Labby was confused, and didn’t mind admitting it as Enola let their prey leave. They had a test subject (who by the way practically delivered herself in the first place, needing only minimal coaxing and herding.) Yet still they let her get away? Labby was beginning to wonder if she would ever truly understand Enola really. So out of curiosity she asked.

“Oh that’s quite simple really” Enola explained, royals are more trouble than they are worth to deal with. Cursed folks have a nasty tendency to get all prophetic, and you don’t want to muck round with prophecies dearie. Nasty things they are. But there’s one thing royals have that most folks don’t have, you know what that is?”

Labby did not know, but only Enola really knew that a sentient labyrinth could shrug, so in a way they both held onto some pretty unique intel.

“What they usually have is a lot of people after them,” Enola snickered in a tone that would make anybody doubt the kindly old woman tone from earlier, this tone had teeth, and left anybody hearing it with very little doubt the bearer wouldn’t even hesitate to take a chunk out of them, “The best bit about that sort is nobody ever reports them missing. Labby dear, you mind popping the kettle on? I get the feeling we are going to have a lot of company in the near future, and I’m sure they won’t mind helping a poor old woman out with her research.”

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Back outside the labyrinth Mibbet had finally stepped into daylight, only to start pondering whether the dissection happy old lady back there could pencil her in for an appointment. Charles and Bradley were aggressively swaggering over in her direction, and they had somehow managed to recruit two new gophers to fill out their ranks. (Or maybe just paid to have them grown from the blueprints of their predecessors, seriously these guys were practically identical. How the hell did that even work? Did they only recruit octuplets at the minimum? Or did they simply kidnap mimics whenever they needed a new peon? The resemblance was uncanny, and no way in hell could it have been natural.)

“So they found you then did they? You really should be thankful, even the royal guard seem to have taken the time out of their busy schedule. I can’t believe a PRINCESS was left unguarded just so they could search for you. You really must thank her.”

In the background Bradley seemed to have started putting two and two together, which may have taken a while as maths was not his strongest subject. But at last he started to figure out what was going on, and went pale as he realised it. He tried desperately to shush Charles, but as you probably noticed by now people like Charles don’t even know the meaning of shush.

Mibbet watched with absolute fascination, wondering if he was going to cram his boot any further into his own mouth. He was already probably down past the tonsils and it was both amusing and kind of sad to watch. So Mibbet decided to stretch this out a little, this was going to be fun.

“Cousin Elvira Von Harmsworth? Do you know where I am? Apparently I’m supposed to thank me for the loan of my guards to help search for me. I seem to have quite lost track of myself down there.” She grinned, she knew she was laying it on thick here, but it seemed to her that if she didn’t Charles would somehow still manage to misunderstand what was going on, which while admittedly would provide her with a far greater chance to screw with him, he was getting rather tiresome. Probably best to put him out of her misery as soon as possible.

“W-w-wait,” Charles stammered while Mibbet Nodded.

“Princess Rosalind Von Harmsworth, Crown Princess of Harmsworth Kingdom, Saintess, and High Priestess of The Great God Wannashowa, most decidedly NOT at your service. I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, but, I don’t like to lie for no good reason.”

“B-but, the hat, the robes, the broom?”

“The hat was a gift from dear friends custom tailored to me as a gift, the robes are the same. As for the broom? I made it myself with the girls guiding me, you got a problem with that?”

Charles naturally did, but what passed as an instinct of self preservation gave him the hint that maybe, just maybe, if he ever wished to have a career in politics further acts of Lese Majeste were inadvisable.

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Cooper De-Grasse (or coop to his surviving friends) was an assassin, he would like to say that he was a good one, but so far the evidence pointed to the contrary.

He had been on the trail of his target from the day she left the castle, and had not had a good time of it. He’d been just behind The Princess at the first ambush, just long enough behind that the guards saw him as a suspect. It had taken him two days to shake them off, at the canyon he had been so busy trying to dodge the constructs he’d bolted into the canyon proper before they could tell him about the bridge. Three bloody days of hell he’d had crossing there. Digging in before daybreak days in the dirt, then off again with nightfall. Even with the deepest hole he still had a sunburn akin to cooked lobster. Then he’d run smack dab into the middle of the remnants of a herd of o’deer. Barely escaping with his life, and then damn near got run down by an undead horde hauling a bloody sleigh. Seriously a bloody sleigh? What the hell was wrong with this kingdom?

Then, as if that lot wasn’t enough he followed to some kind of temple, just on time for a gods damned flash flood. Oh well this time he was prepared for anything, as he ventured down into the dark.

“Hello dearie, care for some tea?” Came a voice in the dark.