“You think the son ofHer Majesty,” the man said the words so sarcastically that Makellos could feel the sourness in his own mouth, “is here because of something good for all of us?”
Though he didn’t know why, Makellos had a feeling that these men were no friend to his family. But they already knew who he was and had not attacked him or thrown him out yet, which was certainly a good first step.
“Please,” he said softly, bowing his head. “My mother, the Queen, tried to have me killed. I ran away, and I need a place to stay.”
There were quiet gasps all around. “Why?” asked the brother with the stubbled cheeks.
Makellos didn’t have it in his heart to make up a lie. “My mother has always been the fairest in the kingdom, up until now. But she has deemed me to be more fair than she, and she cannot abide that.”
He lifted his head to see a few of the short men blushing and realized they were all assessing his features. That felt rather strange, to know that one was being stared at only for their fairness, but he hoped that it might help them understand his predicament.
“Youarevery fair,” said the rotund man.
“Thank you,” Makellos said with a sweet smile. “Might I know your names?”
The dark-eyed man with the pointed beard let out a ha-rumph, but everyone else in the room ignored him.
“My name is Der,” said the bespectacled man. “You’ve already met Dagobert.” He nodded to the red-haired young man that Makellos had been working with all afternoon.
“Ah. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Herr Dagobert,” Makellos said, giving him a polite bow. Dagobert’s cheeks went pink, and he dipped his head slightly in return.
“This is Hardwic,” Der said, motioning to the round man with the shorter limbs.
“Hello, I’m Hardwic!” the man sang out cheerfully, his nearly all-white beard bobbing. “Happy to meet you, your highness.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Makellos said, his heart warming at the brightness from the man.
“And Sigurd, and Sigmund.” Der pointed to the two men with the chestnut hair.
“I’m the older one,” said Sigurd, the one with the stubble on his cheeks.
“He was the trial run. I got all the improvements,” said Sigmund with a smirk on his bearded face.
Makellos laughed as Sigurd gave his brother a punch on the arm. “I’m two inches taller than you.”
“Yes, because those extra two inches went somewhere else on me,” Sigmund said with an equally smug look. Makellos felt his cheeks go red, and he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing aloud.
“Now now,” scolded Der, his bushy brows knitting together like he was scolding two unruly schoolboys. “Let’s be appropriate in front of the prince.”
“Sorry,” Sigurd grumbled.
“He’s sorry,” Sigmund said, giving his older brother an elbow to the ribs.
Der rolled his eyes, then motioned to the shortest member of their group. “This is Bernhardt.”
The little man with the balding head nodded politely. He seemed to be entirely proportionate other than a slightly larger forehead, though he was only half the size of the men Makellos had known.
Der turned to the last person in their group, the man with the sharp beard and dark eyes. “And Grimwald.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Makellos said, giving the man a bow. Grimwald just glared back at him. They were the strangest bunch of people he had ever seen. The tallest of them, Der with the spectacles, only stood as tall as his biceps, down to the smallest one, Bernhardt, who didn’t even come up to his waist.The only people he had ever seen at such heights were children, but these were definitely not children, even Dagobert who was obviously the youngest one of the group. A few of them were more proportional, but some of them had heads that seemed a little too big, limbs that seemed a bit too long or a bit too short, or torsos that were blockier than what he was used to seeing. Most of them seemed of older middle age, with gray at their temples or in their facial hair, though he thought Dagobert to be less than thirty winters old.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Makellos said, giving them all one more bow. It was better to be overly polite than to accidentally be rude. A sudden waft of scent came over him, and he could tell the others smelled it too; the comforting aroma of the soup in the cauldron. “I hope you do not mind that I borrowed your kitchen. The soup should be ready.”
“You made us soup?” cried out Hardwic in excitement. “It smells delightful, your highness!”
“Oh, please, call me Makellos,” the prince said, holding up his hands with a sheepish smile. “No need to stand on ceremony when I am the one seeking your favor.”
“Aw, he’s so cute, let’s keep him,” said the brother with the beard on his chin.
