#warning for talk of death + assassins in the context of hypothetically hiring an assassin to help the characters fake their deaths

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

it was over.

the (wicked, though of course that hardly needed saying) queen had been ousted from the kingdom, and serenity was about to be crowned in her place. she had her friends by her side, and she felt like she could do anything.

“your highness, the choreographers are here.”

“claude,” she hissed, still fiddling with her hair. “i told you not to call me that!”

“because i can just call you by your name in front of the whole court and not have it be a huge scandal.” they rolled their eyes, hopping up on the vanity. “i’m practicing, you should be grateful.”

“i’d be grateful if you’d help me with my hair. there’s this one piece that just won’t stay put.” she tried to gesture at it without actually letting go. “and get off the furniture; you know we aren’t supposed to sit on it!”

“i know that no one’s around to care besides you, and you only care because you can’t do it yourself.” nevertheless, they jumped off, plucking a bobby pin from the little container. “okay, here, bend back some — squat a little? yeah. annnnnnd there, is that good?”

serenity straightened, scrutinizing the mirror as she gingerly let go of her hair. “perfect, thanks. what’d you want to tell me again?”

“the choreographers are here,” claude repeated. “your highness.”

she stuck her tongue out at them. they mimicked her, but she turned away as soon as she saw them starting to, so she got the last word there.

“what choreographers? why do we need choreographers?” she’d known they’d need a lot of people to set up the coronation when she first started preparing for it. she’d since learned that they needed a lot of people to set up the coronation. there were more people still that she had yet to hire, or at least delegate the task of hiring to someone else. but never once had anyone mentioned choreographers, and she couldn’t fathom why they were necessary.

“for the big dance thing?”

she turned to show claude how little that meant to her. they’d gotten back on the vanity, and serenity wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull them off or go sit next to them; she settled for rolling her eyes and balancing on the arm of the chaise across from the vanity.

“it’s like... you know how at the end of movies there’s the jump-cut to show how everyone’s doing great now, and if it’s a musical everyone gets to sing a happy song and do a dance about how amazing everything is now, or the power of true love or whatever?”

“yeah?”

“we’re doing that.”

serenity wrinkled her nose. “we are?”

“apparently.”

“since when?”

“i don’t know. i only got told about this when the choreographers got here.”

“ugh.” wouldn’t having to do the specific moves and worry about getting the steps right take all the fun out of it? and presumably being made to memorize a song to sing along with it too; that just sounded like more work. “wait, does that mean i have to sing?”

“i mean, you are the princess.”

“ugh.” she scrunched her face up more. “do you think it’s too late to cancel it?”

“maybe? i just found out like ten minutes ago, i don’t know.”

“ughhhhhhhhhhhh.” serenity flopped backwards onto the chaise, which was extremely satisfying, and if she actually wanted to move she would probably get up and do it again. “why do we even have to do this? it’s stupid.”

claude shrugged. “morale, i guess?”

“stupid.”

“we still have to do it,” they said, which was not very helpful, thanks claude.

“not if we hire some assassins to help us fake our deaths,” serenity suggested, grabbing a fallen pillow and hugging it. “we could run off with some of the jewels and live well off in somewhere quiet enough that no one’ll ever know we didn’t actually die.”

“who’ll be the princess, then?”

“hmmmmm.” serenity squeezed the pillow while she thought. “claire, maybe? i’m sure they’ll find somebody.”

“so we fake our deaths, leaving a note that we conveniently managed to write before being murdered, and then claire gets to mourn our deaths while being made the new princess?”

“shhhhhhh,” she told them. “we can’t take all our friends with us.”

“so it’s better to let them think we died?”

serenity threw her pillow at them. “shush. do you want to run away with me or not?”

“i don’t know,” claude hummed. “i think we don’t have to pay taxes if you’re the princess.”

“we have to do a stupid dance and sing if i’m princess, though.”

“one dance... versus a lifetime without taxes...” they made a show of weighing the pros and cons. serenity sighed loudly.

“i’ll do the stupid dance, i guess.” she knew she was going to have to anyway, but imagining avoiding it was nice. she muttered, “see if i bring you along with me next time i fake my death, though.”

claude gasped, one hand smacking against their chest as the back of the other flew to their forehead. “how could you?”

“serves you right,” she told them. “and this way you still won’t have to pay taxes.”

“but i’ll have to avenge you! while grieving, of course.”

“of course.”

“imagine: you fake your death and then go on your merry way, taking from the treasury and setting up a new life. meanwhile, i swear vengeance against the person who took your life and those that set them up to it. i track down the assassin and threaten — or i guess just ask, though i doubt they’d be obliging — them until they tell me who hired them to kill you. imagine the heartbreak, to find out that you’re still alive, that you were the one that hired the assassin, that you left me.”

“but i’d cover my tracks,” serenity countered, swinging upright so that she could gesture and explain properly. “i’d create a false organization behind the plot to kill me, and then a false organization behind that that’s planning to take over the kingdom. and then i’d pay the assassin so handsomely that they won’t tell you i set it all up, and you’ll spend all your time chasing down smoke and never find out the truth.”

“so much work?” claude flopped against the vanity mirror dramatically. “just to elude me?”

“and so i don’t have to sing in front of a crowd of people,” she said primly. they sighed, deflating. “hey, you could’ve just faked your death with me. not my fault you chose to not have to pay taxes.”

“oh!” claude sat up, leaning forward slightly. serenity mirrored them. “what if we just steal enough money that we don’t have to worry about taxes?”

“perfect.” she grinned.

“there we go!” they crowed, grinning back at her.

“um, your highness?” someone said quietly, and she turned to see a servant woman standing in the doorway. she looked over to claude, visibly fumbling for an honorific before settling on “your grace?”

“they’re my consort,” serenity said loftily, sticking her nose up and biting down a grin when claude gasped offendedly behind her.

“i am not just your consort, and ‘your grace’ is fine, thank you.”

“can people really call you that if you don’t have any grace?”

“can people really call you ‘highness’ when you’re tiny?”

“the high part is about my status, and i’m plenty tall enough to punch you in the face.”

“mmm, are you sure? maybe you should try my abs first. start small. like you!”

“we’ll see how small i am when i wipe the smirk off your face—“

“madam?” the woman broke in pointedly. “the choreographers want to know where their rooms are and where they’ll be teaching everyone the dance, and when they’ll get to do that. um, and one of them said something about smoothies?”

serenity sighed. “fine. take me to them, please.”

she nodded, and serenity jerked her head for claude to come with.

“do i have to?” they asked, even as they hopped down and over to her.

“yes,” she said, grabbing their hand. “come on.” quieter, she added, “if we go together, we can complain more effectively about it together once it’s over.”

“fine,” they acquiesced, though they squeezed her hand minutely and quickened their pace slightly to match her. serenity smiled and marched off after the woman.