“Why don’t we dress up like other people instead? Then I don’t think people will stare at us like this,” I suggested, my voice low but firm.
The continuous murmurs and pointed glances from the festival-goers were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Our dark, imposing robes, though meant for stealth, were drawing far too much unwanted attention in this vibrant, celebratory atmosphere.
It was utterly counterproductive to our supposed clandestine mission.
The whispers of “gloomy people” and “scary outsiders” grated on my nerves, and a solution felt urgently needed.
Just then, as if an answer to my silent plea, I spotted a stall positioned directly in front of us.
It was an explosion of color and whimsical shapes, selling an assortment of costumes and props for animal disguises.
Even from a distance, I could see it was already bustling with people, a clear indication of its popularity and a good sign that blending in might actually be possible here.
The lively chatter around it seemed to confirm my idea.
“Oh, that sounds fun!”
Sir Chris’s voice chimed in from beside me, a rare spark of genuine enthusiasm in his usually reserved tone.
His eyes, though still somewhat guarded, held a curious glint as he surveyed the colorful array of animal heads and tails.
However, the Emperor’s reaction, as I had fully anticipated, was one of characteristic indifference, bordering on outright disdain.
“Too much bother, why bother?” he grumbled, his voice a low, dismissive murmur.
The words were delivered with a sigh that conveyed a profound aversion to anything that might disrupt his accustomed formality or comfort.
I could almost perfectly envision his usually composed, regal face, currently hidden beneath the dark, heavy fabric of the robe.
I knew, with a certainty born of growing familiarity, that it was crumpled in a grimace of annoyance.
The thought of engaging in such frivolous activities, of lowering himself to mere disguise, was clearly distasteful to him.
It was a predictable reaction, one that I had come to expect from him without even needing to see his expression.
His reluctance was almost palpable, a silent argument against my sensible suggestion.
“Fine, don’t then,” I began, letting a hint of theatrical defeat enter my voice.
My shoulders slumped dramatically, and I let out a subtle sigh, ensuring he could perceive my manufactured disappointment.
“I thought it was a brilliant idea, a clever way to blend in and avoid all this unwanted attention… but if it’s that bad, if it’s so much trouble, then…”
I allowed my voice to trail off, leaving the unspoken implications of failure hanging in the air.
I made sure my steps became noticeably heavier, dragging my feet with a theatrical show of resignation as I continued to walk, feigning a profound sense of dejection.
Each step was designed to subtly communicate my disappointment, hoping it would, in some small way, nudge him towards reconsidering.
The sounds of the festival, once joyous, now seemed to mock my failed attempt.
Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped the Emperor’s lips, a subtle indication of his internal struggle.
And then, to my utter surprise, an unexpected answer finally came.
“No, let’s try it.”
I couldn’t help but be utterly astonished by his sudden concession.
It was so out of character, so unlike his usual stubborn refusal of anything he deemed undignified or inconvenient.
My feet, which had been dragging, stopped abruptly.
I turned, my head tilting in disbelief, to face the Emperor, who had also, to my delight, paused before the bustling stall.
My expression, I was sure, was one of pure, unadulterated bewilderment.
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
I asked, my voice betraying my genuine surprise.
“You said it was too much bother, too much trouble just moments ago.”
He offered a rare, almost imperceptible shrug beneath his heavy robe.
“…Now that I think about it,” he conceded, his tone still tinged with a hint of reluctance, “we’re probably more conspicuous like this. These dark robes draw too much attention, making us stand out rather than blend in. As long as our faces aren’t easily recognizable, a disguise, no matter how ridiculous, might actually serve its purpose. It shouldn’t matter what we wear, as long as it achieves the primary goal of discretion.”
His sudden permission, delivered with such a rare flicker of pragmatism, left me with a strange, almost giddy feeling.
It was an unusual, almost playful, departure from his typical rigid demeanor.
For a brief moment, it made it seem as if we weren’t embarked on a critical, dangerous mission at all, but rather had simply come to enjoy the festival like any other common reveler.
The thought brought a small, private smile to my lips, a fleeting sense of lightness in the otherwise heavy reality of our journey.
The vibrant energy of the festival now felt inviting, almost welcoming.
I subtly observed the Emperor’s expression, trying to gauge his true feelings, to see if there was any hidden resentment or lingering displeasure.
But his face, even with the small concessions, remained unreadable, a mask of aristocratic composure.
Deciding to press my luck, I cautiously ventured my next question, keeping my voice gentle and respectful.
“Then, Your Majesty, may I choose your disguise for you?”
“Do as you please,” he responded, his voice sounding utterly resigned, a clear sign of his reluctant acceptance of this unexpected turn of events.
There was a faint sigh hidden within the words, but the permission was clear.
Despite his apparent surrender, my excitement bubbled over, and I immediately rushed towards the shop, my feet almost tripping over each other in my eagerness.
However, my initial enthusiasm was quickly tempered as I surveyed the selection.
Most of the truly impressive or amusing disguises, the best options, had already been snatched up by the eager crowd.
Very few appealing choices remained, leaving the racks looking rather sparse.
‘What would suit the Emperor well?’
I pondered, my gaze darting across the limited selection, a sense of creative challenge taking hold.
I wanted something that would truly make him look… different.
Something that would utterly transform his imposing presence into something unexpected, something lighthearted, for once.
Then, my eyes landed on it: a pink rabbit mask.
It was utterly charming in its absurdity.
It had a simple round opening for the face, revealing the wearer’s features, and its ears, a vibrant, almost shocking pink, perked up absurdly high towards the sky, giving it an undeniably whimsical air.
The very thought of the imposing, dignified Emperor wearing something so utterly ridiculous and adorable struck me as incredibly amusing.
It felt like a truly comedic vision, one I desperately wanted to bring to life.
And if not now, in this whimsical, free-spirited festival setting, when would I ever dare to put something so utterly whimsical, so utterly undignified, on the powerful Emperor?
It was an opportunity too good to pass up, a tiny act of rebellion wrapped in playful mischief.
‘Yes, this is definitely the one,’ I decided, a mischievous grin spreading across my face, hidden from his view.
The pink rabbit.
It was perfect.
After triumphantly selecting his disguise, my attention turned to myself.
It was my turn to choose.
I wanted to be a beast-man who exuded immense dignity and strength, a truly imposing and impressive figure.
Something fierce, perhaps, or noble.
Sadly, the remaining choices for me were dismally limited to just four options, none of which quite fit my grand vision.
There was a rather stout and somewhat unappealing boar mask, its rough texture uninviting.
Next to it hung a frighteningly realistic lizard mask, its cold, unblinking eyes seeming to stare right through me.
Then, a plain brown rabbit head, strikingly similar in shape to the Emperor’s chosen disguise, caught my eye.
And finally, a dainty squirrel headband, almost too small and certainly not embodying the strength I desired.
As I meticulously weighed my options, debating the pros and cons of each, my thoughts were interrupted.
A person standing next to me, seemingly without a care in the world, casually, almost effortlessly, snatched up the squirrel headband.
“Ah, no…!”
I gasped, a pang of dismay shooting through me.
That was one option gone, however small.
My heart began to pound with increasing urgency.
There was no more time for careful deliberation, no luxury to weigh each choice endlessly.
The boar mask felt like it would be far too suffocating and cumbersome, heavy and restrictive.
As for the lizard mask, it was so incredibly terrifying in its detailed realism that I had a distinct and unsettling premonition: if I were to accidentally catch my reflection in a mirror while wearing it, I might very well faint dead away from fright.
The thought alone was enough to make me shudder and dismiss it immediately.
So, by a process of unfortunate elimination, the only practical choice left was that brown rabbit head.
It was, admittedly, perfectly suitable for covering the small horn on my forehead, which I absolutely wanted to conceal for the sake of our disguise.
It was, in that specific regard, quite a practical choice.
But then, an uncomfortable thought pricked at me: it would look as though I had deliberately chosen something similar to the Emperor’s whimsical pink rabbit mask.
The implication of mimicking him, even inadvertently, bothered me.
‘That’s absolutely not my intention!’
I internally protested, a wave of mild panic washing over me.
The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was trying to flatter him or, worse, mock him.
‘He wouldn’t misunderstand, would he?’
I desperately hoped he wouldn’t read too much into my limited options.
I quickly, subtly, glanced at the Emperor, trying to gauge his reaction, to see if any hint of suspicion or amusement flickered in his eyes.
His expression, however, remained unchanged, a stoic mask of quiet impatience.
He merely conveyed an overwhelming and palpable desire to leave this bustling place as quickly as possible, to be done with this whole charade.
He seemed utterly oblivious to my internal dilemma, or perhaps he simply didn’t care.
My worry about him misunderstanding, about reading some hidden meaning into my choice, was, as usual, just my own needless concern, a product of my overactive imagination.
He was clearly focused on the mission, not on the aesthetics of our silly disguises.
‘Of course, that’s it,’ I thought, a small wave of relief washing over me.
My internal turmoil over the rabbit head was, in the grand scheme of things, utterly insignificant to him.
But despite his apparent indifference, a sudden, playful, and utterly mischievous impulse blossomed within me.
If he was going to be so stoic about this, then perhaps I could coax a reaction out of him.
What kind of reaction, I wondered, would he have when he saw this pink rabbit-eared mask paired with the truly adorable, almost comically small, carrot-shaped wooden sword I had just picked out for him?
The image in my mind was too delightful, too absurdly charming, to resist.
I handed him the props, expertly concealing a small, knowing smile at the corner of my lips.
My eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.
And, unable to resist the opportunity, I made sure to speak in a wonderfully shameless voice, injecting every syllable with a faux sincerity that I hoped would grate on his nerves just enough.
“I picked out something very cute and charming for Your Majesty,” I announced, holding up the items with an air of theatrical pride, as if I had found the most exquisite treasure.
“How is it? Do you like it?”
The question was posed with an innocent eagerness that, I knew, would likely infuriate him.
“…You want me to wear something like this?” he finally responded, his voice low and incredulous.
His face, glimpsed beneath the edge of the large pink rabbit mask, seemed to contort in pure anger, a flicker of indignation in his eyes.
It was a magnificent sight of aristocratic displeasure.
Why, then, did a strange, almost illicit sense of pride swell within me at that precise moment?
The feeling was utterly illogical, yet undeniably potent.
Perhaps, without fully realizing it until this moment, I had indeed accumulated a great deal of suppressed frustration and unspoken rebellion towards the Emperor over time, and this whimsical act was its small, satisfying release.
“But Your Majesty, you were the one who told me to do as I pleased, weren’t you?”
I countered, my voice sweet and innocent, a clear challenge to his sudden dismay.
I held his own words against him, a simple, undeniable truth.
It seemed he had no retort, no clever comeback to my undeniable logic.
The Emperor simply pressed his lips into a tight, thin line, a visible sign of his silent frustration and unwilling acceptance.
With a deep sigh, he accepted the props I offered him.
With a movement that was strangely graceful despite the absurdity of the situation, he donned the pink rabbit mask, allowing the large, floppy ears to frame his face, and then grasped the comically small carrot-shaped wooden sword in one hand.
The image was, as I had hoped, utterly ridiculous.
Yet, even with the utterly ludicrous appearance, the mask with its wide, innocent eyes and floppy ears, his inherently distinguished face still managed to shine through.
The mask, rather than completely obscuring his regal presence, seemed to merely highlight the striking contrast of his features.
It was infuriatingly, almost magically, that his innate handsomeness remained undeniably evident, almost unaffected by the absurdity of the costume.
‘How can I possibly fix this situation?’
I pondered, my internal mischievousness refusing to be quelled.
I was determined to find something, anything, that would truly detract from his overwhelming good looks, something that would genuinely make him appear less imposing, less… perfect.
My gaze swept over the remaining, rather meager, collection of accessories at the stall.
And then, my eyes landed on it—the perfect item, small and unassuming, yet potentially devastating to his perfectly sculpted features.
“This is it!”
I exclaimed triumphantly, a small, wicked grin playing on my lips.
It resembled a small, perfectly spherical red ball, no bigger than a cherry.
Its description, written on a tiny tag, clearly stated it was a nose accessory.
With newfound confidence, a surge of bold determination, I bravely extended it towards the Emperor, holding it out for his inspection.
“Let’s put this on too!”
I urged, my voice filled with an almost childish eagerness that belied my true intentions.
At my insistent demand, the look of weariness on his face deepened considerably, an almost palpable exhaustion washing over his features.
He seemed to shrink slightly beneath the burden of my persistent whims.
“What in the world is that grotesque object…?” he grumbled, his voice laced with unadulterated annoyance and a profound sense of disbelief.
His eyes, peering through the mask’s eyeholes, narrowed suspiciously.
“The description says it’s a nose accessory,” I explained cheerfully, utterly undeterred by his irritation or his obvious disdain.
I felt a delightful sense of power in this small act of playful rebellion.
“What kind of people make such useless things?” the Emperor muttered, wrinkling his nose in intense distaste, almost as if he smelled something foul.
Without giving him another moment to protest or even fully comprehend my intentions, I swiftly, almost gleefully, attached the accessory to his nose.
Pop!
A rather cute, squishy sound accompanied its placement, a soft, comical noise that perfectly matched the absurdity of the situation.
Even with the addition of the bright red nose, his handsome features remained remarkably unchanged, a testament to his inherent attractiveness.
However, the previous air of perfection that had always clung to him, that aura of untouchable regality, was now, delightfully, disrupted.
The red nose, coupled with the pink rabbit mask, injected a much-needed dose of silliness into his otherwise imposing presence.
“Hmm, I think this looks pretty good!”
I declared, stepping back a few paces to admire my handiwork, a satisfied smile spreading across my face.
He looked utterly ridiculous, and therefore, in my eyes, perfect for blending in.
The Emperor, who had been letting out a mirthless chuckle while looking at his reflection in a small, portable mirror from the stall, suddenly curved one corner of his mouth upwards.
It was a subtle, almost imperceptible movement, but unmistakable.
A mischievous, almost impish smile, one I had never seen before, one that truly belonged to a playful rascal, was momentarily added to his face.
It was a fleeting glimpse of a side of him he rarely, if ever, showed.
He then casually scanned the surrounding stall, his eyes landing on something specific in the distance.
He walked over, picked it up with a smooth, deliberate motion, and then, with an equally swift and unexpected motion, attached it to my nose.
Boing!
The sound was equally adorable and surprising.
With that comical sound, I felt my own nose shift, and, quite unexpectedly, it had transformed into a pig’s snout.
I blinked, then reached up to touch it, feeling the soft, rounded shape.
“What is this? I’m not a pig-rabbit!”
I protested, thoroughly surprised and a little indignant, my voice muffled slightly by the accessory.
“Then what am I?”
He countered, his eyes gleaming with triumphant amusement, the impish smile still lingering faintly on his lips.
“Your Majesty… you’re a red-nosed rabbit…!”
I admitted, a reluctant smile playing on my lips, unable to suppress the humor of the situation despite my own predicament.
“Then you, too, shall become a pig-nosed rabbit,” he declared, his tone laced with undeniable satisfaction.
He had clearly enjoyed his moment of playful retaliation.
I didn’t particularly like the idea of being a “pig-nosed rabbit,” but I couldn’t think of a single good retort, no clever comeback to his playful logic.
A wave of indignant frustration welled up within me, but I had no choice but to swallow my pride and my indignant heart.
As I did so, I watched as a slow, contented smirk spread across the Emperor’s face.
He was clearly pleased with his witty and effective counter-move, his eyes sparkling with a lazy satisfaction.
Just then, a hearty, booming burst of laughter erupted from directly behind us, startling both of us.
“Well, this is quite something! I like it!”
The voice boomed, full of unrestrained amusement.
I turned my head, and there was Sir Chris, no longer just standing by.
He was now wearing a fierce-looking mask over his head, an elaborate design that hinted at a powerful, predatory animal.
One peculiar and quite striking detail was the thick, lion-like fur draped dramatically over his shoulders, cascading down his back.
It looked remarkably realistic.
Seeing the tell-tale cotton scattered liberally on the floor around the stall, a thought clicked in my mind.
It seemed he had probably, in a fit of whimsical inspiration, pulled the stuffing out of a lion plushie to achieve his impressive, if somewhat barbaric, aesthetic.
The sheer ingenuity of it was surprising.
“That look is totally awesome!”
I exclaimed, my voice filled with genuine admiration.
His transformation was far more complete, and surprisingly more intimidating, than ours.
My enthusiastic reaction clearly surprised Sir Chris for a moment.
His eyes widened slightly behind the mask, and his posture, initially relaxed, stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Then, a wide, genuine grin spread across his face, even visible through the eyeholes of his mask.
He seemed genuinely pleased by my compliment.
“You’ve got good taste, don’t you?” he replied, a new warmth entering his voice.
“Everyone else tells me to shut up when I say things like that, or they just look at me strangely.”
“Not at all. I can feel the dignity of a strong warrior!”
I insisted, my words coming easily, genuinely enjoying his unexpected enthusiasm.
There was a directness to Sir Chris that was refreshing, a stark contrast to the Emperor’s layered complexities.
“Right? You know, I’m starting to like you,” he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine pleasure, a rare glint of camaraderie in their depths.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I can actually talk to, someone who understands!”
Sir Chris’s entire demeanor seemed to lighten, becoming more open and engaged.
As he started to approach me, perhaps to offer a handshake or simply to share in the moment, a large, imposing hand suddenly appeared, asserting itself firmly in the space between us, creating an immediate barrier.
I looked up, and there, standing tall and radiating an undeniable air of displeasure, was the Emperor.
His face, still half-obscured by the pink rabbit mask, was etched with clear disapproval.
He gazed at Sir Chris and me with a somber, almost warning look, his eyes narrowed slightly.
Then, he issued a stern command in a stiff, unyielding voice:
“That’s enough. Let’s go now.”
His tone left no room for discussion, no space for lingering in the frivolous joy of the moment.
A wave of regret washed over me.
Perhaps he was upset that we were wasting too much time on something he considered trivial, frivolous distractions from our mission.
His mood, which had just lightened briefly, now seemed quite sour, cloaked once more in his customary seriousness.
“Alright, Your Majesty,” I replied, quickly agreeing, sensing the immediate shift in the atmosphere.
It was best not to antagonize him further.
After settling the payment for our rather comical disguises, we exited the shop, leaving the vibrant warmth of the stall behind.
As we stepped back onto the bustling festival street, a deep, exasperated sigh escaped the Emperor’s lips.
It was a sigh of profound weariness, of enduring something he clearly found tedious.
“Your Majesty…” he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din of the crowd.
“Pardon?” I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.
“If you keep calling me that,” he explained, his voice still low but with a hint of exasperation, “changing our appearance is pointless. It defeats the whole purpose of a disguise if you’re going to loudly announce my identity.”
He had a valid point, of course.
My honorifics, spoken aloud, could easily draw unwanted attention.
Even if I continued to call him “Your Majesty,” no one in Hamilton would ever imagine that their revered, formidable Emperor was actually strolling through the streets wearing a pink rabbit mask and a ridiculous red nose.
The sheer absurdity of it would defy belief. Still, it was always better to be careful, to leave no room for doubt or suspicion.
Discretion was paramount, especially given the gravity of our mission.
“Then what should I call you?”
I asked, genuinely curious and ready to comply.
It felt like a significant moment, a small step into a different kind of familiarity.
“…Allen,” he responded, his voice almost a whisper, as if the name itself was a delicate secret.
“Allen?”
I repeated, testing the sound of it.
The name felt strangely foreign on my tongue, completely unassociated with the imposing figure of the Emperor.
“My mother used to call me that,” he explained, his voice softening almost imperceptibly.
There was a fleeting, almost melancholic, quality to his tone, a rare glimpse into a softer, more personal side of him.
I remembered seeing the Emperor’s mother in the family portrait back at the palace.
She had been a woman of serene beauty, with a dignified yet infinitely benevolent smile that graced her features.
She had a kind, beautiful presence, even in a painting.
The thought that he, the formidable Emperor, was once called such a gentle name by his mother was a surprising, humanizing detail.
“But… would I be allowed to call you that?”
I hesitated, the idea feeling incredibly informal and bold, a leap from the respectful distance I always maintained.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied, his voice regaining some of its usual firmness, as if shaking off the brief moment of sentimentality.
“No one calls me Allen anymore anyway.”
The statement hung in the air, tinged with a subtle sense of loneliness, a quiet acknowledgment of the solitude that often accompanies power.
‘Allen.’
I quietly repeated the name to myself, testing its sound and feel.
As I mentally rolled it around, it felt somewhat soft and gentle, almost round and pliable, like a smooth stone.
It contrasted sharply with the name ‘Argon,’ which, to me, carried the undeniable weight and solemn dignity of the Emperor’s majesty.
‘Allen’ felt… approachable.
The contrast was striking.
Lost in thought, contemplating this new, more intimate name for the Emperor, I was walking along, my mind still processing the implications of this small but significant shift.
Suddenly, without warning, someone charged at me from the side.
It was an unexpected, violent impact, a jarring disruption to the festive atmosphere.
I gasped, the wind knocked out of me.
Instantly, with a flash of practiced speed, Sir Chris swiftly drew his sword from its scabbard at his waist, the metallic whisper of the blade cutting through the festive noise.
At the very same moment, the Emperor reacted with lightning-fast reflexes, pulling me tightly into his embrace, shielding me completely with his own body.
His arms wrapped around me, a protective cocoon, as if to ward off any further assault.
The warmth of his body, the unexpected strength of his hold, was startling.
A soft, almost ethereal breeze drifted past us, carrying with it a faint, delicate scent of roses that subtly brushed my nose.
It was a fleeting, almost surreal sensation amidst the chaos.
When I looked up, his serene eyes were fixed intently on me, their depth unreadable.
My heart, already startled and now overwhelmed by the sudden, extreme closeness of our bodies, began to pound wildly and loudly against my ribs, a chaotic drumbeat echoing the shock of the moment.
The surprise of the attack, combined with the intimacy of his embrace, sent my senses reeling.
“Ah…”
I breathed out, a soft, involuntary sound escaping my lips.
Then, from the unexpected direction of the person who had charged into us, a wail filled with profound sorrow erupted, piercing the festive air and cutting through the joyous din.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
The sound was raw, filled with an agonizing grief that immediately shifted the focus from the attack to the source of such intense anguish.