Maid of the Flowers - part 1-3

Roland de Laurens always knew he was strength and authority. His muscular frame and noble name commanded respect and fear from all the courtiers. Though in reality his "heroic" deeds rarely extended beyond capturing bandits on the royal road, his confidence seemed boundless.

Today, at yet another royal reception, he decided to remind everyone of his presence once again. Step by step, he proudly strode past the courtiers, nodding to those who bowed, and ignoring those who dared not notice him—he basked in the attention, and it was obvious to everyone, though most of them didn’t particularly like him but were too afraid to speak against him, fearing his immense strength. His eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction as he noticed Arkanius, the court magician, sitting in the shadows in the far corner of the hall.

“Arkanius!” he bellowed, deciding to mock the mage once more. “Hiding in the corner again? You should spend more time training with a sword instead of playing with sparks!” he added, his voice booming through the hall.

The courtiers laughed obsequiously at the royal knight’s joke, and Roland, smirking, took a step forward, puffing out his chest dramatically. As usual, his arrogance was on full display.

At that moment, Arkanius felt the fury boiling inside him. 'This fool… How dare he?! The power of magic is no joke,' he thought, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Only years of self-control allowed him to hide his true emotions. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Roland, his face remaining calm and even slightly amused, but inside, his mind was ablaze with anger.

'Insignificant upstart… You have no idea who you're dealing with. But I will teach you respect,' Arkanius calmly inhaled and spoke aloud:

“Power, my friend,” his voice was so soft and calm that it could be mistaken for a gentle reproach, “is not always what is visible on the surface.”

Roland paid no attention to these words, thinking the mage was just trying to wiggle out of the situation, and, as always, laughed loudly in response. But Arkanius merely smiled slyly. His lips moved slightly, whispering the words of an ancient spell that no one could hear. He leaned back in his chair, watching as the magical forces slowly began to take effect.

Roland was still laughing, continuing his tirade, unaware that his voice had become a bit higher than usual. His shirt, which had always fit snugly on his powerful shoulders, now seemed too loose. He felt the fabric hang loosely around his chest but chalked it up to simply relaxing.

His pants suddenly hung awkwardly around his waist, and the legs, which once hugged his muscular thighs, now flapped loosely as if they were on a man of much smaller stature. Roland frowned, glancing at his clothing, and thought, 'What the…?' He looked around, but for now, no one seemed to notice.

But then, a murmur swept through the hall, and Roland noticed that the arm he had extended in mockery appeared thinner than usual. 'Is this some kind of joke?' the thought flashed as his fingers became more delicate, almost like a woman’s, and his skin began to take on a strange greenish tint.

Roland froze. His gaze ran over his arm—the greenish hue continued to spread, his fingers turned slender, his palms smaller, and his wrists scrawny. He looked around at the onlookers, hoping to see the usual fear or at least respect in their eyes, but instead, he was met with surprise and even barely concealed horror. The murmuring in the hall grew louder, and the courtiers began exchanging significant glances.

He tried to adjust his shirt, but as his fingers touched the fabric, it seemed to transform along with him. The sleeves, once large, now oddly tightened around his thinning arms, and around his waist, the shirt began to shift into something more akin to a corset.

“What the…” he muttered under his breath, hearing how his voice had turned… more nasal? He didn’t finish the sentence, as his pants, which had been hanging loosely around his waist just a minute ago, suddenly tightened, transforming into something much more form-fitting. The fabric of one pant leg, now resembling part of a woman’s stocking, squeezed his thigh, and Roland felt the material creeping upward, exposing his legs.

Roland froze, feeling something swell in his chest, as if expanding from the inside. He looked down and grabbed at the new mounds, which grew larger, filling his now tiny, green hands with soft flesh. His gaze dropped to the shape his figure was taking—feminine curves becoming more defined, and in his hands was the unmistakable sensation of softness and unfamiliar volume. He tried to speak again, but his voice shot up even higher.

“What da heck?! Dis your doing?! You… you make me like dis! No! No-no, me no be like dis! Me strong, gnight, not dis… not dis ting!” Roland desperately grabbed at his altered form, his hands trembling. 'What da hell? Why me talk like stupid goblin?!' Roland tried to straighten up again, attempting to adopt his usual proud stance, but his new body resisted—his shoulders felt too narrow, and his chest weighed heavily, pulling him down. He felt his small, clawed fingers nervously clutching the tight uniform that had replaced his former armor.

“I gnight! Me… strong!” He froze, hearing how his new voice came out shrill, almost breaking into a squeal. Quiet laughter filled the hall, and Roland felt his face flush with humiliation. ‘Why the hell are they laughing at me?!’

He looked at Arkanius, who was watching him with an icy smile.

“Oh, Roland… or should I call you Rolanda?” Arkanius drawled, his voice dripping with cold mockery. He stood up from his seat, stepping closer to get a better look at the result of his spell. “No, that name’s too noble for a girl like you,” Arkanius continued, stepping even closer. He looked over Roland’s transformed body, slowly smiling. “I think you’re more like… Rolly. Rolly Whinegob.”

“No!” he screeched, his voice sounding more like a whine now. “Me no be dis… dis Rolly! Me gnight! Strong gnight! Me go to king! He can fix me! King no let dis happen!”

She looked around, hoping to see support, but the courtiers either avoided her gaze or chuckled.

“The king?” Arkanius drawled, his voice laced with ridicule. “You really think the king will receive you like this, Rolly? You’re no longer a knight… I don’t even know what you are. Goblins aren’t usually welcome at court,” he sneered, savoring each word.

Rolly clenched her clawed fingers, struggling to contain her rising anger. She saw how the courtiers, instead of the fear and respect she was used to commanding, now only laughed and whispered among themselves. ‘They’re laughing at me! I’ll show them when I get my body back!’

“No!” Rolly shrieked again, her voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal. “King must hear me! Me no be stupid goblin! Me Roland de Laurens!” But even her own words didn’t sound convincing. She turned and marched toward the exit of the hall, feeling her new chest bounce clumsily as she tried to maintain her dignity, taking quick, small steps.

“Oh, how cute she walks,” someone whispered mockingly from the crowd, causing another burst of giggling.

Arkanius, watching Rolly’s departure, couldn’t resist one last biting remark, which sent the court into another wave of laughter:

“Oh, Rolly, don’t forget to grab a broom on your way out. Maybe the kitchen could use a new helper.”

Rolly only quickened her pace, feeling how her new body moved awkwardly and clumsily. She stormed out of the hall, her tiny legs carrying her quickly down the corridor. She barely held back her anger, suppressing the humiliation boiling inside her. All her thoughts now were focused solely on getting to the king and forcing him to set things right.