Hey! Getting close to the end! Thanks for all your support, guys! I own nothing.

The hall was a vision of splendor to all who beheld it. A large, arched room, much like the cathedrals of medieval Europe, light shone all around creating cheerful patterns on the slightly uneven stone flooring, coming in from great stained glass which told the stories of rulers and heroes long passed, conveying messages even unto those who had no literacy or knowledge of letters to their name. This immense structure stirred somber awe and astonishment to those who had never seen it before; words simply not enough to prepare the mind. Even those who had tread here in times past found their steps slower, their eyes drawn to take it all in again.

The palace workers had outdone themselves once again. There were artistically laid drapes, white banners which hung from every column, every alcove. Flowers wrapped around the stone pillars, and hung in baskets and were twirled into garlands. A magnificently red carpet paved a perfectly straight path to the altar, and from there, incense burned from gold plates suspended on either side of the two great chairs placed as they would be when this hall became the throne room once more.

Natalya watched all her plans come to fruition, and a smirk slowly spread up her face. The flowers made her a touch ill, and the incense was too much for her tastes. The whole place was too light, too cheerful. After all, it gave an air of innocence to this ceremony that seemingly clashed with the true nature of this act. This was a marriage to fulfill the lust and greed of a very powerful man and remove from the picture one little whore who seemingly couldn't get the message that Natalya's brother deserved better than a little slut meek enough to bend to any man's sway.

She leaned against a pillar, and for once truly smiled, although it still managed to look as psychotic as in all actuality she was. Yet, Natalya was content for the moment. She was saving her dear, dear brother from the worst mistake of his life. How wrong this brother of hers was. Oh, well, he'd cry when the little slut said "I do" and then would betray him for Francis, her heart so easily swayed. Ivan would yell, he'd bellow at his sister of how she lied, how she had let this happen, and Natalya would just tut, pat him on the hand, and embrace him to show her that she cared for him more than anyone else did and ever would, and would forgive him for this foolishness.

How dare this prim little priss lead her brother on? How dare she steal him away like a little home-wrecker?

And, eventually, once safely ensconced in their estate back in Aissur, Ivan would come to see the error of his ways, although this realization might take months, or god forbid, years, and then he'd finally see Natalya for the savior, the perfect match for him she'd always been. He would seek her out, her embrace, her touch, her passion, and would return all her affections ten-fold. And they would put all this nastiness behind them. Oh, she could see it now.

They would marry, yet not with this garish sense of "too-much", yet would rather accept the bucolic nature from which they'd been born. They would be happy. She'd give Ivan young, strapping boys who looked just like their father, and maybe a girl or two. And Ivan would give her himself, forever. And they would never leave home again. She would watch him like a hawk to make sure he never felt the fever, the stirrings, the disease rise in him like a dormant virus, come to erupt in a second, unexpected breakout. She'd keep him under lock and key to make sure their perfect ending remained just that. AND NO ONE WOULD DARE GET IN HER WAY.

Ah, she could hardly wait, the anticipation curling in her chest, making her feel so excited.

But now, of course, the wedding at hand. She must ensure the slut was removed from the picture, married and bedded by Francis to seal the deal. Then Francis would remove to her care her dearest. Why he was entertaining the little brat's wishes was beyond her. The little thing had tried to run away, yet instead of proper punishment and the gifting of Ivan to Natalya herself, her poor dearest was sitting on a pile of old, brittle hay for days on end whilst the little princess fluttered about, just because of the little thing's whims. Bitch.

She decided that with the wedding in but a few hours, the sun having just risen, she would do well to pack her belongings for the journey that would ensue as soon as Francis dragged the dishrag away. No delay, she'd already informed Francis. She was to resign as advisor and be on her merry way, charge in hand.

She smirked once more. She turned to one of those in the room, her personal servant. The dark haired man turned obediently towards her, head slightly bowed in a manner humble and respecting. She couldn't remember just when he'd come into her service, but this one servant was so much better than the whole bovine lot, a bunch of expendables bred for their obedience, docility and idiocy.

"You there, begin the packaging of my personals, and see to it that my dress for this disgusting occasion is ready the second I walk through my doors. I will not be made to wait." She waited to see the servant bow politely then move silently to attend to her command before she herself turned and left the hall to find Francis.

Matilda gasped as her corset was tightened, a small boot pressing into her back as the tailor put all his strength into forcing Matilda's waist as small as physically possible. Although she was relatively petite to begin with, it still left her deprived of any and all breath she'd had a moment ago, and she felt light-headed. If she could have had her way, she would never wear another one of these contraptions ever again, but right now, she had bigger fish. There were other problems more important than ridiculous and painful fashion. She had a part to play. She tried to appear solemn, yet not unhappy as the mousey tailor brought out her wedding dress.

The dress, she had to admit, was beautiful. Francis had outdone himself and the rest of the tailors and designers with this number. It was a brilliant white dress that fit snuggly to the waist, tapering down to a point, the rest billowing out around her, lace flowers and gold thread curling this way and that, up her bust and down her arms, ending under the gold bracelets on her wrists. The veil was a simple piece that hung in the front, although a gold tiara filled with precious stones glittered on her brow, the crown her mother's, and lace flowers with other jewels had been woven into her long, curling hair which hung down her back. The train went for a good ten feet or more behind her, and would be held by the daughter of the most powerful noble after Francis. Matilda sighed, and couldn't bring herself to think about the aisle, and instead stared at her jeweled fingers, especially the ring Francis had made her don last night, one with a single, beautiful, horrid diamond set deep into the band.

As she looked up at her reflection as the tailor or one of his helpers did up the hooks and stays up her back, she found herself breathless once more, only breaking out of her trance when one of the helping women asked quietly if she might slip gloves on her majesty's hands, pushing the fabric gently over her skin, careful of the ring. It all was such a shame. She found she'd never looked more beautiful, Francis had been sure to play her best features, yet how she wished this day could have been so different.

If only Alfred had been here, alive, and standing next the mirror, leaning against its side with that ridiculous grin, saying "You look mighty fine, sis. Mother and Father are probably smiling, wherever they are." And at the altar, it would be Ivan waiting, pretending he wasn't nervous, or perhaps he'd pull her veil off her face and run a finger down her chin, and call her his sunflower.

This dress, this beautiful, horrible dress now ruined by all that had happened, would be forever tainted in her mind. After all this, whatever went down today, she'd never be able to touch this dress again. Maybe she could have a servant burn it in secret, or hide it away in the furthest storage room, somewhere where Matilda would never have to think about it again. Yet, she knew, this moment would be seared into her mind's eye forever.

And then she was deemed ready, and a page came to inform the tailor that it was time, and that the rest of the train was just lining up.

The sun leaked in through large, clear windows, creating all sorts of golden patterns on the rich bedspread, the deep reds and blues shining and the gold thread glimmering. Arthur blinked, once, twice, to assure himself that he, indeed, was sleeping in a bed that might or might not be covered in a spread sown with golden thread. He tried to sit up, remember where he was, why his throat was so sore, when two powerful arms around him dragged him back to be pressed against a broad chest. For a moment, Arthur forgot even what this about as well, and was about to struggle, when he felt the minute digging of Alfred's pendant in his back.

Then he began to remember.

It turned out, Feliks something-unpronounceable-or-other, had been some famed cross-dressing tailor at the palace. Alfred, apparently, had avoided the tailor's like the plague, but remembered Feliks enough from going to get fitted to recognize him. Alfred, also, was an idiot who took a gamble, remembering the deep friendship Feliks had had with the Queen. While that was sweet and nostalgic, the man had just been strangling Arthur, and the magician didn't really like people who strangled him, and had almost pointed out that the Queen and Francis, if Alfred had gauged it right, had been as close as brother and sister, and look how that one turned out.

Feliks, though, was faithful, immediately hugging the Prince once the man recovered from shock, and had playfully punched the taller man in the chest. "You total drama king, coming back from the like, dead!" And Feliks then cast a glance at Arthur before looking back at Alfred appraisingly, "Never mind, I should have, like, just stuck to drama queen, it was totes more realistic. What the like, fuck, took you so long? Where have you, like, been? Francy-Pants is pulling all sorts of no-no's."

Alfred had quickly outlined their plan.

"That was why we all snuck in, although I had no idea this house was…wait, are there really guards com—"

"OMG, no way! I totally, like, lied. I thought I could take the two of you on, but then I like, saw your totally awesome physique, and was like, no way." Feliks laughed a little at this, "But yeah, there's totally a tunnel in the basement, I used to like, commute like that until King Prick had me, like, un-hired. So not cool. And—did you say 'we all'? There are only, like, two of you."

Alfred paused, and confusion and then realization flickered across his face. Arthur caught his glance, and he too realized, "So, wait," the magician began, "What became of the other three in our party?"

A search mission soon was in effect. Alfred and Arthur called out that the coast was clear, but then Feliks piped up that the three might be silent still, thinking it was a trap, if they were "As like, totally ninja-y as you, like, make them sound".

The gang worked their way down the hallways, opening doors, peering in rooms, and finally they reached what was Feliks' studio.

Arthur sent little jets of flame into the lamps, and they looked around to see cloth and fabrics everywhere, and an open chest with a bunch of mannequins. Feliks explained he liked to paint faces on them, and he'd painted these in a fit of rage after Francis had 'un-hired' him for some untalented, un-renowned stooge.

"I also wrote a bunch of like, angsty poems. They're like, coming out in my new book "It's, like, Me", I'll totes get you a signed copy!"

"Wait, is the title "It's Me", or "It's Like Me", or "It's, like, Me"?" Arthur asked.

"Way cool, right?"

"That didn't answer my question."

It was then that Alfred reached for the closet doorknob, and twisted it, swinging the door open to have three people topple out on top of him, Yong Soo 's eyes wide as he scrabbled for the door, silently screaming, his mouth gag still in effect. Feliks stuck his foot out and tripped him to slow him down, and the mediocre wizard fell flat on his face and fainted dead away.

The other two picked themselves up with a bit more dignity, and Alfred quickly explained Feliks' presence and his willingness to help.

"What happened?" Arthur finally asked.

Mei grimaced, casting an annoyed look at Yong Soo. "We came to find him when he ventured into a room and didn't come out for a couple minutes, and Kiku saw how terrified he looked and drew one of his swords. Yong Soo fell back into us, and in the dark, thought we were monsters or something, and fought against us. We were trying to remain quiet and undetected, but the idiot wrestled us, and we fell into the closet, which apparently locks from the inside. We've been waiting ever since."

Kiku nodded. "He is quite the hindrance to any mission. But now, we must discuss."

"Alfred, I know you're awake, can I get out of bed now?"

"Le' me think 'bout it for five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago and went back to sleep. I can't get out of your freakishly strong arms, so would you let me go before I figure out a spell that your pendant won't cancel out? I can promise whatever I think up will not be pleasant."

"Fine, party pooper."

"No, that's what we're doing today."

Alfred sat straight up in the bed, his hair at all angles, a slight fuzz on his chin, yet you'd only see it in the sunlight, the beams glancing off his blond hair in an almost blinding fashion. He wore only sleeping pants and his pendant.

"We have got to get moving!" The taller man threw off the covers and ran over to the pile of clothes Feliks had pulled out of an immense closet, murmuring that it was lucky that he kept one of everything he ever designed.

The plan was that Alfred would dress in his full regalia—"I had it all, like, ready for the day you would announce your coronation, your totally honorable father had, like, been hinting for weeks right before you disappeared"—as Feliks insisted he must show his best, and strongest, image to Francis to garner as much support as he could muster from the nobles. But he had to get to the hall, which meant going through a series of populated passage ways from the tunnels. So Alfred would wear monk's robes overtop. Alfred tried to point out that the old religions weren't much practiced these days, but Feliks shushed him.

"There will be an officiator of the old religions to stand watch as Feli's, like, hot piece of ass boy-toy gives his little, like, wedding dish. No one will think, like, twice about a monk in the hallways."

But two monks, Feliks had decided, would be too much of "a fashion disaster" to get away with, and he only had one set of "drab" monk robes as he wanted to stay far away from that "like, monstrosity", so it was decided that Arthur would wear something else. Alfred had simply nodded, not really paying attention, as he had been trying to think of a reason why anyone would ever come to Feliks to design monk's robes unless they wanted them sequined and a very startling shade of purple, but to his surprise, the brown robes, complete with hood and rope belt, were well made and practical. (And, like, totally not those shapeless numbers at all).

After Alfred was all dressed, he looked for Arthur, only to find him at the dining table with everyone else, except dressed like a servant. "I'll disguise myself when you're not around."

Yong Soo was across the table, staring wide eyed at Feliks, still a bit shell-shocked from yesterday, silent for once even though the gag had been lifted. Mei and Kiku were politely eating breakfast, Mei chatting with Feliks on the benefits of a good flower print, and promising to help the designer get a good connection with fabric importers from her homeland.

Alfred sat and just took everyone in, suddenly remembering that this was his last day like this. He caught Arthur's gaze, and the older man gave him a small smile and took his hand under the table. Feliks caught on, and chuckled, remarking he was right to only assign them one room.

With the smile, the small, feminine man waited until everyone was fed, then with a nod to his house keeper and his maid, the two having come in early from their homes in town to a full house, the designer led Alfred and Arthur down the steps to the tunnel. He handed Arthur a piece of parchment with a small drawing of the tunnel on it, and gave them a small torch.

"Good luck. Gotta go, like, suit up the Calvary. Mei's going to be my plus one for this shindig, I'm so excited. I'm going to make her, like, way gorgeous. Kiku won't be able to remain such a total sour-puss and stoic once I'm, like, done with her."

And with that, the two headed off down the tunnel.

It wasn't very big, just enough for two to walk comfortable abreast. Well built, only a little damp, and not all together that long, it was a straight shot to the corridor the tailor was on. There were actually some side tunnels which ran under the wall, heading to the servants' quarters and the kitchens as well, something Alfred mentally put away if ever a country tried to besiege his precious city in a far-off future.

Arthur slid his hand into Alfred's as they walked.

"Are you very nervous?"

"Are you asking me if I think this is going to go badly?"

Arthur grimaced, and angled his face away to hide it from Alfred. "I might."

Alfred sighed. "I have no idea of how this is going to go. What if the people don't believe me? I don't look the same as I once did. I've changed so much, in so short a time, it will be obvious its magic, and already the people have grown distrustful of wizardry. And how will Francis react? Surprised? Angry? Happy? Shocked? Will he welcome me with open arms? Will he jail me? Have me killed on the spot? Will he cancel the wedding? Will he insist it continues? Will he accuse me, as the Prince, of treason? And then there is Natalya. And my sister will be at the other end of the hall, and I'll have no possible way of ensuring her safety, or of others, and I worry it will all become a great bloodbath—"

Arthur pulled him to a stop, and kissed him gently. "Calm down. I'll be there. Kiku, Mei, Feliks, Yong Soo, they'll all be cheering for you, although I have no idea how Feliks is going to get them all in. This is your rightful place. I'm with you."

Alfred brought his forehead to touch Arthur's. "If it gets too dangerous, I want you safe. You don't have to do this, you can turn back now, go to Felik—"

Arthur's hands came up to grip Alfred's borrowed robes. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to lose you again, even if it kills me."

"Don't say those kind of things."

"Then you don't either."

They kissed once more, their lips meeting in a passion Alfred had never felt for another in his entire life, his hand coming to grip Arthur's hair tightly, yet not to cause any pain. Arthur's arms went around his neck, pressing them as close as possible.

They finally broke apart, gasping and smiling like idiots. "If there wasn't a wedding to crash, Al, I'd drag you back to that single room of ours—"

"Don't tempt me."

And Arthur looked up at this man who had become his entire world in little over half a year and saw everything he used to dream for, and he knew, in that moment, they were all right. Maybe everything would be different in the next, shattered, irreparable; maybe they'd be fugitives for the rest of their lives, but in the moment, in that moment, he wouldn't have it any other way.

They continued on.

Kind of a bridging chap, sorry guys, but the climax is, like, next chap! So, there are like, 2,3 Chaps left. OMG, right? Thanks for sticking with me on this, it really means a lot. All your lovely comments really makes my day.

This story really is a part of me, and I really grew, I think, while writing it. My writing style over the past two years has improved, and this story has had me write in ways I've never written before, and it wouldn't be without you guys who've stuck with me, even when I disappear for months on end. Thank you so much!

Fun Fact:"Tycoon" comes from the Japanese word "taikun", or military commander, and was applied to businessmen by the 1870s.

Fun Fact: Also, the dime was actually intended to be pronounced "deem," and "dime" itself comes from "dixième" or "10th" in French.