December looked at the pills, skeptical, "Where did you get this, March?"
March shrugged and waved dismissively, "Don't sweat it, don't sweat it. I got it from work okay? Cool Knightly stuff."
December still didn't look convinced.
It was nighttime, but one wouldn't be able to tell in the White Room. December in his armchair and March pacing around, unable to sit still. The Marilyn glittered under the Gardener's hand. "Are you certain it's even safe?" His voice was but a whisper. The truth was, December was always a more righteous man than March. Always more a stickler for the rules. Even the way he sat, upright with one hand folded over his lap was too uptight in March's tastes.
"Yeah, don't worry about it. I tried some myself," he lied.
"Really? What were the effects?"
March only grinned, "I slept like a baby, duh."
December was still wary. "March," He said with a tone akin to scolding, "Are you aware that these things are illegal?"
"I know. But they will help you, December."
And under normal circumstances, March would have probably been thrown out the window for even bringing such a thing to the Royal Gardener. And he was no match even at swordplay with December. If he were challenged to a duel, March feared that he'd have to forfeit his own life to his own friend.
Well, dying in a duel wasn't the worst thing in the world.
But December, desperate and at the end of his rope gripped the bag of Marilyn under his fist. "I…I really shouldn't."
"I know. But you can't go on like this. What's a little awareness going to do to you anyway? Don't you love the Princess unconditionally?"
December looked up at March, his expression looking lost and made him look more boyish. "I do," he said, "I do love her unconditionally."
"Okay. Then you'll be fine. Get a good night's rest, Brother."
He left the White Room before December could unload more of his apprehension. March already know that his sworn brother had lost. That night he was going to pop a Marilyn and finally get his well-deserved rest.
March stuck a hand in his own pocket and groped around. There was a single, small pill beneath his fingertips.
He gulped.
And what would happen if he, the Knight, was to gain awareness?
It couldn't be anything good he reasoned. With his title, he already had some special immunity to the Princess's magic. It was part of his Privilege. In a sense, he was similar to the person that donned the title of Leader of Kaleidoscope.
But there existed the plot to keep them in line. And according to the plot, March's next mission was plain and simple. He had to kill June.
Objectively speaking, he was already stronger than June. But plot armor came with uncanny luck and so the Knight had to sit around and wait for his turn until June was done fulfilling his own role.
March hummed in thought as he made his way around the castle to his room. He was placed in the north-most wing, in a hall decorated with vigilant suits of armor. Many of them looked oddly out of place compared to the decor found in the rest of the castle. With scales bound together by rope, these suits were not made with steel, bronze nor gold. March always wondered where those foreign armors came from. Perhaps King October brought them back between his conquests? But it was an open secret that King October would never return.
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as always and went inside his room.
March's room was one full of flair with bright golds and reds. He even had a dragon embroidered in the bedsheets. When he flopped down into his silken sheets he let out a long sigh of relief. Most people weren't allowed to bother him in his sanctuary, including the Princess herself.
Didn't March say? Being the Knight gave him some very special privileges.
He paused and then thought, maybe…just maybe. He fished the pill out of his pocket and stared at it intensely as though his eyes would be able to unravel the mysterious magic lain inside.
…Live hard, die young! Like a brazen idiot, he shoved the thing in his mouth and swallowed.
Instant regret! A slow panic unwound in his stomach but March pretended to remain calm and continued to lie there in his bed. The pill dissolved almost instantly upon hitting the back of his throat, melting into his body. He was waiting for some sort of grand big reaction. Maybe his body might melt into goo. Maybe his mind would become possessed. Or he might be compelled to slit his own throat- who knew!?
But there was nothing. Nothing at all.
He wiggled his toes, sat upright, and then laid back down.
"..." Still nothing. An odd disappointment welled within him until he decided that nothing had changed after all and maybe this whole Marilyn thing was just a scam. Another plot device that served no real-world practical purpose.
Wait, that would be bad for December! Sighing, he leaped out of bed and went to his drawers. On the left side, second down. He slid it open and revealed a thick book inside. Prince Liang's 'The Art of War' stared at him and he carefully plucked it out.
He'd have to burn it come the Festival of Remembrance.
But there would be more copies that he could come by in the future. And maybe, just maybe he'd be able to get his hands on that strange edition where Prince Liang was referred to as Emperor Wenliang instead.
He set the book aside and turned his attention back to the drawer. He reached inside and fiddled with the moving panels in the far end until finally, his fingers groped the edges of a mask and he was able to yank it out of its hiding place.
March was going to need more convenient secret compartments in the future because this stupid thing was just annoying.
He turned the mask over on his palms and thumbed over the little glittering gems decorated along the edges.
It was definitely imbued with magic. But he couldn't quite figure out what type of magic. If anything, after a while of fiddling all he had managed to do was make the gems glitter.
…And that was it. March frowned. That couldn't be it, could it? Annoyed, he put the mask on his face one more, as though wearing it might unveil its secrets to him more readily.
He scanned the room and there was no change. In the mirror, his eyes stared back at him from behind the mask, the little gems on the lit up playfully. That honestly seemed like the extent of what it could do.
Disappointment set it and he was about to take it off when something caught his attention.
The title of his book had changed.
In the place of 'The Art of War' was instead 'The Life and Death of Emperor Wenliang'.
He flinched, horrified, and flung the mask off his face. Again, 'The Art of War' stared up at him innocently. He breathed in deeply and forced himself to calm. The mask stared at him from the ground, unchanging.
His fingers shook as he plucked it back up. Like a prayer, he reminded himself that Emperor Wenliang was long dead. Right? Hadn't the Princess said so herself? But why couldn't he remember the details?
"Get a grip of yourself," March bit out, "Just what are you even afraid of?" Some foreign emperor? Hah! Who even cares…"
He put the mask away, along with the book.
Unlike December, March did not dream. He didn't need to dream. And instead fell asleep to an odd fantasy. A daydream, of a distant land where summers ran so humid one could barely breathe. The crowd was roaring from cheer. They were on their knees bowing, all placed in orderly columns and rows.
He remembered swimming in his own sweat, his vision distorted by draping beads.
"Long live His Majesty the Emperor!" They chanted, over and over.
"Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"
Were they idiots? He thought absently. Emperors who lived long lives were more often than not those who failed to leave a mark on history.
Hah! Who did they think he was!? Behind the veil of dangling beads lied a dangerous smirk.
He couldn't wait to return to Queen Cecilia. And to his precious childhood friend, Emperor Wenliang would bring the gift of war.