Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Take care to be more… gentle, with this guard,” Taco’s handmaid advised, treading carefully as she fitted the hem of her uncomfortable gown with needles that stung for only moments. Taco could do nothing but scoff, holding her arms out wide and wishing that her dagger was in one of them, the familiar grip easing into the groves of her hand.

As much as she would love to take her peasant’s advice in stride, she simply could not; being trapped with one person every moment, them doing nothing but watch over you and try to start sharp conversation as if she could not win, was nothing short of frustrating.

“I suppose your pep talk would be different if the guard was taken in another way?” Taco asked severely, her handmaid scurrying to fix the partially ripped sleeve of Taco’s dress. “Not by my own hand, I mean.”

Handmaid going strangely silent, Taco simply blew a stray hair out of her face and waited for her to be done. She supposed that her statement could be taken as a threat, but it was not supposed to be that way; she supposed that despite the poofy dresses and delicate waves she had been taught, Taco was always going to be sharp.

Mayhap she was just made wrong, not fitting into royalty. Mayhap that was why she always found herself sneaking away from the palace in the dead of night.

“You should be all set,” Her handmaid said, voice teetering on anxious. Like the squeak of a mouse, it would be oh so simple to shut up, possibly permanently. However, as much as the thrill of blood staining her hands enticed Taco, she needed a good record or else she’d be put on house arrest again.

Giving herself a once-over in the mirror despite being otherwise uncaring to her appearance, she tucked a few stringy strands of hair behind her ear and nodded to her handmaid. “Thank you, madam,” she said with a short curtsy; might as well practice her princess-esque manners whilst she’s here.

With that, Taco was off to the royal hall, where her new personal guard was set to be blessed by the royal blade. Taco relished the fact that it was always sharpened before a new blessing, considered it a strength test before everything else. to see if the guard would risk their own shoulders for the crown.

Or perhaps she just enjoyed the look of horror that bequeathed the otherwise emotionless guards. If she had it her way, this one would be gone by the time the week was up. Give her some much-due silence; the last talked much too long for Taco’s liking.

Joining her family in their row of thrones, Taco placed her hand on her cheek in boredom. There was one of these special knighting ceremonies at least once a month, likely more. What was the point when all of them would fall like dominoes? When Taco was stronger, faster, and more agile every single time, whether they die from forces outside her power or within it?

What was the point of her being treated like she was still very much a child?

“I hereby dub you a royal knight,” Taco’s father’s voice boomed out, signalling what was finally the end of the long spiel. Taco would admit that her eyes had wandered along with her mind throughout most of the ceremony, however, it was not as if she was to blame. These things were so incredibly dull after the first dozen.

She does, however, catch the eye of her now-official soldier; immediately, the slight quirk of her lip disappeared, replaced with a stony expression and a downturned set of brows.

Because the fool she would have to call her soldier- for a few days at best, but a task nonetheless- seemed a complete… well, fool.

Her curtsy was too low. When she said thank you her voice was too loud, too overexcited. She did not don any chainmail, not even any metal or leather. Just a cloth gown, cut from the skins of animals Taco couldn’t possibly dream of naming.

Sure, she admired perseverance and the desire to look good in front of the royal crown, but not wearing armor as a guard was the one thing that was sure to get you killed.

Finally, a smile more reminiscent of a smirk wormed its way onto Taco’s face, sharp as the rest of her. This was excellent. The fool would be gone and Taco would have moments of reprieve before the next one was sent in.

“Thank you, sir!” The guard almost yelled out, eyes darting around as if drinking in the atmosphere, putting it all into memory. “Uh, do I get to keep that sword, or..?”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “It’s your majesty ,” he said cuttingly, the muffling of his beard doing nothing to prevent the hostility laced through the words. “And no . this is used to officially bring you into knighthood.”

“Ah, right!” The guard said, having the perception to read the room and look at least a little bit embarrassed. “Well, I’m Microphone, and I’m uh… very excited to meet you all!”

Taco wished that she could roll her eyes at this Microphone’s spritely nature, however they could not. With a single glance at her father, it was oh so simple to tell that he did not like this new addition to his royal guard. Well, he didn’t particularly like her either… and having the two of them in the same spot… perhaps he would burst a blood vessel. Oh, that would be quite amusing.

No, she could not let this one die just yet. Her father would be most pleased if he was informed of the fact. And so Taco is most pleased with the opposite. In this case, that is keeping this guard alive.

With this information burrowed in her mind, Taco raced down the stairs in the most improper way imaginable- sliding down the golden handrails. Her father mumbled something and yet Taco’s grin just grew wider at that. Annoy him, yes; perhaps this time he’d be more annoyed than the time that she pretended to be a complete peasant buffoon and refused to drink anything other than lemon juice.

Oh, that was quite fun. Not particularly her style nowadays, though.

“ Pleasure to meet you, Microphone,” Taco said, rolling her head backward to partially face her father. An evil smile made its way onto her face.

The new guard seemed stunned for only a moment, before suddenly springing into action. “You as well, uh… your majesty!” She said, clearly having learnt her mistake from calling her father sir. “Please, I must request that you call me Mic. Microphone feels too proper.”

Disobeying the proper manners she had been taught since she was little was something that thrilled Taco so, and yet she wanted to annoy both her father and this guard equally.

Wouldn’t want them getting too comfortable, after all. “Well, Dame Microphone of the II Court, proper is what we strive for in this palace. It is a custom you must get used to.”

Microphone looked embarrassed once again- something Taco relished for the few moments it stayed- but continued to take the conversation in stride. As much as Taco hates to admit it, this catches her eye; nobody had ever sprung back so quickly from quips from royalty right before them, not like this clumsy, spritely… buffoon.

“Right of course. So I’ll be… protecting you?”

“don’t get too attached to the role,” Taco said dismissively, shrugging and flashing her father another evil look. Don’t get too attached to your head, either. It might roll away before you can blink.

Taco’s mother just looked on with a roll of her eyes, much too fed up with the family feud that had been ongoing since Taco’s father had refused her the right to train for knighthood when she was but nine years old.

He does not need to know that she has now been doing so behind his back for over half a dozen years. No, this comes for a time where she is sure that he will explode, demanding she leave the palace.

Maybe then she would finally be accepted for her sharp face, her sharp eyes, her sharp… everything . Maybe then she wouldn’t have to wear a dress everywhere, maybe, finally , she could be a petty pickpocket she secretly admired.

Their skills were top of the ladder. How nobody understood this was absurd to her.

Once Taco and her new guard were out of the throne room, away from the many eyes, Taco turned to her with only a slight smirk on her face. Her hands dived into the pockets hidden underneath the layers of fabric and silk in her dress.

“Tell me, Microphone,” She said, dropping the formality- slightly, not completely, never completely- “Do you know how to use a sword?”

There was silence throughout the empty pillared hall they stood in, and Microphone toed the ground with her boot, looking down. Ah yes, because the carpet was the most magnificent thing to look at, Taco thought with a slight roll of her eyes. You are in a castle, commoner, act like it! Be wowed by the oil paintings on the wall, the wide windows letting in the light of the outside world!

After a bit more silence, Taco was fed up and coughed into her fist angrily. “Uh, not really,” Microphone said, her voice teetering on fearful. “I maybe… lied my way into getting this job? Y’know, a friend needed to repay a debt, so he acted as me for the… thing.”

Taco was not quite sure whether or not to scream at the buffoon in front of her, or wring her neck and demand that the counsel bring her a guard that is actually at least half-witted. This one didn’t have wits at all, it seemed.

However, that would make her father pleased. And it wasn’t like Taco needed protection; she just needed a cover.

“That’s fine,” She said, even though it wasn’t. even though her teeth were grit underneath her light smile. Even though the words were sharp, just like the rest of her, no matter how hard she tried to be civil.

“Well, it’s gonna be pretty hard to protect you if I can’t even hold a knife right..” Microphone muttered, not at all helping her own case.

Already fed up with the chatter and knowing that she was missing the only good part of the constant knighting ceremonies- the afterparty- Taco merely sighed. “Well then, Dame Microphone, I have a proposal. But it is not one that you can mention to another soul.”

“And what would that be?” Microphone said, seeming to understand Taco’s language already. Her tone was as skeptical, as sharp as Taco’s.

She… she liked that. It wasn’t competition, it wasn’t striving to be better, it was striving to be… an allyship. An olive branch.

When was the last time one of those had been extended to Taco?

“After the party,” Taco said, hoping her sudden realization had not bled through into her tone. “If we are not back soon, they will notice our absence. Considering what was made of my last guard, they may become skeptical.”

Microphone seemed confused. “What happened to your last guard?”

The feeling of blood was still felt on Taco’s hands, underneath her shaking fingertips, not from fear but sheer adrenaline. He was stabbed through with his own blade, one that Taco had pried from his fingertips and wielded better than he ever could.

“Don’t… worry about it,” She landed on eventually, not wanting to tell her new quote-unquote protection about the gruesome end that the last person in her position had veered into. “Let us get going. Shall we?”

With a curt nod, Microphone was by her side. And yet, Taco had never felt so unequal in comparison. She felt stifled by all the people in the room, despite her being one of the spotlights of the party. Despite her being the highest of status for what could potentially be miles in this large of a ballroom.

No, this had happened before. She mustn’t lie to herself.

Somehow, this time it was easier. It was as if Microphone was protecting her, taking all the questions that were fired at Taco in stride, even if they had absolutely nothing to do with her.

“I know you’re a princess and you’re all about being good and proper,” Microphone whispered, stealing a champagne flute from a passer-by waiter's plate, “But I have an idea.”

“I never said I was about being good and proper, I said the palace strived to be good and proper. I just so happen to have my heart in a different place.”

“So assassins can’t get to it?”

“So nobody can get to it,” Taco said with a laugh. “I’ll be unwed all my life if I can help it- the princes in these courts are so pompous.”

Microphone laughed, reaching for something in the pockets Taco hadn’t noticed in her dress. “I have a lighter,” She whispered excitedly, holding it up and flicking it on for just a moment. “Stole it from some rich boy passing by once upon a time. Do you know where we can find some tissue around here? …And maybe a more flammable alcohol?”

The plan Microphone seemed to be having formed in Taco’s head, and all she could do was smile devilishly. Yes, this new guard would make things a lot harder for her father, indeed.

(Taco would almost feel bad when she was buried in a commoners graveyard like the rest of them.

Almost .

She could never feel completely bad for anybody. It would simply never sit right with her, leaving her complete trust in a person. 

Let alone one that she had just met.

Let alone one that was sure to die.)

“I know where my father’s wine cabinet is,” Taco said, hoping her devilish tone hid the thoughts swirling in her mind. “Come along, now. You must protect me, after all. And make it snappy; we can’t be gone for long.”

The little exhibition of raiding her father’s liquor cabinet was short and sweet, filled with giggles that Microphone seemed unable to contain. Taco could not do much but roll her eyes and grab a roll of toilet paper from a broom closet, tearing a large strip off. The more flammable, the better, and the two of them had officially secured the best they could get their hands on. 

Time to set the ballroom in flames. 

It was, quite honestly, a simple yet almost flawless plan. Sure, Taco would get a severe punishment for it later, but what was a little fun without a little risk? Lame fun. That was what it was. Something Taco didn’t have time for, and neither would Microphone 

So, they climbed up into the rafters- something Taco had done many a time, but Microphone was hopelessly inexperienced at- and dipped the toilet paper into the liquor, the strong smell of it alone making Taco’s senses burn. She was pretty sure it was vodka; that made sense, it was the most flammable kind of alcohol. Straight from the bottle? Not if it wasn’t anything that wouldn’t burn on the way down.

“Are you ready, princess?” Microphone asked, quickly capping the bottle with a cork and fishing the lighter out of her pocket.

“Don’t call me princess,” Taco said sternly. “And yes, I’m ready. Hurry, they’re all moving; we want to get as many people in this blast as possible.”

“...Do we?” Microphone asked, moving the lighter away from the toilet paper apprehensively.

“ Yes, ” Taco said, rolling her eyes. “Goodness, you don’t know how to use a sword and now you don’t even know what a good prank is? You have a lot to learn, Microphone.” And not much time to learn it all, Taco thought, although not a word about it was said. With a sudden annoyance, she pushed Microphone’s hand with the lit lighter closer to the paper that was soon to be set aflame.

Luckily for Taco, the paper started to catch fire with a small spark. “You definitely don’t have much time now, Microphone,” she advised with a sly grin. “Just shake it up and throw it down there; it’s not hard at all. Goodness, I can do it if you want.”

“Oh, would you?” Microphone said, holding out the sparked Molotov. “I just… don’t think it’s a very good idea for me to get in a bunch of trouble with so many royals. They could have my head!”

Taco didn’t say a word as she grabbed the bottle by its neck, shaking it from what she supposed was a good distance away. Microphone took an apprehensive step back, but stopped herself when she realized there was next to nothing to stop her lest she fall through the rafters and down into the courtroom.

Wouldn’t that be quite the strange death. Certainly one that would be talked about.

“If you insist,” Taco said, flinging the Molotov down as if it was a handaxe. It certainly wasn’t the first time where her secret knighthood training would assist her in a prank, and she was sure that it wouldn’t be the last either.

Just like that, it shattered against the floor. Sure, Taco would have rather it landed on someone’s head and set their hair ablaze, but this would do just as well. The panic was something she relished, despite how much she shouldn’t. Despite the whole destructive nature of it all. 

A woman squealed, her hat being lost to the flames that were quickly growing larger. Microphone looked on in horror, looking over at Taco as if she had another one loaded ready to throw directly in her face, but saw nothing more than Taco attempting to hold back her giggles with a closed fist at her mouth.

“You-” Microphone began, yet was quickly hushed by Taco.

“Shhh!” She said, her voice completely wrecked by the thrill of it all. She let out a small laugh, then coughed and quietened herself. “We mustn’t let them hear us. Now come on, we need to get down there quickly so as to not raise suspicion!”

“Okay, okay!” Microphone exclaimed, quickly shushed once again. “Sorry, force of habit,” she said the moment she was quietened. Taco merely nodded in response, weaving through the wreckage that was the rafters of the royal ballroom with such precision that it was simply impossible for Microphone to keep up. 

Taco made sure to wait, though. Just because she couldn’t let her new accomplice get caught on the first day of the job. What kind of mentor would she be then?

Besides, she did need someone to practice her swordsmanship on. And this new guard seemed like the perfect dummy. 

“Shoulders back, Dame Microphone, how many times must I tell you?” Taco said, growing annoyed at how incredibly wrong this whole session had been going. “I don’t need protection, but you certainly must consider investing in some! You’ve got the rhythm of a duck that lost its head!”

“Very specific comparison…” Microphone muttered, but squared her shoulders regardless and glared at Taco with a bite that none of her other assistants had ever had the audacity to glare at her with.

It was strange, it was so strange. It was bordering on absurd.

But Taco liked that. Liked how Microphone stared authority in the face, stared inside a hungry crocodile’s mouth, and without a trace of fear on her face. Was it for the thrill? The reaction? Was she just as sharp as Taco, with her coy smiles and her rolling eyes?

“Right, just try to keep focused, Microphone,” Taco said, wielding her own practice blade with her feet completely parallel on the floor, heels slightly elevated off the floor. Just because Microphone was just learning did not mean that Taco was going to go easy on her. In fact, it very well may have meant the opposite.

“Are we starting?” Microphone asked, wielding her sword completely incorrectly. Taco was done correcting her for now, though; she needed to let off some steam after her father screamed at her for her little Molotov prank earlier.

Oh, she’s just so sorry for ruining his reputation. As if it wasn’t already ruined a few moon cycles ago by her last little prank.

Technically, she was supposed to be locked up in her room for the rest of the week; little did father know, there were hidden rooms and alleys up the wazoo in this palace, and getting past the guards was not a difficult task whatsoever. 

“Yes, we’re starting, ” Taco said. “On your count, Dame.”

Microphone didn’t seem to understand the meaning of on your count, and began to count down. Already impatient, Taco rushed forward regardless with a swipe of her practice blade. “If we weren’t sparring, that attack may have been fatal,” Taco noted, still advancing as Microphone went into a defensive stance. A wobbly one, but a defensive stance nonetheless. It seemed that at least something was going through.

“Well maybe give me a minute,” Microphone said, swinging her blade toward Taco’s neck. It was not sharp; it would not even hurt. It would bounce right off her. And yet, Taco moved away anyway with sweat beading her brow. “Can’t exactly spar very well without a warning, you know! I’m new to this stuff!”

“Don’t think of this as sparring then,” Taco advised, still going on the offensive. “Pretend the blades are sharp. Pretend there are consequences if you lose- if you don’t do so, there very well may be; from me.”

“So you just want me to think I’ll die if I lose?” Microphone exclaimed. Taco thrusted forward, toward her throat. 

“That is how an actual battle works, Microphone,” Taco said coldly, pressing the dull blade into Microphone’s throat. She seemed to be getting winded, the press of cold metal against her throat restricted her breathing. Taco continued to speak as Microphone gasped for breath. “Fighting is always to the death. Never anything less. It would do you well to learn that, Dame.”

As much as the thrill of feeling the lifeforce fall away from a body as the air in their lungs left, Taco let the blade slip away from Microphone’s neck. There was a dark red mark, slowly turning purple and splotchy; it wouldn’t bleed, just be sore.

A weak spot, Taco noted idly. 

“What was that?” Microphone panted, looking up at Taco with anger gleaming in her red-rimmed eyes. It seemed like the experience that was nothing short of a thrill for Taco was the exact opposite for her.

“Your first near-encounter with death, I would assume,” Taco said coolly, bringing her blade to sit on her shoulder. “It certainly won’t be your last, with this job. Which is why you have to be better. Now again. Shoulders back.”

Microphone squared her shoulders without a second thought. Taco smiled. Yes, now she was going to get somewhere. Now that the realization that this was not just a game, just a job to get paid for. 

This was a gambling ring, one where you would win, and win, and win…

And then right at the end you lose. You lose everything.

-

“Can we take a break? I think my legs are numb,” Microphone said, wheezing, as she finished a mock fight with one of the many moving dummies. They weren’t perfect, but Taco quickly realized that she would need to start right from the beginning to get Microphone moving.

“Are you going to get a break on the battlefield?” Taco asked, swinging her own sword at another dummy. It splintered under her centered precise force, and she clicked her tongue. This was one of the old ones, then. 

Microphone seemed as if she was about to answer, and Taco cut her off before something stupid could fall from her lips. “ No , you will not. It was a rhetorical question, Microphone.”

“Well you know… just asking,” Microphone sighed. “Can I please just sit down for a couple of minutes? I won’t be of any use to you if my legs fall off.”

You’re not of much use to me right now anyway, legs or not, Taco thought, but sighed resolutely. “ Fine . Sit for a minute or two, then I will teach you how to dodge another person’s sword.”

Microphone sighed, and moved over to where Taco was sitting on an old stack of hay bales. This place used to be a stable before Taco transformed it into her training room many moons ago, but that just meant that there was all the more space for facilities. 

Absurdly, Microphone took it upon herself to sit right beside Taco on the hay bale. Taco immediately scooched away, right to the edge of the block of hay. “Hey!” Microphone exclaimed. “Why’d you move?”

“Because I need my space,” Taco said, as if this was obvious. “Why can’t you just sit on the floor?”

Microphone scoffed, and scuffed the ground with her boot. “The floor’s all grimy and uncomfortable!” She said defensively, huffing- quite overdramatically, really.

Taco couldn’t imagine the bale of hay being any more comfortable than the wooden ground, but she wasn’t going to argue any longer; she had wanted someone to hone her swordsman skills against for goodness knows how long, and now she had one with quite the mouth on it. It would be quite nice to shut it up for a moment with sharp, tactful combat. 

Now if only Taco could get as far as teaching her such a thing.

“Come on now, up you get,” Taco said, feeling newly energized. “I’m going to teach you how to block and parry.”

“Can’t I learn from someone else?” Microphone asked. If any one of her other guards had used that kind of sass with her, Taco would have their head on her sword and their body rolling uselessly onto the ground. 

However, Microphone annoyed Taco’s father as much as she annoyed her. And as much as she hates to admit it, the Molotov idea had come from her- it was some of the most fun Taco has had pulling a prank on the counsel in a long time. She should play with fire more often, really she should.

So with that, Taco gave a raised brow and a coy smile. “What, afraid you can’t keep up with me even when I’m planning on slowing down for you?” She said, outstretching a hand. She was expecting it to be slapped away, maybe even hit with Microphone’s practice blade; but it wasn’t.

Microphone reached out for it and used it to elevate herself up. It was one of the first times Taco realized just how much taller her guard was than her. No wonder it was so hard for them to get around. “I’ll take that bet,” Microphone said, her own smirk forming on her face. “And I’ll win it, too. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I’m certain you will. But that may not be true if you keep running your mouth.”

-

“Although you still have yet to defeat me whilst I’m using more power,” Taco said, watching Microphone from behind her practice blade as the two of them parried, swung, and blocked each other, “I must admit that you are a fast learner.”

Microphone was entirely silent, one of the first times Taco has been exposed to this blissful quiet since… Well, she wasn't quite sure when she first came down here with her guard. At least a few hours, if she had to approximate a guess.

Either way, Microphone was improving rather quickly through Taco’s careful administrations. She wasn’t creating a soldier; she was creating a sparring partner who could lie on her level. Perhaps maybe a bit higher. Taco had always liked a challenge.

“You have only yourself to thank for my quick progress, princess,” Microphone said as Taco dived her dull blade into her chest, resolving the sparring session. There was sweat gathering above her brow, curly and thick hair falling into her eyes, and the feeling of exhaustion shining through her expression. Taco knew that she was the one to thank for that, and could do nothing but pat herself on the back for it. Pushing further was the only way for progress to ever be made, after all. 

Of course, Microphone had gone back to using the formalities when addressing Taco. It made her roll her eyes; of course, she was the princess of the II court, but she wanted to forget that, if only for a few hours. She wanted to spar, get bruised and break her arm, without thinking of how to hide the fact when she inevitably had to go back into the palace, with the handsmaids and guards who would ask how she got herself hurt.

“Dame Microphone, I sincerely request we wrap up the session for today,” Taco said, steeling her face and staring at the wooden floor of the barn turned training room. “I mustn’t be caught out too late, lest the force alert higher authorities.”

“You mean your dad?” Microphone asked. 

“Well, I hate to call him such a thing, but yes, that one. The king of the II court.”

Microphone went strangely silent for a moment. Normally, she’s yapping Taco’s head off whenever she’s not engrossed in her training. At least, that’s how it’s been for the few hours they’ve been down here. Taco hates to admit it, but the smooth conversations have kept her invigorated. Normally, she’s only here for a little while before the sound of metal clashing against wood becomes unbearable. Now, there’s new sensations everywhere. Ones that Taco wishes to feel more of. 

“If you don’t mind me asking… Why do you dislike your father so much?” Microphone asked. When Taco turned around with a glare on her face, she seemed to consider taking back the words. She didn’t, though. That was… interesting. How she didn’t seem to back down no matter what was happening. How she stood so tall and didn’t seem afraid even when staring authority in the eye and demanding answers.

Taco crossed her arms, a considering emotion clouding her features. “I wanted to be a knight, when I was very young,” she recalled, not sure why she was telling all this to someone who was bound to be completely uncaring of the fact, life on the line, in at least a week or two.

Well, at least Taco could rest easy with the fact that this secret would be taken to Microphone’s grave.

“I still do, don’t get me wrong,” Taco continued, letting herself fall back into the hay bale. Microphone sat beside her, eager to hear more of the tale, and Taco didn’t move aside. “But I have to train in secret, because… well, he said no. and it is quite hard to change my father’s mind.”

“I can imagine, yeah,” Microphone interjected.

“He said that it was not a job for a princess,” Taco said, rolling her eyes at the very thought. “That it was just perfectly fine that I was unable to protect myself without five guards watching my every movement.”

Microphone did not interject this time, just continued to listen on. Taco didn’t know if that's what she wanted. Right now, recalling the memories of yelling over the dinner table and cold shoulders, she just wanted to grab something breathing, alive , and squeeze. It didn’t matter if it was a lizard or the guards in front of her door; she wanted something dead.

(Strangely, the idea of killing the one person accessible to her at that exact moment did not cross her mind. 

Perhaps it was because she felt as if Microphone was on her side.)

“He laxed off the older I got, but he still wants a guard watching my every move,” Taco said. Recalling what happened to the last of them, she took a deep, steadying breath. “The guard before you… I killed him. With my own hands, his own sword. I… I don’t even remember why, really.”

If the room was silent before, then now it must have turned into a graveyard. Taco could hear not a sound, except for maybe her heart beating.

“I… apologize, if that makes you reconsider this job position.”

“No.”

Taco paused, swiveling around to look at Microphone. She had a determined look on her face, and Taco could not decipher why. She had just admitted to killing a man, so why was…?

“No, that doesn’t make me reconsider the position at all,” Microphone continues, elaborating. Taco feels her eyebrows knit together, an unintelligible feeling bubbling up in her gut. “I am… A little disturbed, I won’t lie. But… I’m thinking about today’s training session. You weren't like that with me at all. ”

Taco scoffed. “I suppose not, but I don’t see where you’re going with this,” she said, and Microphone quickly shushed her. Taco kicked her feet, still sitting atop the hay bale. Microphone dragged her up, her upper body strength definitely stronger than it had been, and Taco could do nothing but stand on shaky legs as Microphone kneeled down in front of her, one of her hands enclosed by Microphone’s own.

“What I mean ,” Microphone said, “Is that you have done more for me than I could have ever imagined. Whether my life be taken by you or your family or, goodness, even if I die getting trampled by horses. Know that I will be thinking of you as I feel my life slip away from me. I will serve you, until my very last breath.”

Taco feels her face burn, not sure what the feeling exploding in her gut was. She just knew that this felt like an attack on its own, it felt dangerous, it felt…

It felt good. It felt so, so good.

“You’re a fool,” Taco said, not realizing the words had fallen from her lips until she heard them in her own cotton-filled ears. A fool. A foolish guard. One who would be dead by the time the week was up, most definitely.

Why was Taco feeling such strange feelings as she considered that fate? Where was the thrill of independence being so close?

Microphone chuckled almost silently, and yet Taco heard the sound perfectly in the near silent ranch. “Maybe,” she said, eyes locked on Taco's hand. Although she wasn’t sure what, there was a silent yet demanding voice in the back of her mind. She didn’t know what she wanted. She always knew what she wanted; she always knew how to get it.

Why was she so in the dark? Since when had everything been so clouded, faraway?

Why doesn’t she want this moment to end?

“I need you to tell me something,” Microphone asked, one of her thumbs beginning to make small circles over Taco’s palm. She felt sparks shoot from her fingers, warmth bloom from her face, her neck, her ears. “Do you think I can do good? When it comes down to protecting you, I mean.”

Taco wanted to speak. She wanted to ask why Microphone still thought she needed protection after the display she put on today. However, there was a lump in her throat that would not go away no matter how many times she swallowed. “Yes,” she said, completely involuntarily. “Yes, I believe you can.”

Bringing her hand closer to her face, Microphone smiled into the back of her palm. Taco still yearned for something, something strange and foreign. Her face was still warm, and she could not refuse the fact that Microphone on one knee in front of her made a tingle run down her back.

Was it the contact? The hazy aftermath of a good duel? Taco did not know. She does not know if she wants to find out, either.

“Your training is certainly coming along nicely, Dame Microphone,” Taco said through heavy gasps for air. She had really had to push herself during that training, she noted, and wasn’t quite sure whether to be proud of herself for being such a good coach or proud of Microphone for following along without so much as a moment’s hesitation since she learned how to properly handle a blade.

“Would you mind dropping the formalities, Taco?” Microphone asked, her sword’s tip dug between the floorboards and its handle being used for Microphone to lean on. 

Taco shook her head, a slight smile on her face. “No can do, I’m afraid,” she said resolutely. 

With a heavy, accentuated sigh that rang through the room that had become their common meet-up spot in the past two or three days. They were here, almost every night, to the point where the smell of dust and old hay was something Taco was growing slowly accustomed to. 

And because of this fact, Microphone had gotten a lot more cocky when it came to pushing Taco’s buttons. And with good reason, as much as it pained her to admit; she had gotten better at it. “Really? You’ve done it before, and I’ve stopped calling you your majesty . Kick your habits too!”

Taco thought back, an embarrassed and sheepish look forming on her face. Their interactions had gotten much too casual as of late; Taco had even slipped up and called Microphone ‘Mic’, as she had requested on the first day they’d met, quite recently. Luckily it wasn’t brought up at training last night, but Microphone seemed more than eager to bring it up at that moment. 

“Taco, you need to start dropping your apparent habit of being late for council meetings,” Microphone scolded, bringing the princess who had attempted to slip away from the council hall back to the meeting that had been prepared many moons in advance.

Taco could do nothing but scoff. “This isn’t the first time I’ve missed one of these things,” she said, crossing her arms and walking through the cold morning mist to reach the one place she would most definitely not like to be. “I don’t really need to be there, anyway. I haven’t a clue why they demand my presence.”

“Well, it’s probably just to represent your kingdom,” Microphone sighed, arms reaching over to support the back of her head. “Not saying that’s the only way it could possibly be so. Just spitballing over here.”

“I understand that,” Taco sighed. “They’re just so boring. I’d rather be doing anything else, you know. I’ve heard the forests are nice this time of year.”

Microphone clicked her tongue, a considering expression making its way onto her face. “Well, I don’t really wanna sit through a bunch of old guys talking about construction either, but if they want us there then who are we to argue?” she asked, shrugging simply. 

Taco rolled her eyes, a playful scoff coming from her throat. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you so brazenly badmouth the counsel, Mic,” she said. “Perhaps my bad habits are rubbing off on you more than I thought.”

“Guess so- Wait, ” Microphone said, voice filled with glee as she turned to face Taco. “You did it!”

“Hm? Did what, might I ask?” Taco said confusedly, backtracking the conversation to point out anything significant that they might have done. 

Microphone was not helpful in this search at all; she just giggled and smiled gleefully. “You called me Mic!” She eventually proclaimed once it became clear that Taco was not going to figure it out on their own. Immediately, Taco scolded herself and felt her expression go sour. 

“I did no such thing,” she said, even though she knew it to be untrue. She slipped up, made a slight mistake. Gotten a little too close with this guard. Would it be so hard as to wring its neck right now and put an end to what could potentially be- and the word feels sour in her mouth- friendship before it even had a chance to blossom? 

As she looked over at Microphone, giggling excitedly at the very concept of the crown princess using the foolish nickname, she shook her head. Her neck was too far away. And that was the only reason why hurting her was impossible. Sure, her dagger was in her pocket and Microphone’s side was but a few inches away, but… well, there had to be some kind of inconvenience later down the line. 

And that was why she wasn’t dead right now.

…Yes, of course.

“Dame Microphone of the II court,” Taco said in reflex, knowing that the title seemed to particularly rile Microphone up. Anger was what you needed for a good fight, and as of late Taco feels as if she’s been full of something similar. Not exactly close enough to anger, but how else could she explain her elevated heartbeat, the way her face burned… with anger.

There was really no other explanation, if you were to ask Taco. Yes, all the signs of anger. She definitely did feel like punching something.

Microphone clicked her tongue, pulling her blade from the ground and pointing it towards Taco as a false warning. They had moved up from practice blades, dull ones, a little while ago; now they were sharp enough to leave a scar if that was what was wished for. Scars had never scared Taco; sharp things had never scared Taco. In fact, she felt a bit like a sharp blade herself.

It was a comparison she made commonly, but that was only because it made quite a lot of sense in her mind. Cursed to never be what everyone wanted her to. Shutting herself away from anyone who demanded respect because it was not something she could give without witty, snappy, sharp remarks at every turn.

“Are we ready to go?” Microphone asked. “Because my arm- it’s getting kind of sore from holding this sword up for this long, you know. These things are heavy.”

Taco tutted. Every single time, they had this conversation, and not once had it drilled into Microphone’s head like everything else. She was a sponge, and this one bit of advice- possibly one of the most important, mind you- was like oil. It would not go through. 

“You do not ask your opponent if they’re ready to fight, Microphone,” Taco advised sharply, as sharp as the sword she was currently wielding. She could only hope that this advice would leave as much of a mark as this blade. “If you’re fighting a real fight, they will not ask . They will ambush, they will go for your weak points. If you’re ready to fight, do so. Don’t wait for a signal!”

Microphone mutters something, but Taco doesn’t hear it; as soon as Microphone has taken a millisecond  to blink, she’s gone in for the attack. 

A sharp flurry of strikes hits Microphone head-on, and Taco feels a grin stretch on her face as she puts all her energy into swinging the strong, heavy sword. Yes, this grip was much more familiar; the weight of this sword was miles more comforting than the dingy practice ones. Microphone took an unsteady step back, blocked the attacks with her sword in an almost expertly manner.

Taco felt her smile grow even wider. Almost. She was an expert at this, and Microphone was going to fall courtesy of her blade. 

“Sly little princess,” Microphone taunted, getting a lot better at speaking whilst fighting through Taco’s careful administrations. 

Her blade hit Taco’s own relentlessly, parries and the sound of steel against steel bouncing through the room.

Feeling her arms grow sore, Taco pushed through it with a strained, toothy grin. “You’re improving,” she said to Microphone, seemingly catching the soldier off guard. She turned her sword so that its hilt was facing Microphone, and slammed the cold leather and metal grip into her wrist. “But not enough. Shame.”

“Trickster,” Microphone said mildly, shaking her wrist before quickly swapping her sword into her other hand and going on the offensive once again. Taco smiles; that’s what she would have done, as well. 

Because of this, she knows how to think two steps ahead of it. 

Taco holds one hand behind her back, just for dramatic flair, and parries every single move Microphone sought to make. She missed one or two- it was never possible to guess exactly what someone was thinking, after all- and noticed the heavy beading of sweat above Microphone’s brow, the heavy breathing and dark brown flush making its way onto her face. 

Out of completely nowhere, staring at the sore and slowly bruising wrist of Microphone, Taco thought back to a couple of nights before. 

I will serve you until my very last breath.

She couldn’t help but doubt the validity of that statement, and yet Taco felt her face glow a burning hot shade of crimson once again. Most definitely, she was ill from all the training she had been doing these past few days. That was why she kept her eyes on the blossoming bruise forming on Microphone’s wrist and not at the sharp sword pointed her way. 

That was why she felt herself give way for Microphone to hit her chest with the slightly sharp tip of her steely sword. 

“I won,” Microphone said, breathless, as Taco processed the fact herself. How had..? How had she gotten so distracted? And what by? “I won! I did it! I beat you!”

Taco considered any point where she had slipped up, done something wrong, but came up with nothing. Well, the more precise word would be everything. She’d zoned out during a duel. She had… she’d never done that before. 

Why had she done that? 

“Congratulations,” Taco hears herself saying, even though every other noise has to be filtered through the cotton that must have somehow ended up in Taco’s ears. “You fought well, my knight.”

Once again, her eyes drift to the bruise on Microphone’s wrist; she doesn’t seem to care a single bit about the injury- she had certainly been hurt much worse in her time training with Taco- but there was something niggling in the back of Taco’s mind, something that made them pause, something that made them unable to stop staring at the bruise. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Microphone said, as soon as she noticed Taco looking at the dark purple splotch on her wrist. She covered it with her other hand, flashing Taco a smile. “That was a smart move of yours, princess.”

“Oh please,” Taco said, waving a hand dismissively. She tried to look anywhere else, but her eyes were glued to the bruise. “...Are you certain it isn’t a particular ailment?”

“Well, it’s a little sore, but if I dip it in the cold river then it should be fixed almost immediately,” Microphone said, sounding a little bit sheepish. She shrugged off her chestplate with a sigh, feeling lighter now that the heavy metal was discarded, clearly. 

Taco considered the idea of Microphone dipping her hand into the river outside the palace, all the dirt and grime that could get into the wound without even the slightest notice; she immediately shook her head at the idea, even though the idea of her guard suffering should bring her some kind of joy. “Nonsense,” she said, before she could stop herself. “Come back into the palace; I’ll have my guards bring you some sterile ice water.”

Microphone seemed surprised at this, taking a step back and wrapping her opposing arm around her wrist even tighter. There was a slight wince making an appearance on her face, alongside the hiss of pain after she rubbed against the bruise. 

Taco rolled her eyes and stood up- but when had she sat down?- and held a hand out for Microphone to take, once again expecting it to be slapped away. 

It wasn’t. 

-

“How is your wrist?” Taco asked. Not because she cared about the status of the healing process or about her guard, no, not at all. …She was just having a hard time coming up with a good reason why she was overviewing the healing process so heavily.

Microphone nodded, still holding her limp wrist in a jug of cold turned lukewarm water. “It’s fine,” she hummed, lifting it out and patting it with a now-damp linen towel. “I’m just… thinking. I'm a little confused about something. Probably.”

Clicking her tongue, Taco wasn’t sure if she could relish the uncertainty in Microphone’s tone. It was something so raw, so clear in the thought-provoking that was stirring in her mind, and the voice sounded close to wrecked. 

This was normally a good thing. Taco did not feel normal at this exact moment. She wasn’t quite sure she would feel normal about anything ever again. 

“What are you confused about?” Taco couldn’t stop herself from asking. Curiosity killed the cat. She could only hope that satisfaction brought it back again.

The room was strangely silent for a long while. Taco toed the ground with her boots that she had not had the time to take off, and Microphone stared up at the ceiling, her hand still in the jug of water, contemplative expression on her face.

“I’m… I’m confused about why you’re helping me like this,” Microphone eventually admitted. Taco felt her eyebrows knit together, a crease forming in her forehead. Of course, the one thing she didn’t know the answer to. Leave it to Microphone to ask that. Taco had half a mind to wring her neck, and yet she didn’t.

(She never followed up on her threats, as of late. She was becoming weaker in Microphone’s presence, despite the fact that Microphone herself was growing stronger every waking moment.

Why?)

“I don’t know,” Taco eventually said, once she had gotten out of her own head. “I don’t know why I’m helping you.”

“There has to be something for you to gain,” Microphone said. “There’s no other reason you’d… Sorry, I’m just… thinking. A lot.”

Taco was also thinking, a lot more than she should be. Whatever the strange, bubbling feeling in her gut was, she wanted it gone. She didn’t want it to suddenly appear and make her nauseous whenever she looked Microphone in the eyes, whenever she thought of the guard’s inevitable fate. 

Because that was just the way it was. There was no point in trying to avoid it.

…So why had she been, with all the training?

“I have an idea,” Microphone eventually said. “You don’t like it here in the palace, right?” As she said this, a small smile graced her features; for reasons unknown to Taco, she felt compelled to look away. She did so, and immediately she wanted to turn her head back again. Why was everything so confusing, as of late?

There was one thing that was clear, and Taco scoffed in the face of it. “Why would I like it here? Everything is stifling.”

Microphone’s smile only grew larger, and the breath that should’ve been in Taco’s lungs left into the open air. It was like she had been punched in the gut; this was not something that she had taught Microphone. She was left wondering what it was. “Then let’s sneak away,” She whispered, silent as the wind itself. Taco took a deep exhale in, heart pounding much too fast for her liking.

“Let’s head into the town, just for the night,” Microphone continued to elaborate, taking her hand out of the cold jug of water and wiping it against her shirt. Her commoner shirt. Taco could live among commoners like she had thought of many a time, even if it was just for the one night. “They might notice you’re gone, they might send out a search, but we won’t worry about that. I’ll be by your side every step, if you wish it to be so.”

Taco didn’t want anyone by her side. Taco couldn’t wish for anything better.

“I never would have thought that you’d be the one with good ideas, Microphone,” Taco said with a slight smile. “Let us go out tonight. I may not have the dialogue of a commoner, but I am far from a princess. Don me in a cloak and nobody could tell my name even if I handed it to them even if I was wearing a crown upon my head.”

Microphone smiled at them, relief and thankfulness shining through her features. Taco was not sure what for, and yet she smiled back in the same way. Silent communication was a difficult skill to master- it had taken Taco many moons to learn how to send a shiver down her father’s spine without even a word- and yet it seemed to be working swimmingly at that very moment.

Taco was not quite sure if she was sane or not. Tonight she was certain that the tide would turn and she would be the latter.

“Our little rendezvous is certain to get us into trouble, I must have you know,” Taco said, pulling her navy blue cloak- hopefully none of the common thieves in this little town would know it was made of satin- closer around herself. 

Microphone was waiting, wearing commoner clothes that looked miles more convincing than Taco’s own. Most likely because she was a commoner, but regardless. She seemed thrilled that Taco came along at all; her eyes lit up the very second she saw her coming from the bushes. “You came,” Microphone said immediately, face alight with wonder and excitement. 

Taco clicked her tongue, unable to muster a scoff considering she was sure a bug would fly into her mouth whilst it was open. “Of course I came,” She said eventually, and immediately moved her hand to her face and slapped away any of the, apparently imaginary, flies and other pests that floated about. “Now where shall we begin?”

“There’s a nice place nearby, open pretty much always,” Microphone said. “They sell all kinds of intricate jewelry and weaponry; I just have the slightest feeling that might pique your interest.”

Unfortunately for Taco, Microphone was wholly correct; that did pique her interest. She immediately thought of the idea; glimmering emeralds in her ears, around her neck, rubies bedazzling her crown. Yes, that was quite the imagery. And yet it would scream status. Perhaps another time she would return. 

“That sounds like quite the place,” Taco said, breaking herself out of her little trance-like daydream. “I do not know my way around this area; would you mind leading the way? I won’t give you any trouble along our path.”

Microphone merely nodded, motioning for which direction Taco should follow in. She did just that, following the dark silhouette of Microphone and keeping one hand on the hilt of the dagger hidden away in her coat pocket. You’d never know when things such as this would come in handy- unless, of course, you said always. 

The feeling of cold gravel against her feet, even past her heavy boots, chilled Taco to her core; she could not shake the terrible feeling of being watched. As she turned on her heel, feeling a cold chill creep up her spine, it was already too late to do anything.

There was a rugged looking man, scar spanning on his face from forehead to just below his eye, blade drawn and eyeing the expensive-looking cloth that made up Taco’s cloak. 

Taco could have attacked; it would be the way she had done it every other time. However, she did not have the time to. Immediately, she was pushed backward with a vigor and the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath made itself apparent. 

Squeezed shut eyes and a wince clear on her face, Taco heard the unmistakable sound of a stab through the heart. There was someone at her side immediately after, sword clattering to the floor. Taco opened her eyes, anger running through them like an electric spark, one that immediately calmed as she saw who it was kneeling in front of them with a panicked expression.

“Are you alright, princess?” Microphone asked, her voice calm as careful waves despite the crimson dotting her face. Taco did not know what to think as she sighed, knocking her head against the shoulder that Microphone had offered. 

“I could have dealt with that,” she said softly, but did not protest as a hand found the crown of Taco’s head and began carefully massaging her scalp. Her cloak had fallen back to her shoulders in the fall, and if she didn’t put it back on there was the fear of being recognized and attacked once again. However, she let herself have this moment of reprieve; this moment of forgetting what the palace would think if she let Microphone be a little closer than she ever expected.

It was a nice feeling. It was too nice of a feeling. It was a field of landmines, and Taco needed to get out. 

Her knees felt weak. Was that strange? She didn’t feel as if she could even attempt rising from her position beside Microphone. 

“I know you could have,” Microphone muttered, still carding her fingers through Taco’s hair and slowly working out the knots that had been caused through the cloak sitting atop her already slightly curly hair. “The instinct to protect you… it just kicked in, your majesty.”

Taco wanted Microphone to drop the formalities. Tonight was the night of which she was supposed to forget about her status. 

But the fond, protective ‘ your majesty’ tacked onto the end of her sentence… She needed to go home. She needed a moment in her bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why on earth her guard was making her feel like there was a knot in her throat.

She could not go home. Not if it meant giving up the feeling of being so close, going back to feeling distant as ever. “Mic,” she whispered, trying the nickname on for size. “Mic.”

“Yes?” Microphone asked, fond and sweet and foolish as ever. 

Taco curled tighter into herself. “Let me go,” she demanded, out of breath and ready to let herself fall back into Microphone’s shoulder despite these words.

Never, never should she let herself be this comfortable. That was dangerous. That was walking toward a landmine and simply expecting it not to blow up in your face. 

Taco could recognize the moment the words went through; Microphone slouched, moving away. Taco did not want that, she did not wish for this as much as she said. She wanted to whisper for her guard to return, to stay beside her on the rough cobblestone grounds and lay there for as long as she wished.

But she was not a royal, not tonight, and she could not boss around Microphone. They had to be on equal footing.

Why did it not feel as if they were on equal footing?

As soon as Microphone rose from the ground, wiping the blood still splattered across her face with the hem of her shirt, Taco followed suit. “Which way is it, again, to this store you previously spoke of?” She muttered, looking nowhere but the ground. The ground in which she previously lay with Microphone at her side.

Why does she already miss it so dearly, despite the fact that the moment had just passed? Despite the fact that Microphone was at her side, and… speaking. She was speaking, pointing toward the way of a singular lit lantern, emanating an orange glow. 

Without listening to whatever else Microphone was saying, Taco was off. She had to leave, had to get away from the spot where she had shared such a… strange, tender, strong moment. Strong enough that she couldn’t stop thinking of it. Strong enough that she wanted another petty thief to show up just so she could watch as they fell at Microphone’s blade. 

“Why are you walking so fast?” Microphone said, nearing panting, the moment she caught up with Taco, hands deep in her cloak’s pocket. “That eager to check out some tacky jewelry?”

Taco shrugged off the comment, coiling the hood of her cloak closer around her face. “Perhaps I am,” she said, voice much too low for her tastes. “You don’t know me.”

There was a heavy pause, a weight in the air that Taco could not put a name on no matter any kind of attempt she made. Finally, Microphone let out a sigh. “No. I don’t,” she said resolutely, and continued to walk, striding faster than even Taco had. Now it was her, trailing after Microphone like a lost dog.

She felt a bit lost. This town, the one in which she used to call quaint from her bedroom all the way up in the palace, was much too big. It made her feel as if she had to turn her head in every direction, that paranoia was a normal emotion that sat right outside your reach. Just outside your vision, just like the possible ambushers that had never scared Taco so much before.

The desire to crumble to the floor was strong. The desire for Microphone to pick her up and put her back together was even stronger. Neither of them were an option. 

-

Once they were finally at the porch of the wares shop Microphone had thought would entice Taco to come along, she didn’t even really want to be there at all. Sure, the smell of slightly wet copper and steel heavy in the air was one that brought more comfort than it probably should, but Taco could not stop herself from feeling a little apprehensive as she walked in behind Microphone. 

Because Microphone was her guard, no matter how many times she denied the fact. Even for this little night, one where she was to forget all about her status, Microphone was still her guard. Even if she knew that she did not need protection, Microphone was still her guard.

And she still walked into the store first, strides strong and arms heavy at her side. Taco had her hands in her pocket, hands completely off the leathery grip of her dagger. If things proceeded to go the way they had been, then she wouldn’t need to slit the neck of anybody but herself by the time the morning came. 

The thought was scary, of her going out the same way many others had; by her own hand. It was thrilling.

Despite this, she looked at Microphone and decided that would not be the way she would go out. No, it would be the same way Microphone was certain to, after the training; fighting. She would go down fighting or she would not go down at all.

Microphone went off to converse with the man behind the counter, about three of his teeth knocked out- from what Taco could tell, with the way he flashed his teeth in greeting- and quite a few filled in with gold or steel.

This man was certainly well-off. Perhaps he could recognize the satin cloak Taco was wearing for what it was; a cloak with the royal family’s emblem turned inside out. That was certainly the last thing she needed, this foul night. Perhaps the most probable, considering how everything had entirely diverted her expectations thus far.

“Oi, you,” the man behind the counter said, watching as Taco picked up a small ruby hung on a golden chain. Taco was about to turn around, grab the dagger in her pocket and stab him, but before she could do so, he spoke once again. “You’re not from here, are ‘ya? I don’t think I’ve seen ‘ya before.”

Oh, thank goodness. Taco let a small, hopefully silent sigh of relief fall from her lips, and put down the ruby necklace gently. She coughed, to make sure her voice did not sound too similar to the crown princess’, and spoke. “I’m afraid not, kind sir,” she said, voice smooth. “I’m from the north, you see. Came down for a visit.”

Well, that wasn’t too far from the truth. The castle certainly was north.

“All you northerners,” The man mumbled, clicking his tongue and slouching at the counter. “With all your fancy directions and junk… I don’t understand a lick of it, I’ll tell ‘ya now.”

Taco simply nodded, and went back to looking at the ruby necklace that had caught her eye. Microphone was trying to be cold, it was easy to tell considering the crossed arms and overexaggerated huffs- but it seemed as if she was slowly losing steam. She kept looking over to see what Taco was doing, check if she was safe, and immediately turned away once Taco turned to look back. 

It was a game of cat and mouse. Taco could not tell which one she was. The chaser or the chased.

“This is a wonderful selection of jewels you have, sir,” Taco noted into the open air, did not miss the way the shopkeeper’s eyes gleamed, the grin that cracked.

“Well, I’m pleased as a dog to hear that, m’lady,” he said, doing a faux bow behind the counter.

Taco could not have helped but notice, however, that these jewels were… off. They were shiny, they were opaque, they were everything that a gemstone arguably should be.

But they were much too vibrant a color, and they were not as cool to the touch as they arguably should be. “It’s a shame they’re all swindles,” Taco said, gripping the ruby necklace she was admiring in her hand and squeezing it in her fist.

“I beg your pardon?” The shopkeeper said, apparently caught off guard. There was unbridled anger in his tone, only just not broken through the surface, and Taco wanted to see him explode. She wanted to hear him yell at her to get out of his shop, push her out with a broom like you might do with a family of rats.

Was that strange? Perhaps. But she did not feel anything but the carnal desire to get angry at someone, for good reason. She needed to let out steam. She needed to duel.

She looked over at Microphone. It didn’t seem as if that would be happening anytime soon, unfortunately.

“These gemstones,” Taco elaborated, voice smooth. She could only hope that the unexpressed emotions she kept under the surface stayed there. “They’re fakes. Every last one of them, if I had to take a guess.”

“You do not know what you’re talking about, young lady,” The man behind the counter continued to insist, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows. His anger was becoming more palpable, and it was feeding into Taco’s own. 

Striding forward, Taco angrily grabbed the man by his collar and brought his face closer to hers. “You listen to me, you swindling buffoon,” she hissed, anger bubbling to the surface, ugly and venomous. Microphone did not say a word in protest, still cold in the corner of the room. “I have seen more riches in a week than you have possibly seen in your entire life, I know a ruby when I see one. I know an emerald when I see one. And all of your wares?” Taco let herself laugh, a harsh and sharp chuckle. “Fakes, lies. swindles, plastic-y frauds .”

The man pushed Taco backward, and it only made her anger more palpable. A grin, sharp and evil, made its way onto her face. She may not have any golden teeth, nor any missing ones- yet, that was- but she would make most certain that this man went home with all of his shattered. 

“Taco!” Microphone hissed from a distance as Taco slammed the salesman’s head into his counter. Blood smeared on the table, sticky and crimson, and it made her smile to see that its origin was from the conman’s nose, bones twisted in a completely different direction than they should be. 

“‘Ya little brat, ” The conman hissed, jumping over the counter and swinging at Taco. She moved out of the way, grabbing his wrist on its way down, and grabbed the leathery handle of her dagger from her pocket. 

She pushed it against his wrist, letting blood seep out of the open wound with a grin of satisfaction. The man tried to squirm out of his grasp, but was unable to. As Taco looked up from the wound, she could see why.

Microphone, holding him in place, much stronger than he could ever fruitlessly attempt to be. 

“Do you know how much of a sword could be made with just one man's worth of blood?” Taco asked gently, pressing the blade of her sharp dagger deeper into the well of blood. She could not see how deep the wound was. She hoped it was deep enough to fracture bone. 

“If we extract the iron from an adult man’s blood, it would make up at the very least a 360th of a classical longsword,” Taco said, just as coolly. Microphone continued to hold the man down. She had not even needed to be asked. 

Taco appreciates that, no matter how much Microphone insists she hates to harm anyone, she’s at Taco’s call immediately. It should not be this way. Something is wrong, but Microphone is still holding him down. Still keeping his mouth shut, with a sword pressed against his throat. Since when was she doing that? It sent a tingle down Taco’s back, made her forget what she was talking about.

“If you do not want to be a 360th of a new sword for the armory, then you will admit that your gemstones are fakes,” Taco continued, swallowing the lump in her throat and hoping her voice was still threatening. She looked toward Microphone for confirmation of this fact, but she was digging her sword deeper into his neck. Blood was beginning to well.

“Ngh- I’d tell ‘ya if ‘yer friend here would get off me, ” he said, once again trying to get out of Microphone’s grip. He was unable to, once again.

Taco brushed off the comment of Microphone being her friend, because it was not a reality she would like to face at that particular moment, thank you very much. “That is not possible, I’m afraid,” Taco said, face warm and sharp yet voice icy cold, near emotionless. “Now say it. We’ll let you go, if you do.”

This offer seemed to entice the conman, and he struggled to get anything out of his throat except the blood leaking down to his collarbones and welling up there like tears welled up in his eyes. “They’re fakes,” he admitted, finally. “I take fancy look’n stones from outside of town and I polish ‘em ‘till they look real nice and shiny. It’s- we all gotta make a living, yaknow?” 

“My mother bought from you,” Microphone said, the first words she had spoken in a long while. “She cherished the sapphire earrings you gave her, she cared for them so fondly. We buried her with them.”

Taco felt the world come to a still as Microphone whispered that. 

“And they were fake,” Microphone continued, a harsh, biting laugh coming from her throat. “You demented, foolish, evil -”

“I believe that’s quite enough, Microphone,” Taco said with a hum, removing her dagger from the conman’s wrist. A plan was forming in her head, and she was not quite sure how to signal that to Microphone. However, she seemed to comprehend it well enough, and removed her blade from the gold-toothed man’s throat. 

Taco spun her wrist a few times, making sure it was not locked in place after holding it in the same straining position for such a long time. “What’s your name, honest man?” Taco said to the conman, rubbing the cuts on both his neck and wrist. He was a bit of a mess, blood leaking all over his body and staining his skin a crimson red. 

“Pouch,” he wheezed, voice just barely above a whisper. “My name- it’s Pouch.”

“Well, Pouch,” Taco continued, taking a deep breath and holding it. “I hate to break it to you, but you lied to my friend here.” She pointed to Microphone, repeating over and over in her head that it was just for the charade. Just so he did not figure out that she was a member of the royal family, that she was not assigned a guard.

(It wouldn’t matter, but she kept the charade up regardless. He would be dead soon, but she kept the charade up regardless.)

“And that does not bode well for you,” She continued. 

The terror emanating from Pouch was palpable- but then again, did he deserve to be addressed by name? No, he was a conman. It was as simple as that. Conman was his name, in Taco’s mind. It always would be, if she had any say in it.

Sure, Taco would have loved to be the one to slit his neck, but she thinks that this time she’ll let somebody else take the wheel. And that somebody else seemed more than eager to do so at that particular moment, eyes shining with tears and nearly red with anger. Perhaps that was just the orange light flooding the room, but Taco would like to think the real reason was less anticlimatic. 

“Spare me,” the conman wheezed, pleas falling from his lips like a waterfall. “I’ll- I’ll close up shop. I’ll move away, you’ll never see me again, honest!”

“We’ll see,” Taco said, turning to Microphone. “Mic? What are your thoughts?”

Microphone’s hands were shaking, holding her blade. “I would say that I don’t kill,” she said, voice cracked and rough. “But, well. You saw me do so earlier tonight.”

Taco should not laugh at the concept of death, but does so regardless. With a slight shake of her head, she turns from the conman to Microphone, then back again. “So what will it be, Mic?”

Hands still shaking, Microphone throws her blade on the ground beside the conman. “I will give you enough gold to catch a carriage,” Microphone said to the conman, voice dipping lower than Taco had ever heard it. Despite the air of the situation, she feels something bubble in her gut. Something warm and strange. That voice… It was definitely intimidating. Nothing else, of course.

“You will leave, with none of your possessions. If you have a wife, leave her behind. If you have children, leave them behind. You do not deserve their presence. Go as far as you possibly can and then some. I do not care how long it takes. I do not care if it kills you. You will go.”

The conman, shaking on the floor and sitting in a pool of his own blood, coming from his nose, wrist and neck, nodded rapidly. “Of course, I- so generous, really- If you would just- thank you, madam!”

Microphone ruffled in her pockets, finally securing her hand around a pouch. She pulled out a few round golden coins, tossing them on the ground. They splashed in the blood that had pooled, and the conman scrambled to pick them all up. “Go,” Microphone demanded, picking up her blade. She wiped the excess blood off of it with the bottom of her shirt, and Taco could do nothing but look away and stare at her dagger with matching blood on it.

The man shakily got up. “Now! Before I change my mind!” Microphone barked, and he was wobbly running away with quiet sobs escaping his throat. 

Taco looked around the store, her eye catching a particular set of sharp-looking blades. Microphone was still seething, looking at the pool of blood where the conman previously sat, and Taco strode toward the duo of swords.

“Considering the seller is now gone,” she said, grabbing one of the blades by the handle and testing its weight, “Do you believe that these are free? I certainly don’t see a price on it.”

Sighing, Microphone merely leant against the counter where Taco had broken the conman’s nose. “I just wanna go home,” she sighed, voice betraying how tired she was. “Grab them if you want them- I need to sleep.”

Taco considered these words, then considered the fact that she had no idea where Microphone’s home even was. If the beds were nice. “There are plenty of spare rooms in the palace,” she heard herself offering before she could stop herself. Microphone turned around inquisitively, and Taco shrugged. If you’re gonna offer, don’t half-do it. “There’s nice beds, and I’m sure the other guards would treat you with respect. You’re always welcome.”

Microphone seemed to be considering the offer, but then her expression went sour once again. “What happened to me not knowing you?” She said, voice cold. “I thought that meant there were no more olive branches.”

Reminded of the moment she’d had earlier, Taco could do nothing but wince. “Microphone, I need you to know that I did not… I… It does not change much, but I want you to know I am sorry for speaking down to you in such a way.”

“At least I was right about the jewelry being tacky,” Microphone muttered, and looked over to Taco for her reaction. Soon enough, the two of them had burst out into laughter.

“I cannot believe- the way you spoke to that man! It was- I don’t want to be brash, but it made me oh so proud,” Taco said. “My lessons in aggression are certainly working!”

(The way she spoke to the conman did not just make her proud; it made her stomach do backflips for reasons unexplainable. It made her want to do backflips, in turn.)

“Those aren’t lessons, that’s just you being aggressive toward everyone,” Microphone said, rolling her eyes good-fashionedly. 

Taco shrugged, supposing that wasn’t too far from the truth. “Well they seem to have worked,” she sighed, looking down at the pool of blood on the floor. “I thought you were upset with me; why did you help me pin him down? Just out of curiosity.”

Looking the other way, out the door which was still open from when the dizzy, possibly now anemic man toddled off, Microphone merely hummed. “He hurt you,” she said, as if that was everything that was needed. “And it’s exactly as I told you; I’ll serve you until my last breath.”

Taco felt as if her last breath was right then. 

“Right,” Taco said, turning away and feeling her face grow warm. “Of course. I… I had expected as such.”

She had not. 

Surprisingly, their little rendezvous became as much of a common thing as their sparring sessions. Microphone made her appearances in Taco’s general princessly life more sparing, and they met on the brink of nightfall with sheathed swords hung over their shoulders. 

Some nights, they fought off petty thieves for no reason other than for the thrill of it; in Microphone’s case, because she upheld justice in a high regard. Taco knew that there was no justice in the world; just those who acted more morally correct than others. There was not a thing you could do for someone whose mind had already been corrupted by the unfortunate realities and tragedies of life.

Other nights, it was quite the opposite; they sat under the night sky, perhaps on an open booth of a long-since closed cafe, and talk. Taco hates to admit it, but she’s grown quite fond of Microphone.

And it’s only been a week since she’s met her. Normally, by now, her guards are dead and buried in the ground. She slowly awaits the day they get replaced with a slight dread, and then the cycle repeats.

It feels almost good to break the cycle. It feels almost good to be at peace with everything around her at that particular moment, with Microphone by her side with her satin cloak hiding her identity. 

This night in particular, she’s forgotten to take off her crown. It hung on her head, the weight normally recognized yet so familiar from bouncing back and forth through council meetings. Taco had honestly forgotten that she had it on until Microphone pointed the fact out to her.

Therefore, her golden tiara with gorgeous crystalline jewels was hidden underneath her cloak, the hood pulled up as far as it would go.

“I’ve been thinking about heading to the library,” Microphone said, strolling through the streets in her casual wear. She’d never liked wearing her knight armor; said that it was too heavy for her liking. Taco didn’t understand it; she quite enjoyed the feeling of heavy metal encompassing every weak point you could possibly have and then some. “I don’t know how to read very well, and I was thinking of picking up the hobby considering… well, the big library in the palace. Good way to pass the time.”

“I’d like to think so,” Taco said, shrugging. “It’s not for everyone; an acquired taste, most definitely.” 

She’d been a big fan of reading when she was younger, simply lying down and accepting the fact that her father would not let her be a knight. Instead, she read stories of young girls protecting the world and going on quests; anything of that genre she could get her hands on. She liked to imagine that she was the girl in the storybooks, except for one thing; she would not fall in love with the boy knight by the end of the book. No, she wanted to be her own hero. 

Looking at Microphone, eyeing the library with a contemplative look on her face, she wondered if that was still true. 

“I could teach you,” Taco offered, looking at the same brick building that Microphone was, already imagining the feeling of parchment underneath her fingertips, the ink bleeding through pages but being read regardless because stories were a universal, amazing thing that needed to be read. “How to read.”

“That’s a nice offer,” Microphone said, a small smile gracing her face. “I think I might take you up on it, actually. I only know the letters and how to say words. Not how they… look.

“That’s understandable,” Taco sighed. Sometimes she forgets how terribly underprivileged the commoners from the towns truly are. The real reason why most of them are petty thieves and criminals; because they do not know how to do anything else.

If only Taco was on track to get the crown one day. She could change things if she was the one on that throne of which her father sat.

She would never be on that throne. Was being to the side of it enough? It should have been. Why wasn’t it, then..?

“Taco?” Microphone asked, waving a hand in front of Taco’s face with a worried expression pulling at her face.

“Mic,” Taco replied, a little dazed from her spiraling daydream. 

Microphone was silent for a few moments, clearly processing the use of the nickname, and then picked Taco up, swiping one hand underneath her knees and the other just under the nape of her neck, bringing her to her chest. “Let’s get you somewhere more warm, it’s freezing out here,” Microphone muttered into Taco’s ear, and while most of the time she would have loved to protest the unprompted picking up, she could not help the shiver that ran through her body as Microphone whispered into the shell of her ear.

She was walked toward the library doors courtesy of Microphone, the trove full of knowledge in the form of ink on parchment open most hours of the day- including many of the night. When Microphone walked in, Taco in her arms bridal style, there was nobody there. The librarian must have clocked out for the night, falling asleep in the back room of the library. 

Taco did not know her name. Had never seen her except for passing glances when she was young, scrounging around for the kinds of storybooks that her father had forbidden. 

She wondered if she was still the one working here, or if she had been replaced.

“I think I got a bit caught up in my head,” Taco said, the moment her mind stopped swimming and the realization that Microphone was holding her close despite the fact that the two of them were inside the library, the heating cranked up and Taco perfectly fine. 

It was electric, it was a landmine, it was dangerous. 

These old repeating phrases that Taco had drilled into her brain the past few days, the ones about the person keeping her in close proximity… oh, how badly she wanted to throw all of them out the window in an instant, lean in closer and mutter every thought that had passed through her mind, addressed previously or not.

“You’re okay,” Microphone said, and Taco couldn’t help but feel it was a repeat of words said previously. Ones that didn’t quite go through.

Taco felt a shake in her legs, all the way up to the points of her fingertips and then some. “I just… I have this feeling, Microphone. That something bad is going to happen tonight.”

Yes, back to the full names. Back to formality. Back to safety.

(Despite the numerous times she’s said this to herself, she knows that she’s trapped herself in the field of landmines. Had done so a long while ago.)

“You’re okay,” Microphone repeated, seating her in one of the many dusty seats scattered around the library. Her voice was soothing, saccharine, and so… Taco wanted to throw everything out the window. She wanted to break her crown underneath her booted heel- it’s not as if anyone would even know, she was not the heir to the throne- and forget everything. She wanted to stay with Microphone, she wanted to stay in the landmine; but how could she ever get Microphone to stay, without the authority? The real reason why Microphone stayed under her thumb, followed her and saved her whenever she was in danger.

It was not real. It would never be real. 

The thought made Taco ache, deep in her chest. As if a chasm had opened in her heart and was letting all the emotions she felt seep into the rest of her body. Feeling completely paralyzed was a strange, enchanting feeling; you would never think as such, but being at complete peace with your thoughts without any retrievable way to do anything about them… it was a great way to wallow. And Taco did just that, tracing the grooves in her palms as she did so. 

Those were given to her through strict, tantalizing training. They were not the delicate, soft hands a princess should have.

She was not a princess. The revelation came to her quickly, but this was not the first time she had had this thought. However, there was a sense of finality in it. She was not a princess. The sky was blue. They felt like the same comparison.

Microphone was not her friend. That was another easy one, yet the pill was much harder to swallow in that particular case. 

“I hear something outside,” Microphone mumbled to herself. Not to Taco, to herself . Because they were not friends. How many times must she repeat this fact to herself before it feels real? Before she can finally throw away her delusional thoughts fed by the soft touches, the quick quips, the fast training? 

She did not know. She did not want to find out, either. She had the feeling that it would be much too painful, the knowledge of it, and so she kept it in the back of her mind. “What does it sound of?” Taco asked, because she would let herself bask in the delusion for a little while longer. Let herself believe that Microphone was friends with her, not just paid to be at her side, for just tonight. 

Yes, not any later. Just tonight. She’ll give herself reprieve for just the night. 

Microphone’s face pulled into a frown. “I hear metal… like swords, ” she said, the realization dawning on her a lot faster than Taco’s many revelations that night, the ones she would much like to ignore. 

As though the sense of danger had cured any ailments, Taco was up in an instant, her feet hitting the ground with a clack. “You do have your blade with you, do you not?” Taco asked, turning to face Microphone as she unsheathed her own sword, twirling it with much less flair than she normally would have.

“Of course,” Microphone replied, reaching around her back to grab the handle of her blade. “Why have you got yours?”

Taco felt herself grow confused at the question, doing slight tricks with the blade in her hands as she did so. “Why wouldn’t I?”

In lieu of a response, Microphone tutted. “M’lady, this is quite possibly an active threat. I must sincerely request- no, insist- that you evacuate the area, and go back to the safety of the palace,” she said, and it was almost as if Microphone wasn’t hearing herself as she said it. How could see possibly believe, even for a second, that this was something that would happen?

That Taco would walk herself back to her home, without a single complaint, and hide away whilst there were others in danger? When there were people to make afraid, to be angry at, and for good reason?

Instead of putting this all into words, Taco simply shook her head with a steely resolve forming in her chest and on her face. Microphone seemed to grow more frustrated, holding the hilt of her sword with a tight fist, so tight that she was digging crescents into her palm as her hand wrapped all the way around the sword. “Princess, I must insist-”

“I am not a princess,” Taco said immediately, anger continuing to grow in the pit of her chest. “And you are not my guard, nor the boss of me. You cannot tell me to leave, Dame Microphone.”

Microphone huffed, anger with her growing stronger as she practiced a swing at a display shelf of books. They crumbled to the floor, the wood of the shelf splintering and flying everywhere. Instinctively, Taco held her arm over her eyes to shield them.

Taco hauled her sword over her head, hit the already broken wood in the same spot where Microphone’s mark was apparent. “Listen when I say this is a terrible decision you are making, my lady,” Microphone said, voice too formal for Taco’s liking. She missed the moments that felt like they were eons ago, when Microphone had hauled her up and brought her into the library they were currently in the process of wrecking, minds both on autopilot.

They were still not friends. Friends would hear each other out, and stay by each other’s sides. Not have one run off to a castle while the other defends their homeland.

“I hear the guards of the folk,” Microphone whispered, still slamming her blade into shelves and digging it into chairs. “They’re losing. I know they are.”

Taco could not say a word. She knew that Microphone would once again insist that staying was a bad idea, that everything would go wrong in the worst of ways. But she refused to leave. 

This was, perhaps, her first show of good faith. And she has a feeling that everyone will hate her for it once it is over.

“I’m going to protect the folk,” Microphone said, tone icy cool; lacking any of the warmth it had the very last time she had spoken. When she was whispering to taco like she was telling a secret. Taco feels a little bit like she was. “Clearly, I can’t stop you from doing anything reckless. If you make the most horrible decision of a lifetime, at least try to stay alive after doing so.”

Taco could not muster another word as Microphone turned on her heel, sword already in position in her arms, one last glance over at Taco. There were so many unspoken words in Microphone’s eyes; despite their apparent skill with reading minds, she could not figure out a thing behind those glassy amber eyes that looked almost red in the moonlight. 

As soon as she was gone, Taco knew what she wanted to say as the knot in her throat subsided. Knew that she most likely never would.

In the empty library, she says three words before running off into the active battlefield, ready to fight by her most trustworthy soldier's side. 

“I love you, Mic.”

-

The battle battalion sent down was a lot larger than Taco had imagined. She did not recognize the emblem that the dozens upon dozens of attackers wore proudly on their chests, shining and steely metal with the symbol engraved into their weaponry which they swung with pride. 

Of course, Taco went for the attack the precise moment she did for many others; when they were vulnerable. The moment she slices through the cloak of one of the soldiers, there are many more around her. Overwhelming her. 

But before she can even calculate what to do with the circle of enemies surrounding her, its is broken; barreled through by someone wearing no armor, a sword swing wildly, posture perfectly poised. Recently finished with a session of training. Angry.

Microphone. 

“I told you to stay safe,” Microphone scolded, waving her sword relentlessly toward the enemies as she panted to catch her lost breath. “That means don't run into enemy lines! How is that being safe!?”

Taco panted, picking her own sword up and stabbing through the ribs of an enemy progressing behind Microphone. Grazing Microphone’s side just slightly, cutting open some of the cloth she was wearing, Taco brought her sword back to her side as the enemy fell to the floor, wheezing out his own blood. “You told me not to die,” Taco recalled plainly, scanning the enemies. “Not to keep safe.”

“Right,” Microphone said, cold voice back. The fondness in her tone previously completely dashed. “Because I don’t know you, do I?”

There was a silence, one only broken by the occasional swing of a sword as they hacked down many soldiers and fighters. Taco was the one to break it; she laughed, breathlessly, looking up at the moon and wishing that she could take every word she’s ever said back. “Of course,” she said, voice too quiet for her liking. Too quiet to hear over the slashing of swords, the parrying of weapons, the dance that was battle. 

Soon enough, she finds herself back-to-back with Microphone, more enemies progressing every moment; Taco diligently uses her training, the bottled up emotions doing nothing to cause ailment. She pushed her anger, her sadness, her doubt, all within herself- it was pushed out, into the battle, fresh fury coming in waves and waves and waves. 

However, this did not stop the enemies from continuing their attacks; her cloak had long since fallen from her face, and her identity as princess of the nearby kingdom was most definitely revealed by the tiara atop her head. 

A particularly strong attacker went to slice her in half, presumably. 

Taco threw her blade up in front of theirs to stop the aforementioned tragedy from happening; she felt warm blood come from the grooves in her hands as she held the sword by its blade, protecting herself from even more hurt.

Her situation was realized by her only ally at that particular moment. “Taco!” Microphone shouted, moving away from her back- Taco immediately missed the contact, but could do nothing as she held her sword above her head- and swung her sword at the attacker with a fresh fervor. 

Yells came from Microphone’s throat, huffed and choked and gruesome, and Taco could do nothing but keep the rest of the enemies away as Microphone dug her sword deep into the enemies back, more blood falling to the floor that was now practically coated with it. 

“Nice save,” Taco huffed, hitting an enemy on the back of their head with the sharp point of her blade. He fell to the floor, and immediately began to run the other way. The coward’s way. 

“I’m not letting you die,” Microphone said, slamming the blunt back of her blade into somebody’s wrist as Taco had done to her once before. 

The aforementioned enemy dropped their bow, along with the arrow that was locked into it, and Microphone picked the weapon up and shot them in the eye with it. Taco could not help but wince. Blood seeped from the socket, and as the enemy tried to pull the arrow from their eye- screaming not unlike the rest of the troupe that had been injured by the wrath of the duo- their entire eyeball came out with it.

Taco looked the other way, parrying an oncoming attack. Oh, she just adored the way that sparks flew whenever metal sparked against metal. She adored the rhythmic disorder of combat, she adored-

She adored the sound of metal sliding between the ribs, a horrible squelch coming from the blood and insides of a human being pulled from them, brought away from them as they are slowly being brought away from any and all lifeforce. 

“Nice one, Mic,” Taco called out in encouragement, seeing that there were not many soldiers left standing. Taco sliced down another, her tiara fell from her head a long time ago. Her hair flew free, and she felt like a true warrior. The warrior she had always wanted to be.

However, she did not hear Microphone respond to her encouragement. “Microphone?” Taco questioned, turning around to see the enemies that Microphone should have been slicing down. The enemies that were all wounded, their ankles marred and shoulders torn to the point where they were unrecognizable. Microphone was not among them.

Along with another fresh wave of anger, there were waves of fear. Tsunamis of fear. Taco has never been scared in her life; not when she fell from a tree when she was young, not when she found a spider in her room, not even when her father said that if she wanted to be a knight so bad she could go somewhere else, away from the royal family she so proudly tarnished the name of. 

But the thought, the very thought alone, that Microphone had been injured… that brought fear. That channeled every drop of fear she had felt in her life, simultaneously gathering every single fume of anger and sadness. 

Desperation. That was a good word to describe how she felt as she cut through all the enemy soldiers in her way, stepping over her royal tiara left discarded on the ground and hearing the gold crack underneath her very step.

Good. She did not feel at peace with it. Especially not if… Where was Microphone? Why was she just out of Taco’s field of vision, why..?

Why couldn’t Taco have just gone home, convinced Microphone to come with her? They could have run away; not just from the fight, but from everything. Microphone wouldn’t have to be a soldier and Taco wouldn’t have to be a princess; they could just be each other, and…

No, Taco should not get lost in her head. Not get ahead of herself. She’s going to find Microphone if it kills her.

Taco picks up the broken, scattered remains of what was her crown- the only thing that ever made anyone believe that she was royalty. Everything else was much too sharp, from her features to her heart.

Her heart which currently wanted nothing more than for Microphone’s to keep beating.

“Microphone!” She practically screamed, loud enough to go over the sounds of the enemy side slowly evacuating, injured and dying out. The floor was red, soaked through with blood in every crack of the cobblestone, and yet Taco still got on her knees, scanning the area for any body that might have resembled Microphone. 

Anything that she had missed.

Eventually, Taco heard a weak groan and her head immediately snapped to it; someone trying to get up, hand over their chest and panting irregularly. 

It was Microphone. Taco could tell. 

“Microphone!” Taco shouted, relief crashing over her in harsh waves, not as high as the desperate fear but quite close. She was alive. That was enough for now. 

“Taco,” Microphone replied through her gritted teeth, voice strained and cut off by a groan of pain. Microphone doubled over, yet seemed to quickly regret the decision as she stood up straight as a needle afterward. “Your majesty. You’re sa-”

“Stop it,” Taco demanded, feeling something sting in her eyes. Something wet. 

Taco has not cried in a long time. She had not planned on crying ever again. So what was the water rimming the bottom of her eyes, beginning to fall down her cheeks? “Just stop it,” she repeated, once again. The words felt foreign on her tongue. The cracks in her voice were unprecedented.

Microphone seemed to get the message, dropping the knightly act. “Taco,” she whined, resting her head against the cold, bloody cobblestone. Taco saw her eyes begin to close, and panic washed over her. 

“No, Mic, please don’t shut your eyes,” Taco said, voice urgent yet not demanding. Her resolve had broken like her tiara when she stepped over it with her boot. 

Clouded eyes looking up at her was no better than them being close, Taco quickly realized. Microphone reached her hand up, cupping Taco’s cheek weakly. “Can I ask you something?” She asked, voice strenuous. Taco would have let her ask a million questions if it meant her lips would keep moving, her heart would keep beating. 

“Anything,” Taco breathlessly exclaimed, hearing nothing but the wind and the slight pattering of blood still hitting against gutters and sliding between the rocky cobbled roads. “Anything, Mic, please -”

“Will you remember me fondly?”

Taco was cut off of her crying, breakdown-esque spiel by the question. She would have taken a moment to sit in silence with the question for a few moments, if it was any other occasion, and yet in this case she could not find it in herself to do so. She needed to keep Microphone conscious until help arrived. 

Help had to arrive. It just had to. 

“Of course,” she said quickly, so quickly that she did not even think through a word of what she was saying. “Mic, Microphone, I- please, you can’t leave yet,” Taco pleaded, the first of many tear droplets falling on Microphone’s forehead, already slicked with sweat. 

This was not a fairytale. She was not going to magically heal because of tears falling atop her head. 

(For a foolish, foolish moment, Tao believed it would.)

“Don’t say things like that,” Microphone sighed, growing weaker by the moment. Oh, how it pained Taco to see that tragic resolve in her eyes. The acceptance. “Tell me things are going to be okay. I will not believe you and yet… I want to feel as if it’s real.”

Taco paused, hesitating. She never hesitated; hesitation was the moment where you’d be stabbed through the back. But did she even care about any of that, anymore?

“As if what is real?” She asks softly. The first time she has ever been soft, truly soft, and she has already given up her crown.

As if this was a strange question, Microphone merely chuckled. “Everything,” she said, coughing out a slight bit of blood. It dribbled onto her chin and Taco wiped it away with a tremor. “Us. I… Tell me you didn’t act as my friend out of… necessity. Tell me what I want to hear.”

“Mic,” Taco heard herself say, her voice absolutely wrecked. Her mind, however, was elsewhere; far off and observing from above. Taco did not feel connected to her body, did not feel connected to anything. She felt as if Microphone was taking her lifeforce away as she lost her own.

Perhaps the worst part is the fact that Taco would let her. 

“I will serve you until my last breath,” Microphone whispered, hand falling limply from Taco’s cheek. She wanted the contact back, and she rushed to put her own hand against her cheek that was beginning to soak with tears; she felt nothing other than a sticky handprint of blood just above her jaw. More tears welled in her eyes. 

“Why?” Taco demanded, sobs ripping away from her throat before she could stop them from doing so. “Why must you seal such a foolhardy fate for yourself with such a flimsy promise? Why , Mic?”

Microphone had her own tears streaming down her face, Taco noticed. She wiped them away to the best of her ability, and yet they kept coming. They fell from her eyes like the slow, oozing stream of blood from her chest. It was splattered all over the floor, all over Microphone, all over Taco . Oh, she just wanted an answer; no, she wanted so much more, she was not to kid herself. 

“Because,” Microphone whispered, and Taco was at full attention; she could not see Microphone’s face properly, she wanted to commit it to memory, why wouldn’t her tears wipe away- and Microphone chuckled weakly. “Because I love you, Taco, and I am… I’m so sorry. I should never have said a word about it.”

“No,” Taco muttered, hand hiding her deep, open-mouthed frown and buffering her words. “No, that’s not true. That can’t be true.”

“I’m sorry,” Microphone said once again. “Taco- I am so, so sorry.”

Taco felt so many emotions, so many bottled feelings. She slammed the ground with her fist, and blood flew everywhere; it splattered onto her cheek, where Microphone previously held her jaw, and- Goodness, Taco has never felt so cold . 

A tear slipped from Taco’s cheek, once again, and then they were unable to stop; one after the other. “You’re lying ,” Taco sobbed, holding her chest and weeping into her hand. “Stop lying, I’m meant- I’m meant to be telling you what you want to hear.” Not the other way around. Not the other way around.

“Then do so,” Microphone sighed, too short of breath to choke out words. Help was supposed to come. Where was the help? Where were the citizens calling for a medical expert? “Tell me you will remember me fondly. Tell me you love me. Tell me… tell me you’re going to keep going, without me. That you’ll stay safe even as I’m not there.”

Where was the person who was going to fix this?

“I promise I’ll be safe,” Taco sobbed. Why was Microphone more composed than her? Why was Microphone not crying? 

Was she simply too tired to do so?

“I love you,” she eventually choked out, when no other words seemed fitting to say. Those three are supposed to be magic. Why wasn’t Microphone miraculously healing? Why was help not arriving?

Microphone’s head tilted to the left, and she was leaning against Taco’s folded-up leg. She immediately went to place Microphone’s head on her lap, swallowing back more of what she was going to say. Things she could not say. Things that she promised herself, in the late hours of the night, that she would take to her grave. 

“I like that,” Microphone eventually murmured. “How even though you’re the princess, my boss, pretty much, you still… you listen. I think that’s why I loved you in the first place; nobody has ever listened before.”

There was a knot in Taco’s throat, but she had so much more she wanted to say; so much more she needed to say, if she wanted Microphone to stay awake long enough for help to arrive. Because it simply had to, right? Right, keep Mic conscious.

“There’s a nice bakery a few kingdoms over,” Taco found herself saying, feeling completely out of her depth. “Once you’re better… we’ll go over there. We’ll forget all of this.”

Microphone looked up at her, a small, weak smile gracing her lips. The lips that Taco wanted oh so badly to lean down and kiss. But she could not; she could not take Microphone’s final moments from her being selfish . 

Because she was simply confused, dazed, anything that would cause her to say she loved Taco when there was no way that was possible. 

“I’d like that,” Microphone said in response, and Taco had nearly forgotten what she had answered. As silence slowly enveloped the conversation once again, Microphone continued to speak. “When did you go over there?”

Taco was quick to jump on the opportunity to keep talking. Knowing what she was possibly going to say. “When I was a little younger, my family had to go there for a peace treaty signing,” she said, trying to speak fast enough that the silence was near diminished but slow enough that Microphone could still understand the words being said. 

“That’s nice,” Microphone sighed. “I just… There’s so many things I want to tell you, but I feel as if they will hurt you.”

“Say them,” Taco said, wiping away another flurry of tears.

Microphone merely shook her head, a slight smile on her face. “I will protect you until my last breath. Hurting you is… very much the opposite.”

The silence that stretched out was agonizing. “When we leave this kingdom…” Taco said, because she wanted Microphone’s delusion to go on for longer- or was it perhaps her own?- “Where would you want to go? Anywhere, I will have it arranged.”

Snuggling closer into Taco’s lap, Microphone just sighed. “Anywhere with you… perhaps somewhere warm. Taco, I’m- It’s so cold.”

Instinctively, Taco brought her hands around Microphone’s body- that of which was much too cold. She did not want to accept the fact that her lifeforce was leaving. She did not want to- 

She did not want to be alone.

“We’ll go somewhere so warm,” Taco said, looking up at the moon in its perfect arc. “We’ll head north; it’s nice and warm up there. We’ll stop, for food and hotels and inns, anything you want. You can sleep, then, and not worry about never waking up. We’ll be so happy, Mic, just you wait.”

Taco could not bring herself to look down, back to Microphone’s glassy eyes. 

She continued to look up at the moon, stinging her own eyes with held-back tears, and waited for a weak response. Waited for yet more proof that she was soon going to pass on, and there was nothing Taco could do about the fact.

When she did not get an answer, her head darted down.

Microphone’s eyes were closed. Her body was quickly losing warmth.

“Microphone?” Taco asked, breath shattered and cold. Once again, no answer. Not even a slight movement of the hips. The blood that was seeping out of her body had now stopped, and that only happened when-

No. No, she can’t have missed it.

“Microphone!” Taco demanded, grabbing her head gently from the bottom and guiding it up. She was simply limp, and Taco, instinctively, slapped her across the face. Hoping that she had just fallen asleep. 

Oh, who was she kidding? There was most definitely no pulse, as she desperately pressed two fingers against the crook of her neck. 

“Mic? Dame Microphone? Microphone of the II court, I hereby order that you answer me!” Taco continued to yell, sobbing as she pressed her forehead to Microphone’s own. It was cold, sheened with sweat, and strangely ashy. 

There was nothing left. Not here. 

…But oh, Taco could not leave Microphone yet. She needed longer.

“I love you, Mic,” she said once again, just because the words felt good on her lips. Felt good to say.

But did it really count, if there was nobody to say it to anymore?