Ballet for the Brigade

Princess Aurelia, having failed spectacularly in her attempt to domesticate a dragon (it had, in fact, attempted to domesticate her, mostly by breathing smoke rings around her head until she sneezed uncontrollably), was not one to dwell on setbacks. Setbacks, in her experience, were merely opportunities for *new* kinds of setbacks. And so, with a swish of her impossibly long, impossibly silk train, she surveyed her kingdom’s most formidable protectors: the Royal Guard.

They stood at rigid attention, a forest of polished steel and stern expressions. Captain Borin, his mustache a bristling testament to years of unwavering discipline, stood a pace ahead, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the horizon. They were, Aurelia mused, rather like very well-behaved statues. And statues, she felt, were desperately in need of expression.

“Captain Borin,” she announced, her voice a clear, bell-like tone that always managed to sound both regal and slightly strained, as if she were holding back a giggle or perhaps a sneeze, “I have decided that our esteemed guard requires… enrichment.”