It had been months—precious, peaceful months—since Gunther and Prince Gideon had started their quiet courtship. Letters exchanged in secret. Sunset strolls near the lake. Occasional mishaps involving misdirected love poems being read aloud during council meetings. Nothing too serious. Nothing Mother Goose couldn't scream into a pillow over.
But now?
Now was the day.
The day Gunther, beloved goose of the House of the Hearth, would meet Silas—King of the Flamingos, Father of Gideon, and one of the most well-known fashion designers across three continents and three different dimensions.
And Gunther?
Gunther wore a crooked black bow tie.
Mother Goose wanted to melt into the cobblestone floor.
They stood in a magnificent atrium carved from coral and polished moonstone, the ceiling impossibly high and inlaid with strands of golden thread that shimmered in hues of sunrise. Flamingos walked with elegance and precision, their necks elongated like exclamation points of judgment. And there stood Silas, King of Flamingos, perched atop a pedestal-turned-runway wearing a flowing silk cape that changed color with every blink. His crown? A diadem of interwoven rose quartz, seashells, and strands of hair from a unicorn. His presence? Terrifying.
He looked at Gunther.
Gunther honked nervously and straightened his bow tie.
It got worse.
Mother Goose was whispering aggressively. "I told you to let me help iron it! I told you to wear the navy! Why—why—did you go with the crumpled noir bow of shame?!"
Gunther tried to fluff himself up. It only made the bow tie tilt more.
Prince Gideon, ever the optimist and clearly trying to stave off a panic attack, placed a reassuring wing on Gunther's back and smiled at his father.
"Father," he said with regal poise and the faintest tremble, "this is Gunther. He is… my chosen partner."
Silas raised a single elegant eyebrow. He said nothing. Merely looked.
From bow tie, to beak, to webbed toes.
Gunther honked.
A silence followed. The entire court leaned in, breath collectively held. One flamingo fainted in the back. A servant wept quietly into a napkin of gold-threaded velvet.
Then Silas spoke.
"…Interesting."
Mother Goose's wings tightened at her sides.
"Your posture is atrocious. The bow tie is suffering. Your plumage—bold. Unruly. Raw." His eyes narrowed. "You are the exact opposite of what I expected."
Gunther gulped.
"…And I adore it."
Everyone blinked.
Silas stepped down from his pedestal, his silken cape rippling like water behind him. "It is not perfection that inspires. It is conviction. And you, Goose, have the conviction to walk into my court looking like that."
Gunther blinked.
Silas leaned forward. "You remind me of myself… when I was young and foolish and dared to wear mismatched socks to the Queen of Owls' coronation."
He placed a wing on Gunther's shoulder. "You have my blessing."
Prince Gideon exhaled so hard he nearly collapsed.
Mother Goose stared blankly. "Wait, what just happened?"
Silas turned with flair. "Come, let me show you the Gunther Collection I have already begun sketching. I shall call it… Chaotic Confidence."
Before Gunther could respond, he was swept away in a flurry of fabrics, glitter, and designers.
Gideon gave an apologetic smile as he followed, and a few seconds later the words "Couture Goosewalk!" echoed through the halls.
Mother Goose sat down on a chaise lounge and blinked into the middle distance.
Father Hearth would never believe her.
Especially when Gunther returned wearing a diamond-studded cape and sandals made from starlight silk.