Chapter Text
Everything was wrong. Fakir stared at the shattered wine glass on the stone floor. Wine spread steadily like blood. The Prince was slumped over in his chair, one arm hanging over the armrest. His face was deathly pale and his eyes were closed. Fakir jumped out of his seat and ran to the Prince's side. The people closest to him were frozen in shock. Fakir knelt by his side, hands shaking.
The Prince's chest rose lightly and Fakir felt a wave of relief so powerful, he almost collapsed to the ground. "Get the court physician," he barked. A noble closest to Mytho jumped up immediately and ran out of the hall. Fakir directed a few of his knights to lift Mytho with him and lay him on the floor. Moments later the noble returned with the physician on his heels.
He knelt next to Mytho, feeling his pulse and checking under his eyelids. He raised the fallen goblet to his nose and sniffed it. "Hmm," he said. "I see nothing out of the ordinary."
"What do you mean?" Fakir asked harshly.
The physician turned to him slowly, scratching his head in a cat-like manner. "I mean, Sir Fakir, that the Prince does not seem harmed in any way other than the fact that he cannot be roused."
"That doesn't make any sense," Fakir replied. His hands were clenched into fists on either side.
"Indeed." The physician turned back to Mytho. "I will need to conduct more tests. Please bring the Prince to his chambers." Fakir nodded and bent to pick up the Prince. His head lolled against Fakir’s chest. A muscle twitched in Fakir’s cheek as he clenched his jaw tight. With the physician on his heels, he carried Mytho back to his room.
Fakir laid Mytho down on the bed covers and stepped back. Two of his knights stood behind him, ready for his signal. Fakir said nothing, however. He just stared as the physician bustled around the room, pulling herbs from his belt and starting a fire in the fireplace. How could I let this happen? He had been right there. There had been nothing—no one—suspicious. They were in a time of peace. Mytho, ever the politician, deftly maneuvered the neighboring kingdoms into peace treaties as soon as he took the throne. The area was experiencing an unprecedented time of peace and prosperity. There was no motive, as far as Fakir could see, to upset the balance between kingdoms.
The physician reached out and clipped a lock of hair from Mytho's head. "Hey—!" Fakir started forward, but the old man was already moving away. He threw the hair into the fire along with some dried herbs. Fakir and the knights stepped back in shock as the orange and red flames suddenly burned black. The physician only narrowed his eyes. He pointed with one hand at the wall above the fireplace. Something had been burned into the stone. Fakir recoiled. It was a crow.
Fakir paced the hall outside of Mytho's room. His knights, Lysander and Femio, were leaning against the wall.
"Oh my poor Prince, caught in the claws of an evil curse. How has such a great misfortune befallen him?" Femio threw his hand over his eyes and swooned. "How will we go on without our brave Prince?" A muscle twitched in Fakir’s cheek again. He gave Lysander a look and Lysander immediately chivvied Femio down the hall. Fakir sighed heavily. Accepting prodigal sons of neighboring noblemen was not his idea of building a functional regiment of knights, but Mytho had insisted that it was a small sacrifice to encourage goodwill. Fakir snorted. A small sacrifice… Dealing with Femio was threatening to send Fakir to an early grave. He leaned his fist against the cool stone and put his forehead on his hand. Mytho…
The windows were inky black when the physician finally exited the room. He wearily patted the bald spot on his head with his sleeve and scratched his ears. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "It is a cleverly designed curse," he said. "Intended to immobilize the Prince and the kingdom."
"What is the curse? Who cast it?" Fakir asked, stepping towards the physician. The physician sighed again.
"It is a curse cast on him by the Raven when he was a child. When he ceases to be a prince who loves all, then he is no longer fit to rule the kingdom. There must be a sacrifice. An act of selfless and unconditional love for him and the curse will break." Fakir furrowed his brow.
"What do you mean?"
"We need to find someone who is willing to give up their heart for his." The physician sighed again and removed his glasses. He wiped them with the edge of his robes.
"There must be someone. Anyone in the kingdom would be happy to give up their heart for him."
"I'm afraid that might be less people than you think, Sir Fakir."
"Then what do we do?" Fakir growled.
"I...am not sure," the physician said. "I must consult with the other medical staff."
Fakir shook his head violently and pushed past the physician into the Prince's chambers. The Prince was lying where he had left him. His skin was drained of all color. His white hair and eyelashes were translucent and Fakir could see the delicate veins in his eyelids. The physician had folded his arms over his chest and Fakir wanted to rip them apart. It made him look as if he really were dead. Fakir knelt by the bedside and took one of Mytho's hands in his. He leaned his forehead against it, devastated.
Fakir kept vigil over the Prince almost twenty-four hours a day. Rue, a young servant girl, would visit the Prince as well. She had played with them as children and Mytho considered her a good friend. Fakir and Rue had never truly gotten along, both trying to vie for the role of the Prince's dearest friend. Fakir allowed her presence only after he noticed how the pain and loss in her eyes mirrored his own.
On the third day, Fakir watched Rue wipe off the Prince's face with a damp cloth. She was gentle, for which he was grateful. He didn't trust many people in the castle around the Prince. As deep as childhood hurts went, she was still one of the few people he trusted not to hurt Mytho.
He closed his book and stood up to help her shift Mytho so he was in a more comfortable position. Fakir reached under his pillow to lift his head and bumped into something hard. Fakir lifted up the edge of the pillow to find a book. Fakir picked it up and turned it over. He stared down at the book cover. The title read The Prince and the Raven. It was one of his and Mytho’s favorites.
Fakir remembered reading it with his parents as a young child. He had loved the brave knight and the strength of his devotion to the Prince. He remembered his father saying how that would be him one day and how he would bring honor to their village. Fakir had held that aspiration close to him. After all, it was all he had left of his parents.
After getting Mytho settled here sat back in his chair. He opened the book to a dog-eared page. He had to blink back the sudden prick of tears in his eyes. It was Mytho's favorite part he would read over and over again as a child.
An illustration of a graceful ballerina was on the left side of the book. Tendrils of light surrounded her as she floated high above the ground. A delicate gold crown perched on her head. Her expression was filled with grief, but more than that, love.
On the opposite page the story continued: Princess Tutu, unable to see her Prince in such pain uttered the fateful words. "I love you, my Prince," she cried. The Prince's spell shattered and his heart was restored. Unfortunately, just as the Prince was coming to himself, Princess Tutu vanished in a speck of light. Her words, which had saved the Prince, were also cursed. For if she ever spoke her love to him, she would vanish. The Prince felt like his heart was shattering all over again…
Mytho was obsessed with this part. He had been saved from drowning once as a kid, before Fakir had come to the castle, and swore that it was Princess Tutu that had saved him. He would read the part over and over again, saying that when he grew up, he would find Princesses Tutu and thank her. Fakir didn't know that Mytho was still so fond of the book, even to go as far as sleeping with it under his pillow.
Fakir ran his fingers over the illustration. If only Princess Tutu was real and could save the Prince again. It seemed like her confession would fulfill the terms of the curse as well. Fakir snapped the book shut. It was a fairytale and nothing more. No need to get lost in hopeless fantasies.
It wasn't until the fifth day of the Prince's curse that the physician returned with an answer. Fakir had taken to reading The Prince and the Raven over and over again. It soothed his anxiety when his body felt like it was going to burst with worry. As a child, it seemed like a story of love and honor. It was actually a macabre tale when one read closely, full of cruel twists of fate. No one really got a happy ending. Not even the Prince. The court physician knocked on the door of the Prince's bedroom. Fakir closed the book again, bleary-eyed.
"Sir Fakir," the physician said. "Autor and I may have an answer."
Fakir sat up straightener in his chair. Rue put down her needlework. They both looked at the physician and librarian together.
Autor came to stand at the side of the bed. He glanced down and saw the book Fakir was holding in his hands.
“Ah,” he said. “You seem to have picked up on the same thing.” His expression stated that this was not a compliment to Fakir. He pushed his glass up his nose. "It seems as if the curse is based on this novel.” Fakir furrowed his eyebrows, but Autor continued to talk. “The Raven seems to have an ironic sense of humor. The Prince is the Prince, you are the knight, and his lover is—“
“Princess Tutu,” Fakir finished for him. “But what does that have to do with this curse?”
Author made a face like Fakir was being exceedingly stupid. “Princess Tutu will break the curse by confessing her love to him. She will save the kingdom, but disappear. A true act of selfless love.”
“Princess Tutu doesn’t exist,” Fakir said flatly. He had hoped for her as well, but it had been a wild hope. Fakir didn't believe in making decisions based on fairy tales. He didn’t see how this could possibly be a viable strategy.
“Ah, but she might,” Autor said. He walked over to the Prince's desk and spread an old map across the top. “There have been rumors of a ballerina saving people in the countryside with her magic. She appears to those in aid and then vanishes without a trace.” He pointed to a few spots on the map. They were remote villages almost across the country. “According to my research, the most believable accounts place her in this area.”
Fakir crossed his arms. “You want me to travel across the country to find someone who may not exist?”
“All signs point to the high probability that she does exist.”
“A high probability .”
“Are you questioning my research abilities?”
“Sir Fakir, if I may,” the physician cut in before he and Autor could exchange any more barbs. “There is strong magic in this area. It has been a place of wonder and mystery for as long as we know. Of all the places, if we were to find a miracle, it would be there.”
It would be a miracle if it weren't a wild goose chase , thought Fakir.
"I can't leave the Prince."
"There is nothing you can do for him here, Sir Fakir," the physician said. Fakir clenched his jaw. It was true, but he didn't like hearing it. The physician walked around the table to the Prince's bedside. He put his hand on his forehead. "I am not sure how long he can sustain himself in this state."
Fakir still hesitated. None of this made any sense. He looked to Rue who had been listening quietly. She was now staring at Mytho's face with an unreadable expression.
“Mytho always spoke of his desire to find Princess Tutu,” she said, still staring at Mytho's unconscious face. “She is real to him and…he loves her.” She met Fakir’s eyes and hers were hard. They looked at each other, silently arguing.
"Where is this girl?" Fakir finally snapped, turning to Autor.
Autor pointed to a wooded area near a cluster of blue dots. "This is where the highest number of sightings have been. Based on the location, she most likely resides in the enchanted forest and leaves when she is needed."
"I'm supposed to find one girl in an entire forest?"
Autor exhaled sharply through his nose. He muttered something about useless knights before continuing. " No, if you've been listening, I have been able to triangulate her position based on the most recent sightings. Start your search here." He pointed at a small patch of forest near the outskirts of one of the villages. Fakir narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the map. It would be at least a three week journey there and back. And that was pushing Lohengrin, their fastest horse, at breakneck speed.
"It'll be a minimum of three weeks. Can we afford to wait that long?"
Physician Cat and Autor exchanged looks. "Between the two of us, I believe we will be able to," the physician said. When Fakir didn't look like he believed him, he added. "This is of utmost importance to us as well. Please trust us, Sir Fakir."
Fakir exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'll leave right away." He strode over to the doors, but hesitated before them. He looked at Rue again. "Please, take care of him.”