《Devil Dust》


 Bridle Suite

    Princess Genevieve sat still, a picture of cold, weighty stoicism, while the handmaid appointed by her husband-to-be dutifully powdered her face.


    "Do try not to pout so much, Your Highness," the maid said, her voice so gratingly upbeat. "It''s supposed to be a happy occasion."


    With her first intentional movement in over five minutes, Genevieve turned her head towards the hulking metal guard posted by the door. The soft whirring hum it made even while idle filled the small dressing room. The walls around it were covered in fine drapery emblazoned with the red-and-gold emblem of Gryst, a tight, winding spiral with spikes protruding from its outermost curve. Their thick fabric muffled any noise coming from outside, and in isolation that uncanny buzzing grew more oppressive as the moments trickled by.


    After too long a moment Genevieve ripped her eyes away from the thing and made herself stare forward into the mirror. It wasn¡¯t any more reassuring. Her hair had been dyed a bright blonde, and for all the praise she used to hear for her delicate features, the way they had done her up, exaggeratedly pale with cheeks rosier than her father''s thorn garden, went so far beyond reason that it almost felt like parody. The face that looked back from the glass was closer to a porcelain doll than a person. And it certainly wasn¡¯t her. "Am I not entitled even to my own feelings?" she protested, letting her voice come out as bitterly as it wished, asserting her own existence in whatever small way she could manage.


    "Of course you are, Highness," the handmaid said, in the resigned tone people used to placate irritable nobles. "More than any of us regular folk, I imagine."


    Genevieve dug her fingers into her thighs, knuckles turning white. "I would renounce my title and live on the streets if that would bring me my freedom."


    "You don''t want to live on the streets, Your Highness." The maid took a small brush to Genevieve''s eyes, lining them thin and black.


    "I don''t want to marry that man," Genevieve replied. She kept her eyes open and still, just barely resisting the urge to make the maid''s life more difficult as an act of petty rebellion.


    The handmaid frowned, and Genevieve could see the wrinkles of concern forming around her eyes in the mirror. "Then I guess it''s too bad that isn''t an option for ya." She sighed and brought Princess Genevieve up to her feet. "Whether you want to or not, I gotta get you in the dress. Not like I have a choice in that neither."


    "What''s your name?" Genevieve asked as she was brought across the room.


    "Eleanor, Your Highness," the maid answered diplomatically. She was pink-skinned, middle-aged at a guess, and a little on the short side, but that didn''t take away from the matronly authority she carried. Her wavy chestnut-brown hair was trimmed carefully, and her curvy figure managed to make even the plain workmanlike dress she wore into something fetching. "It''s an honor to serve you, Princess."


    Every estate Genevieve ever visited had a maid like her: kind and warm, but forceful enough to strong-arm royals like her into brief, localized deference. She was being diplomatic right now, feeling Genevieve out to determine if she was going to be a problem. But a friendly rapport would make things a lot easier. It was best to be sincere and try to break the ice.


    "And it¡¯s an honor to be served by you, Eleanor Your Highness." Genevieve allowed herself a moment to smirk, but her expression soon fell again. "You don''t need to flatter me. I''d rather you be honest. You have no idea how conceited I feel when the nobles insist their staff worship the ground I walk on."


    "If it''s honesty you want?" Eleanor relaxed her shoulders. "You wanna be here less than I do, and you¡¯re not being too much of a pain in the ass about it.¡± She carefully removed the pins holding an impossibly elegant white wedding gown in place on its dress form. ¡°I appreciate that, believe it or not."


    "I''ve been tempted a few times," Genevieve admitted. "But it wouldn¡¯t do any good. It''s not like you''re one of the people I''m mad at."


    "Well, I¡¯m grateful for that. But I couldn''t much blame you if I was, could I?" Carefully, carefully, Eleanor picked up the dress and held it up against Genevieve''s front. It was an ornate thing, with precisely detailed, delicate gold trims and dense layers of sheer white fabric. It lacked, however, the long train one would normally expect on an extravagant wedding gown. Instead it simply stopped at the floor, precisely fitted to hang just the barest fraction of an inch above the ground¨Ca concession, Genevieve assumed, to the dusty, rocky land of Gryst that would instantly ruin any fine fabric dragged across it.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Put your arms up, dear," Eleanor said. Genevieve complied. "I have to ask, though," Eleanor continued, as she began the arduous process of wrapping Princess Genevieve up in all of that fabric. "Is it really so terrible marrying our prince? Not that he''s the nicest man I''ve ever met, by any stretch. But in my head I guess I figured he wouldn''t have to be. I like a royal wedding as much as the next girl, but I¡¯m not a fool. We know it''s all politics for you regal types. The girls from the capital tell me the Queen kept separate bedchambers and found herself all sorts of pretty young things to keep her company, back before she passed. Doesn''t sound like such a bad arrangement, if you''re gonna be hitched to a cart you didn''t ask for regardless."


    Holding herself still while the gown was pulled into place around her, Genevieve could only scowl bitterly and shake her head with disdain.  "I don''t want to be in bed with that man politically any more than I want to be in bed with him physically," she said. "I don''t want any part of this whole ghastly enterprise." She glanced at Eleanor. "I''m sorry if that offends. You aren''t responsible. But he is."


    All Eleanor could do was shake her head sadly. She zipped up the back of the gown and set the outermost layer of cloth in place. "No, I understand. I''m sure this land seems cruel, coming from outside. King Harmon only tamed it by being even crueler. And Prince Cornelius is undoubtedly his father''s son. For better or worse, that''s the way of it." Once everything was done Eleanor took a step back and put her hands on her hips. "Turn for me, dearie?" she said.


    Slowly, Genevieve turned around, the delicate fabric of the gown swishing around her elegantly. It was a heavy, cumbersome garment, even with its more compact style. There was no chance of her moving very far or very fast in it. She¡¯d sat still and let herself become more trapped than she already was. The proof of that hung off her body, heavier than just the fabric.


    Eleanor was giving her most reassuring smile, a warm expression well-suited to her charmingly chubby face. The thoughts running through Genevieve¡¯s head made it hard to appreciate. She placed her hands on Princess Genevieve''s shoulders. "You look lovely," she said.


    In response Genevieve shuffled in place and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose this thing doesn''t have any pockets, does it?"


    "I''m afraid not, dear," Eleanor said with a little chuckle. "But what does these days, eh?"


    Genevieve answered with a thin, polite smile.


    "Anyway, let me get the veil for you, and you''ll be ready to go out there and¨Cdo what you have to, I suppose." Eleanor''s face fell mid-sentence. "Sorry, dearie. I was trying to be positive."


    "It''s all right," Genevieve said. "Thanks for the attempt."


    Nodding her head, Eleanor stood back to look around the room. "All right, then," she said in a long exhale. "Where''d I put the darn thing¡­?"


    She turned her back for just a moment while she looked. Genevieve took the opportunity to lean down and tug at the strap around her ankle, quick and furtive. It wasn¡¯t quite as hard to reach as she had feared, but the mess of fabric she was clothed in certainly did its best to get in the way.


    "Oh, no, you shouldn''t do that, Your Highness," Eleanor said, stopping Genevieve in her tracks. "A wedding gown''s not made for moving in. It''s just for looking pretty. You''ll start ripping things like that."


    Her breath caught in her throat, Genevieve slowly stood up. "I''m sorry, miss Eleanor," she said. "I just needed to adjust my stockings. They were bothering me."


    "That''s what I''m here for, dear," Eleanor chided gently. "If anything isn''t fit quite right, let me know and I''ll fix it up right and quick, all right?"


    Genevieve nodded silently, taking deep steady breaths, her hand pressed tightly against her side. Careful, careful, she thought to herself. Careful, careful.


    A look passed over Eleanor''s face, but she quickly decided it wasn''t her place to question. It was a convenient perk of royalty. No matter how friendly you were, people didn''t like to challenge you. Just in case you were the same kind of monster as all the others, under the surface. She moved toward Genevieve and lifted the bridal veil over her head. "Here we go dear, just like that."


    While she was setting the veil on, Eleanor leaned in and muttered conspiratorially. "Just between you and me," she said quietly. "We''re all sort of hoping you''ll be a good influence on him. Or at least that he''ll leave you in charge of the human staff."


    "I understand." Genevieve nodded, ignoring the lump in her throat and the knot in her stomach. "I wouldn''t want to work for him either."


    For a moment Eleanor stared at Genevieve, a worried frown on her face. Then she leaned in, and gently put her arms around her. Genevieve stiffened at the unexpected touch, but didn''t reject it. "Good luck to you, dear. Let''s just hope it won''t be so bad."


    Genevieve nodded, still focused on that steady breathing. She kept her right hand clutched tightly against her side, but reached out to give Eleanor a cautious pat on the back. "Good luck," she repeated, granting herself a single long sigh. "I will need it. Maybe everyone will."

 Cornelius

    Soon enough a procession of hulking automaton guards appeared outside the dressing room, and Genevieve was escorted outside into the dry, dusty air. It was chafing, cloying, and difficult to breathe, but what disturbed her most was its uncanny lifelessness. The air in her homeland was humid but rarely muggy, cool and refreshing whenever you stepped outdoors, and rich with vibrant, living magic. Her entire life she had been accompanied by the subtle whisper of energy at her fingertips. She was used to feeling a connection with the land, and being able to manifest its will as her own. But in Gryst the air, the land itself, was barren, hollowed out and dried. Whatever once grew on the plains had long died out. The earth had no power to express itself. And so neither did she.


    She didn''t understand how anybody could live in a place like this.


    And then there were the automatons. The hulking metal men marching her to her fate, sunlight glinting brightly off their smooth, rounded metal bodies. They had no faces, only empty helmets affixed to the tops of their heads. Genevieve had only realized in the last few days that the helmets were added on after the fact, bolted to the headless torsos of these things that had no need for a mind, in what must have been an attempt to make them seem the slightest bit more personable. They were nothing more than hollow shells, another symptom of the desolation that King Harmon and his ghoul of a son somehow expected their subjects to live in.


    They had given her a twisted feeling deep in her body even before Cornelius''s little display. Now she could barely stand to look at them.


    Genevieve was marched out of the Prince''s palace¨Chis summer home in remote Fogard, where it was so easy to keep her isolated¨Cand down a cordoned path with ornate arches covered in green vines and bright flower arrangements. She could feel the plants drying and fading in the sun every time she walked under one.


    Her guards forced her down the path, away from the palace itself and to the ostentatious chapel built right next door. She walked past the board in the front where the Prince''s men had put up bounty posters naming the kingdom''s most wanted. There were pencil sketches of a burly, scowling man, a girl with two horns and sharp, angry teeth, a stout older woman, and a thin, reedy man with an incredibly narrow mustache. Seeing them made Genevieve uncomfortable. Verdane issued bounties, certainly, but they didn''t place them front and center in front of a house meant to honor the Pulse. There was something wrong about it, something carceral and grotesque, but the more time she spent with Cornelius the less such things surprised her.


    Crowds had gathered along the edges of the palace to watch the ceremony. They followed her along the walkway, cheering and celebrating, eager and excited, but notably keeping a short distance from the cordons that told them where they could not go. Nobody wanted to risk stepping a toe over the line.


    The ceremony was being held at an altar constructed just for the event, placed atop a raised stage so a crowd of the Prince¡¯s subjects could witness the splendor of it all. Genevieve¡¯s automaton procession led her up the short flight of steps. She had to raise her knees slowly so she wouldn''t trip over the gown or topple over on her heels as she climbed. It was imperative that she carry herself carefully, so carefully, in case any errant movement dislodged the one thing she couldn''t afford to lose, but thankfully it didn''t make her seem suspicious. A Princess is meant to take slow, dainty little steps. That''s why they put her in such obnoxious outfits to begin with.


    Onlookers followed her from when she left the palace all through her slow walk to the stage behind the chapel. Now she had reached her destination they were filtering into the parade ground cleared out for them to stand and gawk in. Genevieve tried not to resent them too much. There was always huss and fuss around her, from people who didn''t know her and shouldn''t be giving her so much credit. But they enjoyed the show, and in a land like this one, she could hardly blame anybody brightening their life with some good old royal spectacle. Maybe they hoped the union between Gryst and Verdane would make it easier to get fresh produce from the neighboring kingdom.


    They at least could have given me a fruit bowl, Genevieve thought to herself. Normally she tried not to be so petty and entitled, but she wasn¡¯t going to be her best self today. And stress had a way of making her hungry.


    She climbed the stairs up to the altar, where a massive wooden arch decked out in red and gold stood over a lectern set up for the priest. Genevieve could see him, a tall, thin, balding man in long white robes talking with a flustered young woman she recognized as one of Cornelius''s maids behind the altar stage. Cornelius himself was nowhere to be seen, of course. His grand entrance needed to be the main event. Until he decided it was time to get this over with, Genevieve just had to stand there. Trembling slightly. Keeping herself steeled and shredding her nerves till they bled.


    The murmurs from the crowd were getting louder. Every now and then she picked out someone saying her name or title in some combination of excitement and curiosity. They weren''t hostile to her, but she was an object of fascination, a royal from another kingdom moments away from becoming one of their rulers. They wanted to know what kind of person she was, how things might change once she was part of their royal family. She wouldn¡¯t know what to tell them even if she had the chance.


    Being gawked at was nothing new, but it was strange to realize she was unknown. Back home people had developed ideas about her. She had a public persona of sorts, and the papers long ago settled on their spin for everything she said and did in public. She was the spitfire, the problem child, petulant and immature and insufficiently regal. Making herself out as a woman of the people because she was too naive to realize how politically important and tragically pampered she was. Well-intentioned, perhaps, but a little embarrassing.


    It always irked her. She respected her subjects, and she thought it was important to serve them. She understood that her position offered her privileges, and that it came with responsibilities. She had tried very hard to be an eloquent, passionate advocate to her parents, and to argue in favor of what she thought was right. But the men who wrote the papers were served well by the status quo, so if she was bringing an impetus to change it, that could only be youthful rebelliousness. Condescending self-righteousness. Childlike naivete. "It is good to have a Princess who believes in change," one of them had written, "and equally important for her to grow into a Queen that understands the importance of stability."


    Genevieve placed a hand on her dress, above her heart, just to be sure it was there. She knew what was important. She did not need an old man living a comfortable life behind an editor''s desk to agree for it to be true.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    A voice startled her out of her recollection. "Perk up, Your Highness," the priest said, with a beaming smile. He had walked onto the stage and approached her while she wasn''t watching. "It''s a joyous occasion. Your subjects want a smile."


    Genevieve glanced out to the crowd for a brief moment, avoiding the priest¡¯s eyes until she decided how to answer. "I am simply growing impatient," she said. "With nothing to do but wait and wait."


    "That''s understandable," the priest said. "I''m sure the anticipation would be getting to me too, if I were in your shoes. But don''t fret. They''re telling me he should be coming out in just a moment now."


    "Thank you." Genevieve nodded politely. "I will bide my time."


    The priest smiled and nodded and gestured an acknowledgement with the holy book in his hand. He walked off to take his place behind the podium in the center of the altar, and Genevieve was left alone with each second crawling agonizingly slow over her skin.


    Her gaze passed once more over the altar stage itself. It was regally decorated, with the red-gold arch in the center and floral arrangements placed all around the edges of the platform. The half-dozen automata that escorted her had arranged themselves in a precise, formal line. Three on each side of the stage, standing at attention, still as statues. The sun shining on their slick, polished armor was almost blinding.


    A loud trumpet sounded out across the field. Genevieve looked all around for the trumpeter, who seemed to be very, very close, but no matter where her gaze passed she couldn''t see any sign of a band, even as other instruments began to play a regal marching tune. There was a strange quality to the sound, like it was coming from a small room through an open door. She heard quiet chuckles from the crowd as she kept looking, which told her she was going to have to take the mystery music in stride. If there was magic doing this, she would be able to feel it, but the air was as dead as ever. Which meant the sound had to be coming from some impossible device, an inexplicable Gryst invention like the automaton guards. It was another display of power from the Prince: no magic, no men, but the band plays all the same.


    He was more fond of his machines anyway.


    Clanking metal could be heard past the corner of the church, opposite from where Genevieve had come in. Cheers came from the crowd on that side of the building, who had been waiting to watch the Prince''s procession, and the first trickle of them began filtering into the parade ground for the ceremony itself.


    It took only a few moments longer for the Prince''s regiment to make their appearance. The first to round the corner was an automaton, smaller than the others, dressed in an elaborate military regalia. A commander, perhaps, leading the royal guard. Following behind came another regiment of half a dozen automatons, three on the left and three on the right, forming a phalanx around their royal charge, the man of the hour. The Prince himself.


    Prince Cornelius was a tightly constructed specimen. Perfectly chiseled, with a strong square jaw and piercing green eyes, blond hair in a flamboyant coiffe and shoulders that weren''t quite broad enough to be conspicuous. His skin was fair, but perfectly tanned in that way only the wealthy had time to achieve. He had bragged to Genevieve that a physician (whose credentials Genevieve very much doubted) told him his skull was the perfect ratio (of what, exactly, was a mystery greater than any written on the stars). And yet every time Genevieve saw the Prince, she noticed him trying to make himself look taller than he really was.


    For the ceremony he had donned a fine, tailored suit. Luxurious imported silk, in the same deep blood red of Gryst''s heraldry, adorned with the expected gold trims. He grinned big and wide and waved to the crowd as he walked around the bend and approached the altar. The sound of people swept up in the excitement and splendor of royalty grew louder the closer he got to the stage.


    More cheers came from the crowd when his procession moved onto the stairs, the leading automaton first, then the prince and the guards flanking him. The click of Prince Cornelius''s hard-toed dress shoes against the wooden steps stood out clearly amongst the metallic clanking and thudding of armor. Each step sent a little trickle of dread oozing down Genevieve''s spine.


    The commanding automaton stepped up onto the stage, and immediately marched off towards the corner, where it stood rigidly at attention. The phalanx automatons did the same, joining the ones that had come out with Genevieve in their lines at the sides of the stage. And then there was Cornelius himself, walking towards the middle and stopping just a short distance from Genevieve. He grinned at her, his eyes looking her over with ugly triumph hiding behind them, his wide grin taking on a darkly predatory quality only for her. "My dearest Genevieve," he said with looming gravitas.


    "Cornelius." Genevieve did her best to smile pretty for the Prince and the crowd. Giving him what he wanted. Best to appease him, just for a few moments. Just long enough.


    The music slowly died down and the crowd began to hush, not fully silent but keeping their conversations to a respectful whisper. A quiet thunk was made by the priest setting his holy book on the podium. He adjusted a strange device, tall and black and thin with a rounded top, that was set before him, and the soft tap he gave it reverberated loudly across the parade grounds. ¡°A good afternoon to everyone assembled,¡± he said, and his voice came out so big and booming that even those far in the back would have heard it clearly. ¡°Honored guests and loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Gryst, today is a day for rejoicing. We are gathered here, at this site of the Holy Pulse, to celebrate the marriage of these two beautiful young people." He swept his hands across the stage, and Cornelius waved big and grand for all to see. All Genevieve could muster was a tiny wave and a tinier smile. Dainty and timid, like a Princess should be.


    ¡°I know everyone has been waiting patiently to see this wedding,¡± the priest continued, ¡°and the union of this great nation with our verdant neighbors to the south. But as impatient as you are right now, imagine how our lucky couple must feel!¡± That earned a polite sort-of-laugh from the crowd. ¡°So let¡¯s not keep them waiting any longer. Will the bride and groom please step forward?¡±


    As soon as he said that, Genevieve held up her hand. "Before we do," she said, speaking up loud enough for the crowd to hear her for the first time since she took the stage. A murmur ran through the parade ground, and the Prince''s smile took on a forced, strained quality. "There is one thing I need to say to you¡­ my dearest.¡± She looked Cornelius in the eye. ¡°In front of the people of Gryst and our fine priest, serving witness for the Pulse itself."


    "And what is this portentous message, my sweet?" Cornelius asked. He was grinning wide for the crowd, but there was murder in his eyes.


    Genevieve didn''t answer with words. She put her hand to her breast, gripped tightly, and stepped forward towards the Prince.


    It was careful work, pulling it out from its hiding place under the frills of her gown. She¡¯d practiced the motion over and over with the fanciest dress she still had from home. The wedding gown was much more cumbersome. But not so cumbersome she couldn¡¯t still do it.


    She took another step.


    There was no way to be inconspicuous. So she had to be fast. The Prince was close enough now. Even with her heels. Just this once she didn¡¯t have to be elegant. She only needed to strike true.


    She threw herself at him, and aimed the blade for his heart.

 The Devil

    Cornelius was too shocked to move. Just as she planned it. He had left himself vulnerable, and her aim was true.


    But she never could have been fast enough.


    Genevieve¡¯s arms wrenched back, seized and twisted by the inhumanly powerful hands of a looming automata. She gasped in pain, and the knife she was gripping so tightly clattered to the stage.


    A deathly quiet fell over the crowd.


    "You''re putting on quite the performance, my pet," Cornelius said, visibly trembling with rage. His impeccably coiffed, pedigreed face looked like it was about to grind all of its teeth to dust. With a single heavy footstep, angrily and ominously stomped into the wooden floor, he leaned in right up close to her, and glared daggers into her eyes.


    "Your Highness, what is¨C" the priest began to say, but a single look from Cornelius silenced him. He shut his holy book and left it on the altar as he walked off the stage. Cornelius didn''t wait for him to leave before he turned his attention back to Genevieve.


    "What did you think you were going to do, you backwoods ingrate?" he hissed in his most loathsome voice. "Do you believe my father''s pointless political dance will stay my hand?" He put his hand on her chin, squeezed her face between his thumb and his forefinger. Brushed away the bridal veil with his other hand. Looking her face over like he was inspecting a piece of fine pottery for chips and flaws. And he scowled at her for being a disappointment, squeezing her cheeks forcefully, speaking in a low, threatening growl from the back of his throat. "What use do you think I have for a toy I''m not allowed to break?"


    Everything Genevieve could possibly feel was roiling through her all at once. Her limbs were frozen in fear, but her entire body shook with unbridled fury. The pain screaming from her twisted arms was just barely numbed by the adrenaline surging through her, the deep icy chill down her spine only warmed by her seething, raging, white-hot hatred. She wanted to fight, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, she wanted to live, she wanted to die, she wanted to strangle Prince Cornelius in front of all his subjects and every other soul in the world.


    She wanted to go home.


    The bastard''s face was so close to hers.


    There was nothing inside her now but spite and desperation. She was cornered, helpless, and restrained. But she needed to act. In whatever way she could.


    Princess Genevieve welled up all the saliva she could get from her mouth and spat in the Prince¡¯s face.


    A gasp ran through the assembled crowd and was quickly swallowed by stunned, terrified silence. Cornelius took even a second longer to process what had happened. He stepped back, so taken aback he forgot to be furious for just one brief moment, and wiped his face off with the sleeve of his fine, luxurious, royal suit.


    The Prince slowly turned his gaze towards the crowd. He stared at them all blankly. And then he turned that same blank stare onto Genevieve. Her brain started moving again in that moment, and she kicked and strained against the grip of the automaton holding her in place. But something dark and cold and monstrous in the Prince''s eyes stopped her flailing. She froze, and stood numbly with the metal hand tight around her wrist.


    He turned his back to her. The automaton waiting at the edge of the stage, the smaller one adorned in royal regalia, approached him. Prince Cornelius reached out to remove the long, thin blade that it was wearing on its hip. He held the sword up for a moment, as if testing its weight, and then he simply stood still. For one second, and another, and another.


    And then he whipped around. His sword held out. The tip extended just far enough.


    In the split second she had, Genevieve saw the point about to slash across her face. Held by the automaton, she could only jerk away from it. Her eyes closed tight, waiting for the cut. A small whimper escaped her lips.


    Thock.


    A sound like a knife smacking against the bark of a tree.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with all of you?¡±


    Genevieve opened her eyes.


    Standing in front of her was a cloaked figure. Right arm held up, blocking the blade with a thick, padded armguard.


    ¡°Is this the kind of sick show you like to put on around here?¡±


    The voice was feminine, but husky and brusque. A blue, spaded tale wound its way out from beneath their cloak and flicked the air in indignation.


    Cornelius¡¯s face twisted from confused anger to furious rage. ¡°How dare you,¡± he snarled with open malevolence.


    ¡°What, you got this big-ass crowd of people and they¡¯re just supposed to watch you slash up a lady¡¯s face?¡±


    The Prince pulled back his blade, keeping it in his hand but down at his side. ¡°Get this thing off the stage,¡± he commanded furiously. ¡°Get it off!¡±


    At his word, the dozen automatons standing idle all sprang to life. Long, flat, heavy blades extended from inside their arms, and they charged at the cloaked person in uncanny unison. The closest one had been standing right by Cornelius. It lunged forward, blade extended, already close enough to strike. The figure in the cloak didn''t move. Their hand twitched and then it was at their hip.


    BLAM


    A deafening explosion rang out. The automaton stopped in its tracks, a hole blown clean through its center. It fell to the ground in a shaking, malfunctioning heap. The cloaked figure held something¨Ca black powder pistol, but not like any Genevieve had seen before. The hood covering her head fell back, and for a brief moment Genevieve could see a glimpse of a young woman. Her round, boyish face was covered in fine blue scales, and two nubby horns poked out from underneath her short, messy black hair. Genevieve could just barely make out, over the ringing in her ears, loud, fearful cries of ¡±Demon!¡± from somewhere in the crowd.


    The girl whipped around towards the pair of automata closing in on her next. There were two more loud BLAM BLAMs, and a second pistol was in her right hand now, each gun blasting a hole into an automaton, each automaton crumpling where it stood.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She turned casually and¨CBLAM¨Cfired a shot towards Prince Cornelius while he made a rapid exit from the parade stage. The small automaton in the military uniform leaped out in front of the bullet, catching it in the midsection. With an uncanny shudder the machine crumpled and fell to the ground as a sad pile of scrap metal.


    Cornelius was out of her sights, so the woman turned to Genevieve. Her right hand traced an odd semi-circle in the air, looping around Genevieve¡¯s body¨Cthen aiming just to the side of her head. Genevieve winced and


    BLAM


    the grip around her loosened as the newly-perforated automaton fell down to the floor. She wrenched herself from its mechanical hands. The demon girl leaped towards her and was suddenly on top of her. She didn¡¯t look much older than Genevieve, and she was a few inches shorter, but she pushed Genevieve down, gently but insistently, arching her back protectively as she did so. She yelled something Genevieve couldn¡¯t hear over the ringing in her ears, and Genevieve looked at her confused. The demon girl repeated it again, as uselessly as the first time. When Genevieve could only shake her head the girl took Genevieve¡¯s hands and pressed them against her ears. Finally getting the idea, Genevieve hunkered down as it seemed the girl wanted her to, and pressed her hands against her ears as tightly as she could. She didn¡¯t know how much it was going to help after her ears had already been blown out by gunshots, but it was probably better than nothing at all.


    Evidently satisfied, the demon girl stood up¨Cjust as an automaton approached behind her and plunged its sword down into her. Or at least it intended to. Instead it found itself stuck in the wooden floor of the altar, the edge of the blade grazing harmlessly against the girl¡¯s padded right arm as she pivoted out of its way. She raised her guns and with two more loud bangs blasted holes into the automaton, which collapsed against the stage with its sword arm still embedded in the floor.


    The rest of the guards weren''t simply standing still. Six automatons surrounded the gunslinger and swung their blades at her with precise coordination. She darted back from one sword, only to put herself directly into the path of another. She could only avoid it by bending far backwards and letting the arc of the blade narrowly pass over her midsection. Then she had to twist wildly to right herself and slip away from the blades of two more automatons, who clashed against each other as they struck where her gut had been just an instant before.


    The last two automatons couldn¡¯t get through the mass of their comrades to attack her directly. But they swung in her direction anyway, boxing her in with the tips of their blades. The devil girl had almost¨Cperhaps literally¨Csupernatural agility, and her nimble, sinuous body was small enough to dodge away from the automatons¡¯ heavy protruding blades at every turn. That didn¡¯t matter when she was surrounded by six guards that wouldn¡¯t give her time to aim her guns or room to fire them. They¡¯d forced her into a battle of attrition, and she was going to lose.


    There had to be something Genevieve could do to help her, but she couldn¡¯t think of what. She looked around the stage desperately, but there was nothing¨CCornelius ran off with his sword, of course, and even if she had a blade¡­


    Then she noticed the small, crumpled automaton in the regal uniform, and the slight, faint, but deeply familiar shimmer coming off of it. A tiny, almost imperceptible trace of magic leaking from the hole the devil girl¡¯s bullet had blown through it.


    Genevieve knew what that must mean. It was almost a relief nothing had been released from the other ones. But she didn¡¯t have time to dwell on that. She ran to the downed machine and scooped the little shred of energy it had into her fingers.


    Genevieve hadn¡¯t been given much chance to exercise this muscle since she was sent to Gryst, three whole months ago. And even with a bit of magic, the barren earth didn¡¯t give her a lot to use it on. But she could at least stop the ringing in her ears. Undoing minor physical inconveniences was the first thing anyone learned to use magic for. So she channeled a piece of that tiny spark of life into her ears, restoring her hearing with a loud pop. Suddenly she could hear the clashing of swords and the devil girl¡¯s exertions as she dodged between them. But just as she channeled a little bit more, to protect her ears from the rest of the explosions that were sure to come, she heard something else¨Cthe clanking of metal, loud and fast behind her.


    She had no time to think. She threw herself to the side, feeling that little bit of magic she recovered slipping out of her fingers to be sucked back into the starving earth. The armored fist of an automaton crashed into the wreckage of its former captain, smashing what was left of it into pieces.


    The guard turned to loom over Genevieve. She was helplessly trapped in the thick layers of her own dress, and flailing about trying to get to her feet only made things worse. She yelped in fear and frustration, backing up towards the edge of the stage. Falling to the ground was the only escape she could think of. But the automaton was on top of her, and there was no way she could throw herself off before she was grabbed.


    Her cries caught the devil girl''s attention. She glanced in Genevieve¡¯s direction, but she didn''t let herself get caught off guard. She slid under an automaton''s sword strike, and then jumped right at the machine''s armored chest. Her feet came up and she planted them on its plated chassis, digging her clawed toes in with a metallic crunch. The force of the impact didn''t move the automaton in the slightest. It didn¡¯t have to. With all the strength she could muster, she kicked off its chest and launched herself up and over the melee she was caught in.


    One of the guards swung at her while she jumped over it. She twisted out of the way, but it managed to catch her in the shin and she went tumbling. Her head banged against the automaton''s helmet and knocked it off completely. It clattered to the ground and so did she, smacking into the wooden platform with a hard, ugly thud.


    Genevieve could see her out the corner of her eye, past the automaton reaching its hand out to grab her neck. Crashing into the ground didn''t slow her down. Teeth gritted and eyes focused, she raised her gun and fired. Bang.


    The bullet punched a hole clean through the automaton¡¯s chest. Genevieve could see clearly the strange, gently glimmering web of metal threads and geometric shapes inside the machine. A light inside it flickered red for a brief moment before dimming completely. And the guard went down¨Cwith Genevieve underneath it. Its heavy metal body collapsed on top of her, leaving her to struggle and wriggle her way out from underneath it.


    "Agh," she grunted while she jerked her arms free. "Damn it, damn it, damn it¡­"


    "Sorry!" the devil girl exclaimed. The automaton she had jumped over loomed behind her, sword raised for a killing blow, until she leaned to the side, bent her arm behind her head, and fired a shot behind her through its chest. "Sorry," she repeated. "I''ll help you out, I will, just lemme¨C"


    She vaulted forward, narrowly avoiding a leaping plunge directed at her spine, and rolled onto her feet. She twisted around on her ankle and fired off a quick shot through her attacker''s middle.


    But there wasn''t even a moment''s respite. Another guard leapt over its fallen comrade and charged at her with a fast, lunging stab. The demon girl simply jumped over it, like a practiced runner leaping over a hurdle, to land perched on one foot atop the flat of the broad, thick blade.


    Before the automaton could shake her off, she stepped forward with her other foot and sprung into a flip. Guns raised, cloak flowing behind her, and tail whipping through the air, she soared over the automaton and put two more bullets in two more guards that were waiting behind it. Then the momentum of the flip pulled her head forward and down, under her heels, and she fired one more shot into the back of her mechanical springboard. Her feet hit the ground just a second before three automatons did, one after the other in rapid succession.


    Only one guard was left, and it wasn''t programmed to back down. But now the tables were fully turned, and the devil girl was in her element. The last guard swung at her once, twice, three times, a flurry of quick, devastating strikes, but she slipped past each one with easy, fluid steps. Finding no success, the automaton reeled back for one more decisive blow, striking down diagonally to slice through as wide an area as it could.


    The girl leaned to the side and raised her arm. The blade sailed a fraction of an inch past her head. It scraped briefly against her armguard. And then the barrel of her gun was pressed against the automaton''s chest.


    She pulled the trigger and one last blam rang out, echoing across the chapel grounds. Genevieve, feeling her small bit of magical protection fade, pressed her hands to her ears so they wouldn¡¯t get blown out again. The last automaton crashed to the ground, and a long, still silence fell over the altar.

 Gravity

    With one last forceful push, groaning and grunting with exertion, Genevieve pried her legs from under the automaton pinning her. The long skirt of her dress was ripped, but still thick and heavy enough for her to get tangled up in it. She kicked the tight, high-heeled wedding shoes she¡¯d been made to wear off the stage. They fell onto barren earth. The crowd fled the scene as soon as the shooting started. She couldn''t exactly blame them¨Cnothing was coming to this place except a whole lot more trouble.


    The devil girl cast her eyes to the chapel, on the lookout for that very trouble. She tilted her guns down at an angle, and twisted one of them slightly to the side. With the hand that was holding her other gun, she held out a few fingers and spun the weapon''s rotating center piece. It made a rapid clickclickclickclick sound and then settled itself back into place. Switching sides, she repeated the same motion on the other gun. With a flick of her wrist, two long metal rectangles fell out of the guns, and she raised both of them up, prepared for any further assailants.


    While she slowly turned around in a careful circle, sweeping her barrels across the area, the gunslinger dug around inside her cloak with her tail. It came out wrapped around another one of the metal rectangles, which it inserted into one of the guns, and then dipped back inside for another. Once both had been replaced and the girl turned far enough to see Genevieve, she lowered the guns and tucked them away in holsters beneath her cloak. Her tail darted out to scoop up the two metal boxes she dropped, and slipped them into a small pouch at her waist.


    It took a bit of effort, but Genevieve managed to stand back up by herself. The wooden stage was warm and smooth beneath her feet¨Cshe wasn''t afraid of getting splinters from it, at least. Just as she was taking a few experimental steps to make sure the automaton hadn''t crushed anything, the devil girl approached, sprinting to her while she pulled her cloak back around her shoulders.


    "Sorry for droppin'' that thing on ya," she said. "I just¨C"


    "No, don''t apologize for that." Genevieve bowed her head gratefully. "Thank you for killing it."


    "Ah¡­ all right." The devil girl ran her fingers absent-mindedly over the scales on the back of her hand. "Hey, listen. Your, uh¡­ well, I mean, I assume the whole wedding thing is off, otherwise this was all a lot of wasted effort, so, uh, that asshole? Definitely has a whole bunch more of those metal men marching out this way." Her eyes wandered around the landscape just past Genevieve''s head, never quite looking directly at her face. "So we gotta, like, get all the way not here, pretty damn quick. Is the thing."


    "You''re absolutely right." Genevieve took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself to run. "Lead the way, then," she said, holding her hand out towards the blue-scaled woman before her.


    "Lead the¨Coh. Yeah. Right. Sure. I can do that." The girl looked at Genevieve and then reached out to clasp her hand. "Just, stay close, all right? I''ll do what I can."


    "Of course¨C" Genevieve began, but she was cut off mid-sentence when the girl suddenly jerked her forward, dashing towards the stairs.


    It was an instant disaster. There was no way she could keep up with this girl at the best of times, and with the big poofy dress she was in, her feet got themselves tangled up in fabric and each other after a single unexpected, bounding step. She stumbled and tripped forward and then the world was a tangle of limbs and scales and fabric, the pit of her stomach dropping out as the ground disappeared from under her.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Genevieve squawked in the least dignified way possible as she fell into the devil girl, knocking her off the platform. The girl fell onto the stairs with a grunt of pain and bounced off of them like she was made of rubber. They both wound up smacking into the tightly packed earth of the walkway below the stage, slightly battered and entirely caught up on each other.


    ¡°Aaargh!¡± Genevieve howled angrily, trying to extract herself from the impromptu girl-pile. ¡°God damn it! I can¡¯t move in this, this fucking¨C¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey, calm down!¡± the devil girl snapped sharply. ¡°Just for like two seconds. You''ve got no idea how many explosives I¡¯m carrying right now, you¡¯re gonna set something off if you keep flailing like that.¡±


    ¡°That¨Cyou¨C¡± Genevieve started, but she didn¡¯t actually have anything to say. The warning scared her still, and she kept her body as rigid as possible while the girl dexterously slipped her way free, leaving Genevieve to sort herself out on the warm, hard ground.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the devil girl said. ¡°Sorry, it was just easier to pull myself out with you sitting still. I only have a couple of bombs on me, for the record, an¡¯ they shouldn¡¯t be going off just from getting jostled a bit, but uh. Rather not risk it. S¡¯dangerous stuff.¡±


    Who are you and why are you like this, Genevieve thought to herself, but this really wasn¡¯t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. ¡°It¨Cit¡¯s all right,¡± she said, shakily rising to her feet again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to fall. I just¨Cthis stupid gown, it¡¯s¡­¡±


    Genevieve leaned down and started tugging at the skirt of her dress, trying to rip the bottom part of it off, or detach it, or something, so it wouldn¡¯t be getting completely in the way of her legs, but it was a durable enough garment that just tugging with her hands wasn¡¯t going to rip the thing apart. ¡°I can¡¯t run like this, I just¨Cthey put me in this, it¡¯s not like I had any other clothes, I-I have to¡­¡±


    The devil girl glanced around, her body still on alert and wary of another fight. She exhaled softly and stepped towards Genevieve. ¡°Okay, hold on. Do¨Cd¡¯ya need help? Do you want me to help you?¡±


    ¡°I¨Cyes,¡± Genevieve said, refusing to let everything that had happened in the last two minutes hit her, trying to keep her eyes locked forward. ¡°Yes. Please.¡±


    ¡°All right. All right. Just¡­ don¡¯t move or nothin¡¯, I¡¯ll try to be, y¡¯know, considerate.¡± The devil girl held out her hands, which ended in long, sharp, dangerous looking claws, and kneeled down next to Genevieve. With a deep breath she reached out and grabbed the fabric of the skirt, tearing into it with her claws. Then she yanked on the dress, harder and faster than Genevieve could have expected. In a single motion she ripped the lower part of the gown apart, shredding the fabric, leaving a tattered, uneven, ruined skirt that went down to vaguely around knee-length, give or take.


    The speed of it took Genevieve by surprise and she squeaked a little as her legs were suddenly exposed to the warm, dry air. That seemed to embarrass the girl, who looked away from Genevieve as she quickly stood up, like she didn¡¯t want to be caught staring at a lady¡¯s legs. ¡°Hey, look, I¨C¡± she started saying, but then she shook her head and tossed the scraps of fabric she was holding aside. ¡°Sorry. Thought it¡¯d be better to get it done quick. Should have given you a warning.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Genevieve insisted, ¡°it¡¯s really fine. Quite fine.¡± She took a few steps forward and was relieved that, while the gown was still heavy and awkward and no good for moving in, she at least wasn¡¯t tripping over it with every step. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be rid of it. I¡¯ll be more glad to get rid of the rest.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay. Well, uh, so long as you¡¯re glad¡­ I guess I am too?¡± the devil girl said tentatively, like she was trying to ask if that was the right answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s a relief, at least,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°But, please, let¡¯s just keep going.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, of course. C¡¯mon. I¡¯ll, uh, run slower,¡± she said, and she took off, leading Genevieve off the pathway, past the cordon, and away from the church.