Charming, Volume 2 (12 page)

The confession caught in her throat, and in the next moment the dust cleared. Through the glass she saw the hated fairy. “You,” Gwendolyn hissed. “You think you can manipulate me with these visions?”

The infuriating slow drawl of the fairy whispered out of the air around her. “I assurest thee, Mistress, whatever thou saw in thy globe was a vision of thy own creation. I can do nothing now without thy command.”

Gwendolyn grunted derisively. “It doesn't matter. My control over your powers is increasing. When I possessed the Captain of the Guard, it was almost as though it were my arm swinging his sword. I . . .” Her voice faltered as she recalled the sickening feeling of the blade as it entered Charming's body.

The Princess sank into her chair, letting the orb drop to her lap. She felt tears on her cheeks and wiped them away with a shaking hand. “I don't understand. I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I never meant for anyone to die. It was unreal, like a dream.” She sat up, scattering the shadows to dark corners under the furniture. She took up the orb and shook it again until it clouded over, and the little light inside bounced from wall to wall. “If you are trying to control me, to control my actions . . .”

“ 'Tis not me, Mistress,” said the fairy with a mocking laugh. “I have never been able to control thee. Thou didst release my magick, and now it has brought out thy true self. Thou art the one responsible. Thou art responsible for everything. Thou art guilty, just as thou were guilty when thou killed thy own sister. Ever has it been
thy
will giving form to my magick.”

Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak, but her head was so muddled with plans and stratagems and flower arrangements that it was hard to focus. The fairy was playing with her, or at least the fairy magic was. It was those wishes, wishes of years past, wishes of a jealous scared girl, wishes that had been twisted and mangled and tortured beyond her wildest imagination. A sudden violent wellspring of rage rose up in her and she shook the ball again. “Insolent insect! Whatever you are trying, it won't work. I AM STRONGER THAN YOU!”

Around her, the shadows howled their agreement, and somewhere in another part of her mind she felt Will flex his fingers. She calmed her breathing and rebuilt her walls about him. She trembled, the fairy snickered, and Gwendolyn realized how close she had just come to losing control for the second time that morning.

“I must keep my eyes on you, little bug. I think I shall keep you close to me from now on. No one will get in the way of THIS WEDDING, and that includes you.”

She took a breath, ignoring the wretched sprite's echoing laughter and the shadow creatures' howls of delight, and, tucking the fairy ball away in the folds of her dress, marched out of the room and up the stairs. It was time for the coronation.

With a snap of her fingers and a few thoughts, she had both the King and the Lord Protector leave their rooms, much to the disdain of the Royal Tailor, and knew that the Archbishop would be more than ready to do his part. She had taken control of him earlier that morning. After all, she could leave nothing about her wedding to chance, and the coronation was part of preparing her groom. Without a king to marry, she could not be queen, and that was the point. That was part of her promise.

A passing mirror showed her an old woman—­wan and disheveled. She frowned at her reflection, and after a disconcerting hesitation, her reflection frowned back. With a second thought, Gwendolyn pushed back the time of the coronation: The three men would stand in silence in the coronation chamber—­until her grand entrance. In the meantime, she would summon her handmaidens and let them make certain that she was at her finest before heading to the chapel. Even if the coronation was nothing more than a formality, it was still important to look her best. After all, Will deserved a beautiful woman at his side. If things went to plan, and she was sure they would, eventually he would be her husband and come to love her of his free will. Then she would be able to release him, and they would live happily ever after, on her terms.

A FEW HOURS
later, it came to pass that in the chapel of Castle White, in a tiny cramped room in front of a small handful of courtiers, King William I was given the crown to the Kingdom of Royaume. For those few witnesses in attendance, the ceremony was noteworthy for its brevity and for the impassiveness of all the participants. The crown was placed on King William's head, and he immediately ordered everyone away to prepare for the wedding in that strange stilted monotone he had affected ever since his return to the castle.

AS SHE STRODE
back to her room afterward, surrounded again by the shades that would no longer leave her side, Gwendolyn was pleased that at least one unnecessary distraction had been dispensed with. She turned her attention back to more important matters, like devising a solution to the “moat issue.”

She was so deeply engaged in these thoughts that she failed to consult the glowing crystal ball in her pocket, and so never saw the swirling images formed within of Rapunzel and her huntsman as they moved through a deep forest toward a small cottage in a clearing. Nor would she have much time in the coming days to turn her attention to the fairy's visions, though they had been her life these last few weeks. The wedding was her only focus. She had to make sure that she became queen. Nothing else mattered.

 

Chapter 7

Second Chances

THOUGH WE REMEMBER
fairy tales most for their happily-­ever-­afters, death is everywhere within them. Death stalks openly through the resplendent halls of the grandest of castles to claim king and queen, prince and princess alike. It knocks at the door of the homeliest of huts to embrace peasant and hag and urchin. It takes the old and infirm and wicked, and, far too often, the young and virile and innocent, because every evil stepmother requires a dead mother, and every brave orphan two dead parents. There is always a moment when the candle burns low, spectral hands reach from the shadows, and a curtain falls.

Prince Charming wondered if this was that time in his story. He had no idea of where he was, or even when he was. He felt himself floating in a river beneath soft green and brown trees, whispers of sunlight caressing him as he drifted. At another time, it would have been odd that sunlight could whisper and caress, but here, in this place, it seemed right. A sense of deep peace had settled over him. The thought that repeated itself through his head was:
Elizabeth is safe. Nothing else matters.

A smile warmed him from the inside. Something warm and soft pressed against his lips, and then pulled away.

It was a kiss.

The soft bubbling of the stream became a roar in his ears. He opened his eyes . . . and experienced the rapture of love at first sight for the second time as he gazed upon the loveliest woman he had ever seen. Her skin was alabaster, gently kissed with the blush of the sunrise, and her auburn tresses, though disheveled, fell lightly on her shoulders. This time he knew her name.

“Elizabeth.”

“Charming. You woke up.” She took his hand in hers. He was lying in a small bed in a small room before a roaring fire. Elizabeth sat on a little wooden stool beside him, a pitcher of water on a table beside her and a wet cloth forgotten in her lap.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. “You kissed me,” he said.

She dropped his hand and raised an eyebrow. “No ­couplet.”

“Never again,” he said, shaking his head. “I realize now that ­couplet is shallow and inadequate. You, Elizabeth Pickett, have depths that I can scarcely imagine. I can feel myself drowning when I look into your eyes.”

For reasons that Charming did not quite understand, she sighed and put a finger to his lips. “If you are well enough, we have a lot to talk about. But first, Captain Alain is outside. He will not leave until he has the chance to apologize to you. The man is . . .”

“Honorable?” Charming supplied.

“No, I was going to say a little maudlin.” She turned her head to the door and said in a loud voice, “Charming's awake.”

The door to the room flew open and the captain was there. “I'm so sorry,” he said, and then dropped to a knee and began blathering on about shame and Gwendolyn and sorcery and the humiliation of it all.

“Alain, you have no reason to apologize. I do not hold you responsible for the actions of Princess Gwendolyn.”

Alain released a clump of his hair, which he had started pulling during his long-­winded apology, and swallowed. “Thank you, I just feel the need to explain. You see—­”

He might have gone on again about his youth and his failings, but Elizabeth interrupted.

“Captain!” Her sharp tone silenced the man. More pleasantly, she said, “Please check the clearing. I need to speak with Charming—­alone.”

“As you wish,” said Alain, rising with a bow. He backed out of the room and shut the door.

They sat there in silence, Elizabeth plucking at a cloth in her lap. Despite the constant buzzing in his head and a biting pain in his side, Charming could see that she was troubled. He knew in his heart that it was about his betrayal of her brother. He also knew that he must tell her the whole story, and that once he had, she would likely never wish to speak to him again. His whole being begged him to delay that inevitability, but he would not stay silent any longer.

“I know what is troubling you, Elizabeth,” he said in as smooth a voice as he could muster, given the fear in his heart and the difficulty he was having breathing. “You don't have to pretend to have feelings for me because of my condition. I understand that everything you've done for me, even . . . even the kiss, came from a place of compassion, not love.”

“You know all that, do you?” she said with a frown, her eyes still focused on the cloth she was worrying in her hands. “You know a great deal more of my thoughts and feelings than I do, Edward Charming. What I am thinking and wondering, what I want to know, is whether you meant what you said?”

The time had come at last. Charming swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I betrayed your brother.”

He told her everything, the entire story, even backtracking at one point to discuss the scheme he had dreamt up in the castle to discredit and humiliate her brother by leading him on a series of impossible quests. He talked about the Cooked Goose, and the deal he had made with the villain. He spent much of the time staring at the open window, not daring to meet Elizabeth's eyes. He paused only briefly to catch his breath, and then told her about sending Will off into the arms of the villain's gang.

She listened in silence, but when he finished she only shook her head at his words. “I'm not interested in all that. You may be a fool, Edward, but what I want to know is whether you meant what you said about
me
.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “Do you love me?”

Shocked by the question, he spluttered into speech: “I—­I did, I mean, I do, I . . .” He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “I love you, Elizabeth Pickett.”

“Why? How?” she asked. Tears were forming in her eyes. “And why do you have my other shoe?”

She plucked the glass slippers from under the cloth in her lap and set them, with a high ringing noise, on a little table at his side. Charming's vision blurred and two sets of brown eyes were staring at the sparkling slippers as they recalled the memory of the night at the ball. He looked up at Elizabeth and his heart raced. “I . . . I found it after you fled and took it—­to remember you.”

“No!” she said angrily, dashing the tears from her cheeks in a quick motion with the back of her hand. “At the ball, your eyes were always on the Princess. I saw you watching her while we were dancing. And then you said . . .” She turned her back on him, and her shoulders started shaking.

Charming quailed at the memory of the dance and their fight. Sitting, helplessly watching her cry, he hated himself as he never had before. In a voice thick with remorse and self-­loathing, he spit, “
I was
. . . NO, I
am
a coward, Elizabeth. I—­I—­” Despite his best effort, his voice caught. “I do not expect you to believe me, but it is only a measure of my own weakness that I could not admit, even to myself, my true feelings. Instead, I lashed out, and I am sorry I hurt you. ”

She sat beside him, stiff and rigid and pale. “But, you are supposed to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Elizabeth.”

“How can you not hate me?” She stood and began to pace the room, her voice rising with every word. “My brother and I have lied to you about everything. We are frauds, and we have cheated you out of everything. Because of us, you have lost your rightful place as the kingdom's hero, and now I find you have even lost your place at your father's side. We—­I—­have ruined your life.”

“What are you talking about?” Charming asked, his head swimming in confusion. “You and the Lord Protector have been nothing but kind and generous, despite my unforgiveable behavior.”

Elizabeth's step faltered, and Charming watched as the blood drained from her face and she swayed on her feet. Fearing she would fall, he tried to rise, but the pain in his side tore at him and he dropped back.

“You . . . You don't know.” With a shaking hand, she reached out for the post of the bed to steady herself.

“Elizabeth, come and sit before you fall.”

“Please, give me a moment, Charming,” she said, breathing deeply, her hand gripped about the bedpost like her very life depended on its solidity. “I had thought . . . I assumed my brother had told you. You two have been traveling together for weeks now, and we had agreed that he would tell you.”

Releasing the bedpost, she lowered her arms and held them rigidly at her side. Her face was still pale, but determination had replaced her earlier shock. “I need to confess, Edward. I need to give you the chance to hate me.”

“That's not possible.”

“I'm not sure,” she said. “Just know that I will understand if you do.”

He nodded as a sliver of fear and doubt crept into his heart.

“Will did not kill the dragon.”

She told him everything. Charming stared at Elizabeth in disbelief. The whole story was so improbable, so ridiculous that if she had not been so serious and obviously distressed, he would have believed it all an elaborate joke. And then, he realized that he was not mad at her in the least, and that it was all a joke, the whole thing: the dragon, the Princess, himself. He understood at last what Adam had meant, and he laughed.

He laughed because his whole living memory had been leading to this one moment, this one act, and it had been accomplished at long last by a scarecrow. He laughed at himself and there was joy in the laughter. And then he felt a pull in his side and gasped as a ripping pain radiated through his body.

Elizabeth rushed to his side as he tried to catch his breath through gritted teeth. She put a cool cloth to his head and repositioned the pillow. “I am sorry, Charming. I am so sorry. I understand if you want to be alone . . .”

He reached out and grasped her hand. “Elizabeth, the only thing that matters to me is whether or not you will have me.”

She took a seat beside him on the bed, and her gaze joined his, staring at their entwined hands. “How can this not matter to you? It was
your
dragon.”

He took a moment to collect the threads of his splintered thoughts and bind them together. He attempted an explanation. ­“People have long wondered why I never went after the dragon. I'm sure, living as close to the beast as you did, you wondered the same thing.” He looked and found confirmation in her eyes. “I think it's because the whole quest never made sense to me. The dragon came before I was born and stole away my father's love, and I was to go slay it and wake this woman I had never known with ‘love's first kiss?' I wasn't sure that I could defeat the dragon, come to think of it neither was my father, the King, but I knew that I knew nothing about true love. Now, having met and fallen in love with you, I know that it was never possible. You and your brother didn't steal anything from me that was real. It was all a fabrication. Now, I ask again, can you forgive me for betraying Will?”

“He deserved it.”

Charming blinked twice. “What . . . What do you mean? I betrayed him.”

She rolled her eyes and then began lecturing. “You give yourself too much credit, as usual, and him too little—­perhaps rightly. First, your betrayal was poorly planned and abortive. Second, you'd been brained by a troll. Why on earth he would believe anything you said at that point is beyond me. For the love of life, you tried to warn him almost as soon as the words were out of your mouth. Besides, even if you hadn't warned him, if he had just used the few wits he has, I'm sure he would have seen through the scheme. You were addled, exhausted, and pathetic.”

Charming raised a hand and said softly, “Well, I'm not sure
pathetic
is the word I'd use.”

If Liz heard him, she didn't bother acknowledging him. She stood, put her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling. “He just doesn't think. Going off in the woods with you was stupid enough, but by himself? What if he had run into some highwaymen?”

“Well, I don't think it was stupid, and, as for the highwaymen, he did, sort of . . .”

But she was not to be stopped. She began to pace around his bed. “Did you know that he doesn't even know how to use a sword? His only practice has been with toy sticks and pitchforks.”

“I . . . I'm . . .”

Liz suddenly seemed to realize that Charming was in the room again. She stopped in midstride and looked down at him. “You
what
?”

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “That's all, I'm sorry.”

She pursed her lips and opened her mouth to say something, but then paused. Her face softened and Charming thought that her eyes looked wet. “You are forgiven.”

“Just like that? For everything? Even what I said to you at the ball?” he asked. “I didn't expect, well, I didn't think you could.”

She sat next to him again and placed a warm hand on his cheek. “You think little of me if you believe I cannot forgive a man for not knowing his heart, when it has taken me so long to know my own. I have been cruel and condescending to you at nearly every turn. And, in return, you have been as pompous an ass as ever I have met. My question is, how is it that we have fallen in love?”

He answered with a smile that was pure Charming. “That I can't answer, only maybe we stopped trying not to love each other long enough to fall in love.” And then he realized what was implied in her question. “Wait, does that mean you do love me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her face flushed and she dropped her eyes to her lap.

He tried to rise but could not, so she bent down to him and they kissed—­a slow gentle exchange of breaths. Finally, she broke away, and they sat hand in hand staring at each other, both slightly surprised.

His heart swelled and a ­couplet sprung fully formed into his head. He looked up to the ceiling and opened his mouth to woo her, but something in his movement gave her warning, and she looked at him sternly.