When Prince Hubert stepped into this murky town, he couldn't fathom who would travel across the vastness of the empire for a mere festival. Barren streets — lamenting the beating sun — and one could only assume all the townsfolk hid away in their homes, aged by chipped brick. Princess Vera, small in stature, garbed in pink, looked up at her brother's furrowed brows. Beyond them, a ways from their carriage's departure, was a store. Covered in thick, blue vines, its interior could barely be seen save for the wood-carved door. Prince Hubert's loafers squeaked across the road with polished newness aimed towards it.

Turning the bronze handle, he stepped one foot into the doorway, erupting a piercing alarm. Princess Vera startled and clung to the back of her brother's coat. Sounding from a hanging golden cage, a magnificently feathered turquoise bird fixed its red eye at him, beating its wings at the metal bars around it. Huddled together, the two siblings stood stiff, struck by its pattern and sheer volume. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, much less read in a handler's book. 

"What can I do for you?" 

The voice came without placement, as though the bird had spoken into his mind. He had heard such magical creatures only dwelled in the palace. 

"I am in search of Thiander's owner," Prince Hubert spoke, trying his best to maintain focus with the bird's twitching head. "We have traveled—" The bird squealed, and he feared the words upset it. "—on the basis of Queen Mira's orders..."

"Are you royal? Or knightly?" A man appeared from the coverings of a bookcase, his puffy hair in gray disarray, lines sunken into his cheeks like deep scars. 

Prince Hubert cleared his throat and tore his gaze from the bird. "I am... Prince Hubert, sir."

The man huffed, eyeing his sparkling vestments. "Fifth in line," he mumbled, fumbling with the stack of books between his rough palms. 

"Sorry?"

"You are fifth in line, are you not?" He crossed to the next aisle and slid the books into the shelf. "Why is a fragment of the crown here? Public service?"

The Prince struggled to find his word, anxiousness springing beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Punishment?" the man asked again, but his tone teetered ambiguous on which was the punisher, and who was to be punished. 

"On the contrary," the Prince mustered, "I am here to see this year's excitement. Are we early?"

"Our last festival backed the treasury into a bright red, with no help from you. It's not been open to the public for years." He made a glance to the ghostly streets, then to Princess Vera, as she peeked out from hiding. "But... There's a bar. Head there and you might get lucky."

The man shuffled his way to the back of the store, and knowing that the whole of his questions had been mercilessly put to rest, the Prince was ready to depart, until a turquoise feather floated into his vision, close enough to pick out of the hanging air. Princess Vera tugged at his sleeve with pleading eyes. 

"Wait!" he called, with an exasperated breath. "Is this bird for sale?"

—

Prince Hubert, with a bird on his tasseled shoulder, let out a labored sigh and made his way to their next destination: a pub called Snooze. Its wide base narrowed up to a straightened point, and leaned crookedly to the left, resembling a witch's hat. Orange and purple lights hung down from every possible height, crowding together to form a stifling warmness, surrounding the Prince as he tiptoed through its swinging doors, hand in hand with Princess Vera. 

A hush swept over the bar. The few men and women leaning over their drinks, and the crowded tables of men sprawled over their chairs... stopped to stare at the outsider in sparkling clothing, and the young girl in his hand. They walked to the counter, Price Hubert's boots clacking on the maple-wood grain. He dug into his mind for a piece of courage.

Too small to reach it herself, Prince Hubert hoisted Princess Vera up onto a bar stool, sliding her closer to the ledge. 

"Huey," she asked, her blonde eyelashes fluttering, "when are the fairies coming?"

"Not now, Vera." Prince Hubert glanced beside him and met the gazes of scarred, burly men, and cold-looking women bearing aprons of unknowns. The bird squawked next to his ear, oblivious. 

From behind the bar, a young man looking not much older than himself, struck a smile and slung a rag over his shoulder. "How can I possibly serve you, your majesty?" He curtsied emphatically.

The whole of the place erupted in a barrage of laughter. 

"Something bubbly, please!" the Princess interjected. 

He nodded, smiling smugly, and gathered a multitude of ingredients, most of which foreign to the Prince. Flipping the glass in the air, pouring the violet-colored liquid from five feet up, creating an illusory fog that spread from the rim — in the time and spectacle the bartender took to make her drink, the bar had lost interest with the royals' visit. Sliding the tall, sparkling glass over to her, the bartender extended a second drink to the Prince. 

"On the house," he said, his voice warm. 

Prince Hubert thanked him, rather shocked, and brought the clear liquid to his lips, taking a gulp. 

Cheers and hollers broke out from behind him, the townsfolk giddy with red cheeks and wide smiles. He hadn't noticed until then that most of the tables held drinks containing the same clear concoction. 

The bartender's face stretched into a wry grin, revealing a golden incisor. "Now you're one of us."

—

 When the Prince awoke, the bar was empty. Gone were its hollering patrons and jigging townsfolk; the clustering lights silenced into only the glow of the night's stars. Before he could puzzle the events, he was struck with panic. Princess Vera was gone from her seat. 

 Rushing out of the bar and out onto the empty street, he heard or rather felt the vibrations of humming. Thin, layered harmonies of insect-like sound traveled from the space behind him. The Prince ran, never minding the mud or the puddles, into the field of pink flowers behind Snooze unto which he felt he was being pulled to, like a snake to flute. 

 The scene was unusual; the townsfolk were gathered together, buzzing, and though their mouths moved to form words, Price Hubert could only hear that incessant hum of chords. He squinted, spotting the blonde tufts of Princess Vera's hair in the crowd and waded, frantically, through the pink, petaled bunches. 

Something hit his cheek. Small as a pin-needle, it struck him again, and again, until he stopped and stood crouched over himself, clutching the pains on his face with two hands and eyes squeezed shut. When the pings ceased, the Prince hesitantly peeled his eyes open. 

Tiny as seeds, blue creatures fluttered around him, radiating a soft, moonly light. They surrounded the air, caught the wind and paraded around the townsfolk, the chattering voices of men and women finally taking shape.

Princess Vera came bouncing toward her brother, bird trailing behind her, her hair bobbing on her shoulders. "Look!" she squealed. "It's the fairies!"

They rose and circled the moon, and Prince Hubert could only smile at the sight.