Lucas sat on one of Thousand's utility stools, gawking at his reflection in the vanity. She'd managed to completely tame his curls with an iron, then handed him a makeup brush and told him to cover up his freckles while she worked on their costumes. He did the best he could, conjuring up the memories of his mother covering her own freckles before going to parties.

Staring back at him was an image of Rodric.

He blinked once, then twice, but couldn't dispel it from his mind. Now that their differences were removed, he looked exactly like his brother. Well, of course. We're identical twins, his rational mind thought.

Besides, it would be good for the job if people couldn't tell them apart by appearance, since their faces were well known across the Empire. Now to work on his behavior, or so Thousand had said. Shouldn't she be coming back by now? he wondered. She's been in there for almost–

"Hey, quit staring at yourself. It's time to go. We'll be staying in Plumsk for the next week."

Lucas whipped around. There she was, clad in one of the V-cut gowns that people in Pluma usually wore. Her hair was a shimmering silver this time, and tied up in an elaborate updo. Her eyes stayed brown, but they were more vibrant, and her cheeks had been made pinker. She also seemed thinner, although that might've been the dress. It was the figure-hugging kind, with a thin gray jacket – that in no way reflected the bitter cold up south.

"How do the ladies even survive with that little covering?" The question slipped out without him even thinking.

"It's actually a mark of pride up there. The less layers you wear, the stronger you are, or something. Seems pretty backwards to me." Thousand shrugged, and Lucas found himself nodding with vigor.

Inside, he almost let out a yell of victory. He actually knew her opinion on something! That added to the list of things he knew about her – she was a mercenary, her code name was Thousand, she could make herself look like anyone, and she thought the fashions in Pluma were 'pretty backwards'. That was certainly progress!

"So, uh, what exactly is the plan?" he asked. Hopefully he'd find even more information as the mission went on – somehow, he would figure her out. "Who are you impersonating?"

"A fictitious 'Lady Rosa Gavinik'. Supposedly, she's converted Rodric Riel into the ideologies of Pluma, and they're coming to the ball to assert their support for the king. In reality... well, we're really not." She let out a dry chuckle, tugging in a stray lock of hair from her complex updo.

Despite all good sense, Lucas found himself questioning the plan, even though he really shouldn't. "Wait. My brother would never just... switch sides – the most he'd do would be to abandon his aggressions," he said. "And even that seems far-fetched. King Ivory is smart, he'd never believe it," he continued.

"Hmmm." Thousand seemed to consider this. "You have a good point." He perked up, not expecting her to take him seriously. "I guess we'll just have him fall madly in love with her then."

"W– what?" he sputtered, feeling his cheeks heat up. He took a step back, hoping that would clear his head.

"What's wrong? Everyone knows people do crazy things when they're smitten. Does it sound strange that your brother would abandon everything to be with his lover?" Thousand didn't seem to have taken note of his reaction at all.

"Well, it's... pretty strange." Stone-cold Rodric falling in love? That was the most unbelievable part, never mind leaving everything to be with some foreigner. But then again, he didn't have a better plan... "It's less crazy than the other one, though. We could even call Aunt Gladys and tell her to stir up all the gossip. You know, when they started seeing each other and all. To make it more believable."

Lucas couldn't believe he was going along with this. But he needed some way to prove himself.

Suddenly Azure's words from that morning seemed to cut deeper. You're just being manipulated! Don't you see? she seemed to scream in his head. And, of course, there was Noemia's whisper of finally making yourself useful for once, huh.

But, like before, the stony voice of Rodric prevailed. Your cousin is temperamental and unpredictable. You know she's bad for you. As for Noemia, you should learn to ignore her already.

Oh, how Lucas envied his orderly, buisnesslike approach to life.

"Well, it's settled, then," Thousand said with a curt nod. "I wish we could take the aircraft, but we'll have to make do with a speedboat. We should be there in about a day's travel."

Despite his conflicting thoughts, he felt a spike of adrenaline crawl up his spine. We're going to Plumsk!

~

Pluma was... certainly a strange nation, to say the least.

Everywhere he went, he got odd looks. And not the good kind either. "It's because you look foreign," Thousand had explained, seemingly reading his mind after one too many of these occurrences. "People up here don't wear that many coats, for one, and curly hair is generally considered to be the beauty standard."

"Which one do you prefer then, curly or straight hair?" he couldn't resist asking. She'd merely frowned, then changed the subject.

Looking exactly like Rodric was even weirder – after styling his curls every morning , covering his freckles and practicing his cool, standoffish demeanor, by their third day in Plumsk, Thousand had deemed him a "passable" impression.

The city was, somehow, both exactly and nothing like what he'd imagined. It had only been a week since they'd arrived, but he wasn't sure if a year of preparation could even begin to ready him for the bitter cold – the sheer difference of temperature from their cozy hotel to the street always managed to leave him shivering. (Thousand seemed completely unaffected, which puzzled him even further.)

There were upsides, though. Despite the people here not being too fond of Rodric – and by extension, his impression of Rodric – they actually seemed to like him quite a bit. The telecom broadcasts where he appeared – which he really should've learned to ignore by now, but alas – were met with appreciative murmurs, instead of cold indifference; and he could've sworn he'd heard an old lady say he was "not as bad as the rest."

Amazing, Lucas, seeking approval from foreigners. He shushed his brother's voice – now was really not the time.

He and Thousand stood at the entrance to the ball, the mercenary holding a carefully forged invitation. Lucas had wondered why this whole charade was needed in the first place, but seeing the security guards, his wondering had screeched to a halt, and replaced itself with an overwhelming feeling of 'there's no way we're gonna get through there'.

Tall, broad-shouldered guards seemed to flank every inch from the main street to the palace – and Lucas wasn't exaggerating when he said they checked everything. Every invitation was carefully examined, then scanned by some sort of steel device. Another guard marked a carefull tally of the name, age and nationality of every single guest.

In contrast, the relatively lax security of his family's parties suddenly seemed thoughtless. Then again, if someone tried to con Aunt Gladys, she'd probably pay you off anyway, he thought with a chuckle, in a futile attempt at calming his nerves.

Would 'Lady Rosa''s carefully crafted backstory be enough? What if Thousand was a terrible liar? What if he was a terrible liar? What if they were exposed in the middle of the ball and sent back to the mainland in shame?

He suddenly looked to Thousand, clad in her 'Lady Rosa' costume. She was in the middle of handing out the fake invitation, introducing them with an effortless Plumsk accent:

"Lady Rosa Gavinik of Plumsk, and Rodric Riel of Feyrgania, my beloved." Lucas tried not to shudder at the way she said "beloved", with the honeyed tone and characteristic 'L' of the Pluman upper class. It didn't sound anything like the Thousand he knew. Well, that's good, I suppose. It means she's good at her job.

With a subtle nudge from Thousand, he was jolted from his thoughts, realizing it was his turn to speak. "Yes, I'm Rodric Riel." Was he succeeding in looking at 'Rosa' lovingly? He hoped so.

The guard conferred with his workmates, speaking in low, hushed voices. Then, they took the invitation, moving to scan it in the strange machine.

"Wait–" His voice trailed off when Thousand grabbed his hand. Wait, don't let them scan it, they'll find out who we are! he almost yelled.

But the guards merely shrugged as the light in the device turned green, and it let out a beep of confirmation – they'd been accepted.

Marveling at the advanced technology in this continent, he almost didn't realize Thousand was still holding his hand as they proceeded through the large, imposing gate – she was almost squeezing it, in fact. You almost blew our cover, her brown eyes seemed to say, and Lucas suddenly felt really small.

"I'm sorry..." he said.

"There's nothing to apologize for, my beloved, we're here now!" Thousand spoke with Lady Rosa's voice, but her eyes accepted his apology, and that was enough. A slight nudge told him him step up his game, though.

"Of course," he replied, channeling his brother's attitude. Of course, I will do better from now on. He hoped this message had reached her as they crossed the last stretch of garden and finally entered the palace itself.

"Ah, lady Gavinik and Rodric Riel, welcome! I've heard a lot about you two this past week."

A black-haired, blue-eyed man stood in the massive doorway, greeting them. He wasn't too imposing or broad – in fact, his physique more resembled that of a tall, lanky teenage boy – but his voice, like fresh, slightly acrid fruit, was unmistakable. His eyes fixed upon the two of them, full of questions yet well-guarded.

It seemed they'd already met their target, King Ivory of Pluma.