Weeks pass. The monotony of the whole thing is what's most annoying. Nothing much occurs. Well, on a warm day out in the courtyard, I slapped Everett in the face and then he sent me to my room. I refused to come down for dinner, and ended up ordering a large tray of pastries from the kitchen and eating them all. When I wake one morning, I find another note from Everett.

Dearest Lore;
This morning you will be fitted for your wedding gown. Once again, your compliance is required but also requested. Breakfast will be provided for you after the fitting, although I hope that you might take luncheon with me.
Love, Everett.

I reread the sheet, and then scrounge about in the wardrobe. Last week (or perhaps the week before, it's so hard to keep track of time living in a room with no windows), I discovered that if you press on a certain knot in the wood, a panel slides away to reveal a small hidden cubbyhole. I keep, in that little cubby, the nightshift I was wearing when I came here. I was provided with dozens of opulent shifts upon my arrival, and have stitched many more, so I don't truly understand why I keep it. But right now I'm glad that I saved it. The box of matches is still in the pocket, and I strike one triumphantly. I touch it to the edge of the letter, and in seconds it goes up in flames with a whoosh. I collect the ashes into a starched white handkerchief and then tie it with a strand of magenta ribbon.

My door swings open, and Everett pokes his head in. "Hello, Lorelei. Are you ready for your gown fitting? The one in the note that I left for you?"

I decide to play the fool. "What note? Oh, that one you left for me on the dresser? That was consumed inexplicably by fire, even though nothing else got damaged." I hand him the handkercheif parcel and smile widely.

He grits his teeth. "Well, the seamstresses will be in any moment, so make ready."

As soon as he exits the room, I change out of my raw silk nightshift and into my best outfit for climbing: My tightest black trousers and a crisp white blouse that laces in front. I felted a pair of dark boots two days ago, with cork soles. Much easier than trekking about in ornamental shoes with the toes cut off. I've decided that I will leave out the sheet with my measurements for the seamstresses, and I will be exploring. I lace my blouse and walk out the door. I know all of the place\ that Everett has shown me, but now I want to find the places that he decided not to show me. I figure that those are the most important places, then. I braided a long rope out of fabric strips and melted the fire poker into a sort of hook a few nights back, so now I have a climbing rope of some sort. I've never used one before, but my friend Mage tells me that this odd configuration is called a grappling rope. Some people even have advanced ones that shoot out of a small wrist case on a length of taut zip cord. Lucky ones. I have to keep mine wound up in a coil on my back, which seriously hinders my climbing ability.

Alright. Everett has so far shown me the door to his bedroom, the oubliette, the ballroom, and the banquet hall, as well as the courtyard. So that must mean that he has yet to show me all of the best stuff.  There’s a massive tower next to my bedroom, but Everett has forbidden me from entering it. That, of course, means that this tower has all of the good stuff in it. Naturally, that is to be my first stop today.

I sling my grappling rope, and it wraps around the top of the forbidden tower. Mage told me what to do next, but I’m struggling to remember. I think that I use the rope to climb up the side of the tower, or maybe I wrap myself in the rope and try to impossibly roll up the side. I decide to try the former, as it seems much more possible.

I clamber up the mucky brocade grappling rope. I lay on top of the tower, and then I bite down hard on the lock of the sky-window. If you bite the lock and twist it, metal is no match for royal teeth. It’s kind of awesome and magical. It does hurt your mouth and make it taste like metal. But just chew on a sprig of lemon mint afterwards and you are fine. I hurl the end of my rope in through the window, and then wrap my legs around it and slide down.

The inside of the tower is humongous. Dark wood tables covered in strange, twisted metal and glass equipment fill the space. Glass bottles of oddly-colored serums are on splintering shelves, and I am suddenly filled with a strange urge to touch and taste and use everything in the room. I compromise by taking a large handful of Halopods. I have to store them in my corset. My only hope is that they won't burst and leave me with a rather stiff bosom. A tall bearded man stands in the center of the room, arms raised. He begins a strange, guttural chant that fills my ears with the sound of scraping and growling. As he chants, bottles float towards him and tip into his cauldron. Each one emits a sort of air-release noise, and a small puff of colored smoke floats up around his head. Suddenly, the door to the tower swings open and Prince Everett enters. I shimmy up the rope a bit, into the shadows.

“Hello there, Grayson. How are you faring?”

The bearded man doesn’t even look up from his activity. “Quite well, thank you. The tincture is almost ready.”

Everett seems pleased by this news. “And it will make her fall completely and totally in love with me, correct?”

“Correct.”

I feel an odd sensation, a sort of hot shiver, creeping up my spine. I don’t want to be forced to fall in love with anyone! Especially not anyone as awful as Everett.

“And the prisoner has been provided for?”

“Yes, lord.”

What prisoner? Well, what prisoner besides me?  And what is this place, anyway? It reminds me of an alchemy laboratory, but what use would Everett have for an alchemy lab in his palace? Normally an alchemy lab is home to a wizard who deals with small trivialities in the kingdom, but apart from the strange maids I have seen none who might be a sort of courtier or subject. I lean in to listen closer.

“And once I have married that hostile little wench, we can attack the Red Dragon with full force, break the news that I have been chosen in the stead of that frightened little Traice character, and then stage a little accident for the king. I had hoped to keep Lorelei as a wife to help me in my rule, but now I realize that she is far too much of a liability. I suppose that I will have to have something happen to her as well. Shame, I rather liked her spirit. It will be excellent, and then I will have complete control.”

A hot flush creeps up my cheeks. I am not either a liability! I shimmy up the grappling rope faster than a monkey. Not that I’ve ever seen a monkey, but I’ve heard tales of the strange, exotic creatures. I suppose that now I should find out who, exactly, this other prisoner is and try to free them. No being should have to spend more than a few minutes here at most. I see a strange, glowing green patch of ground and step onto it. From my research, this is an alchemical lift. Alchemical lifts are enchanted patches of ground that, depending on their purpose, can bring you up or down by miles and miles. I have never used one, but now seems like the time to try. I step onto the green light, and the air around me instantly seems to disappear, as though I am in some sort of pressurized chamber. I drop downwards, rotating slightly. When I hit ground, I gaze about at my surroundings.