Chapter Text
The Prince had overstayed his welcome.
Granted, the amount of time he had been welcome within the Black Citadel once more was brief–a mere two months—but it had still been far too long for Affogato Cookie’s comfort.
The shaman tsked inwardly to himself in frustration as he paced within his private chambers, the typically relaxing scent of lavender incense doing little to soothe his nerves at that moment.
Affogato knew he was intelligent, such was the reason Dark Cacao had selected him for the position of head advisor as well as head shaman of the Citadel. His mind worked fast, ideas came swiftly, and he always knew exactly what step needed to be taken next in any given scenario.
For once, his mind was failing him. The plans he so desperately needed were refusing to come, ideas dripping like burnt ganache instead of flowing like milk. Affogato cursed his past self’s recklessness.
He had been careless. Much too careless.
After Dark Enchantress Cookie’s servants had attempted to lay waste to the Citadel, Affogato had been very lucky to escape detection. None of his temporary allies ousted him for his involvement in the raid, not Pomegranate or Licorice or even Dark Choco himself. The breach in defense had been blamed on the attackers and the attackers alone, with Affogato never even being suspected as being involved. He’d played it safe during the raid, on the off-chance that Dark Enchantress Cookie’s army failed, and he had been right to. It was only because of his caution that he escaped with no consequences.
Well, only a few consequences, at least, consequences that only impacted his plans. The incident had given way to change within the Kingdom, and not the kind of change that Affogato had been working towards. It was aggravating to have months of careful manipulation of the Citadel’s people be undone. His Majesty’s infamous resolution had seemingly been relit after years of isolation dampening it, and said resolution seemed to have rubbed off on the rest of his followers. It was a setback, and it was bothersome.
The swift and unexpected return of Caramel Arrow Cookie from her exile had also been bothersome. Thankfully, His Majesty had been too caught up with repairing the damages from the attack—and subsequently reconnecting with the other Ancient Heroes—to take notice of the inconsistencies in his advisor’s claims of the First Watcher’s supposed misdeeds.
Still, Affogato knew he was on thin ice, ice that only served to crack and splinter upon the Prince’s sudden return. Caramel Arrow was already very suspicious of him, Affogato knew, but Dark Choco possessed direct knowledge of his treachery that would certainly be his undoing if he spilled the cocoa beans. With both of their words against his own, the advisor knew he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Affogato paused in his frantic pacing before his altar. He inhaled deeply, incense flowing through him. He held the breath and then exhaled it, before moving into a quiet kneel. Perhaps giving his body a brief rest would help him come up with a solution.
‘Think, Affogato Cookie, think . One problem at a time.’
Something had to change. The two obstacles in his way, the two threats, something had to be done about them.
‘Yes, I must rid myself of them. But who to target first?'
He couldn’t target Caramel Arrow again, not so soon. He highly doubted His Majesty would go through with exiling her again, unless he was able to frame her for a far more serious crime than petty thievery. But…trying to set up something like that would be a very risky and very time consuming affair, and Affogato didn’t have the luxury of time on his side.
Besides, Caramel Arrow was only suspicious. She didn’t have any concrete proof against him.
The prince, on the other hand? No…Dark Choco Cookie was Affogato’s biggest obstacle, the one who posed the most risk to him. It was a miracle he hadn’t already given him up. Affogato couldn’t fathom why the Prince had stayed silent all this time, but he couldn’t bet on that strange silence continuing.
The Prince had overstayed his welcome. He had to go.
‘But how?’
Affogato reached for a second incense stick, and added it to the burner alongside the first. The smell would already be overpowering to any normal cookie, but Affogato was accustomed to it. He needed it right now. He needed it to better think.
Trying to get the Prince to leave the Citadel once more might be plausible, but Affogato was loathe to admit that he didn’t know the Prince intimately enough to pull that off. For much of the coffee cookie’s life, he’d only heard tales of Dark Choco, and campfire stories with false details would not be enough for such intense manipulation. Affogato didn’t know Dark Choco the way he knew Dark Cacao. He would have to get close to Dark Choco, but Dark Choco knew, knew where Affogato’s loyalties truly lied ( or didn’t lie, rather) . It wasn’t feasible. Dark Choco would see right through him.
Trying to frame the prince for some horrific act sounded a bit more realistic, but such a plan would have the same issues as when he framed Caramel Arrow, a plan that had failed. Additionally, if one horrific crime against the kingdom wasn’t enough for Dark Choco to have never been welcome ever again, who was to say a second one would change anything at all?
No…Dark Cacao was too attached. The King would never admit it aloud, but Affogato knew it was true.
Since the Prince had returned, father and son had been attached at the hip. At first it made sense, with the King reintroducing the Prince to all of his duties, but even after the first month the pair had elected to spend as much of their spare time together as they could manage. Affogato thought it strange, considering how much ire had burned between them before. Was the love between father and son truly so strong for all of that to have not mattered in the end? It must be, and if so, getting either King or Prince to turn on each other was unlikely to work.
So…what did that leave him with?
Affogato hummed thoughtfully to himself, before a glint on a nearby desk caught his eye. His silvery gaze flickered over to it, and he took notice of the small dagger atop the polished surface. His expression darkened.
‘Yes…if His Highness is a threat so long as he lives…’
He stood, and walked over to the dagger. He picked it up with one hand, and turned it over in his palm. The surface of the metal was expertly cut, the blade without defect. Perfect.
‘...Then His Highness must die.’
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something of this nature, but it would be the most perilous by far. He hadn’t committed an assassination since he’d destroyed the remnants of the Coffee Tribe, and the individuals of the Citadel were more wary of such attacks ( and not to mention stronger than him ). He wasn’t foolish enough to attempt to take the Prince on in a one-on-one fight.
No, subtly would be Affogato’s key to a successful assassination within these walls. He pocketed the dagger, the comforting weight bringing his mind back into focus. Yes, now that his goal was clear, those plans were starting to show themselves.
He needed to use a method that would be subtle enough for the evidence not to point his way. Ideally, it would be best if there was no evidence at all. Additionally, going for any obvious methods would be ill advised. The stranger his means the less likely it was that the cookies of the Citadel would intuit what had occurred.
It was still a tall order. The Prince spent very little time alone these days, despite his stoic and quiet demeanor. When he wasn’t with his father he was with Caramel Arrow, or the trainees, or assisting the Watchers, or with someone else as part of his duties. His father hadn’t wanted him to do too much work on his own yet, as part of him reacclimating to life in the Citadel. Frustrating. Moreover, his room was guarded at night, so attempting to assassinate him then was also a no-go. If Affogato wanted this to work, he would need to set up an environment for the Prince to be alone long enough for Affogato to commit the deed and dispose of any evidence. A tall order indeed, with the penalty for failure being death. The shaman would have to use extreme caution if he wanted to get out of this with his dough intact.
Still, he had no real choice. He’d been too careless before, and now he was paying for that mistake by having to solve this conundrum. The nervousness he’d been feeling all this time had yet to abate, the demanding nature of his task overwhelming.
On instinct, Affogato made his way over to his beside table, seeking the comfort of the sweets he had stored there. He pulled open the drawer and reached for the first sweet inside, not even really paying attention to what it was. He brought the sweet up to his mouth and took a bite. It crunched satisfyingly, and Affogato let out a pleased hum as the familiar flavor of a dark chocolate bar spread across his tongue.
‘Dark chocolate…’
Affogato froze mid-chew, clarity hitting him with the force of a cannonball. The flavor continued to spread throughout his mouth, even as it curled up into a wicked grin.
‘Yes…yes…that would work perfectly!’ He mused, excitement rushing through him at the prospect.
It was the perfect way to dispose of his little problem. It would be quick, it would leave no body behind, and it was outlandish. No one would ever suspect it, no one would ever figure it out. It would be as if the Prince had just vanished into thin air, disappeared into nothingness. Affogato would be the only one to know where Dark Choco Cookie had truly disappeared to.
Affogato resumed chewing his bite of chocolate with a chuckle, though most of it had since melted upon his tongue. He swallowed the morsel, and licked his lips.
Oh, how he adored the sweet yet rich flavor of Dark Chocolate. It was plentiful within the Citadel for its medicinal properties, but as it was part of their pharmaceutical stores, Affogato wasn’t privy to getting much of it for himself unless he resorted to thievery.
The others just didn’t understand. There was nothing wrong with… indulging, every once in a while.
Affogato re-wrapped the dark chocolate that he hadn’t consumed, and placed it back within the drawer. He moved to sit near his study instead, mind drumming up formulas and required ingredients for the special brew he needed to make.
Affogato knew he needn’t worry. He would get to enjoy more Dark Chocolate soon enough.
“Your meal, Your Highness.”
The quiet servant placed the platter of Milk Kongguksu before Dark Choco Cookie, the smell subtle but still pleasant. It made his stomach growl, thankfully not too loudly to be heard. He regarded the servant with the smallest of smiles, it being all he could muster through the malaise of awkwardness.
He still wasn’t used to being called that.
“Thank you. It looks wonderful.”
The servant departed with a small bow, ignorant to how the action made Dark Choco’s stomach go from growling with hunger to tightening with tension. He wasn’t used to that either.
Dark Choco knew he should be used to it by now. It had already been two months, even if those many days had all passed in a hazy blur. A small part of him wondered if he was in the wrong for still being put off by the princely treatment. Sure, he knew he didn’t deserve it, but the rest of them thought otherwise…his father thought otherwise….for some reason.
He sighed internally. He should’ve known that upon returning home he wouldn’t be able to get out of becoming a prince again. He’d forgotten how exhausting being a prince was. It was easier before, when it was all he’d ever known, but after years upon years away from his responsibilities, suddenly having to take them all back on again was beyond stressful, even with his father trying to ease him back into it. Some things were easier than others. Training, overseeing spars, handling issues the Creme Wolves encountered in the field, those things came back to him easily. His time with Dark Enchantress kept him in prime condition as a warrior, after all.
No, it was the social side of princehood that was daunting.
It was difficult to face them, to look them in the eyes and smile, to thank them and sound genuinely thankful. Sometimes it was difficult just being around his…subjects. It hurt to try and act so normal after everything he’d done.
It was embarrassing that being polite was the most difficult task Dark Choco had to shoulder, but it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right, for them to just move past what had happened, for them to trust him with all of this responsibility so soon. For them to respect him.
Didn’t they care? Care that he’d hurt them, even if not directly? It was unrealistic to believe that all of them would forgive him so easily so why did they all act like they had?
It was their job to act that way. He knew that logically. A servant’s job was to serve, regardless of whether they liked who they were serving, but the way that they went to extra lengths for him still felt so strange. Too personal.
Case in point, the special meal before him. Dark Choco’s time wandering the kingdom hadn’t been kind to him despite how much clearer his thoughts had been. While he hadn’t suffered any extreme injuries save for a torn leg, his overall condition had been worn down by the harsh wilds. He’d lost a great deal of weight, and was still working on putting it back on. Since his daily routine involved fairly rigorous physical activity, his diet had consisted of special, light but more nutrient-rich meals than what the other nobles ate. Milk Kongguksu of the quality he had been given was rare to come by, made with the highest quality milk from the Milk Village to help provide him with the nutrients he needed.
It was more than he deserved.
Still, he knew better than to disrespect the servants and chefs’ work by refusing the food. He was of greater value to the kingdom healthy, after all.
He muttered a quiet prayer of thanks before picking up the chopsticks to the right of his bowl. He pinched some of the noodles and vegetables, before raising the bite to his mouth. He hadn’t had this particular dish in a long time, and the flavor of it was sending waves of nostalgia through him. It wasn’t exactly as he remembered it, but that could easily be attributed to the vegetables being different than normal. Either way, it was delicious, and Dark Choco swallowed the bite contentedly.
“Your meal, Your Majesty.”
The sound of the servant’s voice caught his attention, and he looked up from his food. The same servant from before had just delivered his father’s meal to him, a larger, more intricate dish that took longer to prepare than Dark Choco’s simple soup.
The King’s meal was not the only one to be delivered later than his, as a few other servants filed in with various other dishes to be served to the other nobles present. That was another thing Dark Choco wasn’t used to yet. Within Dark Enchantress’ fortress, her followers did not eat together. They ate on their own time, usually by their lonesome, and Dark Choco had forgotten how awkward eating in public could be. The schedules of those of Dark Cacao nobility were usually packed full, resulting in friends being unable to see each other outside of work. A recent adjustment made by Dark Cacao to fix this problem was for the nobles to start eating together, meal-time serving a dual purpose of both refueling and socializing.
Their numbers were pleasantly small, consisting of him, his father, Caramel Arrow, a few other high ranking Watchers, some elderly nobles, and….
Dark Choco’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, ever-so-subtle.
…Affogato Cookie.
He hoped the displeasure wasn’t clear on his face as he eyed the cookie in question across the table. The smile on Affogato’s face was particularly bright today, as he thanked the servant, and his silver eyes gleamed with barely-contained joy. It nearly made Dark Choco shudder.
‘What are you planning…?’
Dark Choco had a lot of things on his mind when he first dared to return to the Black Citadel. At the time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay or not, but encountering the devious advisor once more had influenced his final decision to remain. He’d honestly forgotten about Affogato in the midst of all the other pressures he was dealing with before, but now that things had somewhat smoothed out into a new ‘normal’, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, about the threat he posed.
Affogato was not to be trusted, but Dark Choco was the only one who knew that for certain, and he wasn’t exactly to be trusted either.
Upon remembering Affogato’s involvement in the attack on the Citadel, Dark Choco’s gut instinct had told him to go to his father with the information right away, to protect him from being taken advantage of any more than he already had. But…Dark Choco knew that might not be enough. It infuriated him to think that Affogato had his father so tightly wound around his finger, but the harsh truth was that he’d been away for a long time. He didn’t know the full extent of how things had changed since his exile, for better and for worse.
If Dark Choco made any accusatory claims too soon, Affogato was sure to have a way to cover his back. He’d had one back during the attack, and had managed to hold onto his high position with little challenge. No, exposing Affogato’s true nature would entail catching him in the act somehow. It was the only way he could ensure he was believed.
The thought of it—admittedly—made Dark Choco nervous. The comparison wasn’t exact, but Affogato Cookie reminded him of Pomegranate Cookie quite a lot, not just in terms of their specialty in witchcraft, but in their demeanor as well. Cold, selfish, willing to step on anyone for the sake of their own desires, devoid of any sense of honor or loyalty. Affogato was just better at hiding it, had more motivation to hide it. He was damn good at hiding it, if he’d managed to fool his father for so long.
He willed himself to avert his eye. He couldn’t let Affogato Cookie catch him staring. He tried to return his attention to his meal, and to the company of his friends, but his thoughts refused to comply, as they kept drifting back to the shaman. He purposefully moved his gaze to various other spots in the room as he continued eating, determined not to stare.
The Prince tried to halfheartedly tune in to the conversations going on around him, but Affogato’s grating, lilting voice kept catching his ear as the shaman socialized. He couldn’t hear what he was saying exactly, but the sound alone was enough to make him feel sick. It was disturbing, that someone as twisted as Affogato could sound so normal, so pleasant even. If he didn’t know what he knew, he would’ve also been fooled by the coffee cookie, and the thought makes the sick feeling worse.
Dark Choco carried another bite of his dinner between his lips, chewing with just a bit more force than what was probably needed. He huffed.
‘Calm down. Stop thinking so much. You’re getting too worked up. He’s not stupid enough to try anything right now. It’s fine.’
It wasn’t fine, not really, but there was nothing he could do about it right now, so he had to settle for pretending it was. He couldn’t quite place why, but he had a strange, sinking feeling in his chest as his attention drifted back to the shaman. He’d thought about Affogato before, thought about him carefully, and hadn’t gotten so nervous, so why was he so put off today?
‘Why does it feel like something horrible is coming?’
Witches, he wished he could go get some rest after this. It wasn’t like him to get so stressed out so easily. Maybe he wasn’t adjusting to the new physical workload as well as he thought he was.
Dark Choco shook his head as if to clear the unpleasant thoughts, but the action only served to catch the attention of Dark Cacao, who sat to his direct left.
The King turned to make eye contact with him, and Dark Choco had to resist the urge to hang his head at the imposing stare. Dark Cacao’s deep violet eyes furrowed in concern, and he placed his own eating utensils down, signifying his want to speak.
“Son? Are you well? You look nervous.” He whispered, so as not to draw attention to them.
Dark Choco cringed. If it showed on his face, he was at risk of Affogato catching on. He needed to calm down. He took a deep breath, and copied his father’s motions, placing his chopsticks across his mostly empty bowl.
“Yes, father. I’m alright.” He whispered back, doing his best to keep the shakiness from his voice. When did he start to feel so jittery? He was in the process of eating so he wasn’t low on sugar, so why..?
Dark Cacao was not convinced, if his pursed lips were any indication. He moved to rest a gentle hand on Dark Choco’s back. The weight helped soothe some of the anxiety, but the sick feeling was only getting worse.
“Dark Choco, if the crowd is too much, you have my permission to eat somewhere else. I understand if you’re not used to it.”
Dark Choco blinked. “What? No! No, father, that isn’t it!”
“Then what is, my boy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your silence. You’ve hardly said a word since you got here, not even a greeting. Is something ailing you?”
Dark Choco looked away, embarrassed at being seen through so easily. For all of Dark Cacao’s failures as a father, he was always good at noticing the little details of conversation. Choco was envious, if he could read such social cues as well as his father could he might have a better understanding of what he was up against.
He had to force himself not to look at Affogato. Father would see, he would figure it out. It was too soon.
“I’m…I’m not sure.” He said, meekly. It wasn’t a total lie, he knew the true cause of his nervousness ( he was sitting across from them right now) , but the cause of the physical symptoms, the clenching of his abdomen? He couldn’t place it.
The hand on his back moved, gentle rubbing motions driving more of the fear away.
This was strange. This felt strange. Wasn’t the feeling in his gut supposed to go away once he was no longer frightened?
Why did he feel so…. oh.
Maybe it wasn’t just anxiety that was making him feel this way, he wagered, as the tightness in his gut shifted into outright nausea.
He subconsciously pressed a hand to his stomach as if it would somehow ease the sudden rising urge to vomit. He groaned, and Dark Cacao pulled a face that would’ve been funny in any other context.
“Dark Choco?! Are you alright?” Cacao was no longer whispering, and Dark Choco felt the heat of a blush ( or was it fever?) overtaking his face as the other cookies eating turned to look.
The Second Watcher was to his right, he leaned forward to better examine Dark Choco’s pinched face. Whatever he saw must not have been good, because his own face contorted with concern. “He looks very nauseous, Your Majesty. Could the food still be too much for him?”
It was possible. He hadn’t reacted like this to any of the other meals they’d given him, but this was a fair step up from what he’d had before in terms of richness. The milk broth was thick and heavy, with a generous amount of noodles and vegetables, and in his anxiety-ridden musing, he had been unconsciously shoveling mouthfuls quicker than he realized. He had to have been, for his bowl to already be nearly empty.
Of course. He got carried away and managed to harm himself by overeating. It seemed as though even the simplest tasks were liable for him to fuck up somehow. Such a disgrace.
Dark Cacao regarded him as if he were a precious treasure, rather than the careless wreck he actually was. He didn’t deserve it.
“It’s possible, yes.” The King conceded, continuing to rub at him in an attempt to ease the sick feeling. “I’m sorry, my son. I should’ve known asked you if you were ready for something this heavy.” He said, before he raised his head and continued.
“Affogato Cookie? Have you finished eating?”
The advisor nodded.
“Go fetch something to help alleviate this nausea, will you not? I don’t want to risk his symptoms worsening.” He commanded.
Affogato stood from his chair and bowed deeply. “Of course, my liege. I shall bring it to His Highness’ chambers at once.” He said, before meandering out of the dining hall.
If Dark Choco weren’t feeling so sick, he would’ve opposed Affogato being the one to bring his medicine to him, but it was too late. He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat as his father stood, gently guiding him up from his chair.
“You shouldn’t have any more, my boy. Do you think you can make it to your room?”
Dark Choco nodded. He wasn’t weak. He could at least manage that.
Dark Cacao nodded in approval, and gave his son one last gentle rub across his shoulders as he sat back down.
“Then go get some rest. Don’t push yourself.” He said.
Dark Choco responded to the affirmative. The other cookies of the dining hall spoke quiet wishes for him to feel better as he turned away, and stepped outside.
Instantly, the aroma of food being replaced with less prominent aroma of snow and chocolate helped settle his stomach somewhat. He took a deep breath, before making his way back to his room.
He was thankful that him and father’s chambers were so close to the other communal areas of the Citadel, because it would’ve been very embarrassing if he couldn’t make good on his claim that he could make it. By the time Dark Choco closed his door behind him, the cold air stung against the sheen of sweat that had developed on his dough.
“What on Earthbread is going on with me?” He muttered, a hand on his forehead to steady himself.
The process of changing from his formalwear into a thin, cool cloak was exhausting, but it was a blessed relief to have the metal burden off of his tired jelly muscles. The sick cookie flopped down on his bed with a groan, not even bothering to push himself under the covers. With the heat that had overtaken him, he didn’t want to be under them. This didn’t feel like any sort of food poisoning he’d had before, and it didn’t feel like Refeeding Syndrome either. This was something else. Something he couldn’t name.
He felt like how he imagined molding to feel, an itchy infection spreading out from one part of him until it consumed his entire being, as if he himself were rotting dough left out in the sun too long. The heat was applicable. Rather than the chills of fever, the heat that had overtaken him was more reminiscent of sunstroke, a rare condition in the frigid tundra, but one Dark Choco had become acquainted with during his travels more than once. He hoped Affogato would bring water along with his medicine.
His room was dim, his lanterns not having yet been turned on for the night, but what little light shone in was still too much. He halfheartedly flew an arm over his eyes in the hopes to block it out. Whatever strange ailment he’d caught, it felt like it was draining the very life out of him.
He needed rest. Father was right about that.
Affogato would be here any minute, but maybe…maybe he could take a small nap before he got here. That would be….nice…
….
….
….
CRUNCH!!!
Dark Choco’s eye flew open behind his arm, an arm that spasmed with sudden sharp pain. It left behind a dull ache and a feeling of tightness in his very crust, reminiscent of the grip of a blood-pressure cuff. A sharp yelp escaped his lips, more out of surprise then genuine agony. All traces of tiredness faded in an instant, the muggy heat afflicting his dough being replaced with sudden clarity, a hyper-awareness of the condition of his crust. It didn’t feel right.
He sat up ramrod straight, nearly tipping over onto his side from dizziness. His remaining eye scanned the dough of his arm, searching for the cause of the pain, but nothing stuck out to him. No cracks, no crumbly bits, no bruises, not even any dried out spots from being too hot.
“What the hell..?” He muttered, still breathing slowly as the dull pain faded away.
He hadn’t imagined that, had he? No, there was no way. It felt too real…
Before Dark Choco could try to reason his way through whatever that strange crushing pain had been, it reappeared. His arm audibly crunched again, and then his leg, and his neck, and then his other arm. Each spasm elicited another gasp from him. They came in random bursts, and he felt like he was being pelted with rocks, each bit of him slowly being dented and compressed. His singular eye couldn’t keep up with the stabs of pain, vision too poor to make out exactly what was happening to him.
‘What’s going on!?’
This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t an illness, illness didn’t do this. Illness didn’t make cookies feel like they were being crushed without actually crushing them. Illness didn’t make the dough feel tight, as if it were a piece of clothing two sizes too small. Illness didn’t do this—!
Help. He needed to get help, right now.
Dark Choco grunted through the pain as his dough continued to compress, but was able to stagger to his feet. His balance was unsteady, but his legs carried him to his door. He was coated in sweat from the nausea and now the pain, but even through the haze clouding his mind, he blinked at the sight of his room.
Was it just him, or…did his furniture look taller than normal?
He shook his head and the room tilted from the action. No, no, no, now was not the time to get distracted. His furniture was not getting bigger, he’s just not seeing straight. He had to get help, he had to call for help. The dining hall wasn’t too far away, if he yelled loud enough, they would hear, they would come help. Father would help, he just had to—
“Grnk!!” His mouth opened to let out a call, but the sound died in his throat before he could make it as a particularly harsh spasm wracked his back. His leg buckled at the feeling and he collapsed onto one knee. His one eye squeezed open, trying to gain his bearings once more.
Things didn’t look right. His dresser was right there, but it was too tall—was his vision tunneling? Why did everything look so big? Oh, and there was his mirror, he should look at himself. Maybe it would show him what was wrong.
Turning his head was a struggle through the pulses of pain, but he managed, catching sight of the pitiful image reflecting back at him in the mirror, and—
His one eye went wide.
‘No…that’s—that’s impossible!’
His vision must be playing tricks on him, that was the only explanation that made sense. There was no way what he was seeing was real. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t…
And yet the image in the mirror remained. Dark Choco Cookie could see himself, still whole, but notably smaller than he should be. Every other item in his reflection only served to support that point. His bed, which he usually towered over was now taller than him while on his knees. The cloak that he was wearing wasn’t changing with him, and he was already swimming in it at this point, like a child trying on their parent’s clothing.
Another full-body spasm hit him, and he let out a choked gasp as he actually saw the movement in the mirror, saw as his entire form compressed— shrank. He was shrinking.
‘No no no no! Stop! How do I make it stop!?’
Despite Dark Choco’s desperate thoughts, the spasms only increased in frequency and intensity. As they overtook him, he could see as each one visibly shaved off inches of his height. When he turned his head away from the mirror, he could see as the space around him grew, structures shorter than him now towering over his prone form like the mountains to the South. The sight of them made his heart pound faster than it already was.
He’d quickly grown accustomed to the pain, but even so his limbs wouldn’t respond to his commands, wouldn’t lift him, wouldn’t move. He couldn’t move. He could only wait.
Another spasm, another crunch, another yelp. Gods, how long was this going to last, how small was he going to become? Would he just keep shrinking forever?
His mouth wouldn’t respond, as the spasms shot through his face, shrinking his head alongside the rest of him. He tried to call out, but the words couldn’t leave his head.
‘Father! Help me! I can’t move! Please, help!’
A particularly harsh stab of pain shot through him, and his head began to swim. He was shrinking faster now, could see the world around him shifting, moving, growing. It was dizzying, and Dark Choco could only bare to look for a few seconds before he squeezed his eye shut. The urge to vomit had returned, a result of the dizziness combined with the terror.
‘Please, be done! Please, just be done already!’
It took a few more moments, but eventually, Dark Choco’s wish was granted, and the world blessedly came to a standstill. His body ached from the torment it had been put through, but no new stabs of pain assaulted him. He had fallen from his half kneel onto his face, and for a moment he simply breathed, trying to let the cool air bring him back to the present.
‘Stay calm, Dark Choco Cookie. Stay calm. Panic will get you nowhere but hurt.’ He reassured himself. His inner voice was firm, but it did little to calm his shaken nerves.
He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to to see the changes, didn’t want to acknowledge what he knew had just taken place. From his position on the ground, head pressed against the tile, he could pretend that he’d just gotten lightheaded. He’d just gotten sick, like normal, and was using the tile to cool off. That was all. He definitely hadn’t just been put through… that. Of course not, that was obscene!
It was… oh, who was he kidding? He could still feel the effects of it. The tiles of his floor weren’t this big. He had been shrunk.
He whined in a mix of pain, exhaustion and fear, as he slowly lifted his head. He opened his eye, to take in the changed world. Despite knowing what was coming, nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw.
He’d shrunk a lot. Far more than he’d first thought. When he’d seen himself in the mirror he looked slightly smaller than he was as a child, but now he couldn’t even see himself in the mirror, it was nailed too high off the floor.
His clothes hadn’t shrunk with him. The loose cloak he wore sat in a sad pile of wrinkly fabric behind him, and Dark Choco was momentarily thankful that he hadn’t been caught in it, the cloth could’ve easily smothered him.
His bed was right next to him, and it was gargantuan. He couldn’t see over the top of it, the supports beneath the frame like towering cedar trees. He could see the darkness under his bed with greater clarity than he ever had before, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge not to be near it. It was just his instincts talking, telling him to be wary of the dark, but in this helpless state he felt more inclined to obey.
He took a step back, and gazed down at himself. His sickness had faded along with the pain, and no signs of any damage were visible on his dough. Whatever had happened to him, it seemed that being shrunk was the only effect of it, as far as he could tell.
He wasn’t the best at geometrical math or judging the size of objects with his poor vision, but he did his best to try and estimate his new size. If he lined himself up with the support of the bed, supports that he knew were roughly a foot and a half tall, that would make him around three inches tall. Absolutely miniscule.
He moaned in despair.
“What do I do now?”
He needed to go get help, but such a task was far less daunting when he was normal sized. The brief trip from the dining hall to here would take over five times as long at this height, and there was no guarantee if it was safe either. The Citadel’s halls were busy, and Dark Choco’s dark dough would blend in with the floor. It was considered ill-mannered to stare at the ground while walking, he could easily be crushed to death if he wasn’t careful. His heart fluttered anxiously at the thought.
No, it would be safer to stay put. Someone would check on him eventually, he would be found eventually. He just had to wait, and he would be fine. Father might be confused, but Dark Choco was certain he would protect him from harm. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him once he was found. Choco couldn’t give into paranoia, he couldn’t let his helplessness make him falter. He would be fine. He just had to wait, and he would be—-
Creak~
Dark Choco went rigid, his jam frozen solid in his veins. His heart skipped a beat, as he recalled who was supposed to visit him first. His wide ruby eye automatically drifted upwards—so far upwards—towards his now open door, and the shadowy form that slipped through it.
Affogato Cookie’s silver eyes fell upon the miniscule cookie within seconds, gaze like a loaf cat as it stalked a jelly mouse.
Dark Choco took a step back, limbs quivering.
The shaman maintained his stare, as he quietly shut the door behind him, and locked it with a click.
Dark Choco took another step back.
Affogato Cookie only smiled. Teeth bared. Too wide.
“Ah, hello there Your Highness. You’re looking splendid this evening, I must say. Splendid indeed!"
It took every ounce of willpower within Affogato Cookie’s dough to not let the full extent of his excitement show on his face. When he had left his chambers, he’d needed to spend a minute simply reigning in his giddiness, lest any bystanders take note. He needed to blend into the background as much as possible, to make sure the eyes weren’t on him, at least for a time.
Planting a few drops of the special concoction he’d made into Dark Choco’s dinner had been easy, easier than Affogato would’ve expected. The shamans had special diets different from the warriors, and as such he was granted full permission to oversee the chef’s work each day. Distracting them with something else long enough to spike the Milk Kongguksu had been an utter joke, and with the first step of his assassination complete, all he had to do was wait.
He was certain his brew would work, but he also admitted to himself that some of the more extraneous details were going to have to be left up to chance. After all, the kind of potion he had made was more in line with the work of those strange magicians from Parfaedia than true Dark Cacaoian potion-work, and while he was more than capable of pulling it off, his experience with such magic was tentative. He loved the flexibility his work as a shaman provided him, but he wouldn’t deny that he was sometimes bored by their emphasis on practicality. Spells that wouldn’t serve any direct, obvious purpose were frowned upon, and he thought it was unfair. The people of this kingdom had not a speck of creativity or curiosity in them, and it was beyond drab.
Though, perhaps he should feel grateful for that, just this once. The spell in question being something so unusual would make it difficult for any other shamans to understand it, and therefore make it less likely for them to notice the effects said brew was having on the Prince.
He’d taken extra precautionary measures too, and had gone out of his way not to write the recipe down. He’d made brief notes in code representing the ingredients, their amount, and the chant necessary to combine them, but those notes had long been burned away. It gave him an extra edge.
After all, if ( despite his care to not be detected) something went wrong during the assassination, if he or the prince were accidentally discovered before Affogato could… finish, it would make him indispensable. None of Affogato’s subordinates were familiar with Parfaedian magic, and that was purposeful from him. He didn’t want his followers having all of the same cards as him, lest they ever be inspired to turn on him. He knew the art of disloyalty better than most, and was more wary of his ] followers’ loyalties than His Majesty would ever be.
Regardless of whether Affogato could finish him off or not, once the Prince consumed the brew, Dark Choco would be stuck at his new, miniscule size. Without knowing the recipe or the contents of the spell, no other Cacaoian mage would be able to undo it. Affogato could use that, could hold it over the head of the Prince or King as blackmail. Additionally, if Affogato wasn’t picked out as the cause of the change, the Prince would still be stuck in a vulnerable, shrunken state. Affogato was patient. He could wait for another opportunity to dispose of him, if need be.
After all, with the Prince so small. So helpless, anything in the world could be conceived as a potential cause of death. The rest of the court would be too busy scrambling and searching for the little cookie to bother questioning if one of said court members was to blame for his disappearance.
No matter how this went, he would have an edge over all of his enemies.
These thoughts served well to reassure the shaman as Affogato silently followed the Prince back to his room. He hadn’t known exactly how fast acting the symptoms of illness would be, but the onset had been swift, only taking around ten minutes after Dark Choco had taken his first bite. That part of the spell had served its purpose expertly in forcing the Prince into isolation, during a time when everyone else of importance in the Citadel was together, and easy to keep track of.
He lingered outside the Prince’s closed door, waiting. He kept a watchful eye on the deserted hallway around him. If he was spotted, he had the anti-nausea medicine the King requested him to bring on hand. He could feign innocence with ease. He was safe, for now.
The door to his chambers was a thick bar of chocolate, and it did well to dampen most of the sound, but Affogato still took notice once the Prince’s transformation began; a barely audible cacophony of crunching dough and yelps of pain. If Affogato had more time, he could’ve made it so the process of shrinking wasn’t painful, but the hours weren’t on his side, and he couldn’t deny that the sound of his obstacle’s choked gasps satisfied some carnal part of him.
The same part of him that had been inspired to pick this method of execution. The same part of him that had been growing more and more excited since he’d finished the potion. This wasn’t just for fun, this was business, nothing personal, but who was he to deny himself if he felt enthused over it? He was about to do something no cookie had ever done before, and it was a secret he would have to carry to his own grave. The thrill of it was exhilarating.
His anticipation only continued to build as the noises from the Prince grew quieter, voice smaller. The symptoms of illness were supposed to abate once he’d finished shrinking ( Affogato didn’t want to risk being thrown up on) and the brief spell of silence was swiftly replaced with the sound of mumbles, and what Affogato thought might be a groan of despair. It was time.
He would’ve liked to watch the process, but he couldn’t risk anyone else catching him watching without providing assistance or seeking aid. He had to be patient, even as his fingers itched with the urge to begin. The urge to eat.
That vexing impatience of his was only amplified by his own hunger. Without knowing the exact dimensions the Prince would become, he had to go out on a limb and assume that Dark Choco would make up the bulk of his dinner that night. It wouldn’t do for the shaman to be too full to properly dispose of the prince. As a result, his actual dinner had been very small, and mostly liquid, so it would pass quickly, and so he could be done eating before the rest of the nobles were.
Now that he knew the Prince was ready, he could finally give in to that dark hunger of his, and the prospect made his heart soar. Of course, he’d never done anything like this before, but somehow he could already infer that it would feel divine. The sensation of consuming sweets was already among the most sublime in all the universe, how much more wonderful would it feel for said sweet to be alive, to be wiggling, and pleading? It would be perfect. Affogato shuddered in nervous anticipation as he finally moved to open the door.
The door creaked upon his entry, but there was no one present but himself and his victim to take notice of it. The Prince’s room was dimly lit, his evening lanterns not yet burning, but Affogato’s Coffee Tribe eyes were well adjusted to such dim lighting. Despite Dark Choco’s own inky coloration, Affogato’s eyes fell upon the Prince within seconds. Affogato nearly laughed as he locked the door behind him.
Dark Choco had shrunk a fair bit, and ironically enough, he nearly matched the size that one of Affogato’s dark chocolate bars would typically be, only a few inches tall. He was on the floor and not his bed, meaning that the Prince must have tried to get up, to seek help, but couldn’t make it. His clothes hadn’t shrunk with him, Affogato inferred that the small pile of light brown fabrics behind him must have been his cloak .
‘The poor boy must be cold!’ He mused to himself with a wide grin.
Good. He preferred his chocolate to have a satisfying snap to it.
Dark Choco had seemingly been expecting him, because his singular ruby eye was focused up, towards him, and even from all the way up here Affogato could see the nervous expression on his face. Sweat still covered him, and Affogato wondered idly if it would impact his flavor much. Perhaps the salt would enhance the taste.
Dark Choco made no attempt to move or speak, so Affogato figured he might as well initiate.
“Ah, hello there Your Highness. You’re looking splendid this evening, I must say. Splendid indeed!"
There must’ve been some sort of dark tinge in his words, because the sound of them broke the Prince out of his frozen state. His little face paled to the shade of milk chocolate, and Affogato blinked dimly as the small cookie turned tail and attempted to run. The sight was adorably sad, his miniscule limbs working to carry him away.
Still, Affogato could see what Dark Choco was trying. His dresser was close by, and the space between it and the floor would be too small for Affogato to fit his hands. Affogato simply chuckled, clearing the distance in two casual steps. He bent down and swiftly snatched the Prince up with one hand.
“N-no! Let me go!”
Affogato simply tutted at the cookie in his hand as he rose back to his full height. His doughy fingers wrapped firmly around Dark Choco’s midsection, allowing only his head and arms to move freely. Affogato could feel the miniscule chest attempting to heave in tiny breaths, and he had to resist the sudden urge to crush him right then and there. That would be far too messy.
He smiled down at Dark Choco instead. He didn’t get one in return. That was fine. He opened his mouth to deliver a greeting. It was the only courtesy he would grant him.
“Ah-ah-ah! My my, such quick feet, Your Highness! Surely you know that it’s very rude to abandon a guest when they come to visit you! You must at least greet them first! Whatever would your father think?” He said.
Dark Choco said nothing more, but Affogato could feel as he attempted to struggle free, legs kicking against his palm. How amusing.
Affogato chuckled, and raised his other hand to lightly tap at Dark Choco’s head.
“Don’t fret, Your Highness, I won’t tell on you~!”
His eyes narrowed, and his smile grew wider.
“No one will ever find out about this."