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I’ve babysat in enough houses and for enough families to know that when relationships cross cultures, misunderstandings and outrage are inevitable.
“I mean, is it, though? If you want the piece of paper so badly, just get some paper and make a marriage certificate up. I’ll sign if it makes you happy.”
“How very romantic,” he drawls. “Just get a piece of paper and make our own marriage license…” He pauses after the sentence and looks at me as if I am a mad genius. “We can get a piece of paper and make our own marriage license! Of course!”
“Of course,” I agree, because it was my idea in the first place.
Thus begins the hunt for some parchment, which seems to have become very scarce. The dining room is devoid of such things. It contains silver plates with dubious food atop them, an ill-advised wedding casserole which clearly should not be consumed, goblets containing a viscous red substance which I am going to say almost certainly is not wine.
“What about a napkin?”
All we can find are vellum-like scrolls in napkin rings. I can imagine that they were once thick linen, but now they are more like light tanned leather from the hide of a beast very much offended not to have the use of its skin anymore. The edges of the napkin are thickened and slightly rancid. I ignore the grossness of it, because everything is foul now, and growing ranker by the moment.
We can’t find a pen, but King Charming plucks a bristle from one of the Pricklewolves on the wall and we use the red liquid from the goblets, that I am not sure is not blood, in order to create a wedding certificate. I do wonder if this is the best idea I have ever had, and I’m not sure. It’s probably not the worst. Hopefully.
Scrawling eternal vows in potentially cursed ink on the hide of a fallen creature is the sort of thing that happens in horror films, or it would if they made horror films about fairytale weddings that go very wrong.
I consider, for a moment, possibly suggesting postponing the wedding, but what purpose would that serve? Tomorrow the dragon will still be ravaging the world, the citizens of Ever After will still be living in fear, the air of rot, decay, and perversion will still be present. Best to try to banish this evil as soon as possible, before I am given more cause to use my sword.
I feel the weight of Dragonslayer on my back, not just the physical weight, but a tangible responsibility. It came to me, it defended me. And I strongly suspect it expects to be used to defend others. Perhaps even the entirety of the Ever After.
I pen two little words that seem too small to make any difference. I am burdened with too much responsibility and surrounded by too much darkness. To my surprise, even though the ink is almost certainly cursed blood, as I spread it on the napkin in the shape of the words, it begins to glow.
I do.
It is a little spark of hope, gleaming with true love.
The air around the napkin shimmers for a moment, as if it is reacting with the atmosphere. I wonder if something chemical is occurring, and then it becomes very apparent that it’s not a chemical reaction at all. It’s a magical reaction. The paper glows brighter and brighter, the ink turning bright gold.
I let out a shriek of surprise as the entire napkin evaporates suddenly into a cloud of gold dust.
“What was that? Was that good? Was that bad?”
“That was very good,” King Charming smiles broadly. He takes another piece of impromptu parchment and writes the words as well. I wait for his to begin to glow too, and for whatever deep enchantment is at work here to unfold for him too.
But his words do not glow. They sit lumpen on the paper, the blood looking more like blood than ever.
“What’s…” I almost don’t want to even try to form the question.
“You have much magic, Emmaline,” he declares. “I fear I have depleted mine in my battle with the dragon.”
He looks so disappointed in himself. My big, strong, noble King Charming is beset by ill-fortune on all sides. He wants more than anything to be married to me, and yet it seems fate keeps intervening in that quest. I reach out and put my hand on his arm.
“Alright. So. You’re tired. It’s been a long day. It’s okay. We can try again tomorrow. Besides, who cares if it glows and explodes? We’re not here to convince the world of our love. We’re here to declare it to each other. Right?”
“Yes. Of course,” he says with cold rationality. I watch him transform a little more. His white wedding suit is completely gone, and now he is wearing the gray hooded sweatshirt I first saw him in, and a pair of jeans. He is still as handsome as ever, but he is much less green, and much less scaled. He almost looks human, save for his eyes which maintain their royal golden hue.
