(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Dorothy's smile faltered —
Just slightly.
"...."
Her usually lazy, dreamlike demeanor stiffened at the sight of the three women.
Her hand clenched around the handle of her parasol.
Ben noticed the subtle shift.
"You know them?"
Dorothy exhaled through her nose, tone dry.
Sigh~
"Know them? Unfortunately. They're the Witch Queen's personal attendants — the kind who follow orders without question… and report everything they see."
Ben didn't look surprised.
"So they're not here for the festival, then."
The crowd instinctively parted as the trio reached the booth.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The lead witch, tall and silver-haired with runic tattoos curling across her cheek,
Stopped before Ben and offered a courteous —
But cool —
Smile.
"So,"
She said, her voice smooth as silk.
"The stories were true. The King of Clover does have quick eyes."
Ben laughed at her words.
Haha~
"Depends on what he's looking at."
The silver-haired witch's lips curved faintly.
"How charming. The Queen asked us to ensure our guest is enjoying the festival. I see you've made yourself… comfortable."
Dorothy stepped forward before Ben could reply.
"Your Queen doesn't need spies to measure enjoyment. Unless you've forgotten, I was one of her witches once."
One of the attendants glanced at her with faint disdain.
"...."
"And now you serve a kingdom of men. Tell us, Dorothy, does their world make you forget your place?"
The air around them thickened —
Faint sparks of mana rippling in the tension.
Charlotte's aura shifted subtly, ready to intervene if needed,
"...."
"...."
"...."
But Ben lifted a hand slightly.
"That's enough,"
He said calmly.
His tone carried quiet authority —
Not a raised voice,
But the kind that made even the proudest witch hesitate.
The silver-haired witch regarded him with new interest.
"You carry yourself boldly, King of Clover. Most men tremble when they stand before the Witch Queen's shadow."
Ben's smile didn't waver.
"Maybe that's because I don't see a shadow. I see people who serve someone they respect — or fear. There's a difference."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then, faintly, one of the younger witches hiding her smirk behind her hand whispered,
Smirk~
"He's bold… I like him."
The silver-haired one exhaled softly, almost amused.
Fufu~
"We'll remember your words, Your Majesty."
She turned to leave, her attendants following.
As they vanished into the crowd,
Dorothy finally relaxed,
Letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"Spirits above, they're still as unnerving as ever."
The moment the trio of elite witches turned the corner and disappeared from Ben, Charlotte, and Dorothy's sight,
Their entire demeanor shattered like glass.
Once they were well out of view —
Tucked behind a cloth-draped booth selling mana-threaded charms —
The three witches exploded into excited, hushed squeals.
Kyaaa~
Squeals~
"Did you SEE that!?"
The silver-haired one—
Previously ice-cold—
Clutched her own face.
"He didn't flinch! Not even once!"
The red-haired witch beside her stomped her boots in place, trying not to shriek.
"I swear, when I stepped close enough to feel his breath, he didn't even blink! How can a man look at us like that and stay so calm?"
"Forget calm,"
The third witch pouted dramatically, braids swaying.
Pout~
"Did you see how he talked back? Like he wasn't standing in front of the Witch Queen's personal guard! Spirits above, he's cute."
The three exchanged a look—
"...."
"...."
"...."
—and promptly burst into hysterical, silent laughter,
Leaning into each other like giddy teenagers.
"Okay, okay,"
The silver-haired one said, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes.
"Who wins the bet? Because the deal was simple: Don't let him intimidate you."
"We all held it together,"
The braided witch declared, lifting her chin proudly.
"None of us slipped."
"Which means…"
The red-haired one crossed her arms.
"We're ALL winners."
Slow, delighted grins spread across their faces.
Grin~
"And winners,"
The silver-haired witch continued smugly,
"get permission to tease the cute boy whenever we want."
They clasped hands like conspirators forming an unholy pact.
"Oh, this festival is going to be fun."
"Three days in costumes…"
"Two days hunting…"
"And then the Grand Feast."
Their eyes sparkled with wicked anticipation.
"We're absolutely teasing him the entire week."
Then, like flipping a switch,
All three witches straightened their cloaks,
Fixed their expressions back into their usual icy composure…
…and walked back toward the festival path with perfect, disciplined grace.
But their eyes?
Still shimmering with mischief.
And every witch they passed stepped aside respectfully—
Unaware that the Queen's most stoic guards were plotting to make the Clover Kingdom's King blush like a novice before the festival ended.
Ben along with Charlotte and Dorothy entered a costume shop to buy costume for them.
For him he can transform into a alien if he needed.
Ben sat near the counter,
Drumming his fingers on the wooden table as the smell of incense and the witch's cigar drifted lazily through the costume shop.
He had been patient.
He really had.
But after fifty minutes…
Then an hour…
He started to wonder if Charlotte and Dorothy had either gotten lost,
Been kidnapped by overly enthusiastic witches,
Or decided to form an alliance to bully him for teasing them earlier.
He leaned back in the chair with a sigh.
"Did they forget I exist?"
He muttered.
The witch behind the counter—
Dark hat, messy hair, cigar dangling from her mouth—
Let out a raspy chuckle.
Chuckle~
"Sweetheart,"
She said while blowing a smoke ring,
"when women go in to pick costumes, they enter a sacred ritual."
Ben raised a brow.
"A ritual?"
"Mm-hmm."
She smirked.
Smirk~
"It involves arguing over colors, criticizing each other's choices, and judging the lighting. Could take hours."
"I've been sitting here for one hour."
"Then you're lucky. My record's four."
Ben slumped forward, defeated.
The witch snickered around her cigar.
"Relax, kid. They didn't forget you. They just forgot time exists."
Ben sighed again and stared at the hanging costumes—
Twinkling sprites, glittering beasts, spirit robes, feathered masks.
The shop was filled with laughter and rustling fabrics,
But the fitting area at the back remained suspiciously quiet.
'What are they even doing back there? Sewing each other's outfits by hand? Repainting the walls? Summoning a fashion spirit?'
He rested his chin in his palm.
"I swear,"
He muttered,
"I could've flown halfway to the Spade Kingdom and back by now."
The witch leaned over the counter.
"Want a prediction?"
Ben blinked.
"What kind?"
Her eyes gleamed playfully.
"When they come out, you're gonna forget how annoyed you were."
He snorted.
Snort~
"That confident?"
"Oh, I've been dressing witches for many years,"
She said proudly.
"I know when an entrance is being prepared."
Ben opened his mouth to reply—
"...."
Then he heard it.
A soft, quiet click of a door latch.
The faint rustling of dresses.
A hesitant voice saying, "You go first—no, you—no, both of us."
The witch behind the counter straightened with a wolfish grin.
"Showtime."
Ben slowly turned toward the fitting area—
And his breath got caught in his throat.
Ben turned at the sound of his name—
And froze mid-breath.
"...."
For a heartbeat, the noisy festival blurred into quiet static around him.
Charlotte stood there first,
Fingers curled nervously at the edges of her flowing green dress.
What she wore wasn't just a costume—
It was artistry.
A nature spirit, the witch had said.
Her gown seemed woven from living ivy and flower-laced silk,
The colors shifting from soft emerald to pale gold as she moved.
Tiny luminescent petals glowed faintly across her shoulders like drifting fireflies.
Her hair, normally braided and strict, was loose—
Waves falling past her back with small vines intertwined.
A soft, ethereal green pattern—
Like leaves and runes—
Was painted across her cheekbones, turning her into something otherworldly.
She wasn't Captain Charlotte of the Blue Rose.
She looked like the guardian of an ancient forest…
…and Ben couldn't decide if she seemed more magical or beautiful.
She blushed immediately, biting her lip at his stunned expression.
Blush~
"W-what?"
She whispered.
"Is it too much? The witch insisted I go full spirit—"
Before Ben could reply,
Dorothy stepped forward—
"...."
And he realized he was not prepared for this either.
Dorothy's costume resembled a legendary phoenix spirit.
Her upper face was hidden behind a half-mask of radiant red and gold feathers,
The eyes glowing with subtle illusion magic.
Her dress mimicked rising flames,
Layered reds and oranges that shimmered with every movement.
Feathers trailed from her wrists and waist, flickering like embers.
But what stunned him was the confidence in her posture.
"...."
Dorothy rarely revealed this side of herself—
Poised, smirking, knowing exactly how striking she looked.
Smirk~
She placed a hand on her hip.
"Well? You've gone quiet, Your Majesty."
Ben blinked, still taking them both in.
"...."
"I was… just thinking,"
He said slowly, voice slipping lower,
"that maybe I should've bought a costume too."
Dorothy raised a brow.
"Why? So you could match us?"
Charlotte's blush deepened.
"That's not fair, Dorothy. You know he's looking at both of us like—like—"
"Like he forgot how to breathe?"
Dorothy teased.
Ben coughed, pretending to regain composure.
Cough~
"It's not my fault you two look incredible."
Two pairs of eyes widened—
One flustered, one amused.
From the corner of the room,
The witch who ran the shop smirked around her cigar.
Smirk~
"Told ya,"
She muttered.
"Spirits always bring out the truth."
Charlotte stepped closer,
The faint floral scent from her costume brushing against him.
"So… does it look good?"
She asked softly, shy but hopeful.
Ben answered without hesitation, voice warm.
"It looks perfect. You look perfect."
Dorothy leaned in on his other side, mask gleaming.
"And me?"
Ben met her fiery, half-obscured gaze.
"You're dangerous."
Dorothy's smile sharpened in satisfaction.
Then the witch behind the counter clapped loudly.
"Alright, lovebirds and flame-bird,"
She snorted.
"Festival's starting. If ya want the best part of the costumes to show, get out there before the others crowd the streets."
Charlotte tugged her vines nervously.
Dorothy tilted her head playfully.
Ben stood, stretching.
"Shall we?"
He asked.
Both women nodded—
Nod~
Or in Dorothy's case, smirked.
Smirk~
As they stepped out into the glowing festival streets,
The three witches who had met Ben earlier spotted them from afar—
—and immediately started whispering excitedly again.
Because now?
Now the King wasn't just handsome.
He was flanked by a nature spirit and a phoenix.
And the festival was about to get much more interesting.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)Thanks for reading the chapter!
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