sweet nothing (G/t)

~part three~

Oh, crap. This is the last thing I wanted to happen. Or, is this the best thing, since she knows? She can find Lady—er, Princess Siobhan, surely. But, her having to be the one to find her probably isn't good. Her knowing it's my fault is probably worse, at least for me. What do I say? What can I say? I don't know, and clearly, my body separate from mind knows that, too, as it seems that I can only stammer,

"S... S-S... S—" I'm hissing. What am I: an animal?

What am I even trying to say? Her name? The princess' name? A nickname, even? Oh, gosh, I'm cracking, and ugh, I hadn't even considered where we are. She found this nonsense I made for the little miss. Is this more offensive than just eating sugar-based substances: making art with it? What was I thinking? I can't do anything right. I don't even know how I've made it this far. His lordship has probably just been tolerating me this whole time because I'm so—

"Orym!" Damn it, Orym. Pay attention! Oh, gosh. How long has he been standing here? With awaiting hand? Oh! The bag. I give it to him immediately, and his face softens from perceived anger. "Compose yourself, son."

"I-I—" Come on, man. You're the bigger person here. Literally, to everyone here. Act like it. "I'm sorry, sir." My apology gets a smirk out of him, before then begins walking to the back of the sugared showcase for some reason with the sack in hand. Why the back, though? That leaves space between me and— Oh, right.

The greater apology.

I timidly follow my lord's path across the room to a point and then diverge to just in front of the queen. *sigh* I've done a lot just today, and it just might cost me my life. But, I can fix this, I think? I mean, I made this thing, and she hasn't destroyed it yet, so that's a good sign. I mean, I'm used to begging for pardons. Who knows how many Lord Myrin has bestowed upon me? What's one more... from a queen?

Who am I kidding? I'm so dead.

Not bothering to waste more time, I quickly get down to kneel to her. For the love of all that's good, Orym, do not acknowledge the obvious. Just be quick, honest, and self-loathing. One is much easier than the others. I take a moment to juggle a reasonable statement to our guest, and I eventually set it free, hoping that it suffices.

"Forgive me, Madam Sovereign, for all of my shame." Oh, gosh. Is that title okay – a joint one? Now that I think about it, I could've been even more eloquent. Damn it. It's too late now. I can't look. I'm not going to. All I can do is wait. For a sentence. For an order. For a quick execution, here and now. I'm shutting my eyes and hanging my head, just like what may become of m—

"Dear child," the mini monarch's voice reaches me. Oh, no. Another mess up, isn't this? For goodness' sake, can't I just do something—? "I hope you forgive me for the stresses I've put on you by sending my loved one here." Wait, what?

I raise my head from dangling, and the last thing I would have expected was for a fairy, let alone the queen of one and all of them, to willingly put a hand on me and it not be one of vengeance. Yet, here she is, doing just that: a light, fluttery hand rubbing my nose. I cross my eyes to get her in reasonable quality, and to my surprise, I make out a smile as she retracts her hand. A beautiful smile. She and her niece absolutely favor in that regard. But, why?

How in the world am I not dead?

"I don't know if it was the best decision I've made—" What? The queen can't be wrong. "—but it was the simplest, as surprising as it may sound."

That's so vague, but is it my place to ask? I mean, what good could've come from putting a regal fairy in a fully elvish nation? You're practically asking for trouble with that, and I guess we got it.