Just Ask Him Out, Already

Originally posted here on March 18 2019:

writing-prompt-s:

The strongest warlock in all the land uses his power to constantly kidnap the princess. Most people believe it’s because he’s in love with her, but they have it all wrong. He’s in love with the knight who always comes to save her.

She sighed in exasperation. “Again, Mortimer? Again?” She didn’t bother screaming as he scooped her over her shoulder. “Seriously? I’m in the middle of negotiating a very important-”

“I know. They’ll wait. It’ll give you some political oomph, anyway.”

She poked him in the ear. “Not as much as it used to.”

“Witnesses,” he hummed.

She inhaled deeply, and let loose as operatic a scream as she could manage.

“Thank you, dear, that sent them scurrying. My ears are ringing, too.”

“I told you to start wearing hearing protection.” 

“Could you kick just a little?”

She obliged, rolling her eyes, and gave another scream for good measure when he threw her into his Horrible Hearse, but gave up the pretense when the door was snapped shut, and arranged her skirts neatly, pulling out a bottle of brandy from where they were stashed.

“Seriously, though, you could just ask him out.”

“It’s not how things are done.” 

“Kidnap him for once, then, I have meetings. And I’ll have to soothe ruffled feathers, no matter that I was kidnapped.” 

Three miles out from the palace, the Horrible Hearse appeared as any other plain vehicle on the road, indistinct. 

“That’s also not how things are done,” he finally said. 

She sighed and heaved herself across the bench seat as dramatically as possible. “I have things to doooooo and at some point someone is going to notice that the reason I look like shit when I’m rescued is because I have a hellish hangover. And it’s going to interfere with my ability to govern. You know how sick Daddy is, if he passes away-”

“He will be fine for the day or so you’re gone, I’m assured he’s on an upswing.”

“Did you really suborn the palace physician? I’m gonna have to-”

“Please restructure your staff after I’ve won his hand.”

“If you would just tell him how you feel then you could work this out between you and help me find the actual moles-”

“Don’t be silly, I kill them when I find them.”

“-and stop doing that, it doesn’t help me plug the defenses when you do that. I need to know where the weaknesses are-”

“Humans are always weak, it’s the way of life.”

“-and I need the ability to govern on my own without everyone thinking I’ve been unduly influenced by you! People are starting to whisper that you’re getting into my head! Just because I don’t know where your base is.”

“You don’t, though. I mean, it’s largely your fault.”

“You do keep the best brandy I’ve drunk, and I so rarely get to relax these days.”

“I suppose telling them ‘well, I was shitfaced’ is probably a non-starter.”

“I do tell them that you drug me. Which is true for, you know…”

“True enough,” he said amiably, shrugging. “The negotiations were about to hit a wall. I know it’s not the same oomph it used to be, but pity points will get you through. Especially if you were serious last time about learning a bit of the arts. It’ll take a lot out of you, you’ll be hollow-eyed and drawn for weeks until you settle.”

“Hmph. Well, alright then. But I must insist that you stop this fooling around. He’s starting to get suspicious.”

“He’s starting to get suspicious because you were very clearly and obviously drunk last time.”

She snorted. “Fine. Scrying will be useful to know, even if I learn nothing else.”

“I think it’s all you’ll be able to get, and it’s not as straightforward as you would hope.”

“I’m just looking for an edge.”

“That may be all you get,” he said. “But, ah, take it easy on my brandy. I’ll gift some to you after.”

She took a delicate swig and put the bottle back. “Alright. I suppose.”

***

Hently came through the gates, not on a charging steed, but idly, with slicked back hair and wearing his best suit. “Princess,” he said, then did a double take. “You’re not hungover this time. Did he-”

She waved a hand at him. “Go see him and don’t talk to me,” she moaned.

“You are hungover.”

“I’ve been learning to scry, I deserved brandy.” 

He snorted. “Upstairs?”

“Yep.”

He climbed the grand staircase and managed to surprise Mortimer, who suddenly seemed small when he realized Hently had arrived to no fanfair three days early. “Um-”

“Sit, please, Mortimer. May I call you that?”

“Uh, yes?”

“How’s she taking to the scrying?”

“Pretty well,” the great and terrible warlock answered. “Surprisingly well, actually. I think it’s still the limit of her abilities but- what are you doing?”

“Do you think I can carry a hungover, drunken princess home more than once and not hear all about her time with ‘morty’?” Hently asked, eyebrow raised. He sat at the table. “I didn’t intervene too much because she seemed to need the break, honestly. Her father’s too hard on her. I understand, there’s a lot of responsibilities, but we all see it-” he stopped. “Anyway, her father’s taken a turn for the worse and she needs to go home. I thought without fanfare.” He sighed, and reached out and touched Mortimer’s arm. “And I think it’s time we stop this.”

“I… you’re right.”

***

The kingdom over celebrated Mortimer the Terrible’s death, even as it mourned the death of their King. Queen Temperance, newly crowned, did not crow in victory, but mourned the loss of her old enemy. She made a great speech, and talked of eradicating hunger, of raising up the poorest. 

Her political enemies squirmed and plotted, but at the right hand of her greatest knight, a new player emerged. A canny and learned venerable mage from some kingdom far to the north, who had a nose for scenting out political treason and protected his Queen with the same fervor as Hently. 

The whole kingdom celebrated their union, when that happy day came, and both were given due credit for helping their Queen bring the Kingdom to a new era of abundance.

And nobody ever asked nosy questions as to why Percifer the Magnificent was called, in private and by very few, by the nickname of ‘Morty’.