《The False Prince》


 Prologue

    Duckworth couldn¡¯t stop smiling as he felt a gloved hand in his tighten.


    Gently, he was led towards the centrum of a huge, golden hall. The lights of a hundred candles almost blinded him, and a thousand more gazes crossed his as he got turned around, now facing the owner of the gloved hand.


    It was hard to make out his face. Somehow, Duckworth still had a feeling that he knew this man and he felt perfectly safe as the lead started to lead him into a slow waltz. Everything seemed perfect, and just as it should be.


    ¡°You look dazzling tonight,¡± the man leaned in, his features blurred by the gleaming light, but Duckworth could make out his smile just enough.


    Duckworth looked down at his arm ¨C and what was once before an arm dressed in hardy, leather gloves and stained whites, was replaced by shining, white gloves, and paneled sleeves.


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    ¡°This¡­ is like a dream,¡± Duckworth sighed with a smile fleeting his lips, his eyes passing over the grandeur interior. His own amazement seemed to amuse his dancing partner, as he heard a chuckle:


    ¡°Well, it should be. This is your home, after all,¡±


    Duckworth froze. Now his eyes were headed straight for the shadowed face.


    ¡°All of this?¡± he whispered, as if he could barely draw a breath in disbelief.


    All this glory, all this richness¡­ Never would he have to work again because who worked if they were this rich? This was¡­ exactly what he wanted.


    The man chuckled again, but this time his grin started to extend his mouth into a distorted laughter.


    Duckworth eyes started to notice the seams of the universe he was in unravelling, and the music turned into the maddening sound of an angry rooster.


    Duckworth didn¡¯t even feel frightened, as he knew exactly what was coming next.

 Chapter One

    Duckworth groaned as light entered the blue eyes.


    Here we go again, he thought to himself as he pulled the pillow over his straw-haired locks. The sounds of the real world sounded so unnervingly acute along with its dull, blue-tinted lights, it was the world furthest away from the one he had just emerged into.


    Again. This was perhaps the hundredth time he had that dream.


    The rooster crowed again. Duckworth groaned in an even deeper tone, feeling awfully tempted by the idea of throwing the pillow into the face of that devil.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I am up, you crested old bugger,¡± Duckworth mumbled as he managed to push himself into a seated position. He dug out the crust of his eyes before he scratched the harsh locks on his head.


    A chirp perked his interest and Duckworth looked to his side where the sight made him slightly smile.


    ¡°Well, good morning to you too,¡± Duckworth said as he stretched, his eyes still looking at the mice that had crawled up onto his nightstand. ¡°- but I suppose you came to greet me to just get your breakfast?¡± he pointed out, the smile turning crooked as he looked at the mice.


    The mice started squeaking in excitement at the sound of food. Duckworth chuckled at that as he pushed the duvet aside, flinching as his toes touched the greased, cold floor in the attic.


    Duckworth looked around the attic. It was worn down, with one of the windows blown in, and plenty of holes in the walls to his roommates, the mice of the house. You know you have been living too long among rodents when you start to be able to tell them apart and give them names of their own. Though perhaps that was healthy for his sanity to have some resemblance of community, considering how many years he had lived up here without any ties to the real world besides the ringing bells of the church.


    And his mornings started the exact same way, every single day.


    Woken by the croaking devil, greeted by hungry mice and feet hitting a cold, crooked floor. And of course, the picture of Madame Michaut on the wall with a pair of old shears pierced through the picture.


    He had his routine memorized to the bones as he started getting dressed as his audience stared impatiently into his back. The mice chirped again, acting like hungry dogs as they started to crawl down from his nightstand.


    ¡°Yes, yes, I am getting there,¡± Duckworth said as he fastened his belt consisting of his pouch and shears.


    ¡°There,¡±


    Duckworth¡¯s eyes met his own as he saw into the discolored, old mirror. He was a far cry from what he had been in that dream.


    His attire was simple, and consisted of unbleached hoses, an off-white shirt that had once been white, and a doublet that had constellations of mending across it. The outfit got topped off with a hat, and a pair of old, worn-down leather gloves that hid his calloused, scarred hands after countless hours fighting pins and needles.


    Duckworth adjusted one of the gloves. It was important that he did look presentable though, as he had another day ahead of him making beautiful garments for the upper class of society.


    A sloppy tailor does sloppy work, as Madame Michaut parroted day in and day out. Duckworth could hardly keep his eyes from rolling.


    ¡°I look just fine, right old buddy?¡± Duckworth said to the reflection as he smirked, smoothing out a wrinkle on his doublet.


    ¡°Time to start the day,¡±


    Because of his indebted existence, Duckworth lived with his employer, Madame Michaut. He had been living here since he was a young teenager, and being her employee as well as her servant, was all he had known for many years now. It wasn¡¯t an easy existence, but memories of what came prior was starting to escape him as he got older and older, which ironically made this life easier.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.First, he had to feed the animals. The poor, old guard dog Lion had been patiently waiting at the end of the staircase that led to the attic. Behind him was an entourage of mice that all squeaked and chirped.


    ¡°Good morning, Lion. Are you keeping Loup at bay?¡± Duckworth said as he patted the dog¡¯s head, which made the crooked tail swing lazily.


    The stairs led straight to the basement, and so Duckworth wasn¡¯t too worried about the cat being here, as he was fat and lazy, and wouldn¡¯t want his paws wet by the damp basement. It was quite rare that he had seen ¡°His Majesty¡± here, scaring off the mice.


    Duckworth got straight to work. The dog got his shares of the leftovers from yesterday, and the mice the best picks of the chicken¡¯s food before he went out to the coup.


    ¡°Ladies, you know what time it is,¡± he said out loud to the hens that all clucked eagerly.


    The next chore before opening the shop was to dry out the cloth that had been washed the night before. But just as he was heading inside with the basket with corn, he spotted a brown-haired top of hair right above the fencing.


    ¡°What are you doing here? And this early?¡± Duckworth said, resting the basket on his hip as he gestured towards the stray crowning.


    A freckled, wide smile now appeared as he only knew that gleaming face all too well. Now a pair of hands appeared, the right with some paper and the left with a pen.


    ¡°Listen ¨C I just had this breakthrough on my new story and I juuust wondered if you coul-¡°


    ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t have time for this. So, piss off before I tell Lion that he is now 10 years younger and has all his teeth back,¡± Duckworth said sarcastically which made the younger man laugh.


    The figure now appeared from behind the shabby fence, sporting a bight red doublet with quite the energetic charisma. The man was Germain, his best friend, and coincidentally, only friend. Besides the mice.


    The freckled man was son of the neighboring scribe and instead of using his time on practicing his ledgers and signatures, he spent it on writing new ¡°greatest novels¡±, if you would have to believe him.


    ¡°I know the last one was not my greatest work, but in this one there is no talking goose, I swear. Ducky, you know you are the only one I can rely on with my stories!¡± Germain cried dramatically. ¡°Will you please read it?¡± he added, the puppy eyes making Duckworth cringe into a smile.


    He sighed exaggeratedly, as it was hard not to laugh with that kind of sight.


    ¡°Fine. But first after work, today Madame Michaut has a very important client and I can¡¯t get delayed-¡°


    ¡°Oh, you are such a blessing! Thank you!¡± Germain said, giving Duckworth a kiss on the cheeks before he clapped his hands. It made Duckworth widen his eyes in surprise, but at this point, Germain could hardly surprise him anymore with his chipper attitude. ¡°I can assure you, this one is it! I have been writing on it all night and-¡°


    ¡°Is this why you are acting so nutty? You haven¡¯t slept yet?¡± Duckworth noted as he looked at the papers with this free hand. The handwriting was quite frantic, but readable.


    ¡°Art takes sacrifices,¡± Germain said proudly as he brushed some invisible dust off his doublet. ¡°- and besides, I do sleep. And when I sleep, I sleep. Unlike someone else who spends all night dancing, being rich and-¡°


    Duckworth gasped. ¡°Shhh! It is not my fault that your sappy love stories are starting to infiltrate my dreams! Secondly, the premise of the dream is not the romance but the riches!¡± Duckworth retorted, as believingly as he could while a bashful color turned up on his cheeks. Germain started to laugh as he was on the brink of making a kissing face. ¡°You know what they say, Ducky, a dream is a wish your heart makes-¡° the younger companion started to sing. Duckworth was close to putting his gloved hands over the face of the man, if only he hadn¡¯t had his hands full.


    The sound of clopping hooves and spinning wheels interrupted the minstrel in training. One look at each other, and they were at the fence, glaring over it to see what was going on.


    ¡°My oh my,¡± Germain said as they watched the carriage stop in front of the house, where the sewing boutique also resided on the ground floor. Out of it came a gentleman, cloaked in black.


    ¡°Seems like your prince charming heard my song,¡± he teased, making Duckworth groan before widening his eyes in fear.


    ¡°Madame Michaut¡¯s client. She is going to feed my head to the cat,¡± Duckworth whined as he spun around, running into the basement as fast as he could.


    Behind him he heard the snicker of his friend, waving after him.


    ¡°Tell me what you think of the story when you read it!¡±

 Chapter Two

    Duckworth was winded as he stepped into the sewing boutique.


    His gloved hands rested shortly on his knees as he drew after breath, thinking that the client hadn¡¯t yet been shown into the shop, and he just made it. Important clients like this one, as he had been told he was, normally was being shown the house first before the shop.


    An awkward silence befell the room. Duckworth lifted his eyes, only to look straight into the skirt of the last person he ever wanted to lay eyes upon.


    ¡°Madame Michaut-¡° he said hastily, straightening his back faster than horses running to pasture.


    ¡°Duckworth,¡± the silkily sweet interrupted him harshly, all color leaving his face.


    ¡°Glad you could make it. Mr. Batton, this is your tailor, as I told you,¡±


    Duckworth barely had the courage to move a muscle as he felt stiff as a plank, but slowly he turned his head to Madame Michaut¡¯s side. His expression turned from horror to an odd mixture of amazed horror.


    He had never seen this man before, but somehow, he seemed familiar to him. That was perhaps because this man seemed like he had origins from roman sculptures, perfectly cut into marbles with his high cheekbones and straight jaw. Just the look of him made his heart pound a bit faster, as if he was still running up the stairs, and Duckworth wasn¡¯t sure if it was because of fear or awe.


    Mr. Batton, who was completely dressed in reds and browns, had now stepped a slight step forward, making Duckworth bend his back as the darkest eyes he had even seen pierced his. The dark eyes were surrounded by locks of smooth, black hair that had their own twist to them.


    ¡°Duckworth. That is one peculiar name you have.¡± a soft, soothing voice came from Mr. Batton as he glared at him. Despite how pleasant the voice was, the expression was quite frightening, as it was serious, even stoic.


    ¡°¡­ Yes, sir.¡± Duckworth quaked, true to his name, as he didn¡¯t know what to say.


    An awkward silence befell the room again. Madame Michaut was the first to say something, as she cleared her throat.


    ¡°Duckworth, just to remind you what you need to make. Mr. Batton is in need of a new evening suit for the upcoming ball at the castle. I trust that you know what to do,¡± Madame Michaut said, giving a brief warning glare to the tailor, before smoothly smiling at Mr. Batton.


    Mr. Batton barely reciprocated it, but it made him look away, so Duckworth could breathe a little easier.


    At the castle? He must be quite important then, Duckworth assumed.


    ¡°I look forward to your work,¡± Mr. Batton said, dryly polite as he handed him his hand. Duckworth stopped in his tracks just a moment, before giving him a smile as he took his hand, shook it. A burst of lightning went through the fingertips as he squeezed Mr. Batton¡¯s hand with his own, leather gloved one.


    ¡°Thank you, monsieur. I am pleased to be of service,¡± Duckworth said as he bowed, perfectly memorized after years of doing so.


    As soon as their hands let go, Duckworth noted that Mr. Batton discreetly brushed his hand against his thigh, as if he had just eaten something. Duckworth frowned slightly as he couldn¡¯t help but glare at the upper-class nobleman.


    Ah. I see how it is, Duckworth noted as the frown hardly left his face.


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    ¡°Well. I will leave you to it. Duckworth needs to take your measurements so he can start working on the suit,¡± Madame Michaut said, awfully chipperly while sending piercing eyes to Duckworth.


    Soon, they were left alone. The door closed as the last sound in the room, and a third round of awkward silence happened. This time though, Duckworth worked up the courage to break it sooner rather than later.


    ¡°Mr. Batton,¡± Duckworth gestured towards some coathooks. ¡°If you would please take off your coat and waistcoat, so I can measure you more precisely,¡± Duckworth said while he tried to find his measurement tapes.


    Mr. Batton did as he was asked, in complete silence and with the same muteness as a cat. Not a motion was to spot on his passive face as he took off the clothes too before positioning himself to be measured.


    He made Duckworth uneasy with his looming presence.


    Duckworth started first measuring the back, as it seemed the least threatening. The silence was pure agony though, and Duckworth just had to break it as he finished the back.


    ¡°Mr. Batton, you must be excited for the ball. All that music, food, beverages¡­ it sounds like a good time. And then at the castle!¡± Duckworth said with a smile as he started measuring the arms. He could see the dancing figures in front of his eyes, along with the grandeur interior and the booming orchestra... What Duckworth wouldn''t give to get a glimpse of that magic.


    ¡°Not particularly,¡± Mr. Batton said disinterested as his eyes sought the window.


    ¡°Why ever not?¡±


    Now the dark eyes were facing him again. Duckworth held his breath.


    ¡°I don¡¯t take joy in dancing,¡± he said, calmly.


    Duckworth broke off the intense staring. Now he was standing in front of the gentleman, giving him a quick glance before measuring his torso. Mr. Batton¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t leave him for just a moment, and Duckworth felt the warmth coloring his cheeks.


    ¡°Most people enjoy dancing, Mr. Batton,¡± Duckworth said as trying to build a bridge between the two.


    Mr. Batton wasn¡¯t having it.


    ¡°Most yes, but that is because it is only the mindless kind that does ¨C and there seems to be a connection between the senseless and the ones with the lesser fine touch,¡± Mr. Batton retorted resolutely.


    Duckworth frowned as his eyes met the stern look of the noblemen. ¡°Am... Am I to understand you correctly, Mr. Batton, that you are referring to the lower social classes than your own?¡± Duckworth asked as their eyes locked in an eye staring contest. Duckworth not revealing much of the distaste that was bubbling under the surface.


    ¡°Correct,¡± was all he said.


    Duckworth was perplexed, and for a moment he was close to retorting in annoyance, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn¡¯t be wise to tell off a nobleman like that.


    ¡°I see,¡± Duckworth said as he kneeled, taking measurements of the total length of the garment.


    The compliance didn¡¯t last for long though as Duckworth frowned with his gaze towards the measurement tape: ¡°I suppose you are correct, sir. After all, us layfolk don¡¯t do much of anything that requires an astute kind of mind¡­ Besides building the roads you traverse, making the bread you eat, and making the garments for your social festivities,¡± Duckworth noted out calmly as he tightened the band around the leg of the nobleman, his eyes completely averting his.


    One of Mr. Batton¡¯s arched brows started to lift, but he said nothing as Duckworth finished up and soon was on his feet again.


    ¡°That was all for now. In a few days I will have a mockup ready, with the design that you requested. You should come back for a fitting,¡± Duckworth said as he turned his back so he could place the tape back, not noticing that the dark eyes never left him.


    ¡°Very well. I will be here in two days¡¯ time then,¡± Mr. Batton said, clearing his throat a little bit.


    Duckworth turned so he could bow Mr. Batton farewell. He mustered a polite smile, that was quite strained, and Mr. Batton didn¡¯t even reciprocate it. He looked quite muddled as the dark eyes scanned the strawhaired man¡¯s face.


    ¡°I thank you for your time, Mr. Batton. I will see you then,¡± Duckworth said, bowing. Mr. Batton just glared as he tipped his head gently, before walking out, without a word.

 Chapter Three

    How¡­. Pretentious!


    Insufferable upper-class fool, Duckworth complained in his mind as he groaned out loud, letting all the tension leave his body as he made a frustrated gesture out into the air.


    How could you be that¡­ snobbish? It was not like Duckworth had done anything to him besides existing. But he supposed that was the name of the game when you were rich and noble.


    Duckworth had barely sat down to look at the taken measurements before the door flew up and in came Madame Michaut along with the younger seamstress Alaine, who was still in training.


    ¡°What were you thinking?¡± Madame Michaut hissed out as she walked over to Duckworth, who now was on his feet again. Alaine looked like she was trying to be a part of the furniture as she hid behind one of the cutting tables.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything on-¡°


    ¡°You came barging in here, and then you have the gall to retort Mr. Batton! How dare you be so insolent to our clients?¡± Madame Michaut continued to seethe while Duckworth wondered how in the world she would have known what Duckworth had said, unless Mr. Batton had said anything, but¡­


    Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in the door, and it took everything Duckworth had in him to not roll his eyes with disgust. Of course.


    The son of Madame Michaut now walked in, Jerome Michaut, with that smug expression that he was so even known for. The man was tall, and had the same, pointy chin as Madame Michaut, but dapper did he look in his green attire. Duckworth¡¯s expression spelled out ¡°tattletale¡±.


    ¡­ ¡°Are you listening, Duckworth? Next offense, and you will have to pay your full debt right then and there, or you will find yourself a warm welcome in jail,¡± Madame Michaut snickered with glee as she saw Duckworth¡¯s fright pass over his eyes.


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t do that,¡± Duckworth¡¯s tone was low as he squinted his eyes.


    Madame Michaut¡¯s glee only grew. ¡°Quite so. Seems like you will have to improve your attitude for the next 37 years,¡± she chuckled coldly as she slowly turned, aiming for the door where her stupid son was standing, chuckling along at Duckworth¡¯s misery.


    ¡°But I already paid more than half!¡± Duckworth said as he followed them for a few steps.


    ¡°Ah, Duckboy, there is an interest, isn¡¯t there? Along with the cost of living, feeding you¡­,¡± Madame Michaut grinned. ¡°Your parents should have thought of that before they buried themselves into a hole of debt so deep, attempting to keep that wretched farm up and running,¡± she said, as disgust wrinkled her nose.


    Duckworth clenched his fists as he looked at her, his teeth slightly grinding the edges of his incisors. ¡°They did it to feed us,¡± he muttered as shade passed his eyes.


    ¡°Their mistake,¡± Madame Michaut shrugged it off with the cruelest coldness before closing the door, accompanied by the sound of her and her son laughing as they walked away from the workroom.


    The room got quiet as Duckworth breathed out, feeling how anger had shadowed his eyes but it started to slowly lift. Alaine perked her head above the cutting table, looking at the tailor with both compassion and sorrow.


    ¡°She is¡­ the most horrendous person,¡± Alaine sighed as she shook her head dreadfully.


    Duckworth snorted as he looked at the door before going back to his chair.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± was the only thing he said, sounding so spent as he started to sketch out the design for the evening suit for Mr. Batton. Who had shown such disdain for the lower class that it had made Duckworth feel like hurling.


    Maybe he should just make him a suit with the colors of a clown. It would be a prank that surely would end with Duckworth in jail, considering he would lose his job, but it would be worth it. Just for a moment.


    Not that it would change his circumstances with much.


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    The pale, blue eyes find their way to the window. The sun was streaming in, and the breeze was kissing the leaves, so it made them dance. It sent him back to a time of sunny days, long grass tickling feet and mama¡¯s homemade biscuits. Flashes of what life had been prior to being locked into a debtor¡¯s prison overwhelmed his senses.  The flashes turned into a dream, he knew all too well.


    I will get out of this mess. I just don¡¯t know how. At least my family is¡­


    The sound of Loup, the cat, knocking over the inkbottle rushed Duckworth to his actual reality. Loup had walked all over his sketches, leaving spotted pawprints wherever he went.


    Duckworth rushed up from his seat. ¡°Loup, you devilish cat!¡± he exclaimed as he tried to save the papers. Duckworth was sure that he heard the cat laughing as he jumped all over the tiles of the workshop before leaving out the door.


    ¡°Someday I will make a rug out of that scoundrel,¡± Duckworth muttered as did a despairing gesture with now the ruined papers. Now he would have to start over¡­ and clean up all the mess that cat did.


    Alaine snickered with a sympathetic softness at the honest remark. ¡°Would be best for everyone, I think. Especially the mice,¡± she pointed out, which made Duckworth smile slowly.


    --------------------


    It was deep into the evening before Duckworth¡¯s day was over. First, he had to clean the mess that the cat had done, so the ink didn¡¯t stain too gravely whatever Loup had touched, and then there was his actual work. Along with the missing chores from the morning, and then the evening chores like feeding the animals, cleaning the shop, cleaning the stairs, and doing whatever soothed Madame Michaut¡¯s wrath at Duckworth¡¯s poor manners¡­


    Duckworth sighed out loud as he plopped down on the cranky straw-bed as the first thing when entering the attic. He was so spent, and his fingers felt like they were breaking off his hand after all that cleaning.


    Normally he would read one of Germain¡¯s eccentric love stories so he could dream himself to sleep, but he was just so exhausted. He just wanted to sleep right away but it was a chore on its own to get ready for bed.


    He winced as he took off the gloves as his fingers were aching and red. He could barely get his shoes off as the ties were bothering him.


    A light tap-tap-tap made him look up. It was one of the mice scratching at the window. Duckworth recognized it as Arnaud, the mouse that always tried to tickle his feet in the morning.


    ¡°What is it, Arnaud?¡± Duckworth yawned as he got up. With sluggish feet he got over to the window where he opened it up. The first thing he saw was the downtown of riches, where the mansions and manors were located, close to the city center and the beautiful castle, that was the setting of much of his daydreaming.


    The mouse looked at the sky, and so did Duckworth too.


    ¡°Wow,¡± he breathed out, amazed.


    It was a wishing star. Bright, and twinkling down to its audience of a poor tailor and his mice.


    He hadn¡¯t seen one since he was a kid and soon memories of his dear mama pointing up at the sky came to him. It made him mute as he was astonished by its beauty.


    ¡°What do you say, friends? Should we wish upon it?¡± he said to the mice with a teary-eyed smirk. The mice that had garnered up on the window frame, all tickled their whiskers at the gleaming star.


    Duckworth pulled over a footstool that had seen better days as it had a massive hole right through it. But it didn¡¯t discourage Duckworth from placing his knees on it as he pushed it up against the wall, close to the window.


    Duckworth locked his scarred, sore hands together with his gaze at the sky as if he was praying for a miracle.


    ¡°Dear Mr. Wishing Star. I wish for¡­,¡± he stopped himself for a moment.


    What did he wish for? The easy answer was riches, because if he was rich, he could just pay the debt, and get out of here along with the life of luxury as his greedy tooth demanded. It wasn¡¯t sure it would work though, as there was no end to Madame Michaut¡¯s own greed and exploitative nature, and she had the last say in terms of what he, and his family owed her. There had to be more drastic measures before he would ever get off her hook.


    ¡°I wish for you to get me out of here,¡± he whispered as his eyes started to well up. As he closed his eyes, a single tear rolled down the ink-stained cheek.


    ¡°Make my dreams come true, I beg of you. And be kind to my family in these trying times,¡± he said as another tear escaped him.


    When he opened his eyes, he was sure that he saw the star winking at him. Duckworth smiled as he just sat there, pulled into its wonder, and made him forget how achy he felt after a long day of work.


    But soon he heard the bells of the church. The clock was twelve o¡¯clock and if the next day should be bearable, he should go to bed. For one last moment he gazed upon the wishing star, before glancing at the castle. It looked stunning in the moonlight.


    ¡°Seems like it is bedtime, my friends. Better hit the hay,¡± Duckworth said with a soft smile at the mice as he wiped off the tears with his stained sleeve.


    The window was left open as Duckworth found his way to the old bed, embraced by the mended blankets.


    ¡°Goodnight,¡± he said to the mice as one of them snuggled close to his pillow. As the lights went out, the room was only lit by the gleam of the wishing star as it twinkled and blinked down upon the wooden floor.

 Chapter Four - the scheme

    The next day was spent on making the suit ready for Mr. Batton as he came already in a few days. It was important that the fit was impeccable as he was one of their most honored clients, considering he was going to the ball at the castle. It was going to be a stunning piece, Duckworth could already sense that.


    As he was working on one of the sleeves, a ¡°psst¡±-ing sound was heard. Duckworth looked around confused in the empty workshop before it came again, and Duckworth realized that it came from the window. Attentively, he crossed the floor to get over to the window frame, and his wary expression turned to a grimace.


    ¡°Germain, tell me why you are hiding among the bushes?¡± Duckworth said as he frowned, a smile creeping onto his face as he leaned over the window frame to look down upon a full crown of brown hair.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want Madame Michaut to see me, or maybe she will make me clean the chicken¡¯s coup,¡± Germain said as his head popped up from the bushes, before he fully straightened up. Duckworth tried not to laugh.


    ¡°Oh yes. What a dreadful thing that would be,¡± he said, rolling his eyes with a kind sparkle in them.


    ¡°Indeed so,¡± Germain said earnestly as he took a last look around. ¡°- but I came to see if you had read the story, I gave you. So? What do you think?¡± he asked, his chipper smile even making his eyes smile.


    Duckworth scratched his rough, blonde hair apologetic under the hat. ¡°I am so sorry, Germain. I completely forgot about that. It was a very long day yesterday and-¡°


    Papers got pushed into his face which made Duckworth gape.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, friend, I got you. I already made a copy so you can read it now!¡± Germain said cheerfully as he tipped his head to the side so his smiling face was visible from behind the papers.


    ¡°¡­¡± Duckworth took the papers, still with a surprised expression on his face. ¡°You are relentless, you know that?¡± he said, sounding more impressed than anything else.


    Germain seemed proud of himself as he glanced at his nails. ¡°I am a professional,¡± the upcoming minstrel said pompously.


    It was now Duckworth¡¯s time to look around for any hidden agents of Madame Michaut before he nodded, giving Germain a sign to jump into the workshop through the window.


    Duckworth was quick to jump straight into the story while Germain stared eagerly at him. As the tailor read the story, he looked more and more perplexed.


    ¡°What is this ludicrous mimic of a fairytale?¡± Duckworth then exclaimed as he waved the papers. ¡°A pauper disguising themselves as royalty to get the prince? Where do you even get these ideas from, you bonehead?¡± Duckworth teased as he bonked his head with the story.


    Germain took the papers back with a slight pout. ¡°It is ingenious! The heroine takes matters into their own hands to get their dream fulfilled, to get the prince and so they become rich. And, of course, loved.¡± Germain couldn¡¯t look prouder as he did a swing around the shop. ¡°And isn¡¯t it romantic, Duckworth? They dance, and the prince falls hopelessly in love with the protagonist, and they get everything they ever wanted¡­ Dreams couldn¡¯t write it any sweeter,¡±


    Duckworth had to admit ¨C the idea got a hold of his heart that was the one of a dreamer. Even if Duckworth gave Germain a hard time, he was one of his biggest readers of his work. And coincidentally the only one.


    ¡°It was romantic up until ¡°and so they became rich¡± part,¡± Duckworth pointed out as he shook his head.


    ¡°Besides, there is no magic in it-¡°


    Germain was quick to spin around. ¡°Real stories don¡¯t have magic, Ducky! I might be a fantastical writer, but I write authentic stories! The fantastical element is purely my talent,¡± Germain huffed smugly.


    Duckworth crossed his arms. ¡°Princes like that don''t exist, you dummy. No rich man would want a poor pauper as their spouse,¡± Duckworth reminded him, but Germain wasn¡¯t easy to discourage.


    ¡°Sure, they do. Love does exist, did you forget? Which reminds me¡­,¡± Germain now leaned in so close that Duckworth had to adjust by bending backwards.


    ¡°¡­ How did it go with ¡°prince charming¡±? Was he handsome? Proper? Kind?¡±


    Duckworth made a grimace out of disdain. ¡°Arh, he was dreadful, absolutely dreadful!¡± Duckworth declared as he swung out with his arms in an exaggerated gesture. ¡°He is no ¡°prince charming¡±; I can tell you that. He was rude, snobbish, ungrateful for the work of a humble servant and- and just so cold!¡± Duckworth shivered as he complained. ¡°I dread for his arrival in a couple of days,¡±


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    Germain was quiet for a moment. ¡°Was he wealthy, though?¡± he asked, and Duckworth nodded.


    ¡°Very. We are making a suit for him, as he is attending one of the balls at the castle. I think he is even acquainted with some of the lords, but I am not sure,¡± Duckworth shrugged indifferently.


    Germain was quiet. Duckworth recognized that look in his eyes, as he saw the wheels spin in his head.


    ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±


    ¡°You should do it,¡± Germain uttered.


    ¡°Do what exactly?¡±


    Germain pointed at the stories. ¡°You should do what the pauper did,¡± Germain took his friend by the shoulders, staring intensely into his eyes. ¡°You should disguise yourself as a rich man at the ball, and get someone to fall for you, so you can get rich and¡­ and out of this... this hellhole!¡± Germain gestured around him with one of his hands, so excited that he almost shivered.


    ¡°What?!?¡± Duckworth yelled as he got up on his feet as he looked at Germain in disbelief. He was quick to glance around before lowering his voice: ¡°Did you lose your marbles? Go positively mad?¡± he whispered to his friend, who was only beaming with a smile.


    ¡°We could pull it off, Ducky! You make the costume, and I will write your backstory, even your lines, so you seem as trustworthy as possibly! He wouldn¡¯t know what hit him when you caught him!¡± Germain was now rocking Duckworth back and forth, so Duckworth only saw vertical lines for a moment.


    ¡°You have gone mad,¡±


    ¡°Just imagine, Ducky. Close your eyes,¡± Germain now whispered as if he was selling something at the corner that he had no business selling. ¡°¡­ Breakfast in bed, golden carriages with white horses, evening balls¡­ and all the riches you could ever want,¡±


    Germain painted a picture that was all too sweet to not at least consider it. Duckworth closed his eyes as images of all he ever wanted, and more so, flashed across his lids. It was so close that Duckworth could almost just reach out for it and touch it.


    ¡°And honeyed applebiscuits?¡± he asked, a hopeful tone lightening up his voice.


    ¡°All of it. It could be yours,¡± he assured him as he nodded. ¡°And I, your trustworthy helper, will help you to achieve it all! It will be¡­ marvelous,¡± Germain sighed wondrously as he himself was imagining this glorious scheme of his getting pulled off.


    A drown appeared on Duckworth¡¯s face. ¡°Isn¡¯t it a bit¡­ cruel? I would not be who he thought I was, essentially making him love a lie¡­,¡± Duckworth looked down for a moment, before looking at his beloved friend, who only dismissed him with a wave of his hand.


    ¡°Nonsense. Men like a little bit of deceit,¡± Germain grinned. ¡°Besides, you must take matters into your own hands, Ducky, if you want to get out of here. You can¡¯t rely on a miracle to help you get out of your¡­ unfortunate circumstances.¡± Germain wrinkled his nose as he spotted a mouse crossing the corner, before looking at his friend with a compassionate smile.


    ¡°You have been too kind to your destiny, Duckworth. It is time that you took the reins now,¡± Germain uttered as he gave his friend''s shoulder a light squeeze.


    Duckworth was silent for only a few moments before he nodded. Germain was right: if he was ever to get out of this mess, he couldn¡¯t rely on a stupid wishing star. He had to do it himself, even if it meant that he had to scheme his way to it. He knew it was¡­ dishonorable for a lack of better words, but at this point, he was ready to do anything.


    Duckworth gave him a nod which shot Germain into action: soon, he was up on the cutting table as if he was starting a theatrical show.


    ¡°You will be the charismatic, notorious heartbreaker, that sings him sweet nothings,¡± Germain started dramatically, as was starting to shape the fantasy of this new plan.


    ¡°The most charming and outstanding kind,¡± Duckworth agreed, as he was being fully convinced of this fantasy now with no regard to the possible dangers of it. After all, he had always been daydreaming about such princes when he was a kid, wanting quite desperately to be the hero of his own fairytale, instead of doing what he was supposed to do when he still lived with his family.


    ¡°And with that charm we will make him fall for you. We will make him fall for a stranger, a player if you will, and you will sing to him the ¡°I love you¡¯s¡± until you got him by the palm of your hand,¡± Germain now shrieked with excitement. Duckworth felt his own excitement as his stomach felt tingly and his head light. Now Duckworth was the one jumping up on one of the tables, getting eager by Germain¡¯s words that had filled his soul with such hope he had been longing for, for such a long, long time.


    ¡°I will take him by his hand-¡° he said, daringly.


    ¡°With your heart on your sleeve,¡± Germain chimed in enthusiastically.


    ¡°And he will be swooned by my brilliance and great heritage-¡°


    ¡°- born to be a star!¡±


    ¡°And I will have excellent taste in fashion-¡°


    ¡°Dressed in white like the purest lamb!¡±


    ¡°And with silver boots!¡± Duckworth finished off excitedly.


    The two friends were now laughing as their plan was starting to shape up, a character appearing in front of their eyes.


    ¡°So, what do you say, tailor? Shall we turn you into a superstar of a prince?¡± the minstrel said with thrill in his voice, as if he was calling to arms upon the rich¡¯s hearts.


    Duckworth didn¡¯t even hesitate:


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡±