“Who?” Rowen asked. The fox was in the guise of a tall elf male with salt and pepper hair wearing a white undershirt, blue doublet vest and velvet blue tights. They were in the middle of a very important job - taste testing the menu selected for tomorrow's wedding.

  They plopped a cherry into their mouth while they waited for an explanation.

  Sgt Ralith stepped forward and handed over a scroll, “Your Highness, we found Count Howl Fern while on patrol. He says you were expecting him?”

  “I did not!” Howl corrected. The boy was pale, and obviously out of his element, but he’d gathered himself to state his case. “I said I was delivering a letter from my father to Your Highness. And that I was going to a wedding…”

  “Did you say Fern?” The fox didn’t open the letter, but used [Fox Fire] to make it vanish. The letter could come later, for now, Rowen wanted to get a better look at the boy.

  Howl stood straighter. “I was on my way to Peldeep to visit my sister, Peregrine Fern, when, uh, I got into a bit of misunderstanding with these, uh, gentlemen.”

  Rowen raised an eyebrow at his attempted politeness, and a wide grin spread across their face as the Dark Horde responded appropriately.

  “Did you hear that Sanders, he called you a gentlemen.” One of the lizardkin elbowed the cougar beastwoman in the side. “Can’t tell a good looking lady when he sees one.”

  Howl blushed three shades of green.

  “You can leave the boy with me, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.” Rowen told Sgt Ralith. Rowen eyed Howl's wizard-in-training robes and somehow, their smile got even wider.

  The group returned Howl's pack, saluted the fox, and left. The second Howl was free from the Dark Horde, his shoulders relaxed and he looked liked he’d survived his very first ordeal.

  If only he knew what Rowen had in store.

  “Alright, Count Howl, come with me.” Rowen wrapped a hand around the boy's shoulders and turned him towards the mountain of white interlocking chairs sitting on the grass. There were tables still to set up, and wreaths to hang, and flowers to sort, and a trellis to build. All of the materials were piled high right in front of them.

  “Where are we going?” Howl asked, letting the fox lead him without due care.

  Rowen walked around the pile, revealing the sleeping dragon napping closer to Lake Loria. The second Feliwyn came into view, Howl stiffened like a washer board. Rowen paid his frozen state no mind, continuing to push the elf forward across the grass. “We are going to set up the wedding trellis. Right. There.”

  With great joy, Rowen pointed to the spot right in front of Feliwyn, where the sleeping dragon coiled in on herself like a cat. Howl swallowed thickly. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Oh, but I am.” Rowen gripped Howl’s shoulders and all but dragged the boy until they were a stones throw away from the dragon.

  Feliwyn was happily napping, unaware that her adopted son was going to be wed in this very field the very next day. Rowen couldn’t wait to rub it in her face when she woke up.

  “Now, listen closely. I'm only going to explain this once.” Rowen leaned down until their face was right beside Howl’s, and released one of the boy's shoulders to point exactly where things were going to go.

  They trusted Howl to remember everything, after all, the boy was his father’s son.

  “I - I’ll get right on it, Your Highness.” Howl nodded, looking for all the world like his world was ending. “Just, uh, can you let me go?”

  Rowen released his grip and took a step back, raising both hands in the air. “Of course, now, let me see what a Fern can do.”

  That seemed to light the smallest fire back into Howl’s eyes, and he bowed once before booking it back towards the supply pile.

  “Interesting boy,” Slake strutted forward and wound his way around Rowen’s feet once before the fox picked up the black grimalcat, careful of the creature's bat-like wings. “You don’t see many Sumbrian’s this far from their grove.”

  “How interesting?” Rowen asked, knowing that grimalcats favoured children. Particularly those in need of help.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Slake shrugged. “He’ll be fine on his own. Now pet me while I tell you what I found in the Empire.”

  “Of course,” Rowen obliged, listening to the grimalcat’s adventures into the underbelly of the Sands, all the while scratching the beast behind its ears. They were still petting the grimalcat when one of the lake folk approached.

  “I don’t remember a Count Howl on the guest list.” Lieutenant Patina frowned at the elf in the distance.

  “He is my plus one.” Rowen chuckled.

  “If you say so, but you’re responsible if he poisons everyone.”

  “Of course. But it's not likely.” Rowen said with confidence. They’d years of experience with all manner of Rogue classes. The elf couldn’t lie to save his life. Not like that sister of his. No, Peregrine Fern was a master at hiding her emotions.

  Such a clever girl for their dragon.

  "Have you spoken to Necromancer Chloe about those decorations?" The lieutenant asked, clearly knowing the answer already. Rowen waved her off.

  “Magic is oh so useful when I’m trying to make this wedding magical, is it not?” The fox asked the selkie, who merely shrugged.

  “It’s the wedding for the Dark Magician King and the Heroine of Justice,” Lieutenant Patina countered. “What else is it going to be but magical?”

  …

  Howl’s POV

  Howl felt himself at the edge of Mana Burn for the second time and as many days.

  Their Royal Highness was a tyrant taskmaster, and they’d had Howl float wreaths up onto posts, levitate table clothes over each table, and use his own mana to activate preset enchantments on the decorations.

  The first time he’d come close to Mana Burn was last night, when he’d slipped up a spell and destroyed a bunch of the roses… that had been a disaster. One that was only fixable because the palace could bring lilies and peonies to replace the damaged corpse roses when they brought the catering over today.

  The second time was when he’d come face to face with an aura wielding Arachne. His bloodthirst was palpable, and Howl had panicked midcast. Luckily it was a simple cantrip that he’d been using to help clean up a spill on the tablecloth at the punch bowl, so he’d not died from the mana whiplash… unluckily, he’d spilled the punch.

  Now he was doomed.

  He bent to pick up the punch bowl and dropped it when he saw the burning grass and roiling earth underneath. “Was that poisoned?”

  “It appears so.” A troll said, not two inches from his shoulder, causing Howl to jolt again. “Jumpy one, aren’t you?”

  "There's no more time to fix it!" Howl stared at the bowl. The guests were just arriving, and it was too late to call for something to replace the beverage. “Rowen is going to kill me.”

  “I doubt that.” The troll said, and Howl finally turned to get a good look at her. She was taller than he was, like most of the guests here, and very green. Her skin was green, rougher than his family color, and her hair was a dark green that was surprisingly long and well kept for a troll. Not that he’d met many trolls before. Or any, for that matter.

  The troll bent down and picked up the punch bowl, “Can you use that cantrip again to clean this?”

  Howl checked his character sheet. “Yes.”

  “Good, do it.” The troll ordered. Howl was too shaken to be argumentative and did as he was bid. While he worked, the troll pushed the punch table over the burned grass to hide the evidence, then eyed the newly clean punch bowl. “I think I have enough.”

  She lifted her hands, and suddenly the bowl was full of bimbleberry cider. She added a few slices of lime to make it look fancy. “See, no one needs to know.”

  Howl stared at the bowl, then at the troll. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m actually the one in charge of the drinks, so it was no trouble.” She said, thrusting a thumb over to another table that was covered in teacups and enchanted teapots hot with steam.

  “Oh.” Was all Howl could find to say. He was tired and out of mana and ready to sit down. The Dark Horde had arrived sometime during his punch ordeal and were putting out snacks and cutlery on the other tables. They were also greeting guests and showing everyone to their seat.

  It was organized chaos, and Howl had no idea what he was going to do next. There were beastfolk, and Hollow elves, lizardkin and arachne and griffins. Literally baby griffins flying overhead. The three of them landed in front of a very short, very angry looking Necromancer Chloe - the human who’d been fighting Their Highness every step of the way until now to get things ready just right.

  Despite being human, Howl thought she might be the scariest person here. She’d even gotten Their Royal Highness to step down, and that was a feat Howl could only admire.

  Rowen was already standing at the trellis in front of the Dragon Feliwyn, waiting to start the ceremony. They’d donned the guise of a stately gentleman with salt and pepper hair, just as they’d done the day before. Today, however, the fox was gowned in violent pink silk robes that matched the peonies.

  “The name’s Gerda.” Said the troll, drawing his attention back from the crowds.

  “Howl.”

  "Shall we walk away pretending like this never happened and find our seats, Howl?"

  The two were put near the front, only a few chairs apart. Howl was behind the terrifying Arachne from earlier. Luckily, the seats were staggered, and he could still see the front just fine.

  Gerda reached over and handed him a Mana Potion. “Now drink this and enjoy the show. It’s not often you get to watch the King of the Dark Enchanted Forest marry the princess of his dreams.”

  Howl did as he was told.

  It really was a once in a lifetime spectacle.