by Fiona Wilde
Kier opened the door to find Justin staring at him with a stormy look. His hand instinctively went to the handle of the sword at his waist.
"What's happened brother?" he asked. Kier did not know what had upset his brother so but was ready to defend him from whatever threat he faced. Justin however, already made paranoid by Fiona's manipulations, saw his brother's hand on the sword as a threat.
"Good Lord, Kier," he said in disgust. "Would you really take up arms so readily against me?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"It's clear you bear me no good will. I know full well what you have done. Accusing me of spreading rumors I would never have started in the first place about why we were unable to aid our father when he needed us most...."
Kier shook his head. "I know of no such thing, brother!"
"Indeed?" Justin laughed harshly and then proceeded to repeat Fiona's convoluted tale. He did not reveal the source of the information.
"That is the most ridiculous thing I've never heard!" Kier said his temper flaring. Soon both men were shouting until they heard something that made them stop.
It as Lenora's laughter.
"I hardly find anything amusing in this situation, Princess," Kier said coolly.
"That is only because you are too foolish to see it," she said.
"Hold your tongue woman," he said. "Unless you wish to find yourself over my knee."
The smile from Lenora's face disappeared. "And this is how you plan to prove that you will accept and recognize my counsel?"
Kier looked down, ashamed. "Forgive me, Lenora. You are correct. I forgot myself."
Justin stared, so surprised that he seemed for a moment to have forgotten why he had come.
"You beg forgiveness of this woman, brother? Has she bewitched you so that you've taken leave of your senses. We've been ordered to gain their submission!"
"And a fine job you're doing if you've already allowed my sister to turn you against your brother for a second time."
"What makes you think...?" Justin began.
"Not think, Prince Justin. Know. Are you going to stand before me and deny that this intelligence came from my sister?"
Justin stared at her, his look challenging. Then he dropped his eyes.
"She sounded so certain," he said.
Lenora put a hand on her shoulder. "She always does. But that is her talent. Fiona uses people like pawns. And at this moment you are just part of her game."
Justin looked from Kier to Lenora and back again. "And why are you telling me this?"
Kier put a hand on Lenora's shoulder. "Because she has decided to help us, brother. Not because she thinks she or her sisters need our leadership. Not because they are not capable. But because she recognizes that marriage between the sons of Salazar and the daughters of Elgar will ultimately be a wise and formidable alliance."
For a moment, Justin looked doubtful. Then with a resigned sigh he looked at Lenora.
"Please," he said. "Tell me what to do?"
Lenora smiled gently. She did not like having to ally with anyone against her sisters, but she was a practical girl and knew that what she was doing was in their best interests.
"Be mindful of her tactics," she said. "Be especially suspicious if she acts aloof or matter-of-fact. Fiona has mastered the art of subtlety. She can suggest things to you in a way that makes they were your idea in the first place. She delights in manipulating others, but she can't do it if you know what to look for. And when you spot it you must..."
Her voice trailed off here. She did not want to tell Justin to discipline her sister, for despite Fiona's faults Lenora loved her.
Justin reached for her hand.
"Lenora, I will not hurt her," he said, immediately understanding why she had fallen silent.
"I'd be naive to believe that," Lenora said. "Fiona is a stubborn girl. Just promise that you won't hurt her very much."
Justin smiled and squeezed her hand. Then he returned to his room, devising a plan as he went.
* * *
Justin found Fiona where she left her, sitting in the window seat working on her embroidery.
He did not speak to her when he walked in. Instead he paced the floor.
"I should have known I could not trust Kier," he said and glanced at her, noting how her eyebrow went up, how her mouth curved ever so slightly into a smile.
Subtlety. That is what Lenora had said to look for. The eldest had been right. She was delighting in all of this. Well, he thought, he could play games as well.
"Kier wouldn't admit it, of course, but I could tell by his expression that you are right. He did indeed accuse me of making excuses, and thereby besmirched my name for his own gain. I can remember in the fall he was often away, to meet with advisers he said."
He paused. "Tell me, Fiona. Did any of these men you saw your father with show up around that time?"
She put aside her embroidery and made a show of considering this. Then she turned to him, her eyes bright with fake recollection.
"As a matter of fact, it was exactly around that time. I remember because it was after the leaves had turned. In fact, I heard Kier's name mentioned among those they had seen. News of your father's death was big news."
Justin, of course, knew this to be a lie. Their father had been killed and his kingdom taken over in the spring. In the fall and winter they were all home and blissfully unaware of what was to come.
Justin began rolling up his sleeves. "And you're sure of this?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes intent on her embroidery as she pulled the threads through a picture of a peacock she was stitching. "I remember finding the conversations rather painful to hear."
"As painful as this?"
Fiona cried out in alarm as Justin unexpectedly hauled her from her window seat.
"What are you doing?" she cried as he sat down and pulled her across his lap.
"Teaching you how easily you can become trapped in your own game, my pretty princess."
Justin raised Fiona's skirts, ignoring her as she let loose with a tirade of threats and insults.
"Save your breath," he said. "No one can hear you and even if they did no one will come and save you. It is time, my dear, that you learn the price of getting caught in your own web."
Justin drew back and raised his hand, bringing it down hard on Fiona's bottom. She was naked save for a pair of lacy under things which - while affording her a bit of modesty - offered little protection against his open palm.
Fiona screamed when his hand impacted her skin. She was still sore from the last spanking and this one was being delivered with even more force.
"Unhand me!" she cried, kicking her legs and beating against the legs of the chair and even his legs with her little fists.
But Justin ignored her.
"Spoiled...SMACK!....selfish....SMACK!.....little wretch! SMACK!" he pronounced as he spanked. "All your life you've known nothing but comfort and luxury. You've never had to face loss. And yet you would strip away for your own amusement the one thing the sons of Salazar have left - their brotherhood!"
"SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!"
"And for what? SMACK! Because you're bored? SMACK! Because you think it's funny to hurt people? Because you can find no other way to amuse yourself? Do you know how shameful it is for a smart, pretty girl to waste herself in that manner?"
Fiona was crying in earnest now, not just because of the rapidly building burn in her bottom, but because his words hurt almost as much.
It had never occurred to her to examine the implications of her behavior. For Fiona, spreading gossip and rumors had always just been fun, a way of making sport of the servants when she had nothing better to do. Now, as she lay across Justin's lap she thought back to the time she caused the cook to fall into tears when she started a rumor that the stable boy the girl was planning to marry was in love with someone else. And the time she blamed Lark for stealing Luna's ribbons, which led Luna to steal all of Lark's in return and tie them t
o the ponies' manes. And then there was the time she told a messenger that her father needed him to meet a courier at the crossroads near the village at the base of the mountains. The man nearly died when trapped in a snowstorm.
"Stand up." She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.
"Is this really the kind of person you want to be, Fiona?" he asked. "Because I can tell you I will not tolerate that in a wife. And you will be my wife, young lady."
It felt odd to be spoken to in such a manner by one so young, for Justin was at the most a year or two older than she was. But there was something comforting in his dictation to her. Fiona knew her actions were unkind, but wasn't sure she could stop herself from continuing.
She sniffled pathetically and wiped her eyes as she faced him.
"What if I don't want to marry you?" she asked petulantly.
"You will," he said and pulled her to him. Justin kissed her firmly but gently, for he knew this was her first kiss and he did not want to scare her. The princess struggled at first but then relaxed in his arms, hands going to his face and then his hair. Her arms wound around his neck and he pulled her closer until their bodies were fused chest-to-chest.
Fiona moaned as his mouth blazed a trail down her neck until his face as buried in her fragrant cleavage, his hot breath steamy on the firm, pale mounds that were her breasts.
"Stop," she said, her voice uneasy and he complied, reaching out to wipe away the traces of tears that still clung to her face.
"You are beautiful. You are a treasure. And as long as you live I will treat you as such."
She stared at him, her eyes filled with want. "I'm not supposed to desire marriage with you," she said miserably. "My sisters will be angry."
"Do you always do what your sisters want?" he asked. "Is that the rule, then, that one must not love unless all do? It seems a rather sad rule. For if one refuses love then she condemns the rest of her siblings to spinsterhood."
"No," she said. "It isn't like that. It's just that one of us could not be happy if another is sad. We may fight at times, but we are family."
"As my brothers and I are. And you know how it feels when you are at odds with family. There is nothing worse, which is why I will not abide your fostering discord."
Fiona nodded. "There is one more thing," she said. "I will not be pushed aside while you rule. I am not simply a piece of window dressing."
He smiled, thinking she was very much like her older sister, although he could not tell her so. Not now at least.
He reached for her. "A king or a prince would be foolish indeed to deny himself wise counsel. Even if my brothers and I are allowed to rule, we can never know this kingdom the way you and your sisters do. You grew up here, after all. And I believe you all will be the most valuable resource at our disposal. You are certainly the most beautiful."
She looked down and smiled, blushing.
"Are you seeking to charm you way into my good graces."
"Charm, romance, insist. I foresee a mixture of all, Princess Fiona. It will be a pleasure winning your hand. And do not think I believe I am already there. You are a woman who will take no less than an ardent suitor willing to prove himself. And I am eager to accept that challenge."
"So you like challenges, do you?" she asked.
"So long as the challenger knows when to stop pushing. I will be master of my house," he said. "Defy me, fair Fiona and you will spend much of your time standing because you're bottom is too sore to sit upon."
She frowned, but inside a part of her thrilled at the words. For what use is a weak prince to a strong princess.
"And now," he said. "I would like it very much if you would show me the castle grounds."
She curtseyed and took his hand. And that his how Prince Justin began his official courtship of Princess Fiona.
Chapter Six
Angelica and Quentin
Angelica lay on the bed of her room, a cool cloth pressed to her head. She moaned softly and Prince Quentin, who'd been warned of her dishonesty, began to wonder if he was making a mistake by ignoring her. He'd been warned about her penchant for dishonesty by her father and was sure this was just a ploy to trick into leaving the room.
Or was it. She was saying nothing now, only moaning more weakly. Quentin paced the outer room, looking through the door of her small bedchamber ever so often until finally he decided that if he must err, it was better to err on the side of caution.
"What is wrong?" he asked.
"It's my heart," she said.
He looked at her and scoffed. "Your heart? Come now. Is it so terrible to be locked up away from your sisters. Surely your heart can take a bit of separation from.."
"No." She interrupted him with a weak wave of her hand. "It is not the state of my heart, but a physical condition. My father should have told you, Quentin. I'm sure, however, he was afraid you would reject me if you knew."
"Knew what?"
"My heart is bad," she said. "Sometimes it beats most erratically and I feel weak. Usually the nurse makes the concoction to steady it. But she has gone to see her own ailing mother."
Quentin looked around helplessly. He still wasn't sure if he should believe the little minx. But she looked so weak; if she were telling the truth and something happened.
"Here," he said. "Let me lay my hand upon your heart."
But she crossed her arms across, her eyes indignant. "You would lay your hand on my bosom when we are not yet married? You dishonor me sir!"
"Princess, I merely sought to confirm..."
"Doubt me if you must," she said. "But if you doubt me to my death my father will not offer you a kingdom, but instead offer you up as food for the hounds."
"I did not meant to offend," he said.
"I'm not offended," she said. "But I am afraid."
"I could fetch one of your sisters," he said. "But we're under orders not to disturb the others. Should I send for a physician?"
"No," she said. "It will take too long. The nurse always treats me immediately." She looked at him hopefully. "You could do it, however. I can tell you which herbs to use to make the drink..."
"I'm no good at such things," he said, worried.
"Very well then," she said and made to stand. "I'll do it myself."
She fell immediately and Quentin, more alarmed than ever, caught her.
"Forgive my clumsiness," she said. "Perhaps I can steady myself enough to get out to the garden. The herbs I need are right outside."
"No," he said. "I'll do it."
He eased her gently back down onto the bed.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I would do it myself if I could. But it's easy enough. The herb smells of lemon and has yellow flowers. You only need a little to extract its curative properties. Simply soak it in a bit of wine until the wine itself tastes strongly of lemon. And then bring it to me. A cup of it and I will be back to myself in no time."
He nodded and made to move away but she took his hand.
"You have no idea how pleased I am that you are doing this."
"It is my pleasure, Princess," he said. "I would show you to what lengths I am prepared to go to protect you."
He turned then and went out of the room. When she was sure he was gone Angelica rose from her bed and watched from the window as he wandered the herb patch under the window.
She smiled as Quentin kneeled down and plucked a plant dotted with small yellow flowers. Then she giggled as, after smelling the sprig, he began slicing off more with his knife. When he stood up she went and hopped back in bed, pressing the cool wet cloth down on her face. By the time Quentin came back in, her skin was damp and clammy.
Her eyes, closed when he rushed in the door, fluttered open weakly.
"Is it ready?"
"Not yet. But it will be," he promised.
"Only give the wine to me when it tastes strongly of lemon."
He rubbed her forehead and smiled before going over to the table. Angelica watched with half-closed eyes as he put the herbs in t
he cup and covered them with wine. Ever so often he would taste the concoction.
Quentin had only been stirring and tasting the cup for just a few moments when he felt the first itch. It was on his face by his mouth and he rubbed the spot before returning to his mixing duties. Two sips later his forehead was also itching. Then his chin, then his neck. The discomfort spread quickly and when he turned with the cup Angelica suppressed a giggle at the sight of his face.
It was covered in red, splotchy welts. And by the looks of him, the irritation wasn't confined to his face.
"Here," he said, walking towards her. But no sooner had he taken a step than he dropped the cup and then went down on his knees, succumbing to a sudden rush of violent itching.
"Aaaarrrgh!" he cried. "What's happening to me!"
"Indeed I do not know!" she sat up quickly in her bed. "I am just so grateful that noxious mixture did not pass my lips!"
Angelica stood and walked around him, her arms crossed. Quentin was scraching furiously now, putting the edge of his shirt up as he did to rake the welting skin underneath.
"I can only imagine what you must be going through!" she said.
"It's torment! Aaaargh!" he cried. "You are fortunate that I..."
He stopped suddenly, so surprised that for the briefest second he forgot the horrible itching.
"What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were too weak?"
She smirked. "Well, you know what they say. Laughter is the best medicine."
Quentin rose, a snarl on his face. He advanced on her even as he continued to scratch himself.
"Why you little. Wait till I get my hands...."
She jumped back and he stumbled over a footstool.
"My lord," she said. "It would appear you do not have enough hands as it is."
But rage breathed life into Quentin and he jumped up. And Angelica realized at that moment that her attempt to get under his skin had, perhaps been too successful. The Prince was angry and her mouth went dry with fear as she recalled his earlier spanking. He was far angrier now. If he got ahold of her.
She turned and ran. And Quentin, while in pursuit, could not catch her as he had to stop ever few seconds to scratch.