Kairahara’s writing blog, where stories will be posted. Intro post Stories: The Maid (Link is in chrono order, it starts with a few posts of art) The Butler
My upcoming writing thing I’ll be posting is called “The Guard” which is about the aforementioned guard’s joining of the Canis castle and the adventure to find himself! Keep tuned in for that
“Shop’s not open yet,” Wrex called, wincing as he caught the sound of “the lights are good as they are!” Being hurled from Moerran’s rounded snout upstairs. “Come back at eight, when we open.”
“Oh,” the visitor to the shop said, sounding disappointed. “Must I? Even me?”
Wrex pulled back to turn. “Even you. Rules are rules, I can’t just-”
He looked up. Framed by the doorway was Prince Yuki Canis, husband of the Queen, smiling the biggest and brightest smile Wrex had ever seen. His neat black suit and black stockings were freshly pressed, and his pale white hands lay on his chest. There was the scent of flowers in the air.
Wrex bristled. The shop rules were clearly posted, surely a royal could read. “Even you, your majesty. Come back at eight,” he said flatly. “Unless you are here for the order for the palace, and then your meeting time is 7.”
Rules were rules. The royals had their time clearly slotted for their shipment of fruit. It didn’t matter that it was only ten minutes away. He supposed he couldn’t blame the Prince for not knowing the time, he usually sent one of the castle servants to do it, but that did not mean Wrex was going to bend over backwards to give him preferential treatment.Â
“Oh. I am not here for fruit!” Prince Yuki said grandly, throwing his other arm out. Wrex watched him with dry unamused eyes. “I am here for you.”
What. Wrex felt the confusion bubbling in his chest.
“I don’t care,” he said, shoving that confusion deep, deep down. “If you want something in the shop, you’ll come back at eight. If you want to talk to me, you will find me outside of my work hours.”
Confusion banished to the depths of his chest with an annoyance sharp and prickling, Wrex turned to go back to the desk and get the quills for label making. To his increasing annoyance, the prince did not leave and come back later.
“Well, I don’t know what hours you work, Wrex,” Prince Yuki said. “When should I come back?”
“I am off at 3,” Wrex said. He was still royal. Did he owe the man that much? He did not know, but he would rather not get in trouble in case it was.
“Then I will see you at 3!”
Wrex groaned under his breath. He did not want the prince to come back at three. He did not much care for the Prince. The Queen, he had heard, was alright, but he had gone to school with the Prince’s younger brother. Prince Caesar whined and moaned, crying about how he was an orphan and his parents had left him all alone. He had made classes they shared at the Demon Academy a form of torture. He never had anything good to say about anything or anyone.
It wasn’t as if Prince Caesar Canis was the only orphan. Wrex had lived there too, just as orphaned as the prince was. At least the Prince had living relatives. Living relatives who disregarded rules and were annoying.Â
Wrex groaned under his breath as he wrote out the price adjustment. Upstairs the yelling had stopped, the salamander brothers quieting their civilized discussion for who knew what. Why had he said 3? Surely it wasn’t a crime to not tell the royalty when he got off. Now he was going to have to put up with …that.
Wrex leaned his head into his hand. Today was shaping up to be a bit shit.
Musty air pressed at his inner nose. He squinted against the darkness, holding the barrel of demon city fruit in his arms. Faintly from the back rooms he could hear the sound of scritching against paper and the faint sound of Kt Divine’s music dancing tinnily.Â
“Hey boss. Got a barrel of fruit here,” Wrex called into the darkness. “I can’t see anything. You wanna come turn on the lights?”
Their displays changed often enough that Wrex was afraid if he set down the barrel of fruit he would run into something. Sometimes they made jams, juices, spreads- and would make gleaming, glistening displays of glass and clay jars in the middle of the room. Moerran was more the cook than Neroam, and so it was whenever Moerran decided to.
“What?” called Neroam from the back. His voice was a tinge silky, and a bit high. “What do you mean you can’t see?”
A creak of a door. The smell of damp intensified. Wet fingers slapped wood, and then the lights were flicked on with a fizz of electric crackling.Â
“I swear,” Neroam scoffed. “Moerran’s always leaving the lights off! You’re not the only worker who can’t see without them- And then who knows if the customers’ can- I’m going to have to talk to him again.”
Wrex carefully navigated around Moerran’s newest display. It was of red clay jars tied with neat little pink ribbons, each with a dangling plaque proclaiming itself as “Syrup.” Wrex stepped around them, carefully shifting the barrel of fruit he had picked around the peak of the syrup tower. The wood floor creaked in the same spot it always did, right near the knot.
Wrex hated stepping on it if he didn’t have to. He hated the sound.Â
“Sorry about the lights, Wrex, I’ll go hunt down Moerran and complain,” Neroam said, his booted salamander feet already scurrying off into the next room and beyond.Â
Wrex said nothing. This was a constant battle between the two salamander brothers- lights versus not. He would not personally have turned the lights off in the store. He could pick the fruits alright in the dark, but the moment he was expected to navigate the shop of breakable items, he was cautious to the point of anxiousness.Â
Carefully he removed the fruits from the barrel. His job first thing in the morning was to restock the fruit in the shop display, and then mark down the fruit that his bosses had moved to their reduced bin. He loved the glowing blue fruit as much as anyone, and liked the routine of it all.Â
“You forgot the lights again, Moer! How many times-”
Rolling his eyes, Wrex flexed the inner part of his ears to tune them out as the yelling began in earnest upstairs. They were good enough bosses. He hated how loud their arguments were.Â
One fruit, two fruit, three fruit, blue fruit. Done and done. He shifted to move to the reduced fruit bin his bosses had already sorted, feeling the crunchy outsides of the demon city fruit. They seemed a bit soft. Not as much crunch as a day old fruit, so, probably they needed to go soon. Forty percent off it was.Â
His mind wandered to his father, to their village. They hadn’t managed to salvage much; a blanket, a few days worth of bone bread, and the clock. He would never know why his father had chosen to keep it. The dented metal, the thin strips of metal hands- it looked like any other clock. In all his life it had never needed winding, but surely a clock wasn’t that important.
In truth, he wasn’t sure all of it had come from the village. Most of that time and before was a blur. Maybe it had just been what he could grab before they had had to leave. Slower moving lava flows had been clinking down from the peak toward them, threatening to bury their house too. The ash in the air had been hard to breathe through. Too hard.Â
           His father had wrapped their blanket around Wrex’s face, blocking much of it out. It had been stuffy. Smelled of dirt, and sweat, and couldn’t entirely stop the burning from the back of Wrex’s lungs.Â
His Father had died on the way to the demon city. There hadn’t been any other blankets, and it wasn’t big enough for two. Right at the mouth of the path, leading down deep through the crack. Wrex remembered his Father’s last words.Â
“Go. And don’t stop until you see the glowing trees.”
The glowing trees that Wrex now worked with, every morning. It wasn’t so much that they were glowing, it was their fruit. The Demon City fruit glowed a brilliant shade of blue in their dark groves. A fruit that wasn’t glowing bright wasn’t ripe.Â
Wrex drew in a puff on his pipe. He coughed, spluttered, and blinked to stare down at the pipe bowl.Â
He was out.
With a heavy sigh, he took his pipe and tapped it out on the cold metal of the balcony and let the ashes fall, down, down, to the cobblestone below. Across from him the city was beginning to wake up- as the night life was going back to bed. He could hear the creak from the neighbor three doors down, and smell the lye soap of laundry.Â
Wrinkling his nose, he turned and headed inside. Her laundry always made him sneeze. With a kick of his foot, he closed the door behind him and drew the musty air of his apartment into his lungs.
The sky burned with fire. His skin burned, and a woman screamed in his ears. Just beneath the screams, he could smell the scent of sweat and flowers.
“Mama!”Â
His own voice echoed in his ears.
“MAMA!”
He could see her. Her hands reached through fire and falling rock, blue fingers purple in the burning light and terror on her face. His hand reached back, stretching as far as it could, even as someone carried him away and left Mama behind.Â
The ground shook. Lava flowed.Â
The smell of sulfur engulfed him.
The sound of his own screams echoed in his head.
Wrex’s heart pounded in his chest as he sat bolt upright in bed, his clothes clinging to sticky skin. His eyes roved around his small cramped apartment, taking in the beat up walls and the pale light leaking in through his crooked brown curtains. His own blue fingers moved across the pile of blankets beneath him. They were drenched in sweat.
The fog of sleep addled him. It always took him a moment when the memories gripped him like that to assure himself that he was safe. He looked for familiar sights. There was the bookshelf he had found on the surface world, missing a few screws so the shelves lay slanted. There were the few books he owned, tumbling down the slanted shelf with their faded blue spines facing him, and underneath that the pile of his five shirts, his pants, and his work pants.Â
Next to his shelf were his sink and his stove. His little clay cooking vessels still sat on it, empty and clean, because he hadn’t had time to cook anything the night before. They were all mismatched, and some cracked, because he had gotten them from his old academy friends when they had moved out of the academy dorms. He didn’t see them anymore.
Wrex was safe. He was fine. He was home, in the Demon City.Â
His eyes flickered to the clock at the top of the shelf- the one thing he had left from his dad. The hands said it was five am. He cursed under his breath.
He needed to be up in an hour for work. Stupid memories. Stupid dreams. He was going to be tired all day.Â
Standing, Wrex turned and slid stockinged feet over to the cabinet drawer which he slid open, retrieving his pipe and his tobacco. The drawer smelled musty. He unrolled it, taking the dried leaves he had gotten from the surface out and tipping them into the bowl. He made sure to go out the sliding door onto his balcony, over the alley below, before he lit up and took a draw.Â
Below, the marigolds dotted the flower boxes but his mind did not comprehend their brilliant orange in the soft morning light, nor did he comprehend the mural of colors across the far wall. He sat, and he puffed, and his feet felt the cold slats of the metal balcony through the much too thin cloth of his stockings.
Mama. It had been awhile since Wrex had thought about her. It had been even longer since he had remembered being ripped from her arms when the volcano had erupted, cracking the very ground beneath their feet. In fact, he didn’t like to remember her hand reaching out for him or the lava that had rolled down the mountain, swallowing her and their home with it.
The sky burned with fire. His skin burned, and a woman screamed in his ears. Just beneath the screams, he could smell the scent of sweat and flowers.
“Mama!”Â
His own voice echoed in his ears.
“MAMA!”
He could see her. Her hands reached through fire and falling rock, blue fingers purple in the burning light and terror on her face. His hand reached back, stretching as far as it could, even as someone carried him away and left Mama behind.Â
The ground shook. Lava flowed.Â
The smell of sulfur engulfed him.
The sound of his own screams echoed in his head.
Wrex’s heart pounded in his chest as he sat bolt upright in bed, his clothes clinging to sticky skin. His eyes roved around his small cramped apartment, taking in the beat up walls and the pale light leaking in through his crooked brown curtains. His own blue fingers moved across the pile of blankets beneath him. They were drenched in sweat.
The fog of sleep addled him. It always took him a moment when the memories gripped him like that to assure himself that he was safe. He looked for familiar sights. There was the bookshelf he had found on the surface world, missing a few screws so the shelves lay slanted. There were the few books he owned, tumbling down the slanted shelf with their faded blue spines facing him, and underneath that the pile of his five shirts, his pants, and his work pants.Â
Next to his shelf were his sink and his stove. His little clay cooking vessels still sat on it, empty and clean, because he hadn’t had time to cook anything the night before. They were all mismatched, and some cracked, because he had gotten them from his old academy friends when they had moved out of the academy dorms. He didn’t see them anymore.
Wrex was safe. He was fine. He was home, in the Demon City.Â
His eyes flickered to the clock at the top of the shelf- the one thing he had left from his dad. The hands said it was five am. He cursed under his breath.
He needed to be up in an hour for work. Stupid memories. Stupid dreams. He was going to be tired all day.Â
Standing, Wrex turned and slid stockinged feet over to the cabinet drawer which he slid open, retrieving his pipe and his tobacco. The drawer smelled musty. He unrolled it, taking the dried leaves he had gotten from the surface out and tipping them into the bowl. He made sure to go out the sliding door onto his balcony, over the alley below, before he lit up and took a draw.Â
Below, the marigolds dotted the flower boxes but his mind did not comprehend their brilliant orange in the soft morning light, nor did he comprehend the mural of colors across the far wall. He sat, and he puffed, and his feet felt the cold slats of the metal balcony through the much too thin cloth of his stockings.
Mama. It had been awhile since Wrex had thought about her. It had been even longer since he had remembered being ripped from her arms when the volcano had erupted, cracking the very ground beneath their feet. In fact, he didn’t like to remember her hand reaching out for him or the lava that had rolled down the mountain, swallowing her and their home with it.
Tagged by the brilliant @astramachina who knows I would do anything to talk about my ocs 24/7.
Similarly to Astra, I am going to go with Queen Aikaterine Canis, because she's freshly on the mind and who I was writing about more or less this aftermorning.
1.) If you can steal any one item in all of history, what would it be and why?
Honestly, sweet, the one item I would steal in all of history is less of an item and more of a where. My cousins owned a little farm in Greece, full of olive trees and goats. My cousins are gone, now. The farm is either gone or passed into hands outside of my family. I would steal it, the way it was when I was growing older and add to my childhood joys.
2) You're meeting with someone important for dinner, and it's super last minute. What clothes currently at your disposal are you wearing?
I always hate super last minute in my line of work, it is always some angry dignitary or budgeting mistake my wonderful husband has done- save for the few times when it was foul intentions crawling through my palace. For the first two, I wear my most imposing of deep green outfits with the straight back, to give a feeling of body to my displeasure.
For something afoul, well, whatever outfit will bring me the right feeling to it.
3) Name one power or ability you wish to never have. Why?
If we were going with one I already have, I am tired of the migraines that comes from reading everyone's thoughts, everywhere, all the time.
If we go with one I don't- add to my thought seeing with the ability to see the different paths the future might take. My husband has this, and I am unsure if it is part of what has made him flighty and unreliable or if he has simply always been that way. I think if I had it on top of my mind reading, which I cannot turn off despite how much I have tried, I would end up madly grasping for the right future where the outcomes I want exist, and forcing everyone around me to be my pawns or be trampled by my want for something better.
I do not think it would leave me a very good sort of person.
I tag @stesierra and literally anyone who wants to talk about their ocs!
TBH this deserves to be on this blog too, since Queen Aikaterine has been a factor in both "The Maid" and "The Butler" and will in "The Guard" as well.
They showed their cards. Unpredictably, both Tarlings had high cards- a queen, a king, sitting there proudly in their claws. Their faces were bright with happiness.
“Two of a kind!” they said together.
Butler stared down at their hands. None of the cards on either hand matched. “You're blatantly wrong, my friends,” he said. “There are no matches there.”
Dagda Tarling held up the King and Queen. “These two are matches,” he said. “Aren’t they matches?”
Butler’s foot tapped annoyed as he rocked the table. “A king and a queen do not match, Dagda,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“I’m Fachta,” Dagda said. Fachta said. It didn’t matter. “But they are both faces. What do you mean they don’t match?”
“A king and a queen do not match,” Butler said again. “Are you saying the King and Queen are the same person?”
“No, but they are married,” Fachta, who was maybe Dagda, said. “So they are a pair. Like Dagda and I are..”
Butler gazed across the table for a long, long moment. “No,” he said. “That is not how cards work. And once again, may I remind you that you cannot play from each other’s hands.”
Dagda and Fachta Tarling stared down at their hands. “Oh,” They said. “So we have nothing?”
Butler wanted to pull at his eye sockets. He breathed once, hard, through his nose. “No,” he said. “You both actually have a high card hand! Look at that, you have something alone, if you had just played the way you were supposed to.”
“Wow,” Dagda Tarling said. “You’re such a nice friend, Butler. I’m glad you’re here.”
Butler wanted to scream. Okay, maybe everything wasn’t magically wonderful and perfect. Dumbasses would remain dumbasses and continue to get on his nerves, trickery or no trickery.
“Well read them and weep!” Andre said as he slapped his cards down on the table. “I have an actual pair!”
And he did. There, sitting pretty, were 2 3’s. Butler gazed, nodded once, and with a vague sense of horror watched as Jerry slapped down a straight flush. The bastard.
Maybe he really should go back to trickery for their card games. This was simply too much. A guy decided to be nice just once and suddenly he was getting stomped on in his favorite after work activity! Grumbling to himself, he put down his four of a kind.
“Well,” Jerry said with a satisfied smile. “You have to answer now.”
Butler sighed again for the billionth time, and settled back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked around the table at faces that were eagerly watching him- the Tarlings with their empty eyes, Jerry and Andre and their lovely eye sockets-
Wet, disgusting toby, with his wet disgusting eyes nearly bulging from his head.Â
They all seemed to be waiting for him with their breath baited.Â
“Because I could,” Butler said. “Because I was jealous, because I had had enough of their bullshit.”
Andre’s bones clacked as he turned towards Butler in his chair. The light bounced off his red vest, and the gleaming golden buttons. “You know,” he said. “Suddenly I think I understand something about our card games. I gotta keep my eyes on you, don’t I?”
“Are you?” Butler asked. “Well, if you must.”
He wasn’t bothered.
Sometimes, it was more fun when someone was on to his trickery.
Today instead of Eksender Ryber at the card table, Jerry had come. He had been on and off with them for months, but Butler suspected Jerry felt he owed them after the trial. That, or he wanted to hear more details.
He settled back as Jerry shuffled cards between his skeletal hands. Right now, he didn’t have the heart to stop anyone from asking.Â
As the cards clicked into place, Butler picked his up and read them. Four sevens. And he hadn’t even had to do any sort of trickery to acquire them.
“You know,” Andre said, sitting to Butler’s right. “Glad you didn’t end up going to jail, or with the fae king and queen, friend.”
Butler raised an eyebrow. “Friend? Since when are we friends?”
Andre scoffed. “You’re the one who up and declared us friends, asshole.”
Butler wrinkled his nose. He had thanked Andre for everything at the trial, this really was on him.Â
The Tarlings grabbed each other’s hands. Clawed fingers shuffled cards between the two, and Butler felt the sigh in his lungs blossom inevitable in his chest. They were already looking from each other's hands.
“Yeah!” Dagda, or perhaps Fachta, said as he looked up. Empty eyes meeting Butler’s “You are our friend.”
“Our old friend,” the other Tarling brother replied, a satisfied looking smile curved across his doughy cheek, making his stupid face sunny.Â
Butler tapped his claws on the table. “Hardly,” he said. “We’ve barely known each other for a year. Just a friend.”
“You are no fun,” The first tarling said again. “We are in.”
“What say you, Toby?” Butler called over.
“I have to fold, again,” disgusting wet Toby said. He put the cards down with a thump, leaving a puddle of slime behind.
Save for the absence of his trickery, and Eksender Ryber, their card games had gone back to normal. Butler was glad for it. He was beginning to feel like he wouldn’t give them up for the world.
“I’m in,” Andre said excitedly, pushing more Canis coins across the table with a clink.Â
“And I,” Jerry replied, setting down as he had finished dealing with all of them. “But if I win, there’s something I want to know.”
Butler felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This was uncalled for. A repeat of the past-Â
He sighed. He had just been thinking about how he wouldn’t mind them asking questions. Still, this vexed him, like they were intentionally crossing a line with his generosity.
“Fine by me,” he sighed, curling his hand over to look at his claws. His pinky claw was getting a bit lopsided, it was time to file them back into perfect points. “But before I decide if I want to be in or not, what’s the question?”
“Why’d you do it?” Jerry asked. “That whole- everything that happened. Why?”
Butler held back a smile. He placed his cards down. “In that case, I’m in, but you have to beat me for the answer.”
Andre looked at him, his bones clacking as he took Butler’s arm. His voice dropped. “Sorry, my friend, if you want we can find you a kid to adopt someday,” he whispered as he turned and brought Butler up.Â
Butler’s feet moved. His mind whirled. He was certain he didn’t want to adopt a child, either, but he found himself letting out a panicked little laugh. “Maybe someday I will. For…for now, my mind reels at how.. How harsh this is…”
He was brought to the center of the ring. Prince Yuki was descending from the benches towards him, his long black coat flapping in the breeze. Butler hadn’t expected this to happen to him in front of all of the eyes of the courts and the jury watching him. It was an indignity he did not want. He stared, though, holding his ground. He knew he didn’t get a choice over where this happened.Â
“Don’t worry,” The Prince said as he got close. His stupid teenager face was pulled wide in a smile. “It won’t hurt at all.”
“That is not what I am worried about,” Butler snapped, as quiet as he could.
Prince Yuki did not stop. His fingers tensed, glowing, and Butler braced. The fingers pulled, and he could feel a burning between his legs- and then, nothing. It was over almost as soon as it had started.Â
Prince Yuki turned from him, something held between his hands. It looked no more than a glowing brilliant ball- not like some anatomy, but something almost intangible held by magic. Butler wondered if this was some form of sugar pill offered to the fae royals.Â
“For your majesties,” Prince Yuki said, striding forward. He took the golden, glowing light between his palms and ripped as if it were a loaf of bread.Â
As the light faded, it seemed to be. One half of a loaf of bread between one hand, and one half between the other. Fluffy, round- a half boule.Â
“Before we take part in your generous offer,” King Mifispectuus said. “We want a written contract that proves what you are offering us is our butler’s fertility.”
Prince Yuki took a step back. The loaf of bread made from the burning in his crotch floated harmlessly in the air as a long scroll of paper and a quill formed in the air. “Of course, pardon my ill manners, I’m not used to all of this yet.”
Butler’s eyes were on the loaf of bread that floated in the air. Even as focused as he was on how it gently spun in the breeze, like it floated over a vent of wind from below, he couldn’t help but stare at it. A part of him. A loaf of bread.
Ability to have children, never again.
He couldn’t help but hypothesize about how that bread might taste.Â
And thought that regardless, the royals had better be grateful for it.
“That seems in order,” King Mifispectuus’ voice said, breaking off across. “We will eat that… bread.”
And with that the Prince had come back and taken Butler’s fixation on a part of himself away, and back over to the fae king and queen-
And Butler watched as their pretty lips bit down into the soft, fluffy crust that had once been him. He savored how soft the King’s lips looked pressing into it. The flick of the queen’s tongue across her lip to get a crumb.
This had not really been the way he had been expecting the king and queen to take that part of him, not even in his wildest fantasies. And yet it had just enough of the echo of it to have Butler think of something that might have never been.Â
He crossed his legs.
And like that, the moment was over. The bread was eaten. Butler looked away, forcing his face to look distraught. He saw the briefest amount of triumph on Queen Liita’s face.
“As agreed upon, we will be taking our butler, and Douglas Fir with us,” Queen Aikaterine said. “Let it be written down. As it is agreed upon, we shall give the fae king and queen copies of our agreement, and invite them to send us word shall anything happen.”
“Thank you, Queen Canis,” King Mifispectuus said, standing from his seat in the tree. “We shall take our leave.”
Butler could not wait for this entire experience to be over. The sound of wings heading off between the trees was music to his ears- and then, Andre was at his side, and he was being led back into the maw of the Demon City caverns.
He had no intent to look back, images of the fae royals eating that bread playing in his mind.
Butler watched her go, then back to the fae royals- who, he noticed with great satisfaction, both looked grim. They knew there was reparations to be given. Guard gave his testimony about a wild Eksender Ryber bursting through the doors and stabbing Ilse before he could move- and then Queen Aikaterine descended herself.
Butler had not been expecting that, but his Queen detailed events from her point of view without a single falter. Her headache, her confusion about a gaggle of her servants bursting in on her- her anger, her horror.
“It was my own magic that brought my maid back, for she signed a contract that prevented her death while under my care,” Queen Aikaterine explained. “A contract I’m sure the fae court does understand.”
“We do. We have made contracts such as that ourselves,” King Mifispectuus said. His voice was almost grave, his eyes trained on Douglas Fir who cowered under it.
Served the bastard right.
Queen Liita cleared her throat, and settled with her dainty glowing hands in her lap. “Well,” she said. “Do you have any others to come forward about these accusations, Queen Aikaterine?”
“No, Queen Liita. My retelling of events is the last,” Queen Aikaterine said.
Queen Liita shifted, flitted from her tree to stand at the bottom of it, her chin held high. “Then, let me do the honors this time as I have learned your rules. Queen Aikaterine, Ilse Fairbanks, the guard of the Canis court, and Douglas Fir- you all are excused while we let the jury deliberate.”
There was another flurry, before the pinched fae lady at the front of the court looked up. “Your Highness, I am afraid none of us need to deliberate,” she said. “It is clear to every member of the jury that Douglas Fir, Eksender Ryber- is guilty of attempted murder of one of the people of the Canis court.”
“Is this so? Does all the jury agree?” Queen Liita asked.
Another murmur, a resounding chorus of yes.Â
Queen Liita looked out over the faces looking back at her. Butler’s eyes slid away from her to Douglas Fir, clutching at the burnt flesh of his arm and sinking down beneath their gazes.Â
“Then we find him guilty,” she said.Â
Queen Aikaterine took her place on her throne, and cleared her throat. “All that is left is to decide punishments. As it was my worker who was wronged, I would like our side to apply the punishments for Eksender Ryber and Douglas Fir, if you would allow it.”
“No need,” King Mifispectuus said. “We have just the punishment, if you would hear it. If you find it disagreeable, Queen Canis, then we will allow you to decide.”
Butler snickered as Douglas’ face broke into tears. This was going to be good.
Butler settled back, feeling the smile that curved across his face. He hoped its malice found its way to Douglas’ Fir’s chest and struck with the King and queen’s words.Â
“We would renounce our contract with our vassal,” King Mifispectuus said. “For it is our contract that has extended his life.”
Queen Aikaterine considered. “This seems fitting in part, to me,” she said. “For my emotional distress at the loss and resurrection of my own servant- I request he be transferred entirely into my care.”
Douglas Fir for his part seemed only to sink in on himself, like a craven balloon deflating. Butler rolled his eyes.Â
“We would gladly agree to this,” King Mifispectuus said.Â
He raised his hand, waving- there was a glowing light and Douglas made a choking sound, falling with his head to the floor. The black of his hair blushed pink red at the tips, and a pink flush filled the color of his sallow skin.Â
“He is yours,” Queen Liita said.
Queen Aikaterine smiled wide. “Guards, please escort our man to our dungeon.”
Butler felt a smile curve across his face.
“And with that,” Queen Aikaterine continued. “Bring our Butler before the King and Queen of the fae. It is time.”
Butler tuned out, but he got the gist- Douglas Fir was weaving a tale of how he had been tricked into a rage by being hit with iron by the human maid. How if she had just left him to his devices, she would not have died. Butler rolled his eyes. There was so much that could have been done differently.
“Need I remind you that you killed my maid in my own quarters?” Queen Aikaterine said, her voice carrying over the mumbled, stuttered words from Fir.
“In your own rooms?” Queen Liita parroted back.Â
Butler did not tune out the look that Queen Liita shot Douglas Fir. It was an angry, pinched sort of look, one that clearly said how could you be so stupid. It was accompanied by the murmurs from the jury, and a flurry of hands writing.
“Yes. In front of me as my guard was telling me our local update,” Queen Aikaterine said. “And so, I have two people I would also like to bring before your fae majesties.”
“As you will,” Queen Liita said.
“I call Ilse Fairbanks to the stand,” Queen Aikaterine said.
Ilse Fairbanks swept forward, the bottom of her maid dress in her hands and her back held tall. In the sunlight her hair was like straw, her skin like earth- and the anger in her eyes like an eagle ready to strike. Butler was struck that she looked like the woods themselves rising to eat Douglas Fir whole.
She delivered. Her words sang of confusion, a coworker dragged down the hall. Her attempting to save him- Butler’s heart sang. Oh, her wondrous self, protecting him! A human, by every means weaker than he, a demon was, protecting him. He stilled remembering her body upon the floor. And something else clicked in his head. She had protected him. Prince Canis had protected him. And the Queen had given the last protection of all.
It had been so long since he had been protected he barely remembered it. His mother’s claws, pressing him to the dark stones as a stronger demon on the rampage passed. The sound of crunching bone. Paws over his eyes.Â
Yes, it has been since then. He had been small. When he had gotten older, his mother could no longer protect him. How was it now that not only were some of the most powerful demons he personally knew protecting him- but also someone weaker than himself? He curled his fist at his chest.
She went on, talking of how she didn’t know Douglas Fir was fae, how she had died. A scar on her chest. A scar she would wear for protecting him, for the rest of her days, just as he wore his nose for tricking the first people he had run to. There was something humiliating about that, for just a moment as the voice in his mind told him that she was a hero and he had done this to himself.
King Mifispectuus’ face looked grim across from the court. Butler knew the fae laws claimed a scar needed compensation. For a fae that received one, usually it meant a pound of flesh.
Sneering, Butler focused on Ilse. Her head was held high and defiant, even before the fae. Even before demon courts. She was defending herself. Defending him. He had been, too, in his own way. He couldn’t fight head on as she was doing now. He hadn’t had the protections of a Canis court, or a magic that could bring him back to life as himself.
He had only had his wits. He would forever be sad about his nose.
He would not be sad he had done it.
He would, perhaps, feel a twinge of guilt that Ilse had died for him for it, but nothing more.
The jury’s re-entry into the courtroom of the woods ushered the food and drinks back from whence they had come. The vote was unanimous in Butler’s favor- or, rather, Butler thought drily, against it. It was 5 to 3 with a vote to take away his fertility, much to his heart’s delight. He let the part of him that had wanted children out again and wailed and sobbed hard enough real tears leaked from his eyes.
Then, the royals had gone, all four- and there once more, it was a unanimous decision. Four royals for, none against. Butler howled with all the agony he could muster. He put every last inch of fear he had felt from the fae cells, to Eksender chasing him in the howl. He thought it sounded particularly heartbreaking.
“I know, it pains me to do, but our decision has been made,” Queen Aikaterine said. “Butler, dry your eyes and rise.”
He wiped the real tears from his eyes. The fear had gone with them, leaving his insides empty and his limbs shaking. Butler sniffled. “Your majesties-” he said.
“I for one do not feel sorry for him,” Queen Liita said. “After all he put us through. But, I suppose a promise is a promise- we will not take it from you until after the second trial. Maybe you can father a child in the next thirty minutes, hmm, Puppy?”
He wanted to rip her throat apart with his teeth. Shove her out of a tree, rip off her wings. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Queen Aikaterine turn to face him. I’m not going to do it, Mom he thought as sarcastically as he could.
She turned from him. He swore he could see her eye roll.Â
He wasn’t going to do it. He’d be paste across the forest floor before he had even gotten near Queen Liita. There was no point in that, but if he heard her call him puppy again something inside him was going to combust.
“Our Butler may step back. If you would do the honors, this time, King Mifispectuus? Queen Liita?”
Playing nice again. Andre was at his side, leading him away to a seat behind the Canis royals- on the side of safety. At least there would be no fae assassins waiting in a bush to pull him back and do him away.Â
“We call Douglas Fir to stand,” King Mifispectuus said.Â
As Butler was led away, he could see the pale burnt wraith of Douglas Fir stand shaking and take his place. Served him right for being an absolute cunt. If it had been Butler in his shoes, Ilse Fairbanks would never have been touched and his actual target would be before the fae king and queen, bound by magic and kissing their shoes.
It really was good for him that Douglas Fir and his alter ego were so very incompetent. A blessing in disguise, now he no longer had to work with him.Â
“State what happened for the court.”
“I- we- were tasked with bringing the Butler home,” Douglas Fir said. “By our royals. We, I- we messed up, at the end.”
He spoke haltingly, fumbling. Butler hadn’t missed Douglas Fir’s inability to stand his own ground, or to say what he meant without stumbling over his words. They were particularly worse now and Butler felt it was for good reasons.
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