25 5.3

The queen is an inhuman monster. What else would explain why her conditions were so unreasonable?

The first wasn't too awful. She only asked that I clean up my room and keep it that way. It would require a great deal of effort, but it wasn't a bad idea to keep it a bit less cluttered. Looking at this positively, at the very least I would recover the ball I had lost earlier that day. I imagine it would also be nice to have a place I could take people to that I wouldn't be horrified for them to see. That wasn't what horrified me.

Her second requirement didn't particularly surprise me; despite this, I felt my stomach drop into down to my shoes. She wanted me to put more effort into my appearance, and to keep my appearance neat and tidy "as befitting a prince" at all times. I was honestly shocked that I had been able to get away with my usual manner of dress for as long as I did. She wrote me a list of her expectations so that I couldn't pretend to misunderstand, including notes on what attire was allowed for what occasions down to what shoes I could wear to breakfast.

She told me reassuringly that she would make sure that my changing room was properly stocked with new suits, dress shirts, ties, shoes, cloaks, and more. Any article of clothing that was ripped, stained, or even wrinkled beyond a reasonable degree would be removed, and a new valet would be permanently stationed in the changing room to ensure compliance. Something told me that she had planned this out beforehand, and it irked me. But this wasn't the worst part of the entire deal.

It was her final condition that almost made me stand up, turn around, and storm out of the room with as much rage projected as I could offer. I had to engage all of my self-control simply to stay in my seat and hear her out.

My dearest stepmother had decided to be clever and throw me into the closest thing to a literal lion's den she could find. It appeared my skills in swordplay were insufficient for any investigative work, and she could not let that stand. This was the perfect time to remedy that, and, unlike before, practicing in private with a tutor would not be enough. She had other plans.

She wanted me to practice my non-existent sword skills under the tutelage of the entire King's guard, with an emphasis on learning from Captain Orion. To make my hell worse, the second condition also applied; I would have to keep my appearance neat and tidy and continuously royal even while being tortured by the combined might of our nation's most competent and muscly swordsmen and swordswomen.

I was to practice my non-existant skills under the watchful eye of the entire King's Guard, with special tutoring from Captain Orion himself. And to add insult to injury? The rules of appearance still applied. I would have to keep myself neat, tidy, and professional even as my rear end was being kicked by muscle headed idiots with arm muscles larger than my head. I was going to die before I ever managed to begin investigating, and I would die miserably.

I tried to convince her of this undeniable fact, but she dared to laugh and wave me away. It seems she hadn't taken me seriously when I had told her that Orion would likely attempt to remove at least one of my limbs before he was done. Every intelligent cell of my being told me that it wasn't worth it and that my survival was far more valuable than joining an investigation into a girl I had only met once.

Each step away from the room was agony, but I refused to turn back and give up on this quest. Something inside me knew that if I didn't follow this to the end, I would regret it for the rest of my life. For some reason, I trusted that instinct. I could only hope it wouldn't ruin me completely before this story came to its end.

The walk back to my room was long, made only longer by the combined facts of my lack of a guide and my preoccupation with my thoughts. It took me almost bumping into a large wooden object for me to snap myself back into reality, where I could only stare at the sight that greeted me.

That monster of a queen had played me like a violin, clearly predicting the result of our lovely chat from the start. She had thoughtfully arranged for the hallway in front of my room to be almost completely blocked off by a full quartet of new bookshelves, a brand-new desk, and enough cleaning supplies to stock the entire castle for weeks. Only a small space between the wall and the desk was left open enough to walk through, and I imagined anyone above a weight that could be considered slim would struggle to get past.

All the stubbornness that made up my being demanded that I march down the stairs, find my way through the maze to her rooms and call this entire thing off. I had been manipulated, and my pride would never let such an insult stand unchallenged.

But the same instinct that told me I would regret it if I gave up earlier told me the same thing now. And so, I forced my pride aside, rolled up my sleeves, and got started on the unseen horrors of my room.