A/N: Written for the Pokémon Special Discord's winter writing event! A big thanks to Siragon for beta reading this for me!

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a young, talented magician with bright red eyes. His natural magical abilities were incredibly powerful, but he had no desire to use them for anyone's benefit besides his own. He could use his magic to give himself anything his heart desired: money, food, or any material possessions. The only thing he lacked was recognition; because he never used his magic to help others, few people knew of the red-eyed magician, and none of them knew his name.

Only some of that changed when he met Blue, the blue-eyed witch.

Now, Blue had heard rumors of the selfish magician that lived on the outskirts of Aspertia, the castle town. They said that he would not use his magic to help anyone else, not even for a price. When she ran into a red-eyed young man during a visit to Aspertia, she recognized him right away.

"Say, are you the red-eyed magician that I've heard so much about?" she asked, feigning awe.

The magician stared at her in confusion for a moment, but the look quickly morphed into a charming smile. "Why, yes. Yes I am."

"Oh, it's such a delight to meet you!" she exclaimed, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. "My name is Blue. And what, pray tell, is yours?"

He gave her his name, unsuspecting a thing. "Tell me, dear, what kinds of lovely things have you heard about me?" he asked.

Blue grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Oh, I've heard that you're the most spoiled, selfish person in the entire kingdom, and you'll only be caught using your magic to help someone else in your dreams."

He laughed. "That's too generous. I wouldn't even show my magic to someone else in my dreams."

"Is that so?" Blue's eyes flashed dangerously. "It would be a shame, then, if you could only use your magic to help someone else."

The magician's smile faded. "Are you threatening me?" he asked, moving a hand to the brooch on his throat.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm cursing you."

Then, before the magician could transform his brooch into any sort of weapon to defend himself, Blue reached out and touched his forehead with a glowing hand. He cried out in pain as he was enveloped in a dark aura, and he collapsed to the ground when it faded. Blue crouched down in front of him and cupped her hand around his chin, tilting his face up towards her.

"Tell me, magician, do you know who I am?"

"B-Blue," he choked out. "You're a witch."

"Very good!" she chortled. "And now, tell me…who are you?"

The magician racked his brain. He was a magician, he knew that. He had black hair and red eyes and a handsome face. But try as he might, he could not recall what his name was. "I – I don't…remember," he whispered. "I don't remember my name."

"Perfect!" Blue beamed, removing her hand from under his chin and letting his head fall to the ground. "And you'll never remember your name, unless someone else tells you what it is."

"I – I told you," the magician said as he struggled to pull himself to a sitting position. "I remember – I told you my name. So, you'd better tell me what it is, or…"

"Or what? You'll turn me into a hag?" Blue scoffed. "Unfortunately, magician, that won't be possible. Until the curse is broken, you can't use your magic for your own benefit – you can only use it to help others."

"How do I break the curse?" the magician demanded.

Blue smirked. "It's simple. Somewhere in the kingdom, there's an inconspicuous object that has your name written on it. Not that you'll be able to see the writing, of course. Have someone read it for you, and your curse will be broken."

"B-but that's…impossible!" spluttered the magician.

"Precisely," Blue chuckled. "But since when are curses easy to break?"

With that, the witch dramatically swished her cape and strode away. "Have fun being nice!" she called over her shoulder. The magician slumped over, resigning himself to his new fate.

For years, he tried to find some loophole, some way to break the curse without having to find a single unremarkable object somewhere in the vast lands of the kingdom. But he was never successful. The best he could do was use his magic for other people – at a price, of course. He couldn't use his magic to create all the money and food he could ever desire anymore, so he had to make a living somehow.

He made the same deal with every person he transacted with. The deal was simple: guess his name, and he'd perform the magic for free. Otherwise, they'd have to pay up. He accepted valuables, money, jewelry, or fine clothing – just because he couldn't magically make clothes anymore didn't mean he had to dress like a plebian.

It was a relatively comfortable life, but not nearly as comfortable as it had been before. He longed for the day that he could remember his own name and use magic however he pleased. Some days, he wondered if he would be doomed to be cursed until the end of his natural life.

But finally, one day, the magician heard news from Aspertia. The king was searching for a bride to produce an heir to his throne. He was calling for all the most talented women across the kingdom to present themselves before him and compete for the honor of becoming his queen. The tasks, it was rumored, would be incredibly difficult. But to become the queen…well, surely that reward was worth even the highest price!

But just how high of a price would these potential brides be willing to pay?

The magician eagerly made his way to Aspertia as quickly as possible, for a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. And maybe, just maybe, this plan would finally allow him to break Blue's curse once and for all.

After bribing one of the guards to let him in by turning his stubble into a full, plump moustache, the magician made his way into the throne room, where the presentation of the competitors would take place. It was difficult to guess which ladies were there for the king's competition and which ones were just servants; there were just as many girls wearing commoners' attire as there were noblewomen.

Soon after the magician arrived, the king's advisor stepped onto the stage in the front of the room, on which the thrones sat, and cleared his throat. "Attention, everyone!" he called. Only a few people seemed to hear him. "I said, attention, everyone!" he shouted louder, but there were too many voices for the advisor to be heard.

One of the commoners close enough to hear him decided to help him out. "HEY, EVERYBODY! SHUT UP!" she yelled. The noise in the throne room died out almost instantaneously, and everyone turned to look at the commoner girl. "Pay attention. He's tryin' ta talk," she said, jerking her head at the advisor. The crowd turned their attention to him.

"Erm, yes. Thank you for coming, everyone," said the advisor. "Er, His Majesty thanks you for coming. This is rather short notice, but he is quite impatient, and…"

"Get to the point already!" shouted someone in the crowd.

"Right." The advisor cleared his throat again. "I now present to you…Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Teselia!"

There was a polite smattering of applause as a side door of the throne room opened and the princess emerged. She was a petite girl with blue hair pulled back into a tight bun, and she was wearing a long-sleeved green dress with a ruffled trim and a pink bow in the back. She waved delicately at the crowd and took a seat in the smaller throne at the front of the throne room.

"And now, I present to you…His Majesty the King!"

The side door on the opposite side of the throne room swung open and the king strode in. His hair was blue like his sister's, but it curved up into spiky points that the magician was certain were unnatural. He was wearing a red robe with black trim and a long red cape that dragged on the ground behind him. He stopped next to his advisor and dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, then turned to face his subjects.

"Welcome, everyone!" the king exclaimed, eyes blazing with energy. "Thank you for coming and giving us the chance to choose the most talented woman in the kingdom to be our queen. This competition will take place over the next three days, and we expect everyone to remain within the castle until the competition is completed."

This caused murmuring within the crowd, and the magician raised an eyebrow. The king certainly had enough food and lodging for everyone in the throne room and then some for three days. But to be willing to do so? To force everyone to do so? It seemed a little extreme.

"Pardon, Your Majesty," said a noblewoman with long, blue-black hair standing just in front of the magician. "It's very kind of you to offer to host us, and I appreciate your offer. However, I do not live far from the castle. May I be permitted to go home with my father when the day's activities have concluded?"

The king's eyes flashed. "No," he said coldly. "Everyone is to remain within the castle until the competition is finished. That includes you, your father, and anyone else in this throne room!"

There was an instant uproar as everyone expressed their indignation. The magician could almost understand where they were coming from; he hadn't been planning on staying in the castle for three days, either. But that was one of the perks of being a magician – he could convince anyone to bend the rules for him.

"QUIET!" the king thundered, causing the commotion to cease. "Is this how you respect your king!? I ought to have you executed for treason, the whole lot of you!"

The princess stood up from her throne and approached the king from behind. She gently put a hand on his arm. He whirled around to face her, still fuming. "Hugh," she said softly. The king's demeanor immediately softened, and the princess shook her head. He sighed and turned back to face the crowd.

"We would like to meet the ladies who will be competing for the chance to become our bride," King Hugh declared. "Competitors, please line up in front of the stage now."

The majority of the ladies gathered in the throne room assembled before the king. The king's advisor came back in to help arrange them into neat rows – five in all. King Hugh walked over to the first young lady – a girl with long brown hair that was pulled up into two buns, one on either side of her head.

"What is your name?" asked the king.

"Wh-Whitley, Your Majesty," she said.

"What is your talent?"

"My…my talent?"

"Your talent," King Hugh repeated. "I want a talented woman to be my bride. So, what talent do you have?"

Whitley stared at the king, eyes wide. The magician guessed that she had no special talents to speak of; she was just hoping for the chance to marry the king. He wondered what she would do; make up a talent that sounded believable? Or be honest and share an unimpressive talent?

"I – I have magic hair!" she blurted out.

Okay, so she was making up a talent that didn't even sound believable at all.

"I – I can make beautiful clothes," Whitley continued. "The most beautiful clothes you've ever seen. I can make them out of my hair."

"Fascinating," the king said with a smile. "That is a marvelous talent, Miss Whitley."

The magician was torn between shock and amusement at the lack of sarcasm in the king's voice. He really believed that such a thing was possible? The magician scoffed. Magic hair. What a ridiculous lie.

But as the king asked the same questions to every other lady assembled, name and talent, the magician started to think that magic hair was pretty plausible in comparison. Each woman told the king a more outrageous lie than the last, to the point that the magician thought that magic hair was the most believable talent of them all.

"Very well!" the king declared once he had heard from everyone. "We are pleased to see that we have a very talented cast of ladies assembled for this competition. So, for the first task, we would like to see them use those talents to do something great!" King Hugh paused and walked back to the thrones, pulling his sister up out of her throne. He led her to the front of the stage and put an arm around her shoulders. "For the first task…the ladies must paint a portrait of my sister and I!"

There were grumbles of dissent among the crowd, but no vocal complaints. The magician guessed that no one wanted to be threatened with execution again. At least it was a more manageable task than it would have been if they had been forced to show off the talents that they had been bragging about to the king. But it would be no small task, that was certain.

The magician smiled. It was exactly the kind of task he needed.

That night, all the competitors were taken into isolated rooms in a wing of the castle and provided with blank canvases, paints, and paintbrushes. Their portraits were to be presented to the king the following afternoon. The doors to all the competitors' rooms were locked, but their windows were not. So, with a little bit of magical assistance, the magician bribed one of the servants to let him onto the roof above the participants' quarters with a coil of rope. Then he rappelled down the wall and crawled into the first competitor's bedroom through the window.

Inside was the first girl that the king had spoken to – Whitley, the girl who claimed to have magic hair. When she saw the magician, she yelped and defensively held her hands up in front of her chest. "Wh-who are you?"

"I'm a magician," he said, sweeping a hand out and bowing. "I heard that the king has given you an impossible task, so I thought I would offer my assistance."

"F-for free?"

The magician rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I'm not a charity. I'll require some form of payment."

"I – I don't have much money on me," Whitley admitted.

"Well," the magician said, stroking his chin in feigned thought, "I suppose I could do it for you for free, if you can guess my name."

"Guess…your name?" she echoed doubtfully.

"That's right," the magician said with a sly smile. "Guess my name, and I'll transform that canvas into a brilliant work of art completely free of charge."

"Um…is it…" She flicked her eyes up and down the magician's frame. "Red?"

He pursed his lips. The name wasn't familiar to him at all. "No."

"Black?"

"No."

Whitley looked up at the ceiling, as if his name might magically appear in writing up there. "Is it…Tony?" she asked.

The magician sighed. "No, it's not. That's enough," he said. He still had a hundred and thirty-six other competitors to visit tonight, so he didn't have much time for haphazard guesses. "You're not guessing my name anytime soon. That's fine. I'll accept one of your things as payment instead." His eyes trailed down to her throat, where a locket was hanging on a fine silver chain. "How about…that locket?"

Whitley's hand flew to her throat. "M-my locket? I can't give up my locket!"

"Fine then," the magician scowled, pointing to her hand. "I'll take that ring on your finger."

The ring in question was silver, with a sapphire stone embedded in it. She looked between the ring and the blank canvas for a few moments. Eventually, she pulled the ring off her finger and threw it at the magician. He fumbled to catch it. "Okay! Do it. Please," she said.

"A wise choice," the magician smirked, slipping the ring into his pocket. Then, he touched the blank canvas, and it immediately transformed into a beautiful lifelike portrait of King Hugh and Princess Mackenzie. "You're going to blow everyone away in the competition tomorrow."

And she might have, were it not for the fact that the magician proceeded to crawl into the bedroom of every other competitor and offer them the same deal. Some poor prideful souls refused his offer outright; some gave up after failing to guess his name and being unwilling to pay the price. Most of the competitors at least tried to guess his name, but none were successful. At the end of the night, the magician returned to the quarters that he had been provided with eighty-five new treasures lining his pockets. The first step of his plan had been a great success.

The following afternoon, all the competitors assembled in the throne room to present their finished works of art. This time, the king had them all line up around the perimeter of the room with their canvasses displayed next to them, so he could easily pass all of them by. Whitley's was the first one displayed, and the king stopped to admire it. "This is wonderful," he told her. "You are truly a talented young lady, Miss Whitley."

"Th-thank you," she said, blushing. Once the king moved on, though, the magician noticed that her smile faded and she stared at the floor. He wondered if she felt guilty for passing off his work as her own. It was a stupid thing to feel guilty over, though – the magician had barely put any effort into creating it, and it was identical to the painting he created for every other participant who accepted his offer.

The king wrinkled his nose at the next woman's attempt at a portrait; she was one of the ones who had refused the magician's offer. Her attempt was pitiful – the two subjects of the painting barely even resembled humans at all. "You call that art?" the king scoffed. "Ridiculous. You're not talented enough to be my bride."

Then he came to the next competitor – a black-haired girl with gray eyes who had also accepted the magician's offer. Her portrait was identical to Whitley's. But King Hugh seemed just as delighted by it as he had Whitley's, offering the girl praise for her talents just the same. And thus it went for all the competitors in the room – the ones who had accepted the magician's help were praised for their talent. The ones who did not were scorned. The king seemed completely unbothered by the fact that he had seen eighty-five identical copies of the exact same picture – if he even noticed they were identical at all.

Once the king had judged every girl's picture, he declared that the ladies he had praised would be allowed to compete in the next task. The ones he had scorned were eliminated from the competition.

"Looker!" King Hugh shouted, and his advisor came scurrying up to him. "Take care of the eliminated competitors, will you?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, bowing quickly. "Erm…what should happen to them?"

King Hugh tapped his chin thoughtfully. After a few moments, he said nonchalantly, "Execute them."

"P-pardon?" Looker squeaked. "You want them to be…" He dragged a finger across his throat.

"Exactly," King Hugh said. "I asked for talented women, but these women have no talent. They lied to their king, and the punishment for that is death!" When Looker still didn't move, Hugh glared at him. "Now, Looker!"

The advisor scurried away and began to apologetically round up the horrified ladies, leading them to the dungeons where they would await their impending execution. The magician felt mildly concerned for them. But he had offered to help them, and they refused. So really, wasn't this their own fault?

Meanwhile, the king assigned the remaining competitors the next task. They were each to make the king a new traveling cloak. As before, they would be provided with the materials to do it and would have to present them the next day. As before, they were locked in their quarters to work on the task after dinner. And as before, the magician snuck into the quarters of all the competitors and offered to make a cloak for each of them in exchange for his name or one of their valuables.

"It's you again," Whitley said miserably when the magician entered her room. "I assume you're going to make me the same offer as yesterday?"

"I am," replied the magician.

"I didn't even want to do this," she said. "But my mother forced me to compete. And now…"

"You have to keep going, or the king will literally have your head," the magician helpfully supplied.

"Right," Whitley said, voice breaking. "Isn't – isn't there any way you can get me out of this? Use your magic to – to make the king have mercy on the eliminated competitors, or something?"

The magician shrugged. "I'm afraid not. I'm only a magician. I can't do much more than transformation magic."

"Then…transform me into something that can get out of here!" she cried.

"I suppose I could do that," the magician said thoughtfully. "But I still don't work for free, Miss Whitley. I would need one payment to transform you, and a second payment to transform you back."

Whitley whimpered. "I don't – I don't have anything else. Besides my locket…"

"I'll take it, then," the magician said, grabbing the locket and yanking. He was hoping for the chain to snap. Instead, he just pulled Whitley forward, causing her to smack her head into his and both of them to fall to the floor. "Ow," he said eloquently.

While the magician was still rubbing the bump on his head, Whitley undid the clasp on her locket. "Here," she said, thrusting it at the magician. "Take my locket and transform that thread into a beautiful cloak. And tomorrow, I'll – I'll figure something out to give you."

"Very well," the magician said, accepting the locket. What he did not tell her was that he had a very specific price in mind for tomorrow's task – a price that any of the competitors would be able to pay. If they chose not to…well, it was their head on the line, not his.