“Join me? I won’t ask again,” prince Raphael said. “You surprise me Tailor. I thought you too clever to bite the hand that feeds, but all mortals are stupid I suppose.”

Even wrapped in moonlight the royal bedchamber glimmered. He knew the palace like the back of his hand vMimeo had handsewn the coverlet ever mindful of his wife’s exquisite beadwork. Golden threads for a golden bed for a royal head all while the villagers shivered for lack of fuel. Legs trembling and arms raised, Mimeo approached his lord and master. With a bored gesture from the prince a small gilded table with a brandy decanter walked across the room.

Mimeo shakily poured himself a generous goblet and sank into the armchair that had appeared behind him. He drank and watched the prince. With dead eyes, Raphael had the closed expression of a cat with a clumsy mouse.

“See if your daughter had been as gracious she would still have have her head,” Raphael said with a chuckle.

Sloshing the jewel red liquid, Raphael gulped a mouthful of his own brandy. Mimeo howled. Jumping up, Mimeo allowed his goblet to slip from his fingers. The prince’s enchanted table caught the golden snifter and danced out of reach. Sobbing Mimeo sank back down.

“I didn’t do right by my little girl. Fates know I tried. Petra says we were too much alike to get along. But really Estelle was too much like me mother Esme. Full of fire my mother was. She beat into my head that mortals united were more powerful than we realized. She told me—“ Mimeo said.

“Blasphemy! This rabble rousing is futile. Our kingdom has known prosperity for generations because we stick to our traditions. We all know the natural order, Tailor. You have one chance to save yourself. Reveal your fellow traitors.”

The town hall clock chimed. Mimeo sighed with relief. He reached for the brandy from the reluctant side table. He saved his drink as the table wobbled and collapsed.

“Don’t you want to know what my dear old mum used to say? She was a royal servant, practically raised here. Mum told me magic is fed by the belief of mortals. I thought she was being poetic. She wasn’t. But what would happen to you and your wizard friends if all your subjects stopped believing in magic,” Mimeo said coolly.

The grand clock tower chimed again. Raphael looked confused then pained. With each strike the prince grew more pale. All around the village shocked cries rose and drifted away. By midnight Mimeo sat alone surrounded by finery.