
Every movement efficient.
Precise.
Calculated.
Like a chess player holding a sword.
Neither gained ground.
The crowd watched in awe.
The soldiers of the Grand Empire cheered when Wemmbu landed a strike.
The soldiers of the [PLACEHOLDER] Faction cheered when Flame returned one.
The score remained exactly even.
Back in the stands...
Mane was on his third pastry.
Squiddo looked delighted.
Kab still seemed bothered.
"You genuinely didn't think twice."
"No."
"They're from a rival faction."
"They're pastries."
Kab opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"That is terrible risk assessment."
Mane pointed toward the duel.
"Those two have spent years trying to outmaneuver each other."
CLANG.
Another exchange.
"Compared to that..."
He took another bite.
"...a pastry seems relatively safe."
Squiddo nodded.
"A wise man.”
Kab looked horrified.
On the field, Flame swept low.
Wemmbu jumped back.
Counterattacked immediately.
Their swords collided again.
And again.
And again.
Neither prince seemed tired.
Which was deeply annoying for everyone else.
The referee was tired.
The audience was tired.
The guards were tired.
The horses were probably tired.
The princes?
Not at all.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Then forty.
Still no winner.
Jumper was now lying across three seats.
"This is just their normal conversations.”
"What?"
asked a nearby guard.
"They're communicating."
The guard looked confused.
"With swords."
The guard looked more confused.
"How do you know?"
Jumper pointed.
Sure enough, between clashes:
"Still arrogant."
CLANG.
"Still annoying."
CLANG.
"Your footwork is worse."
CLANG.
"Your face is worse."
CLANG.
"..."
The guard slowly nodded.
"That does sound like a conversation."
Back in the stands, Mane finished another pastry.
Squiddo immediately offered him another.
"Thanks.”
Kab looked personally offended.
"Do you trust everyone this quickly?"
"No."
"Then why her?"
Mane thought for a moment.
"Because if she's trying to kill me, these are the best pastries I've ever had."
Squiddo looked emotional.
"That's beautiful."
Across the field...
Wemmbu and Flame locked blades.
For a moment neither moved.
Both pushing.
Both refusing to yield.
The crowd fell silent.
The tension built.
Then Flame smirked.
"Your chef makes good pastries."
Wemmbu froze.
"...what?"
"Your chef."
Flame shoved him backward.
"Mane won't stop talking about them."
Somewhere in the stands, Squiddo immediately choked.
Kab smacked her on the back.
…
Wemmbu and Flame had been fighting for nearly an hour.
Neither was winning.
Neither was losing.
Both were apparently fueled by pure stubbornness.
CLANG.
The crowd cheered.
Meanwhile, a completely different disaster was unfolding in the stands.
Squiddo was handing out pastries.
Jumper was eating pastries.
Kab was judging everyone.
And Mane was staring.
Not in a creepy way.
In a thinking way.
Which was somehow worse.
Squiddo noticed.
Immediately became nervous.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Mane blinked.
"Hm?"
"You're staring."
"I am."
"Why?"
Mane frowned slightly.
"You look familiar."
Every muscle in Squiddo's body froze.
Across from her, Kab froze too.
Jumper nearly inhaled an entire pastry.
"Oh?"
Squiddo managed.
Mane nodded slowly.
Still thinking.
"I've definitely seen you before."
Kab's eyes narrowed.
Danger.
Danger.
Danger.
The fake death had worked for years.
Years.
Nobody had connected Florence the chef with Princess Squiddo.
And now this man was looking directly at her.
Thinking.
Recognizing.
"Oh no," Jumper muttered.
"What?"
asked Mane.
"Nothing."
Mane kept staring.
Squiddo desperately searched for an escape.
"Maybe you saw me in the kitchens."
"No."
"A market?"
"No."
"A bakery?"
"No."
"A dream?"
"...what?"
"Forget that one."
Mane rubbed his chin.
"I know who you remind me of."
Squiddo's soul left her body.
Kab's hand slowly moved toward a hidden knife.
Jumper looked ready to fake another death.
Mane snapped his fingers.
"A princess."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Somewhere in the distance:
CLANG.
The duel continued completely unaware.
Mane frowned.
"What was her name?"
Nobody breathed.
"Princess..."
Squiddo stared.
Kab stared.
Jumper stared.
"Princess..."
The tension became unbearable.
Then Mane brightened.
"Oh."
Everyone braced themselves.
"Princess... uh..."
He paused.
Longer.
And longer.
And longer.
Finally:
"I don't remember."
The collective relief nearly caused a small earthquake.
"Oh thank goodness," whispered Jumper.
"What?" asked Mane.
"Nothing."
Mane shrugged.
"She died years ago."
Squiddo made a strange choking noise.
"Are you okay?"
"Yep."
"No, you aren't."
"Never better."
"You look terrified."
"That's just my face."
Kab buried her face in her hands.
Mane continued thinking.
"Big glasses."
Squiddo immediately stopped breathing again.
"Brown hair."
Kab began mentally calculating witness removal strategies.
"Always smiling."
Jumper looked ready to jump off the castle wall.
Mane pointed.
"Just like you."
Squiddo laughed.
Far too loudly.
"HAHAHAHA."
Mane blinked.
"That was a weird laugh."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Thanks."
The duel field exploded with cheers.
Everyone turned.
A temporary distraction.
Wemmbu and Flame had finally separated after another vicious exchange.
The crowd's attention shifted.
Unfortunately, Mane wasn't finished.
He glanced back toward Squiddo.
Still thinking.
Still suspicious.
"You know."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"I'm just getting ahead of things."
Mane snorted.
For a moment he studied her face.
Then shrugged.
"Nah."
Squiddo nearly collapsed.
"The princess was terrible at hiding things."
"..."
"You seem smarter."
"..."
"Plus she's dead."
"..."
"So it couldn't be her."
"..."
"Right?"
Kab kicked Squiddo under the bench before she could answer.
"RIGHT?"
"Right!"
Squiddo squeaked.
Mane nodded.
Completely satisfied.
"Thought so."
And just like that, he returned to eating pastries.
Leaving behind three people who had collectively aged ten years during the conversation.
Across the field, Wemmbu glanced toward the stands.
He immediately noticed the expressions.
Jumper looked traumatized.
Kab looked homicidal.
Squiddo looked like she'd seen a ghost.
Wemmbu's eyes narrowed.
What happened?
Nobody answered.
Because explaining that the enemy prince's brother had almost accidentally solved a nine-year-old conspiracy would have taken far too long.
Instead, Squiddo grabbed another pastry.
Stress eating was a perfectly reasonable response to this.
…
The duel ended the way most duels between Wemmbu and Flame ended.
With absolutely nothing accomplished.
CLANG.
The princes broke apart.
Both breathing heavily.
Both covered in dust.
Both glaring.
The referee stepped forward.
A man who had long since given up on finding joy in life.
He raised a hand.
"ENOUGH."
Neither prince moved.
"I DECLARE THE DUEL A DRAW."
The crowd groaned.
Not because it was unfair.
Because it was predictable.
Every noble who had placed bets immediately began arguing.
The referee walked away before anyone could complain.
He'd earned it.
Flame lowered his sword.
Wemmbu lowered his.
"Draw."
"Draw."
"I almost had you."
"You absolutely did not."
"I absolutely did."
"You spent half the duel losing."
Flame grinned.
"You still didn't win."
"..."
"..."
"Fair."
The two princes parted.
Flame headed toward the [PLACEHOLDER] delegation.
Wemmbu toward his friends.
The moment he arrived, Squiddo grabbed him by both shoulders.
"WE'RE COOKED."
"What?"
"WE ARE SO COOKED.”
"What happened?"
"IT'S OVER."
"What is?"
"MY LIFE."
Wemmbu blinked.
Squiddo pointed dramatically.
"I'M GOING TO DIE."
"What."
"I'M GOING TO BE HELD HOSTAGE."
"What."
"THEY'RE GOING TO FIND OUT."
"What."
"HELP."
Wemmbu looked at Kab.
Kab looked at Jumper.
Jumper looked at a pastry.
The pastry offered no answers.
Finally Kab sighed.
"Mane."
Wemmbu froze.
"Oh no."
Across the field, Mane and Flame were talking near their horses.
Mane was gesturing.
Flame looked confused.
Mane gestured more.
Flame looked even more confused.
"What did he do?"
Kab narrowed her eyes.
"That idiot is onto us."
Squiddo immediately made a strangled noise.
"SEE?"
"He isn't onto us."
"HE IS."
"He isn't."
"HE LOOKED AT ME.”
"People do that."
"HE RECOGNIZED ME."
Wemmbu paused.
"What?”
Kab pointed.
"He said she reminded him of a dead princess."
Silence.
The prince slowly turned.
"What."
"He couldn't remember her name."
"What."
"He remembered the big glasses."
"What."
"He remembered the hair."
"What."
"He remembered the personality."
"What."
"He almost figured it out."
"What."
Jumper patted Wemmbu's shoulder.
"We had the same reaction."
The prince stared into the distance.
Far away, Mane laughed at something Flame had said.
Completely unaware that four people were discussing him like they had to kill him for being onto them.
"He doesn't know."
Wemmbu finally said.
Kab folded her arms.
"Yet."
"He forgot her name."
"Yet."
"He thinks she's dead."
"Yet."
"He has the investigative instincts of a loaf of bread."
"Yet."
Wemmbu considered this.
"...that's actually fair."
Squiddo buried her face in the table.
"I'M GOING TO BE KIDNAPPED."
"No."
"I'M GOING TO BE HELD FOR RANSOM."
"No."
"I'M GOING TO BE THROWN INTO A DUNGEON."
"No."
"I'M GOING TO BE FORCED TO EAT BAD FOOD."
Everyone paused.
That was admittedly the worst possibility.
Jumper nodded solemnly.
"We can't let that happen."
"THANK YOU."
Kab sighed.
"Nobody is kidnapping you."
"But what if they do?"
"They won't."
"But what if they do?"
"They won't."
"But–"
"They won't."
Across the field, Mane suddenly looked over.
Directly at them.
Squiddo immediately ducked behind Wemmbu.
The prince stumbled.
"What are you doing?"
"HIDING."
"He can still see you."
Squiddo ducked lower.
"NOT IF I BELIEVE HARD ENOUGH."
Kab physically covered her eyes.
Jumper started laughing.
And across the field, Mane squinted.
"Why is the chef hiding behind Wemmbu?"
Flame glanced over.
"The chef?"
"The pastry one."
"Oh."
Flame shrugged.
"Maybe she's weird."
Mane thought about it.
"...fair."
And just like that, the conversation moved on.
Kab watched this happen.
Then slowly lowered her head onto the table.
"How."
"What?"
asked Wemmbu.
"How are they our enemies?"
"What do you mean?"
Kab pointed.
"One almost solved a decade-old secret."
"Right."
"The other accepted 'maybe she's weird' as a complete explanation."
Wemmbu looked over.
Then sighed.
"...honestly?"
"What?"
"I think that's why we're still alive."
…
The Royal Archives were quiet.
Always quiet.
The kind of quiet where even turning a page felt loud.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched toward the ceiling.
Ancient books.
Tax records.
Military reports.
Genealogies.
Maps.
Letters.
Enough paperwork to make even the bravest knight surrender.
At a large table near the back sat two royal scholars.
4CVIT.
And Cube.
Both were twenty.
Both were exceptionally intelligent.
Both had spent the last six hours sorting administrative records.
Which meant they were rapidly losing their minds.
Cube stared at a stack of papers.
"I hate paperwork."
4CVIT looked up from a ledger.
"You say that every day."
"Because I hate paperwork every day."
"Understandable."
Cube groaned.
"How does the kingdom generate this much paper?"
"We have nobles."
"Good point."
The conversation ended.
Mostly because neither could argue with that.
A few minutes passed.
Cube picked up another file.
"What is this?"
4CVIT shrugged.
"No idea."
Cube squinted.
"Personnel records."
"Exciting."
"It really isn't."
Cube flipped through several pages.
Kitchen staff.
Servants.
Guards.
Stable workers.
Messengers.
Then he paused.
"Huh."
4CVIT didn't look up.
"Huh what?"
"Huh."
"That's not helpful."
Cube pointed.
"This chef."
"What chef?"
"Florence."
4CVIT immediately nodded.
"The pastry one."
"The pastry one."
"The best employee in the palace."
"The best employee in the palace."
"The reason I survived the scholar tests.” (finals basically)
"Agreed."
Cube continued reading.
Then frowned.
"That's weird."
4CVIT looked up.
"What?"
Cube tapped the paper.
"Florence technically doesn't exist."
Silence.
"What."
"She has no birth records."
"Maybe they're missing."
"No family records."
"Still possible."
"No residence records."
"Okay that's weird."
"No tax records."
"Tax evasion."
Cube flipped another page.
"She just sort of... appears nine years ago."
The scholars stared.
"Like a ghost."
"A pastry-producing ghost."
The worst kind.
4CVIT pulled the file closer.
One minute you're organizing records.
The next you're uncovering a century-old conspiracy.
4CVIT began searching nearby shelves.
Cube watched.
"What are you doing?"
"Investigating.”
"Oh no."
"What?"
"You used the investigating voice."
4CVIT ignored him.
A few moments later he returned carrying another file.
Cube glanced at the title.
Then froze.
The Death of Princess Squiddo.
"...why did you grab that?"
4CVIT slowly opened the file.
"Because Florence appeared nine years ago."
"Oh."
"Princess Squiddo disappeared nine years ago."
"Oh."
"The timelines match."
"Oh."
Both scholars looked at each other.
Then immediately looked away.
"No."
said Cube.
"No."
said 4CVIT.
"That's ridiculous."
"Completely ridiculous."
"Insane."
"Absurd."
"Impossible."
"Absolutely impossible."
Silence.
Cube slowly pointed toward the file.
"...keep reading."
"Agreed."
Several minutes passed.
The deeper they dug...
The worse it got.
Princess Squiddo.
Brown hair.
Florence.
Brown hair.
Princess Squiddo.
Known for spending excessive time in the kitchens.
Florence.
Literally lives in the kitchens.
Princess Squiddo.
Reportedly excellent baker.
Florence.
Head chef.
Princess Squiddo.
Described in several records as "excessively friendly."
Florence.
Once gave free pastries to a tax collector.
The evidence continued piling up.
And neither scholar liked it.
Cube slowly lowered the papers.
"Bro.”
4CVIT nodded.
"Bro."
Cube pointed at the records.
"Bro."
4CVIT pointed at the records.
"Bro."
The scholars sat in silence.
Then Cube said the sentence neither of them wanted to say.
"Florence is the princess.”
4CVIT nodded.
"Florence is the princess."
"Florence."
"The chef."
"The pastry chef."
"The one who keeps giving us free snacks."
"The free snack princess."
"The free snack princess."
Silence.
Cube leaned back.
"I don't know what to do with this information."
"Neither do I."
"Should we tell someone?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good."
"Because I enjoy being alive."
"Same."
They both looked toward the ceiling.
Cube folded the papers.
"So."
"So."
"We're never speaking about this again."
"Correct."
Another pause.
"Unless she stops giving us pastries."
4CVIT considered this.
"...then maybe we can be persuaded."
"Excellent."
The files quietly disappeared back into the archives.
The scholars returned to work.
And just like that, the number of people who knew Princess Squiddo was alive increased from four...
...to six.
Which, considering the secret was supposed to be known by nobody, was not a particularly encouraging fact.
…
Far from the Grand Empire.
Far from the [PLACEHOLDER] Faction.
Far from the endless rivalry between Flame and Wemmbu.
A lamp burned late into the night.
A young man sat alone in a study.
Books surrounded him.
Maps covered the walls.
Loose papers occupied every available surface.
The room looked less like an office and more like paperwork had declared independence.
The man turned a page.
Then another.
Then another.
He paused.
"Hm."
The word hung in the air.
Not surprised.
Not excited.
Simply interested.
The most dangerous kind of interest.
He adjusted the papers before him.
One particular file sat at the center of the desk.
The Death of Princess Squiddo
A very old report.
Nine years old.
Mostly forgotten.
Most people would've skimmed it.
Nodded.
Moved on.
This man had spent the last three hours reading it.
And he didn't like it.
"Hm."
He said it again.
Then grabbed a pen.
The first note appeared.
No body recovered.
Reasonable.
Not unusual.
Cliffs were dangerous.
The sea was dangerous.
Bodies disappeared.
Still.
He continued reading.
Witness statements inconsistent.
Interesting.
Another note.
Kidnappers never identified.
Odd.
No ransom demand.
Very odd.
Search abruptly concluded.
Suspicious.
The pen tapped against the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Most people viewed history like a finished painting.
The man viewed it like a puzzle.
And this puzzle had missing pieces.
Lots of missing pieces.
He flipped through the reports again.
The timeline felt wrong.
The illness.
The healer.
The kidnapping.
The cliff.
Each event made sense individually.
Together?
Not so much.
The young man leaned back.
"Either this is the unluckiest princess in history..."
He looked at the papers.
"...or somebody was lying."
The room remained silent.
The lamp flickered.
The man continued reading.
There was another thing bothering him.
The healer.
The reports described a mysterious traveling healer.
Appeared suddenly.
Disappeared suddenly.
No records.
No affiliations.
No previous appearances.
No future appearances.
"That's convenient."
Very convenient.
Almost unbelievably convenient.
He made another note.
Find healer.
Then immediately crossed it out.
The healer had vanished nine years ago.
That trail was dead.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
The man stared at the ceiling.
Thinking.
He had people.
People whose entire job involved digging up inconvenient truths.
Most truths were boring.
Tax fraud.
Land disputes.
Occasionally someone accidentally married their cousin.
The usual.
This, however...
This was interesting.
Because the official story worked.
Too well.
Everything fit together neatly.
Almost as if someone had carefully arranged it.
His eyes narrowed.
A smile appeared.
Small.
Dangerous.
The smile of somebody who had just found a mystery.
And mysteries were addictive.
He closed the file.
For now.
Nine years had passed.
Whatever happened was ancient history.
Not important.
Probably.
The lamp crackled softly.
The young man looked toward the stack one final time.
Then quietly moved it to a different pile.
A pile labeled:
Things That Don't Make Sense
The pile was already alarmingly large.
…
Ash liked high places.
They were quiet.
They were isolated.
And most importantly, they made dramatic brooding significantly easier.
The leader of the Invisible Mafia sat beside a tall window overlooking the city.
He wasn't obsessed.
He'd only read it fourteen times.
The file annoyed him.
Which meant he kept returning to it.
Everything else made sense.
Wars made sense.
Greed made sense.
Power made sense.
People made sense.
He cleaned out his entire Things That Don’t Make Sense pile and made it make sense.
Except this.
This?
This felt wrong.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His fingers drummed against the desk.
Then suddenly...
CRASH.
The window exploded open.
Ash didn't even flinch.
A cyan-haired person tumbled through it.
Landed on the floor.
Stood up.
Brushed dust off her cloak.
"Hey Ash."
"Hello Kab."
"Whatcha brooding over?"
Ash looked at the shattered window.
"You entered through a closed window."
"Correct."
"You could have used the door."
"I could."
"Why didn't you?"
Kab looked genuinely confused.
"Because this is faster."
"It is not."
"It feels faster."
Ash pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then gestured toward the chair.
Kab immediately sat down.
"Anyway."
She pointed at the desk.
"What's got you doing the villain stare?"
"I don't do a villain stare."
"You absolutely do."
Ash ignored this.
Mostly because it was true.
He slid the file across the desk.
Kab glanced down.
And immediately froze.
Just for a moment.
A tiny moment.
Barely noticeable.
Most people wouldn't have seen it.
Ash did.
Because noticing things was his job.
His eyes narrowed.
Kab recovered instantly.
Too instantly.
"What is it?"
Ash folded his hands.
"Princess Squiddo."
"Oh."
There it was again.
Tiny.
Brief.
A crack in the mask.
Interesting.
"I want information."
Kab nodded.
"Okay."
Ash tapped a specific page.
"The healer."
Silence.
The room suddenly felt very quiet.
Too quiet.
Ash watched carefully.
"The healer?"
Kab asked.
"Yes."
"The healer from nine years ago?”
"Yes."
"The dead princess healer?"
"Yes."
Kab laughed.
A little too loudly.
"Haha."
Ash didn't react.
"You're acting strangely."
"No I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"You are."
Kab stood.
"Anyway."
Ash stood too.
Immediately.
The movement made Kab pause.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Most people would've simply said no.
Most people would've said the trail was cold.
Most people would've asked why he cared.
Kab looked nervous.
Kab never looked nervous.
Ash leaned forward slightly.
"Do you know something?"
"No."
Too fast.
"Really."
"Yep."
"About the healer."
"Nope."
"About Princess Squiddo."
"Nope."
"About why the reports don't make sense."
"Nope.”
"About why you're sweating."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Kab wiped her forehead.
Then froze.
Ash smiled.
Very slightly.
"Oh."
That single word was somehow terrifying.
Kab immediately took a step backward.
Ash took a step forward.
Not threateningly.
Curiously.
Which was much worse.
"You know something.”
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You absolutely do.”
Kab looked around the room.
Searching for an escape.
Ash noticed.
And became significantly more interested.
Because now it wasn't about Princess Squiddo anymore.
Now it was about Kab.
And Kab was hiding something.
A lot of something.
The realization clicked into place.
The healer.
The princess.
The fake death.
Kab.
Not enough for a conclusion.
But enough for suspicion.
Dangerous suspicion.
Ash opened his mouth.
"Kab."
"Nope."
"What?"
"Nope."
"What does that mean?"
"It means nope.”
"Kab."
"Nope."
"Kab."
"NOPE."
And before Ash could stop her...
She jumped backward.
Through the open window.
And vanished.
Silence.
Ash walked over.
Looked outside.
Nothing.
No cyan hair.
No explanation.
Just the rain.
The leader of the Invisible Mafia stood there for a long moment.
Thinking.
Then he slowly returned to his desk.
Sat down.
And pulled the Squiddo file closer.
Very slowly.
Very carefully.
The smile returned.
That dangerous little smile.
Because Kab had just made a catastrophic mistake.
If she'd laughed?
Fine.
If she'd refused?
Fine.
If she'd said the trail was dead?
Fine.
But panic?
Kab didn't panic.
Not unless something mattered.
Ash opened a fresh notebook.
On the first page he wrote:
Princess Squiddo
Underneath:
Kab knows something.
Underneath that:
Find out what.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
Outside, thunder rolled across the city.
…
The gardens of the [PLACEHOLDER] Faction were peaceful.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Filled with flowers, carefully trimmed hedges, and winding stone paths.
A perfect place to relax after training.
Which was exactly why Flame hated them.
"Why are we here?"
Mane stretched lazily on a stone bench.
"Because normal people rest after sparring."
"We only trained for three hours."
"Exactly."
Flame looked horrified.
Mane rolled his eyes.
The brothers had just finished one of their usual sparring sessions.
Which meant:
Three practice swords had broken.
Two instructors had resigned.
One fence needed repairs.
A productive morning overall.
Nearby, a gardener quietly watered flowers.
Or at least appeared to be a gardener.
The gardener was actually Jumper.
Who was currently disguised beneath a floppy hat.
A fake apron.
And a truly impressive amount of dirt.
She was technically on a spy mission.
Unfortunately the mission had just become personal.
Because she had overheard the word:
"Florence."
Jumper immediately became concerned.
"Florence is a bit off."
Mane was holding a cup of tea.
Flame glanced over.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know."
Very reassuring.
Flame sighed.
"Then why bring it up?"
Mane shrugged.
"She feels familiar."
Jumper immediately watered a flower three times harder than necessary.
The flower did not deserve this.
"Familiar."
Flame looked unimpressed.
"Lots of people are familiar."
"No."
Mane frowned.
"Specifically familiar."
"That's not helpful."
"I know."
The brothers sat in silence.
Jumper attempted to look natural.
This mostly involved aggressively gardening.
A nearby rose bush was becoming concerned.
Then Mane snapped his fingers.
"Wait."
Jumper froze.
"Oh no."
"What?"
asked Flame.
"You remember that princess?"
Jumper stopped breathing.
"What princess?"
"Wemmbu's twin."
Flame thought for a moment.
Then blinked.
"The dead one?"
"The dead one."
"The pastry one?"
"The WHAT?"
Flame shrugged.
"Didn't she like baking?"
"...I think so."
Jumper was rapidly approaching cardiac arrest.
"Anyway."
Mane leaned forward.
"Do you remember how she died?"
Flame immediately answered.
"Nope."
Silence.
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"You don't remember?"
"No."
"At all?"
"No."
Mane stared.
Flame stared back.
"Shouldn't you know?”
"Why?"
"She was royalty."
"Lots of people are royalty."
"She was Wemmbu's sister."
"So?"
Mane looked genuinely offended.
"Your memory is terrible."
"Correct."
Jumper silently thanked every deity she could think of.
Then Mane spoke again.
Unfortunately.
"Maybe we should investigate."
The watering can slipped from Jumper's hands.
"What."
Flame blinked.
"Investigate what?"
"The death."
"Why?"
"Because it's weird."
Flame thought about this.
For one terrible moment...
Jumper watched genuine consideration appear on his face.
"No.”
Relief.
Sweet relief.
Then Flame continued.
"Actually."
No.
No no no.
"Maybe."
NO.
Mane nodded.
"Right?"
"Right."
The brothers exchanged looks.
Jumper felt her soul leave her body.
The watering can tilted.
A stream of water shot directly toward the princes.
SPLASH.
Silence.
Mane blinked.
Flame blinked.
Both were suddenly soaking wet.
The gardener froze.
The princes slowly turned.
Jumper smiled nervously.
"...flowers."
There were no flowers near them.
Only two very wet princes.
Mane looked down at his drenched clothes.
Then at the gardener.
Then back at his clothes.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Flame pointed.
"You missed."
Jumper nodded.
"Spectacularly."
Mane sighed.
"I think you watered us."
"Maybe."
"Intentionally?"
"No."
"Good."
A pause.
"Probably."
Flame narrowed his eyes.
The gardener seemed oddly familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
Jumper immediately turned around.
And speed-walked away.
Not suspiciously.
Extremely suspiciously.
The brothers watched her leave.
Mane frowned.
"That was weird."
"Very."
Silence.
Then Flame shrugged.
"Anyway."
"Anyway."
"The dead princess thing."
"The dead princess thing."
"Still weird."
"Definitely weird."
And somewhere halfway across the kingdom...
Ash was investigating Princess Squiddo.
Mane was investigating Princess Squiddo.
Two scholars had already figured out Princess Squiddo.
And Jumper was beginning to realize that the kingdom's greatest secret was being held together by pure luck.
…
The palace kitchens were unusually quiet.
For once.
No fires.
No emergencies.
No nobles demanding impossible meals.
No one asking whether soup was a beverage.
A rare and beautiful day.
Squiddo was taking full advantage of it.
She sat on top of a flour sack in a storage room.
Eating a pastry.
Doing absolutely nothing.
Which was when she heard voices.
"...I'm telling you, it's her."
Squiddo paused.
"...it has to be."
Another voice.
"Statistically speaking, yes."
Squiddo slowly lowered her pastry.
The voices were coming from the hallway outside.
Curiosity won immediately.
She crept toward the door.
Peeked through a crack.
And saw two scholars.
4CVIT.
And Cube.
The two royal scholars were carrying stacks of books.
And unfortunately...
They were discussing her.
"Florence is Princess Squiddo."
Squiddo nearly dropped the pastry.
"One hundred percent."
"Ninety-eight percent."
"One hundred."
"Ninety-eight."
"Why?”
"Scientific uncertainty."
"You're annoying."
"Correct."
Squiddo stared.
The secret.
The secret.
The secret she'd spent nine years hiding.
And these two idiots were discussing it in a hallway.
At normal volume.
Like they were talking about weather.
"Should we tell someone?"
"No."
"Good."
"No one would believe us."
"Also good."
Squiddo considered her options.
Option one:
Run away.
Option two:
Pretend she heard nothing.
Option three:
Threaten them.
Naturally she chose option three.
The storage room door burst open.
BANG.
Both scholars screamed.
Books went everywhere.
One particularly large history text flew into a wall.
Squiddo pointed dramatically.
"YOU KNOW TOO MUCH."
Silence.
Cube blinked.
4CVIT blinked.
A book slowly slid off a shelf.
THUMP.
Nobody moved.
Squiddo realized she had not planned beyond this point.
"You."
She pointed at them.
"Know."
Another dramatic point.
"Things."
"...yes?"
said Cube.
"That's bad."
"Generally speaking, that's our job."
Squiddo hesitated”
Fair point.
The scholars exchanged looks.
Then 4CVIT slowly raised a hand.
"Princess Squiddo?"
"NO."
"Right."
"Absolutely not."
"Of course."
"Definitely not."
A pause.
"...Florence?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Cube nodded.
"So Florence."
"Yes."
"Who definitely isn't Princess Squiddo."
"Correct."
"We know you're Princess Squiddo."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Squiddo pointed again.
"I'M THREATENING YOU."
Cube looked confused.
"You are?"
"YES."
"How?"
"..."
She hadn't thought about that.
"I'll."
Pause.
"I'll."
Longer pause.
"I'll stop giving you free pastries."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The scholars stared.
Then simultaneously gasped.
"YOU WOULDN'T."
"I WOULD."
"You monster."
"That's too far."
"That's not a threat. That's a war crime."
Squiddo crossed her arms.
"Then keep the secret."
The scholars looked horrified.
Not because of the secret.
Because of the pastries.
4CVIT immediately raised his hand.
"I swear eternal loyalty.”
"What?"
"I like pastries."
Cube nodded.
"I also like pastries."
Squiddo stared.
This was easier than expected.
"You're not concerned that a dead princess is alive?"
4CVIT shrugged.
"A little."
Cube nodded.
"Moderately."
"Then why aren't you freaking out?"
The scholars looked at each other.
Then back at her.
"Because this explains a lot."
"What?"
"The resemblance."
"The kitchen obsession."
"The fact that Lady Kab once threatened a historian for asking about you."
Squiddo froze.
"What."
"Yeah."
"What."
"She was very scary."
"What."
The scholars nodded solemnly.
"Very scary."
"That sounds like Kab."
"It was definitely Kab."
A brief silence followed.
Then Cube pointed at the pastry in Squiddo's hand.
"What kind is that?"
Squiddo blinked.
"Honey."
"Can I have one?"
"..."
"Please?"
"..."
Five minutes later they were sitting on flour sacks together.
Eating pastries.
Talking.
Because apparently that's how Squiddo made friends.
Not through diplomacy.
Not through charm.
Not through shared experiences.
Through baked goods.
4CVIT took another bite.
"Honestly?"
"What?"
"You being alive is probably the least surprising thing I've discovered this year."