Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss

by Jessica Woodard

  He reached out and took her hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No one will force you to do this, if it’s too much for you. You don’t have to meet him, Bianca.”

  She shook her head. “I do. This one last time, I must meet him. Then it will be over.”

  ***

  Robin was having a hard time gaining access to the Prince’s tent.

  “Our orders is to let nobody in, unless his highness says otherwise.”

  “But you do not, strictly speaking, work for his highness,” Robin tried to reason with them. “You work for her majesty, and since I am in charge of the queen’s personal security, I must be allowed access to the prisoner.”

  “Nothin’ doin’.” The guard jutted his already prodigious jaw forward. “I have my orders. And you ain’t the queen. You just work for her, same as me.”

  “Of course.” Robin rubbed at his forehead. He desperately wanted to avoid returning to Bianca’s tent while Anders was there. “What if I fetch Princess Vivienne? Surely a princess, and the queen’s cousin, has enough rank to ask you to allow me to enter?

  “Well…” The guard waffled, and Robin had to resist the urge to throttle him.

  It took a great deal of restraint.

  ***

  “I can’t help wishing that you didn’t have to put yourself through this. Is his opinion of you really that important?”

  Bianca let out an indelicate snort. “If you think his opinion of me matters in the slightest, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  Anders smiled. “I’m glad. But then why do you feel compelled to meet him?”

  Bianca tried to put her feelings into words. “It isn’t for him. It’s for everyone who followed me. They need me to face him down. To be strong for them.”

  Anders cupped her face in his hands, and smiled at her tenderly. “You are such a unique woman, Bianca. I can’t help but admire you. I only wish you’d take half the care with yourself, that you do of others.”

  ***

  “So you see,” Vivienne’s voice remained sweet, even though she was explaining herself for the second time, “you really must let him in.”

  The guard was formerly of the Toldan army, and when he had been unable to reconcile the princess’s request with his orders, he’d summoned his former commanding officer.

  The officer took on a long-suffering expression. “Of course he can go in.”

  “But Captain—” the guard tried to protest, but the captain elbowed him sharply.

  “You must forgive him, your highness. He was an excellent soldier, but he isn’t good at thinking for himself.”

  “No harm done.” Vivi smiled sweetly at the two men before her. “Now, if you gentlemen could just step aside?”

  “Finally,” Robin growled, and stalked his way into the tent.

  The tent was bare, except for the pole that supported the peaked roof. To that pole was chained the washerwoman. The ground beneath her was soaked dark with fresh blood, which had poured from her throat after it had been slit ear to ear.

  ***

  Anders picked up the picnic basket from where he’d placed in on the small table.

  “If you will not have a care for yourself, then let me take care of you.”

  He was so sweet, and so sympathetic, the smile that Bianca had been trying for finally made an appearance. “Alright. But I’m not sure I can eat.”

  “Just try a piece of fruit.” He held the basket out to her temptingly. “The apples are delightfully crisp.”

  She picked up one of the firm, red apples, and gave him a teasing look. “You’re going to feel dreadfully bad if this makes me ill.”

  He grinned at her. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.”

  ***

  Robin flew through the camp, his feet barely touching the earth. He dodged around horses and men with inhuman grace, not caring if he drew attention. Behind him he heard Vivienne and the guards raise a cry, as they, too, saw the murdered woman, but he could not wait for them. Anders had been holding the washerwoman. Anders, who claimed the woman would tell them nothing. Anders, who must have slit her throat just before coming to Bianca’s tent.

  Anders. Who was alone with Bianca, even now.

  Ahead he could see Bianca’s tent. He began screaming her name, hoping she could hear. His heart almost stopped when he saw her emerge from her tent, unharmed, but he continued on his beeline towards her. She looked at him quizzically, and absentmindedly lifted the apple in her right hand, taking a large, juicy bite.

  “No!” Robin knocked the rest of the apple from her hand, but it was too late. Bianca collapsed in his arms. He cradled her head, calling her name, begging her to open her eyes, but she lay unmoving. Her door flap drew back, and Robin raised his eyes to see Anders, crouched in the shadow of the tent.

  “It’s a shame, really.” His mocking voice drifted out to Robin. “I would have been such a good king.” Even as he spoke the words, his body faded. The flap fell through the space where his hand had held it only a moment before, sending a few tiny swirls of mist out to melt away in the bright sunlight.

  Robin heard shouting all around, but could not bring himself to understand it. When arms tried to take Bianca from him, he fought them, until he heard Connelly’s voice, soothing him.

  “Let me take her, lad.”

  Hands helped him up, and he stumbled into the tent. He saw Connelly before him, laying Bianca on her cot, and he heard Vivienne weeping as she crowded in behind him. Dimly he realized she must have fetched the medic, and he was grateful to her, but he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from the beautiful woman lying so pale and still, like death had already claimed her.

  Connelly smelled her breath and felt her pulse. He looked into each eye, moving a candle before them. Without ever taking his consideration off of her, he reached into his medicine bag and pulled out a coneflower root and some dried chamomile flowers, and thrust them into Vivienne’s hands.

  “Boil water. Steep these. Bring the tea.”

  The princess hastened to do as she was bid, while Connelly placed his hands on Bianca’s chest and closed his eyes. Robin hovered over the old medic, feeling helpless.

  “Can you save her?”

  Connelly’s eyes never opened, but his voice was uncharacteristically curt. “I canna say.”

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her?”

  “I dinna ken yet, lad, but every moment I spend in talkin’ is a moment she slips farther away.”

  At first it seemed as though nothing was happening. Connelly’s hands stayed firmly rooted over Bianca’s breastbone, fingers laced together, palms pointed down. Robin bit his tongue, forcing the questions back down his throat. He didn’t need answers. What he needed was for Bianca to open her eyes.

  After a moment he blinked. Connelly’s hands were glowing. Robin concentrated, and realized that he was seeing the guiding lights, but not the tiny motes he was used to glimpsing. Connelly had distilled them down, condensing them into a mass that rested against Bianca’s chest.

  Robin watched, and saw the lights dip down into Bianca’s body, then emerge once more coated in an evil grey muck. At least, that was how Robin saw it. Perhaps Merriweather could have seen more, had she been there. The muck roiled along the surface of the golden energy, and then dripped off, darting back to Bianca’s chest and burrowing back inside. Again and again Connelly delved his energy into Bianca’s core, and again and again the evil muck would rise to the surface, only to slip free and invade her body.

  Vivienne returned, bearing a cup of the steeped remedy, and stared at the old medic’s hands.

  “What is he doing?” she whispered.

  “I do not know.” Robin felt as though he was speaking from far away.

  “Is it working?”

  “I do not know.” It was like a wall of ice encased him. “But I fear it is not.”

  Connelly’s own chest was heaving now, and pe
rspiration stood on his wiry forearms. His hands trembled where they rested against Bianca’s chest, and the golden mass of light moved slower and slower with each attempt to pull the grey muck free.

  At last he groaned and tensed his whole body. The light dipped down one last time, and then rose. Up and up, higher and higher, struggling to keep the grey matter from Bianca’s skin. Connelly let out a shout, and the motes broke apart, diving down towards Bianca. The grey muck fell behind them, reaching tendrils down, but the golden motes, driven by Connelly’s will, were faster. They reached Bianca first, and spread out, coating her skin, creating a thin barrier over her whole body. The grey muck battered against the golden armor, but could find no point of entry. Instead it too spread, forming a second grimey layer above the golden one.

  Connelly dropped his hands to his side. Then he bowed his head and slumped his shoulders.

  “No.” Robin whispered it.

  “I’m sorry, lad.”

  “No.” He said it again, as if that would make it true.

  “I canna heal her. At best I kin keep it from her fer a time. ‘Tis possible there’s a mortal remedy. But the hope is small. I dinna think an herb grown ‘neath the mortal moon kin heal a curse twisted in the mists.”

  “What of the other Fae?” Robin reached down and grabbed the old medic, heedless of his obvious exhaustion. “Is there one that might heal her?”

  “In all the mists? Ta be sure, lad. But ye could’na find a one that would do so.”

  “Why not?” Vivienne was indignant.

  “‘Tis a powerful act of magic, ta drive the curse out with a flood o’ the lights. It canna be hidden with mortal fripperies.” He gestured at the cooling cup in Vivienne’s hands on the word fripperies. “‘Twould break the accords, not jest bend ‘em.”

  Vivienne looked like she had taken a blow to the stomach, and she set the cup down on the small table with a thunk. “How long will she live, beneath—this?” She gestured weakly to Bianca.

  “I canna say.” Connelly sighed in weariness. “A day? A week? Mayhap but a few hours. The curse is strong.”

  Robin sank to his knees at Bianca’s bedside. He dimly heard Vivienne break into racking sobs, but he couldn’t take it in. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  Bianca was going to die.

  Chapter 34

  Vivienne’s feet were heavy as she mounted the hastily erected platform in front of the city walls. Bianca’s followers had all wanted to witness Brannon’s capitulation, so they had built the wooden structure to elevate the proceedings, making it visible to all those assembled.

  Curious eyes rested on her, once she stood atop the stage. They had been expecting Bianca, so that Brannon could be presented before her. Instead, there was Vivienne, standing alone, without even Fain to bolster her. He had not been able to face the crowd, in his grief over his sister, but Vivi knew someone must bear this burden, so she had come. She felt her tears return, and did not even try to check them. What did a few tears matter, in the face of the news she was tasked with delivering?

  “My friends…” Her voice, normally so clear and strong, was choked with anguish. She swallowed hard and tried to go on with her speech. It was a good speech, one that would soothe their hearts and try to keep them on the path that Bianca had wanted for them, but Vivi couldn’t make it. Her soul was too heavy, and her heart was too broken. She could not make a speech. So she gave them truth, instead.

  “Our beloved Bianca is dying.”

  ***

  Robin heard the gasps from the crowd, filtering into the tent. He sat on the cot beside Bianca, holding her hand, while her cousin made the announcement of her impending demise. He felt removed from time, distanced from the world. As Vivienne continued speaking, he heard the gasps turn to cries of disbelief, and each one seemed like an echo of his own heart. He could not believe that she was going. Could not accept that she would soon be gone. Instead he sat and held her hand, as though that physical connection would keep her in the land of the living.

  Connelly sat with him. The medic made no further attempt to help Bianca, but neither had he shown any sign of leaving. Instead he perched on the stool, back slumped with weariness, but constant in his presence. Robin supposed he would have been grateful for the company, had he been able to feel anything at all, but he felt nothing.

  Nothing but emptiness.

  ***

  The crowd was in turmoil. Vivi watched them, uncertain of how to comfort the teeming sea of people. There were too many of them, full of the first throes of grief and pain. She tried to find the words to reach their hearts, but was at a loss. And then, into that moment, so fraught and strained, a kindling spark was thrown.

  The city gates opened, and Brannon emerged.

  The crowd saw him. Vivienne had not laid the blame for Bianca’s poisoning at his feet, but he had caused all of them too much harm for the people not to reach their own conclusions. Vivi could see the ripple move through the crowd as their grief turned to rage, and that rage was aimed at the fallen king. The mob turned, and one by one they cried out—for justice, for reparations, for blood to be paid—throwing their screams of loss and anger at the man being led from the city in iron chains.

  Vivienne watched them turn and surge across the plain. She couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t even fault them. She wanted an outlet for her pain as much as any of them. She blinked away her tears and watched helplessly as they bore down on Bianca’s father.

  ***

  “Her people are goin’ mad.” Connelly spoke quietly from his place on the stool. “I dinna think ‘tis what the lass would want.”

  “No.” Robin felt as though his lips were made of wood.

  “‘Tis a shame, when she worked so hard fer peace, ta have it all end in violence.”

  “A shame?” Finally, Robin felt something. A shard of emotion. A spark of anger broke its way through the fog that surrounded him. “The shame is that she lies here, instead of standing before that crowd. The shame is that she will never have the chance to complete the work she chose for herself, to guide her people to a greater peace and justice.” As he spoke the words they fanned the spark of anger, and it caught, blazing up. “The shame is that she was not allowed to live her mortal life, unhindered by immortal interference!”

  Connelly sighed, as Robin’s anger seemed to sap the last of his strength. “Yer not wrong, lad.”

  “Why, Connelly?!” Robin had lost himself in his rage, as fully as the crowd outside. “Why is this allowed? This curse,” he spat out the word, drawing his hand through the grey muck that coated Bianca’s still form. “Anders was a Fae. He has violated the accords. Why must we let her die, rather than save her? Why? Where is the justice in that?”

  Connelly pulled himself from the stool, and moved to take Robin by the shoulders, forcing him to turn away from Bianca. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Sometimes there is’na justice, lad. Sometimes the darkness wins.”

  ***

  There was a rider on a horse, galloping recklessly, pulling in front of the crowd. Vivienne wiped the tears from her eyes, and squinted, trying to see. A mass of golden curls sat atop the rider’s head, but aside from that she would not have known Felix. There was a look of determination on his face that she had never seen before.

  He rode until he was half way between the advancing mob and the chained king. Then he reined up, stood in the stirrups, and threw his hands high in the air.

  “STOP!” The word came out as a bellow, and the crowd stumbled, surprised out of their headlong advance.

  “You cannot do this!” Felix’s face was red from crying, but his voice was clear, and it carried out across the masses. “You cannot do this to Bianca!”

  The people in the crowd had confused looks on their faces, but Felix wasn’t done.

  “Our queen came here to build a new kind of kingdom. She didn’t come for the power, or the glory. All she wanted was a chance to touch your lives, to reach out to you, to help you make Toldas in
to a land that cherished her people.” Felix stretched his hands out to the crowd, pleading with them to listen. “You cannot christen this glorious new kingdom with vengeance. Not while Bianca lies dying. Not when she would have begged you to reconsider.”

  Felix’s words fractured the mob. Some of the people had been swayed, but others still wanted to tear Brannon apart. The crowd swayed back and forth, torn by indecision, until one old man limped his way to the front. He leveled one gnarled finger at the king, and scowled.

  “We want justice, boy. Justice from that man.”

  “And you will have it.” Felix spoke with all the sincerity in his young, pure soul. “Brannon will be tried by Toldas, and sentenced by Toldas, and, at last, brought to justice by Toldas.” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and he did not bother to wipe them away. His emotions overcame him, and his voice broke as he spoke his final words. “It is what Bianca would have wanted.”

  ***

  Robin pulled free from Connelly’s grasp, turning back to Bianca. Behind him, the old hob sighed, and shuffled to the tent flap, peering out at the events unfolding outside. Robin picked up Bianca’s hand and cradled it in his own. It was still warm, and for a moment he imagined it growing cold and lifeless, when the curse finally wreaked its evil purpose. It was like a dagger twisting in his guts, but he couldn’t stop himself. He imagined her lips, so red and full, losing their hue as they slowly faded to the same pale white as her skin, and her sounding hollow and empty, without the reverberation of her heart within.

  Connelly cleared his throat, breaking through the macabre torture his mind was offering up. “Ye need ta bring her out now, lad.”

  “What?” Robin was startled.

  “They need ta see her. Ta say goodbye.”

  Robin’s head was screaming that he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say goodbye. But his body stooped down and lifted Bianca’s body up, cradling it against his chest.

  He made his way out of the tent, leaving Connelly behind him. His feet felt like lead as he walked to the wooden platform. Vivienne saw him coming, and one hand flew to her mouth, but she backed to one side of the stage, giving him plenty of room to bring up his burden.