Chapter Text
“What is he even doing here?”
Roland’s pointed ears perked. Being excluded from the surrounding conversations had its advantages. He filtered out the noise, simple after years of practice, and focused in on the heated discussion between crowned heads, which took some effort given how far down the table he had been seated.
Crown Princess Marianne, the future Queen of the Fairy Kingdom and the Dark Forest, betrothed to the mighty Bog King, and Roland’s former fiancé addressed her complaint to her father, King Dagda of the Fairy Kingdom, who answered her in hushed tones. “He was publicly reprimanded and stripped of all honors. Doing anything more would be… difficult under the circumstances.” The King sent a wary glance to the ugly creature seated next to his eldest daughter.
The ruler of the adjacent kingdom, the Dark Forest, was a looming presence even without his usual scowl. The goblin’s armor-like chitin, dull and rough as tree bark, looked out of place among the bright colors of the palace dining hall. Even his wings, sheer and tattered, stood in contrast to the full, colorful scales scattered around him.
Roland kicked himself for the thousandth time. He had been so close to winning the crown, and lost to that oversized insect. Who, moreover, already had a throne, a kingdom, and an army of his own! Too close, Roland acknowledged. So close he became careless. One tiny indiscretion on what would have been his wedding day, and Marianne had canceled the entire thing without even giving him chance to charm his way into forgiveness. Then, at the Spring Ball, after going through the trouble of organizing a flashy song and dance, the kind of showstopper he knew she would appreciate, instead of falling into his arms like she should have, Roland found himself kicked out of the ballroom entirely, nothing but bruised pride and wings to show for his efforts. Prior to this, he had never been on the receiving end of her temper, usually reserved for uncooperative members of her father’s Council. With her violet wings fully extended and murder in her eyes, Roland knew he wanted to avoid a head to head battle at all costs. His usual tricks were designed to maim or kill, inappropriate when one needed to marry the opponent.
Roland’s gaze shifted from his ex and her new beau to the opposite seats, too far for even his keen ears to eavesdrop, seeking allies. No help there. The younger princess, Dawn, had eyes only for her own beau. Until last year, she spent every spare moment fluttering her wings at anything in trousers. Now she only fluttered at the elf responsible for Roland’s current outcast state.
While equally out of place, the elf (Sammy? Sadie? Something like that) did not stand out like the visiting monarch. Rather he nearly vanished, being only half the height of either princess and lacking the striking colors that might give him some presence. Roland did congratulate himself on choosing the elf as a lackey. He had failed entirely at delivering the love potion that would have secured Marianne’s heart and grown, but they could not punish Roland too harshly without punishing the elf as well. Being the consort of the flighty blonde put him in a privileged position, which protected Roland as well, as they were guilty of the same crime.
Roland raised his goblet in a silent toast to himself. He may have been knocked back a few steps, but he always found a new path to sneak ahead. He just had to find some weak point. The right favors for the right people had always gotten him what he needed in the past. Even if he was not on speaking terms with anyone at the moment, as the court followed the lead of the Royals, that could be fixed. Settling back, he nursed his wine and observed.
Fashion had fallen in line with Marianne’s choice of practical outfit, tunics and leggings replacing the slender gowns that were popular a few springs ago. A few hold outs still followed Princess Dawn, though the copper and silver embroidery afforded by the wealthier fairies would never match the elegance of the golden threads reserved for members of the Royal family. Or almost-members, Roland thought, acutely aware that the yellow threads in his own green jerkin were a poor substitute for the gold he was no longer entitled to wear.
Yet for all that Marianne set the fashion, few seemed eager to accept her choice of mate. The fairies closest to the goblin king leaned away from him with twitching wings, the gap between His Majesty and the nearest neighbor increasing minutely as the meal carried on.
Roland noticed this, and from the tense quiver of his broad shoulder plates, the king noticed as well. A flash of color at the head of the table when the nobleman scooted away again proved Marianne had spotted the retreat, and her wings wanted to flare in offense. Roland’s own wings nearly twitched as an idea occurred. The Bog King might win over the citizens of the Fields given enough time, but it could take years for people to get accustomed to goblins in their bright environment. Oh, he would be invited to all the important parties, but that did not mean anyone would accept other residents of the Dark Forest. The Bog King’s own entourage remained hidden at this party, out of sight and mind.
Roland hid a smile behind his cup. If only someone knew how to gain acceptance, no matter the circumstances. If one could strengthen the budding alliance between the kingdoms, that person would be downright invaluable.
* * * * *
Marianne’s fingers tapped against the back of a quartz carved chair. The dinner party had ended far too early, and the royal family adjourned to a large sitting room.
Just the other night, the Palace had hosted a banquet that carried on until moondown. Except Bog had not been there.
Marianne plucked the purple flower from its place behind her ear, a traditional symbol of engagement. The intricate blossom grew only in the shadows of the Dark Forest and, as Bog once blurted out amid stutters and blushes, it matched her wings.
She looked over her family. Her sister, Dawn, and her elfish consort sat on a low bench lost in animated conversation. Her father sat in his usual chair by the unlit fireplace, pretending to read while keeping a watchful eye on his younger daughter. Bog stood by the tall, thin window, designed to let in light and air while keeping dangerous birds out. The window he chose had the best view of his home, the Dark Forest.
Marianne sighed. “This isn’t working.”
Bog turned at her lament, his icy blue eyes meeting hers, then dropping to the flower in her hand rather than her hair, and darted back, wide with panic. “What?”
“This ‘getting everyone used to you’ idea,” she clarified. One long-fingered hand ran through her short brown hair in frustration. “Nobody’s getting used to anything. It’s been a year and everyone still acts like you’re not even there. That’s hardly an improvement.” She wanted to rub her eyes to ease the headache coalescing behind them, but the berry juice she used to paint her face was smudged enough. Her dark-painted lips twisted unhappily.
Bog’s bony hand lifted the flower from her palm. He gently raised it back to her ear, pausing a moment in case she objected, then tucked the stem back behind her ear. Wicked talons caressed her cheek. “It’ll take time, Tough Girl,” he assured her, his voice a low rumble in his armored chest. “Our people have always been separate.”
Marianne pressed his hand against her cheek, her sword-calloused fingers soft against his armored claw. “I just don’t think it’s enough,” she whispered.
A series of coughs drew their attention. Her father, King Dagda, set his book aside and struggled to lift his hefty form out of his seat. The weight of his traditional green and gold armor did not make this any easier. He abandoned the effort, white wings flapping in an attempt to cool down. “Marianne,” he huffed between tired breaths, “you can’t expect people to take to Bog after a few dinner parties. After all, he is rather…” He trailed off uncertainly.
“Scary.”
The three looked over to the bench where Sunny attempted to meld with the wall after his tactless observation. Dawn took over when he sent the nearest window a calculating look.
“Boggy is rather tall,” Dawn added. “And snarly.”
“I am not snarly,” Bog snarled, his crooked, pointed teeth audibly grinding.
“See?”
Bog’s iridescent wings vibrated in irritation. He skulked back to his window.
“Maybe if we got goblins who were more sociable,” Dawn suggested. She smiled brightly, warming to the idea. “What about Griselda?”
Dagda finally found the energy to stand. “Bog’s mother is… charming, but a little…” He paused when Bog turned a menacing glare in his direction. “She’s a little vivacious.” Bog turned back to the window in silent agreement.
“Well, maybe she knows someone,” Dawn pressed. “Someone who, I don’t know… is more placid? There must be someone in the Dark Forest who would fit in.”
Marianne snorted. “You’ve been to their parties, Dawn. They get loud. They get active. If someone gets bored, they start a fight.”
“You started a fight at the Spring Ball last year.”
“And it was fun!”
“Might I offer a suggestion?”
Amber eyes narrowed. Marianne turned a murderous glare to the doorway where an unwanted guest stood, completely at ease and as smug as ever. “Roland,” she hissed. Bog was at her side in an instant, iron scepter in hand and ready for battle.
“Now, Buttercup,” Roland began. Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, a satisfied smirk raising the corners of her mouth when he gulped nervously. “That is, Marianne. Your Highness. I know we’ve had our minor disagreements—“ She scoffed at this. “But I am here to make amends.”
“Out of the question.”
“Why don’t we hear him out?” King Dagda suggested.
Marianne gaped at her father. “Dad!”
“Roland is skilled at navigating social situations,” Dagda reminded her.
Marianne scowled. Roland’s numerous betrayals still stung, even a solid year and better boyfriend later. But her father had a point. She looked to Bog. He had as much reason to hate Roland as she did, his castle having been a casualty of Roland’s schemes. He inhaled deeply as his shoulder plates rustled, then settled. “Let him speak,” he agreed. His mouth twisted into a grin. “Then we kill him.”
If Roland was surprised by either Bog’s support or threat, he did not show it. He entered the room as though he had been invited, and deliberately stepped between Bog and Marianne until he reached the center of the room. He turned and paused, ever the practiced showman. Marianne rolled her eyes at the familiar antics and braced herself for a performance.
“You can’t just throw someone into the thick of things and expect everyone to accept them,” he began his no doubt rehearsed speech. “These goblins don’t know any of our customs, let alone our manners, our dances, our fashions, any of it. They don’t even wear clothes.” He looked pointedly at Bog, who glared back. “But all that can be taught. If you can find someone willing to coach a few goblins. Teach them what they need to know to get along. Given a few weeks, they’d get along fine.”
“And by ‘someone’,” Marianne interrupted, “you mean you.” Roland spread his arms wide with a charming smile. “What’s your angle?”
He pressed a hand against his heart, green eyes widening in a decent simulation of wounded disbelief. “Why, nothing at all, Buttercup,” he declared dramatically. “It’s the least I can do. My only wish is to support you in every way, and be of rare and personal service to the Crown.”
Her eyes narrowed at the specific wording. “You want your title back.”
His placating smile turned as sharp as a knife.
The two monarchs in the room said nothing. Both were aware that unpleasant alliances were often necessary for the good of the land, but the association between the Dark Forest and the Fairy Kingdom was a project Marianne had been working towards for years, long before she ever set eyes on her intended. This decision had to be hers alone.
After a moment’s contemplation, Marianne smiled. “Alright. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Roland blinked, knocked off guard by her easy acceptance of his terms. “Seriously?”
“Sure,” she said too sweetly. “You turn one resident of the Dark Forest into a regular guest this season, and I will personally restore your knighthood. I’ll even have Griselda set up a meeting with some likely candidates.”
Against the wall, Sunny gaped at the scene. “Is she serious?” he asked Dawn, only to be elbowed into silence, Dawn’s face carefully blank.
Roland searched Marianne’s face, but her expression gave nothing away. Before his tenuous welcome could be worn out, he gave a brief bow. “I’ll, uh… expect her invitation then.”
“Do that. Good night.”
At the clear dismissal, Roland nodded to each king, then Dawn, ignored Sunny entirely, and walked out of the room, his orange wings gaudy and visible even when he reached the far end of the hall.
Bog said nothing until King Dagda returned to his chair. “What are you up to, Tough Girl?” he breathed against her hair.
Marianne’s smirk grew into a smile, her teeth glinting viciously. “Does your mom still know Maxine?”