I threw open the double doors and peered inside. Much younger Elizabeths covered the walls. The first was the largest, but they chronicled every splendid year of her maturity. The artist had mastered painting and calligraphy at the age of ten, and each expression was brimming with life. Though he couldn’t observe his noble subjects, his fantastic artistry was quickly noticed, and his services were highly sought-after to this day. No doubt, it was partially thanks to his gorgeous subject matter that he had reached such heights of genius. Mother always said that one must grow accustomed to the best, and this room stood as a testament to that development.
Of course, even I knew Elizabeth would be shocked by this room. Every letter she had ever sent me and every flower pressed into perfection were here, decorating the frames about the countless Elizabeths. Then, there were the sculptures and the fine porcelain…
As such, today’s objective was to safely move all the art into storage.
“Allow me.” Harold laid his hands on the nearest painting, but I gestured for him to stop.
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
“Wouldn’t it take too long to do it yourself?”
“But you already have Lady Margaret, don’t you?”
“Er… Yes.”
There was an unspoken question in the air as to what that had to do with anything. The intensity of his silent glare rapidly corroded my desire to leave it at that.
“Please, don’t touch Elizabeth,” I finally said.
“……”
His gaze grew sharper still. Evidently, he worried I was confusing her likeness for the real thing.
In the spring of last year, I finally confessed my love to Elizabeth, and despite a few twists, she requited my feelings. We’ve been officially lovers ever since, talking regularly during our school breaks and even going out on dates on the weekends. I had assumed I would grow more used to her and maintain my composure about her better with time, but it was the opposite. I had fallen in love with her all over again, harder than before.
I could scarcely believe I was in a relationship with such an adorable angel. Just thinking she returned my feelings made my heart melt. Should I lose myself in her eyes and mutter aloud that I love her, she would flush bright red and tell me the same. Compared to my nine dark years of secretly pining for her, I was frighteningly happy. The angels themselves had blessed my fortunes, and life was better than I ever dared dream.
My bliss had raised my blood pressure and pulse nearly permanently, and with it, my burning desire to have her all to myself. I tended to get a tad overprotective at times, even, but there was no need for logic. I had surpassed such trifles.
I composed myself as best I could before looking Harold straight in the eye. “Imagine these were all portraits of Lady Margaret. You wouldn’t want me getting my greasy hands all over them, would you?”
“I… Regrettably, I have no portraits of her at home.” After a short stare-off, he slowly withdrew his hand. Evidently, he understood my desires. “From worthless to mirthless,” he muttered.
He was right. I had grown only more twisted, but I was unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of a response.
Harold unaffectedly watched as I loaded all of Elizabeth’s likenesses into the cart over the next hour. Then, we took our precious cargo to a far more secluded storehouse. As we walked through the relatively isolated inner courtyard, Harold leaned over to whisper in my ear. “If I may be so bold, Your Royal Majesty, you might wish to show her more of your true self.”
The grinding, squeaking wheels of the cart seemed far harsher than they had moments before. I didn’t so much as glance back at him. Elizabeth knew nothing of the depths of my obsession, let alone the lengths I would and had gone for her. I had to remain her infallible knight in shining armor—not to mention that the weight of my love may put off a delicate lady like herself.
“Maybe you’re right,” I replied. “Perhaps coming clean and showing her all of this would be easier on me. But do you truly believe she would want to see all…this?”
He didn’t reply, though his expression spoke volumes.
“I know you want only the best for me, Harold, but I don’t want to force my twisted delusions upon her.”
Even if my perfection was only skin-deep, it was a persona of my own creation, and her approval of it was as good as loving the “real” me. That was enough for now.
Besides, I thought as my gaze drifted to the sky, that only serves to complicate what’s to come.
It was far more pressing than the invitations, my parents, Elizabeth’s moody pets, or my own changed demeanor put together. I was referring, of course, to the wedding kiss. Looking her in the eyes while I kissed her was more than impossible; it was incredibly lewd and immoral. Whoever devised the tradition must have lived in a dark age of unbridled sexual deviancy.
Elizabeth seemed every bit as anxious, but when she suggested we practice, my legs nearly gave out from beneath me. We had attempted to practice several times in the interim when we found ourselves alone, but our labor had yet to bear fruit. The sight of her puckering her succulent lips, her eyelids fluttering shut, was too much for my poor brain to bear, and I could hardly draw my mouth closer to her cheek. It was surprisingly stressful as well, and I was always rather sore the following morning.
I could share none of this with Harold, especially since he was said to have kissed Lady Margaret already. He gave me a puzzled look at the sight of my flushed cheeks, but neither of us said a word.
“This place seems fitting,” I finally said as we arrived at an unused room just off the main hall. We stepped inside, and I hung one of her many portraits on an exposed wall. “Well? It’s not slanted, is it?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“You’re not looking at her face, are you?” I asked.
“Perish the thought. My eyes have been on the frame the whole time.”
“Excellent.”
With our combined efforts, we hung every portrait properly in under an hour. As I turned from the wall to take in the newly decorated chamber, however, I froze.
There, in the center of the room, a cloud of white smoke had begun to form. Though it trickled up from the floor, it didn’t reach as high as the ceiling, and there was no smell of burning or heat of flame to be found. It was highly unusual—but I had the displeasure of seeing such a phenomenon once before.
“Y-Your Royal Highness!” Harold stepped forward to cover me with his body. He had arrived at the same conclusion I had.
“Go call for help,” I commanded him.
“No, I shall keep them at bay.”
Granted, no servant would leave their lord alone with such a strange emanation. He was correct in his decision.
I nodded. “All right. Don’t do anything rash.”
“Kekekekekeke! There’s no escape for you neow, blood of Mariabel!”
Before I could reach the door, a strange voice spoke to me from nowhere, as if the words were being spoken directly into my head.
With an almost comical popping sound, the smoke parted in an instant. Floating there, suspended among the steam, was a violet-furred cat with a large belly. Its slitted golden eyes flickered open, and it opened its fanged jaws in a confident grin. A red-furred cloak hung loosely about its shoulders, and it folded its arms imperiously as it looked at me.
The purple cat and I stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
“Well? Nyaren’t you surprised?”
“I thought as much,” I groaned.