Charming, Volume 2 (17 page)

Charming stopped as fear gripped his heart.

Gwendolyn said, “Drop the sword and back away. My wedding will continue. I will be queen.”

Charming's blade dropped to the ground with a ringing clatter. “Please don't hurt her.”

“You are in no position to make petitions. I may choose to be merciful. After all, she is going to be my sister, but if you try anything, you will force my hand.”

“Don't. If you are going to kill anyone, kill me. This was my plan. I made them come along. They had no choice. After all, I am, or I was Prince Charming.”

“I will be glad to have the guards take you to the dungeons. We can discuss the penalty for your treachery later.” Several of the frozen guards stiffly stepped forward.

STANDING JUST TO
Gwendolyn's side, Will thought,
It can't end like this. Someone has to do something. I have to do something
.

He could feel Gwendolyn's anger at Charming roil across their bond. She was distracted and her control had slackened a fraction. He shifted his eyes down to the knife in Gwendolyn's shaking hand. The vision of the blade held against his sister's throat, the anger and fear, boiled his blood. He shifted his eyes again, and focused all of his thought, all of his will on one goal—­the orb. The magic bond stretched and then something broke, and his hands lashed out like a loosed arrow. He did not see, but felt, the cool of the glass orb against his palms, and with instinctive bestial violence, he ripped it out of Gwendolyn's hand.

In an instant, the thoughts of a hundred minds crashed against him like a wave and then receded as the room sprang back to life. Elle and Liz stirred at his feet, the gathered crowd erupted into noise, the priest and several of the bridesmaids fainted dead away, and somewhere in the turmoil, Gwendolyn screamed.

A musical tinkling voice seemed to float down to Will from somewhere up near the ceiling.
I bid thee good day, King William, and offer unto thee riches beyond thy wildest dreams if thou will free me from this prison of glass.

He saw a vision of himself sitting atop a pile of treasure surrounded by beautiful courtiers of immodest dress. Will shook his head and whispered, “I don't understand.”

I am a fairy Queen. Princess Gwendolyn caught me by magicks dark and powerful and imprisoned me in this bottle. If thou free me, I shall give thee anything thy heart could wish for, and I shall make sure that her punishment is terrible, indeed.

Once more, images formed—­unbidden—­in Will's head. He saw Gwendolyn locked in a dark place of shadows and specters, wailing in fear and pain, her body twisted and bent, her face an unspeakable abomination. Some part of him thrilled at the idea of her humiliation.

Trust this to me, Great and Terrible King, when I am done with her
, no one will ever dare to defy thee.

Will felt a tendril of power reach out from the ball toward the Princess. Though nothing visible happened, Gwendolyn shrieked and fell back as though struck by a whip. Her face was a mask of fear. A half-­ring of nobles and footmen, all victims of Gwendolyn's manipulations, surrounded the dais, screaming for her blood. Charming, sword drawn and a trickle of something dark staining the side of his doublet, stood between the mob and the Princess. It was a horrible scene, made worse because it seemed to Will that even the shadows of the room were stretching forward to surround the Princess, pulling at her hair and clawing at her face.

Thou canst do more, Great Lord. I can make her feel anything thou dost desire. Would thou wish for her to burn alive?
Gwendolyn screamed again, a long horrifying cry of pain, and collapsed onto the floor

“SILENCE!” Will roared.

A sudden hush filled the chapel. The mob, even Charming, fell to their knees and bowed their heads. Liz and Elle knelt beside Gwendolyn's sobbing body. Will looked about in bewilderment, wondering if perhaps the King had made some signal, but the King was on his right, bowing along with the others.

Finally, Will turned to the King, “What is happening, Your Majesty? Why is everyone kneeling?” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Tell me what is going on?”

“You are our liege, King William,” answered Rupert, his head still bowed so that he addressed the carpet at his feet.

Will shook his head and felt the weight of the crown atop his head. He put a hand to his brow and caressed the cold metal of the jeweled circlet, and then pulled it away as if it had burned. “No. This cannot stand.” He approached King Rupert, his hands outstretched. “You must not bow to me. The crown was not given willingly. You are the King. The crown is still yours.”

Rupert looked up and shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. I have relinquished my rule, and you have been crowned. That is all that matters. There is no requirement that a crown be given willingly. If it were, the history of this kingdom and many others would be far different.”

Will spun and rushed to Charming's side. He grasped the man by the shoulder and tried to pull him to his feet, but Charming would not rise. Will put a hand to his head, removed the gleaming circlet, and offered it to him. “Prince Charming, you are the rightful heir to the throne. The crown should be yours not mine.”

Charming, eyes cast down on the stones at his feet, shook his head. “I am disowned, not even a noble, Your Majesty. I am simply Edward Michael Charming, nothing more. I swear my fealty to you, and offer my sword to you in any cause you deem just.” With a cough of pain, Charming laid his blade at Will's feet.

Will stumbled away from the sword as though it was a snake. He spun and found himself face-­to-­face with Liz and Elle. “Tell them, Liz, Lady Rapunzel, tell them that I am not the King. This is madness.”

Elle kept her gaze on the floor and would not speak, but Liz raised her eyes to meet his and smiled sadly. Will's legs went out from under him, and he sat heavily on the top stair of the dais. “I don't know what to do. Liz, what do I do?”

Despite herself, she clucked her tongue in irritation. “How should I know? You might give us leave to rise . . . Your Majesty.”

“Yes, of course. You may rise,” he said. The crowd of nobles stumbled to their feet and the footmen returned to their posts against the walls of the room. He looked back to his sister, “What next?”

Will saw Liz's lips draw into a thin line and waited for a sharp retort, but Elle slipped her hand over Liz's wrist. The two exchanged a glance in the inscrutable way of women, but Will noted that Elle's eyes went to his crown, then Liz's followed. Liz made a quick nod of her head.

Liz looked down at her feet and shrugged. “I have never been anything more than the mistress of a farm, and a poor one at that.” Then with a sideways glance at the former king, she added, “This is beyond me.”

He followed her gaze, and a sudden light shone in Will's eyes. “King—­I mean, Lord Rupert?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” he said.

Will hesitated, but realized that if he was the King he needed to act and sound like a King. “I seek your counsel. What should my first act as King be this day?” He thought that sounded kingly.

Rupert considered the matter and then glared at the Princess and said, “Your Majesty, it is my counsel that your royal judgment be meted out on Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair, for her crimes against the Crown.”

A murmur of assent rose from the gathered nobles.

William looked at the Princess, a dark spot on the floor where the shadows lay most heavily. His heart ached. She was deathly pale and her face was heavily lined with grief and fatigue. In her despair, she reminded him more of the girl he had found in the dark tower than the cold, proud woman who had enslaved him. A deep sadness washed over him.

“So be it,” he said. “If that is what is required, then that is how we shall begin.”

 

Chapter 11

A Fairy's Tale

WILL SAT HEAVILY
on a high-­backed chair, his crown forgotten in one hand, and the glowing glass ball clutched in the other. His face was a blank, but inside his head he was listening intently to a gleeful fairy listing all of the crimes committed by the Princess in her sad life. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Rupert bark, “Seize the prisoner.”

Two grim-­faced, pink-­clad guards grabbed the Princess—­a black stain in Will's eyes—­and dragged her down to the foot of the dais, holding her arms roughly behind her back. He waved his crown at them. “Release her!”

They released her, but the shadows did not. She stood before him, swaying slightly, her arms still outstretched, suspended by the dark hands. Will chewed on his thumb and stared, lost in the memory of the tower and kissing her. From somewhere behind him, he heard Liz murmur something about his posture. He straightened himself with a start and reluctantly placed the crown on his head.

The fairy spoke to him, whispering royal words in his mind.
Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair stands accused of using dark magicks to bewitch, control, and enslave persons too numerous to mention, and plotting to depose the rightful King of this land. . .

He almost repeated the words without thinking, but then Gwendolyn raised her eyes to meet his and he saw such despair and hopelessness. He murmured words only he and the fairy would hear: “What are these dread shadows that surround her?”

They are the echoes of her cursed wish
, the fairy said with gleeful malice
. She awoke before her time, and now they try and drag her back into their dreams.
I can control them, if that is thy wish.

Without warning, one of the shadows struck Gwendolyn. She convulsed and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. A drop of crimson stained the corner of her mouth.

Will glared at the glass orb, enraged. When he spoke, it was in a thunderous voice. “ENOUGH! Fairy, make them stop. Tell these shadow demons to release her this instant.”

The shades withdrew reluctantly, and Gwendolyn took a shuddering breath of relief. Behind him, Rupert whispered, “Your Majesty, are you well?”

“Yes, of course. They were being cruel, and I had to stop them,” he said distractedly.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty, but I see only the Princess.”

The gathered nobles stared at Will, shaking their heads and murmuring. He thought,
Fairy, are the shadows visible only to me?

Yes, Your Majesty
came the smug response.

But, why?
he asked silently.

Because thee now control the orb.

And why do they torment her? Is she not free from her curse?

No, Your Majesty.
Thy kiss only brought her to this half-­waking state
.
The truth is, her current madness is partly of thine own making.

The horror of the fairy's words struck Will like a thunderbolt. His rage at the creature returned, and aloud he shouted, “FAIRY, I COMMAND YOU TO REVEAL YOURSELF.”

There was a pause during which the fairy made many excuses for why this was impossible, and the murmuring among the gathered nobility rose and several actually shuffled back away from the front of the room in fear. Will's face grew red and he barked, “I care not for your magical limitations, Fairy, do what you must. It is my command!”

There was a disturbance, like a gentle breeze in the air above the chapel, and the dust motes filtering through the rays of the afternoon sunlight tumbled and spun. The wind increased and they coalesced into the shape of a semi-­transparent winged woman whose naked body shimmered with the shifting of the glittering particles. Accompanied by the distinct smell of nutmeg, she floated down along the slanting beam of light to land next to a now deathly pale Gwendolyn.

There were screams and gasps from the nobles. Will averted his eyes from the fairy's unclad form. “Would it be possible for you to clothe yourself, Fairy?”

The fairy bowed. “As Your Majesty commands.” Another gust of wind blew through the open doors of the chapel, pushing before it in a great cloud the flower petals that carpeted the floor. They rose and swirled around the fairy in a multicolored storm, and when the tempest died, the fairy was clad in a flowing gown of pink and red and white petals.

Will looked at her and frowned. “Fairy, explain why it is that the Princess is still cursed.”

The fairy hovered a few feet off the ground now, her face alive with mirth. “Because thee did not love her, Your Majesty.”

Will paused, trying to recall the curses in every fairy tale he had ever learned. “Tell me, exactly, why did you curse her?”

The fairy smiled at him as though he were a simpleton. “Her curse was borne of her own wish, Your Majesty, or rather, her many wishes. She didst wish that her beloved sister would never marry Rupert, and that he would love her instead. Since I did not have the power to replace Rupert's love for her sister, it was necessary to remove her sister entirely. Death is the only cure for true love.”

A sob broke the silence that followed. Gwendolyn was on her knees crying. From beside him, Will heard Rupert murmuring, softly at first and then with increasing volume, “no, No, No, No, NO! This is why my Rosslyn died, because of you?”

Gwendolyn looked up at him atop the dais, hands outstretched, pleading, “I swear, I did not mean any of this to happen. Rupert, you must believe me, I . . . I was a child, a fool.”

Rupert did not seem to hear her pleas. His face twisted with anger, and he rushed down the stairs and drew back his hand to strike her down, but Charming was suddenly at his side. He grabbed his father's arm before the blow could land and pushed him back away from Gwendolyn. “Father, we are in no position to judge her. Our own crimes against the Princess are manifold.”

Rupert looked at Charming, and for a moment hatred blazed there and he again drew his hand back, this time to strike his son. Charming did not flinch, nor try to defend himself, and his father's body seemed to collapse in on itself. Rupert dropped his hand, and choked, “I have other wrongs to ask forgiveness for, including those I have committed against you, son.”

Charming embraced his father. “We are beyond that now. Your embrace is enough forgiveness for me, as I hope mine is to you.” They held each other silently for a time, for the first time.

Embarrassed to witness such a private moment, Will turned his, and in turn the court's, attention back to the fairy. “I still do not understand, Fairy. If Princess Gwendolyn's wish was to replace her sister in all things, then why did you prevent her from becoming queen? Why have you entrapped her in sleep all these years?”

The fairy blinked at him and tilted her head to one side as though confused. “That was but the first wish, Your Majesty. She also wished to be remembered above all other princesses, so I swept her away to become the prisoner of the dragon and the princess of legend. And then there was her final wish”—­the fairy giggled, making a sound like tiny bells—­“that she would find true love. Alas, true love is beyond the power of a fairy to grant. So, I didst preserve her until true love came, and she must still wait. I cannot help it if an unfulfilled wish has driven her to near madness. Enchantments are trying burdens on mortal souls.”

Will furrowed his brow at the fairy's laughter. “Let us return to the question of my kiss. Why was I not able to wake her from this madness?” He gestured at the shadows that were hovering in the darkness of the vaulted ceiling, held at bay by his command.

“As I said, thou do not love her, Your Majesty. Not truly. Without true love, the curse of her wish cannot be broken and she is still under its power.”

Will started to protest, but stopped. It was true. He had never really thought for a moment about who Gwendolyn was beyond his imaginings of her from the story. He had loved the idea of the Princess, not the girl herself.

The fairy either read his thoughts or the sadness in his face, because she said in that same whimsical voice, “Do not be disappointed in thyself, Your Majesty. No one has ever loved Princess Gwendolyn, not Rupert, not his son Edward, and not thee.”

She made an exaggerated frown at the Princess and said mockingly, “Poor unloved and unlovable little princess, thou would have been better to stay in thy cage.”

Something snapped in Will as he watched the fairy mocking Princess Gwendolyn. He stood and bellowed, “THAT IS ENOUGH, FAIRY!”

The entire court, and even the fairy herself, shrank back from the intensity of his anger. He pointed a quivering hand at the sprite. “Your casual mockery of Princess Gwendolyn's suffering and the curse she has been placed under has made clear to my mind one thing: The Princess may have opened the door that allowed you into our fair kingdom, but it is your agency that has caused our suffering.”

The fairy smiled mockingly and seemed prepared to argue, but Will overrode her, saying fiercely, “It was your twisting of a young girl's love wish that brought about the death of Princess Rosslyn. It was your cruel trickery that then denied King Rupert and Princess Gwendolyn their own chance to be together, and sentenced her to a life of imprisonment. And it was your callous disregard for all, save your own malevolent amusement, that brought the dragon down upon us to terrorize this kingdom. Princess Gwendolyn may have wronged the Crown and those in this room, but you set upon us a never-­ending nightmare, and, as your crimes are the greater, justice demands that you be judged first. After all, it isn't always the man that throws the first punch that starts the fight.”

Will heard Liz groan behind him and realized that he had just quoted Prosper's town drunk. He swallowed, trying to compose himself. “So, um, let's begin.”

The fairy's elfin features clouded with anger, and the sparkling light in her face darkened as she seemed to draw the shadows floating above into herself. “Judge me?” she shouted. “Thou wouldst dare judge me? Thou, who art King only because of the treachery of this vile woman and thine own lies?”

The court rumbled a protest at this attack on their new King's honor, and the fairy spun on them. “Know, gathered nobles, that thy King, who darest to wear the label ‘dragon slayer,' did not raise a hand against the beast.”

She spun back to Will and dropped her voice to a hissing whisper that nevertheless carried to every corner of the chapel: “Say that it is not so.”

“It is the truth,” he said in an even voice. This made the crowd mutter. Rupert gave him a warning glance, but Will stood and looked out over the gathering. “The dragon's death was an accident, but it was a most fortunate accident for this land and its ­people. I, for one, will accept the providential nature of the beast's passing with gratitude, and I will measure my small contribution to the creature's death against any other's, save, perhaps, my sister's.”

A heartbeat of collective hesitation passed, and Will knew that his reign as King would either end here or . . .

Someone in the back, that Will would later swear sounded a bit like the Scarlet Scoundrel, shouted, “We're with you, King William, every man jack of us!” A general roar of approval sounded at this, and the nobles and footmen stood together and began a chant of “Long live the King! Long live King William . . .”

Will let the warm embrace of the crowd wash over him and smiled, then gestured for quiet again. The crowd settled, and his face grew stern once more. “I have been judged, Fairy, and am pleased to say have been reprieved.”

The fairy extended a long glittering finger from beneath the flowing sleeves of the flowered gown to point at Will. “So, dost thou now consider thyself worthy to sit in judgment of me?”

A flash of inspiration came over Will, and he said with a dangerous smile, “No, Fairy, not I.”

But the fairy did not seem to see, or at least did not heed, the warning sign. Instead, she stared hard at him and continued to speak over a rising rumble of voices in the gallery. “If not thee, then who? Sad old Rupert, naughty little Edward, perhaps thy domineering sister, or thy ill-­tempered, ill-­mannered wench Rapunzel?”

“Be very careful with your next words, Fairy, you tread on dangerous ground,” Will said, gripping the chair arm so tightly that the wood popped under the strain of his anger.

“No, Your Majesty, it is thee that treads upon dangerous ground,” the fairy said, her voice dead and hollow. “Thou dost not know what powers thee trifle with. Knowest now that I canst not be bound by any law of man, and I willst not submit to this mortal tribunal.”

Will smiled grimly. “You are right, Fairy. I do not know the limits of your powers, or how our mortal judgment might be brought to bear against you. Fortunately, I will not be the one to make those decisions.”

He took a moment's pause to calm his nerves and commit himself fully to the course he'd chosen. Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “No, Fairy, the one who will judge you will be Gwendolyn Mostfair.”

“Gwendolyn Mostfair!” sputtered the fairy in rage.

“Yes, Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair,” he said again, and the word echoed about the chamber. “I appoint you to be this creature's judge.”

Several gasps came from the crowd. The Princess looked up at him with wide eyes. “I don't understand.”

Will descended the stairs to her. “You have wronged me, my sister, and this kingdom, and by all rights I should hate you. But I do not. I see now how much you must have suffered under the fairy's hand, and I see the temptation you must have felt to lash out against those that failed you. I do not justify your actions, but I understand them. I also know that you are the only person here who has managed to impose your will upon the fairy. Consider it part of your penance to me and to this kingdom to devise a means of enforcing our judgment that will keep future generations safe from the fairy's wrath.”