As the Last Petal Falls

by Jessica Woodard

  Fain stopped midway across the floor. Marlplot was free. The soldiers were so drugged that they would never find Vivi, even if he told them where she was. Here, in this very room, was the man who had killed his father, and the prince and rightful heir to the throne. Here was the man who wanted Vivienne’s kingdom for his own, and who had tried to keep her captive. Here was the tyrant who starved his people and stole their children. Why should he walk away? His chance for revenge had finally come.

  Fain’s hand came to rest on his belt knife. The room was full of Brannon’s men, but he was essentially unprotected. One strike with his dagger and the reign of the usurping king would be over. It felt right. It felt like justice.

  “Fain.”

  He heard Vivienne’s soft voice coming from the corridor to the kitchen. A small part of his brain wondered how long she’d been there, but mostly he was focused on the traitor. On the spot between Brannon’s shoulder blades where his knife would drive home.

  “I know you want to do it, love. But you can’t. You can’t put your sister at risk for vengeance’s sake.”

  Bianca would be safer without her father. Fain knew it in his bones.

  “She’d be safe from him, but not from the nobles. Not once they start thinking that they don’t need a puppet from the old bloodline. Not when they can just crown one of their own.” She stepped into the great hall, moving slowly, but making her way unerringly towards him.

  “I could get to Inisle and get her out before anyone knew he was dead.”

  “Could you? And what about the rest of the people, Fain? You can’t take every man, woman, and child out of Toldas. Will you really condemn them all to civil war?” She was almost at his side.

  “He deserves to die!”

  “So he does.” Tears stood out in her eyes, and she laid her hand atop his wrist, just above the hand that was clutching the hilt of his dagger. “But not at the cost of so many other lives.”

  The tears fell, and Fain felt the hot drops on his hand. He sighed, and slowly took his hand off the dagger, lifting it to wipe the tear tracks from Vivienne’s cheeks.

  “Promise me we’ll find a way to make him pay.”

  “I promise. For my mother, and your father, and the people of Dorshire. We’ll find a way. Now, please, please... come with me.”

  Fain turned himself for cibly away from the man he’d sworn to kill. Vivienne clutched the hand on her cheek, uncertainty in her eyes. He took her hands, kissing her fingers gently before drawing them cl ose to his chest. He watched the relief surface, as she realized his decision even before he spoke aloud.

  “Let’s go.”

  As they hurried back to the kitchen they heard the rasp of a sword being drawn from a scabbard. One of the nameless troopers sang out.

  “Watch me dance the Gillie Callum!”

  “You’d need another sword for that.”

  “ I’ll give you another sword!”

  “I’ll give you a whole arsenal!”

  Calls arose, and more swords were drawn. Fain, Vivienne, and John all looked at one another, and then began running for the main entrance as the clang of metal arose behind them.

  They pounded through the gates of the keep, and no voice called out to stop them. Connelly and the Shapherds were waiting for them by the frozen stream. Tonight they would put miles between themselves and the mounted troop, and by the time the men were sober enough to sit a horse, they would be halfway to Albion.

  Connelly put a hearty meat roll into John’s hands, first thing. “Eat that, lad, ye look like the blaggards only fed ye enough for two men, when any fool can see ye need twice that much.” Then he handed out their traveling packs and whistled sharply.

  A wolf howled long in the distance.

  Fain started as he realized something. “They aren’t coming, are they?”

  “Nay, lad. They’d not do well in a city. For that matter, I’ll not do well in a city, but for ye an’ the bonny lass here, I’ll risk it.” He winked broadly. “Dinna worry, man. The wolves will always be here, if ye wish ta return. For now, yer place is with the Princess.” Connelly trudged off through the snow to pace beside Marlplot.

  Fain turned to Vivienne.

  “Come on, Princess, let’s get you home.”

  “I can’t wait for you to meet my father.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll like me that much.”

  “Trust me. He’ll hate you. But he’ll get over it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Christopher Maximillian Wellesley threw his cravat on the floor in annoyance.

  “Blast these things! Why can’t you make them go out of fashion?”

  “Because, Max,” his wife, Ella, explained as she patiently picked up a fresh cravat and began tying it for him, “as long as the king insists on wearing one, there is only so much a simple seamstress can do.”

  Max snorted, but held still while she finished the intricate pleating. “Why do you think he’s summoned me?”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess. You’ve been unwelcome in the Palace for so long. Could he have word from Vivienne?”

  “With the snows still so deep? Unlikely. I suppose I’ll just have to go find out.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “I think that’s only likely to increase his ire, sweetheart.”

  “Good point.” Ella stood back and surveyed him with a critical eye. “Well, he won’t find fault with your dress, at least. You look wonderful.”

  “Wonderful enough for a trip to the attic?” Max waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Fool. If we went to the attic, you would be monumentally late.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps when you come home, though.”

  He laughed and swooped in for a kiss, before running for the door.

  “I’m already going to be monumentally late. Perhaps he’ll forgive me when he sees how masterfully my cravat is tied.”

  “Flatterer.” Ella spoke lightly, but frowned as her husband thundered down the stairs. Why on earth was the king summoning him now?

  Max paused outside the throne room. He was about to notify the majordomo of his presence so he could be announced, but winced instead. No matter the reason he had been summoned, the king was clearly in a state. His raised voice could be heard through the massive wooden double doors.

  “...irresponsible stunts you could possibly have pulled! I have half a mind to strip your title from you, young lady, since you clearly care for it not one whit. “

  Max started. Aside from himself, he only knew of one other person to whom King Regal spoke in such a fashion. Instead of waiting to be introduced, he shouldered open one heavy door and ran into the throne room.

  “Vivienne?!”

  The woman who turned looked nothing like the girl who had run away. His carefully coiffed, gowned, and jeweled friend was gone. In her place stood a woman dressed in what looked like a page’s outfit, bundled in layers of dirty wool, with hands cracked from the cold and hair snarled into a ragged mess. But the smile that lit her face when she caught sight of him—that was the same.

  “Max!” She ran across the throne room, heedless of her father’s rant, and threw her arms around his neck.

  “When did you get here?”

  “Just now! Father’s been busy enumerating my sins for me.”

  “Good, maybe now he’ll stop thinking about mine.”

  “ Why, Max! Have you been in trouble?”

  “Oh, just a bit.”

  “Surely not through any fault of mine?”

  “Of course not, your highness. We both know everything that happens is always my fault.”

  The two friends stood grinning at each other until Max heard a throat cleared behind them.

  “Ah, Vivi?”

  “Oh, sorry. Max, I’d like you to meet Fain MacTíre.” She gave an off-handed wave to an imposing man, looming casually at her side. “Fain, this is my best friend, Christopher Maximillian Wellesly. You’ve heard of him. It’s all his
fault we met.” She smiled broadly at both men, and then turned to Max. “Fain and I are going to be married.”

  “What?” Max was startled.

  “ What?! “ King Regal choked out the word.

  Fain gave Vivienne an amused glance. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What, darling?” She turned wide eyes on him, the picture of innocence.

  “Oh, just the small matter that I haven’t asked your father yet.”

  She waved her hand breezily. “ He’s been wanting me to marry for ages. It shouldn’t be a problem.” The king’s face was purple, but he didn’t seem capable of responding yet.

  “And, of course, I haven’t actually asked you yet, either.”

  “Fain MacTíre! Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then, perhaps you are saying that I, the heir to the throne of Albion, am not capable of asking you to marry me ?”

  “I’d never dream of it.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad we’ve settled that.”

  Max coughed in a poor attempt to hide his laughter, and then leaned over and whispered in his friend’s ear.

  “Oh, quite right, Max. Thank you for reminding me.” She turned to Fain and took his hands in her own. “Fain MacTíre, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my husband?” For all the light-hearted teasing in her voice, Max could see the perfect love shining in her eyes. MacTíre’s face softened, and he opened his mouth to respond.

  “ ABSOLUTELY NOT ! “ the king thundered.

  “Father, be reasonable,” Vivi chided.

  “He’s a ruffian!”

  “He’s a lord of Toldas.”

  “He’s an outlaw!”

  “He’s a patriot, free ing the people from the tyrannies of the usurper.”

  “He’s penniless!”

  Vivienne was stumped for a moment, but Fain cleared his throat.

  “Actually, your majesty, my family is quite wealthy. While it’s true that I can’t go home, I’m sure they would be more than happy to support me here in Albion.”

  The king spent a long moment observing the man his daughter proposed to marry. Then he began snapping orders.

  “ You . “ He pointed at Max. “Go home and get your wife; I need her here. You. “ He pointed at Vivienne. “You will go to your room, and you will not stir a step outside its boundaries until I summon you, at which time you had better be prepared to explain yourself, young lady, and I am not jesting. “ Vivienne glowered, but turned on her heel and left as instructed. Max was amazed. For Vivi, that was almost timid.

  “And you. “ This time King Regal’s finger was pointing at Fain. “Sit down, boy. We have a great deal to discuss. I’ve heard about you from my wife.”

  Max felt bad for MacTíre, but the young man seated himself with no visible dismay.

  “Christopher Maximillian Wellesley,” came the king’s irate voice. “Didn’t I just send you on an errand? How is it that you still come to be here?”

  Max sketched a hasty bow, and fled.

  Vivienne had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to wear court dresses. Shortly after she got done throwing pillows, a knock sounded on the door. When Lottie answered it, in came Eleanor Emberton. Or, rather, Vivienne remembered, Eleanor Wellesley. Ella told Vivi what had happened after she left, including the news that she and Max were now married. Vivienne was thrilled for them both, but not so thrilled that she enjoyed what came next.

  “I’ve been summoned to make you presentable.” Ella’s eyes twinkled as she said it.

  “What are you talking about? I have scads of dresses, and Lottie is a wonderful hairdresser. All I really need is an hour or two in the bath.”

  “I’m afraid, your highness, that all your gowns are out of date.”

  “Already?”

  Ella looked smug. “I’ve been busy.”

  And so, while Vivienne bathed and let Lottie exclaim horrors over the state of her snarled hair, roughened hands, and slowly fading bruises, Ella altered one of Vivi’s ball gow ns. The two of them took turns speaking, telling her of all that had occurred while she was gone.

  “...and then Lord Max confessed before the whole court, and your royal father had him locked up!”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He did! Of course, once Mrs. Wellesley, here, went and called him to account, he let Max go again.”

  “Oh Lottie, I hardly think it was all my doing.”

  “All I know, Mrs. Ella, is when the guards came to let me out, they claimed you’d convinced him.”

  “I’m glad he let you go. If it wasn’t treason for Max, then it wasn’t treason for you, either.”

  “Just so, Mrs. Ella, just so.”

  Vivienne had learned, much to her amused relief, that her father had locked Lottie away in Vivi’s own suite, and the maid was now calling those days her “life as a lady of leisure.” Ella had also reassured her that Verit, Wallace, and Martin were fine.

  “The king agreed that you had the right to order your own guard as you saw fit. But he won’t take them on as palace guards. Max has been giving them a place in his own retinue, just until you got back.”

  When she was clean, Lottie laced her tightly into a corset while Ella picked over her jewelry and chose a filigreed amber tiara. Finally, they bo th gathered armfuls of fabric to help her don the gown.

  Vivi had been uncertain about the dress, a heavy silk the color of creamed honey. It was never one of her favorites, but Ella had altered it beautifully. The draping on the wide skirt created graceful scallops, while the off-the-shoulder sleeves showed her neck beautifully. Lottie caught her hair up and then settled the tiara among the soft, black waves. When Vivienne looked in the mirror, she had to admit she was pleased with what she saw.

  But it was still uncomfortable.

  The page came to summon her to her father. Walking the halls of the palace felt unreal, after her months away. It was so distracting that she forgot to be nervous, until she heard the trumpets sound and her name announced outside the grand throne room.

  When the double doors opened, Vivienne gasped. It seemed like the entire court was there. She made her way down the center aisle, nodding graciously to the peers of the realm, and then stopped at the foot of the dais. She swept into a deep curtsy and held it, inches away from the floor.

  “Rise.” Her father’s voice was the one he used for state occasions. She called it his “ pride, pomp, and circumstance “ tone. “And let it be made known to every citizen that we rejoice in the safe return of our beloved daughter and heir, Vivienne Bellicia Victoria.” Vivi’s eyes stung, but she blinked it away. “Come and take your place at our side. Too long has your seat been absent.” She climbed the dais and settled herself into her court chair, beside the throne. While the royal hall buzzed with low comments, Regal leaned towards her.

  “I’m still angry at you, of course.”

  “Of course, Father.”

  “But I am very glad to have you home, Vivienne.”

  “I missed you, too, Papa.”

  The trumpets came again. The king straightened on his throne and cast a sidelong glance at his daughter.

  “Our most noble visitor from Toldas, Lord Fain MacTíre”

  Vivi’s mouth fell open. A man had entered the throne room, but it wasn’t Fain. It couldn’t be Fain. Fain was a ragged, unkempt, wild beast of a man. Handsome, to be sure, but not polished. Not refined.

  This man was the height of fashion. His hair had been washed and dried, and coifed into an elegant tail. His broad shoulders were dressed in a fine silk shirt and a blue tail coat which ended just above his waist. High, tight dress pants encased his legs, and the trim on his jacket and pants matched the gold of Vivi’s dress.

  He approached and bowed before the throne. Regal bid him to rise, and led Vivienne down the few steps until they stood level with Fain. Taking each of them by the hand, he addressed the court.

  “Lord MacTíre has come to beg
for the Princess’ hand in marriage. Having just gotten my daughter back, I was loathe to give her up so soon, but he has assured me that he is willing to wait until such time as I deem appropriate.”

  Vivienne rolled her eyes, and the court tittered.

  Regal placed her hand in Fain’s, and stepped back. Vivi looked at the man beside her. He looked almost like a stranger.

  “Are you as uncomfortable in all this as I am?” His lips barely moved as he murmured to her.

  Vivienne stifled a giggle. “More. I have to wear a corset, too.”

  “We don’t have to go about like this all the time, do we?”

  “Only in public.”

  “Then I suggest we spend a great deal of time in private, Princess.”

  “I agree. Maybe that will help my father speed up the wedding.”

  He smiled down at her, and Vivi’s heart sped faster. Heedless of the watching nobles, or decorum, or even her father, she drew his face down and kissed him.

  The cheers were deafening.

  Epilogue

  Fae Merriweather stood at the crossroads, absently patting Darling Idiot on the neck as she looked around distastefully at the mists that wreathed them both. Her grandson, emerging from the fog, smiled at her display of foul temper.

  “Too late for you to be abroad, Grandmother?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I merely find habitual misting to be irritating. Why must it always be a mist-covered crossroad? Do we not have any pleasant teahouses in Faerie?”

  “I’ve heard Mab keeps a teahouse in her palace, just to be perverse.”

  “That’s the only reason she does anything.” Merriweather focused in on her grandson. “Now, what have you got to report?”

  “Brannon’s mood is worsening. He’s always been crafty; now, at times, he seems almost mad. Ever since he failed to catch Fain, his behavior has been more and more erratic. When he received the official notice of the betrothal between Vivienne and Fain, he had a fit. Actually frothed at the mouth.”