A Swan, a Boy, and One Extremely Angered Butler
Rael had not made many rational choices in his admittedly short but chaos-rich life.This, however—this was his masterpiece.
Cradled in his arms like an extremely judgmental pillow of royalty was Mochi the Swan, glaring up at him with the kind of imperial fury that could sour milk and dethrone monarchs.
"Stop squirming," he hissed, stumbling into a broom closet. "You're too majestic to be sneaky."
HONK.
He slammed the door shut just as a patrol of maids strolled by, chattering about ghost sightings in the cake vault. Something about vengeful macaron poltergeists. Rael's eye twitched.
Once the coast was clear, he yanked open Disguise Kit #4: The Feathered Noble's Baby, containing:
One frilly bonnet
A satin baby sling (liberated from a nanny, now mildly panicked)
And the pièce de ridicule: a pacifier duct-taped to Mochi's beak
"You look cute," he whispered.
Mochi gave him the death-glare of a thousand dethroned empresses.
"Okay, okay," he mumbled, hastily peeling the pacifier off. "Just until we find Mira. She'll fix this. She always fixes things."
He peeked out of the closet and slipped into the corridor, swaying like a confused lullaby bard every time a servant passed. He hummed melodies he was eighty-five percent sure were made up, while Mochi occasionally bit his shirt in protest.
They made it as far as the west wing.
Then disaster struck.
"HALT!"
Lord Fernsbury—the palace etiquette instructor with a monocle like a divine judgment and a mustache sharpened to a diplomatic weapon—descended upon them with two powdered pages flanking him like ghostly bookends.
"I smell... poultry."
Rael stiffened. "This is, uh... Lady Snodgrass's infant. She's extremely—feathered. It's... genetic."
Lord Fernsbury arched a single, aristocratic eyebrow. "That is one defiantly feathered child."
At that exact moment, Mochi spread her wings with theatrical rage, honked like she was summoning storms, and bit Rael's ear.
Rael screamed. "SHE'S TEETHING!"
In the ensuing chaos—fluttering feathers, horrified pages, monocle trembling—they bolted.
Down the corridor. Behind a tapestry. Into the linen chute. Out the cake-delivery tunnel.
By the time they collapsed in the palace gardens, Rael was wheezing and Mochi was wearing a duchess's pearl necklace like a war trophy. She refused to take it off.
"This is officially out of hand," Rael gasped. "You've committed grand theft and aggravated honking."
Mochi fluttered onto the fountain ledge and gazed at her reflection. She looked… absurd. Majestic, yes. Regal, possibly. But mostly like a very angry bird in a child's sugar-fueled stage production of Swan Imperialism: The Musical.
She sighed. A deep, feather-puffing sigh.
Maybe it was all temporary. Maybe it was a cosmic joke. Maybe—
Rael knelt beside her, leaned in, and whispered, "Whatever you are—I still believe in you. You saved me. I'll make this right."
Mochi blinked. Slowly. A flutter of something gentler replaced her usual thunder-honk.
Rael grinned. "But first… we require a new disguise."
Cut to:
Disguise Kit #7: The Royal Swan StatueIncludes marble body paint, a wheeled faux pedestal, and a sign reading:"Do Not Feed the Artistic Bird."
They rolled her into the Grand Library.
Mira looked up from a pile of ancient scrolls, her expression calm and steeped in suspicion. She took a measured sip of tea and signed coolly:
"…Why is the statue frowning at me?"
Rael grinned."She's not a statue. She's just very annoyed."