Forty Three Part 2

The King sat on a short stool in front a full length mirror. He was taking care to make the appropriate faces, while his valet carefully applied coal to his royal visage. The King's nose was covered in soot, a line now bisected his top lip, where his whiskers originated, giving him a definite, feline appearance. His whiskers were strands pulled from straw, the ends dipped in resin, they had then been firmly attached to his shaven, upper lip.

"Do not overdo it, my good man." The King cautioned. "You are to do it exactly as Elizabeth said to, and I see no more to be needed." The King emphasized his point, waving the parchment he was holding, which containing the picture Betsy had drawn of how his face should look.

"I am merely going to make your whiskers even, my Liege." The man came in front of him to look the whiskers over, his scissors raised up threateningly as he backed into the mirror that stood there. Jumping reflexively, the man brandished the scissors, stepping forward onto the King's paw.

"Roaaarrr!" The King lifted his foot on reflex, setting his man further off balance. The King had to then quickly reach out and save his tormentor, before the good man stabbed him through with the shears.

"My sincerest apologies, my Liege." The man bowed repeatedly while backing away. " 'Twould be much easier to get them even if I could see you straight on, as the mirror you insist upon watching is directly in my way."

The King turned his maned head this way and that. "They look well to me." He slapped his paws on his thighs, then he stood to get a look at himself in the altogether, preening in the reflective glass before him.

Why ever, in God's great plan, had he been made to do without Elizabeth all these years? She was genius. She was inspired. She was a treasure worth far more than her own weight in gold.

The King watched as his tail bobbed about the back of his furry costume. Attached by a line, it seemed to have a mind of its own. If the King wanted to, he could pull a string that hung from his side, which then caused his tail to raise, or lower, but only if the King desired to do so.

He desired to right then, yanking on the string, grinning as the Cheshire Cat while his tail bobbed up and down. Realizing his man was watching him while putting his supplies away, the King cleared his throat self consciously, lowering his tail by letting go of the string.

Sheep's wool had been dyed, then brushed out, sewn together at one end, an entire mass of the stuff created his long mane. Shorter 'hair' covered the whole of his body.

The King looked down at all four of his paws, which he believed to be things of wonder. How his seamstresses had done it, the King could never begin to guess. It was a thing of rare beauty, his masquerade costume. Having never seen anything finer at any masquerade he attended before, the King was quite proud of his magnificent appearance.

And the best part of the entire thing, the thing that tickled him to no end... Was that he still happened to be the King.

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I can sit on these, or I can give them to you. I would rather pass them out like candy, as it is almost that time, I guess... ;)

One more week and I get to go torture the daughter :D

Don't forget to check out The Harlot's Daughter, as the Duchess and Arianna just made an appearance, Violet is next!