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

by Jessica Woodard

  With True Love’s Kiss

  Jessica Woodard

  Once Upon a Romance Book 3

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  For my brothers, who are never ending founts of love and support, as well as euphemisms.

  Chapter 1

  Bianca ran through the corridors of the palace in Inisle. Courtiers’ startled faces flashed by her as she barreled past them or dodged around those who failed to spring out of her way. Her silk slippers made no sound on the heavy pile of the carpet, and more than one lord never knew she was there until she darted ahead of him, silently intent on her goal. They were left behind, staring at the old leather satchel that jostled against her shoulder blades.

  When she reached her destination she came to an abrupt stop. A guard was posted next to the door, his ornamental spear slanted across it in a silent but clear message. Bianca wasn’t surprised. She knew what orders the king would have given, but she also knew the man standing before her inside the richly enameled armor. So she continued forward, coming to a halt just in front of him.

  His face tightened.

  “Lady Nieve—”

  Bianca cut him off with a gentle gesture. “How is your daughter, Patrick?”

  “She’s doing much better, my lady. My wife and I offer our heartfelt thanks.” Bianca could see the honest gratitude mixed with wariness in his eyes.

  “Has the fever returned?”

  “Only once, and much lower. We gave her the tea again, as you suggested, and now she’s on the mend.”

  “I’m so glad.” She truly was relieved that his daughter was healing well. The girl had been wretchedly sick by the time Patrick’s wife had come to find Bianca, begging for help. Bianca knew her position at court made them hesitant to ask for her help, but still…

  She placed her hand gently on his gauntlet, and looked at him seriously. “Please, Patrick, if she’s ever sick again, don’t wait so long to fetch me. I’m more than willing to help in any way I can.”

  “I’ll remember that, my lady.” He gave her a brief but heartfelt smile.

  “Now, I’m afraid I have another patient to see.”

  “I can’t let you in, Lady Nieve.”

  She ignored what he called her, instead focusing on her very real need to be allowed into the chamber beyond. “Patrick, please. She needs my help.”

  “His majesty—”

  “Doesn’t have to know I was here.” She gazed up at the guardsman, knowing he hated this situation as much as she did. She could see the conflicting emotions on his face. “I swear, I will never tell. And I’ll leave before the shift changes. Please,” she begged, “open the door.”

  Patrick took a long look up and down the empty hallway. Then he sighed, and squared his shoulders, jerking the ceremonial spear out of her way. “Of course, my lady.” His eyes were still worried, but he nodded resolutely and pulled a key from his pocket, handing it to her.

  “Thank you, Patrick.”

  Bianca unlocked the door and gave the key back to him. Then she cracked the door just enough to slip through, and shut it silently behind her. The room was dim, and it took a moment for her mind to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. The lavishly appointed chamber was strewn with feathers and cotton batting, remnants from the shredded bed. The furniture was upended, and the dainty carved chairs had been smashed to pieces, along with the exquisitely gilded writing desk. The fire was smoldering dankly, and Bianca could see a dark liquid had puddled on the edge of the hearth, next to the shattered remains of what had previously been a beautiful glass inkwell. And everything, simply everything, was covered in small, tattered pieces of paper.

  The destruction was shocking, but it was nothing compared to the sight of the woman sitting amongst the ruins of her quarters.

  Isabelle Alaine, Queen of Albion, was a beaten, bloody mess. The skin was split open above her right cheekbone, and blood had poured down her face. Her eye above the rupture was swollen shut, while the other was full of agonized pain. Her bottom lip was cracked and bleeding, and Bianca could see more blood oozing from the corners of her mouth, where Isabelle’s teeth must have cut into the tender flesh on her inner cheek. As bad as her face was, Bianca was more concerned about the damage to the rest of the Queen’s body. Her neck and wrists looked like they had been rubbed raw, and Bianca was willing to bet she would find similar marks on Isabelle’s ankles. Her formerly regal gown had been ripped open in the back; the tight sleeves were the only thing holding it on her body. Bianca eased closer to her friend and winced when she drew close enough to see the wreckage that had been made of Isabelle’s back. Long, parallel sets of gashes tore the skin, each set crossed by another set, and another, and another. What little skin remained unbroken was red and swollen, puffing up angrily between the cruel slashes.

  Bianca swallowed, trying to force her voice out through the lump in her throat. “Isabelle…”

  “He found out.” The Queen’s voice was rough, but Bianca understood her. “I don’t know how, but he found out. He wanted me to tell him how I’m passing information to the rebels.”

  “You didn’t tell him.” It wasn’t a question. Bianca knew that Isabelle would never turn on the people who had aided her all these years. The Queen had built an extensive network of men and women, brave folk who risked their own safety to help others. They dedicated themselves to Isabelle’s work out of duty, but they were also fiercely loyal to her, partly because they knew she would never betray them. The destruction around her suddenly made sense. Brannon must have torn Isabelle’s rooms apart, looking for answers.

  “He beat you for your defiance?”

  “Perhaps.” Isabelle sighed in weariness. “Perhaps he just wanted to do it. Once I would have known my cousin well enough to say, but now…” She trailed off. “I can no longer tell what is ruthlessness, and what is the growing madness.”

  Bianca felt fear well up, but it was familiar to her, and she pushed it aside. It wouldn’t help now. She focused on helping her friend instead, using gentle hands and a calm, soothing voice.

  “Come on, Isabelle. I’ve got to see to your back. Some of these cuts are deep.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” The words came out as a groan, as Isabelle tried to stand and had to be half-carried by Bianca. “He’ll be furious if he finds out you came to me.”

  Bianca knew the truth of that, and inwardly quailed. Still, she tried to speak bravely. “He’s been furious with me since the day he brought me here.” She settled Isabelle on the remains of the bed. “I’m used to his rage.”

  “I don’t want you to suffer for my sake.”

  “When you suffer for the sake of so many?” Bianca kissed her friend gently on her unmarred che
ek. “I will help you, Isabelle, and if he finds out I will take my punishment. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Bianca moved slowly and carefully, extricating Isabelle from the ruins of her dress. She found the wash basin—miraculously unbroken—and poured a few drops of chamomile oil into some clear, cold water. Then, using a clean cloth, she dribbled the infused water over Isabelle’s back, never touching the wounds directly, letting the chamomile help ease the pain.

  Isabelle hissed when the first drops ran along the rents in her flesh, but she held still. By the time her back was thoroughly soaked, some of the tension had gone out of her shoulders. Bianca grabbed a small crockery jar from her leather satchel and uncorked it. The scent of lemon and honey filled the room, and Isabelle sighed.

  “You have to put it on, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t have to,” Bianca spoke hesitantly, “but I’m afraid you might get an infection if I don’t. Is it too much for you?”

  “No, dear.” Bianca didn’t know how, but Isabelle managed to sound faintly amused, despite her obvious pain. “Go ahead and do what you think best. I’ll try to hold still.”

  Bianca was swift and gentle, but still a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on Isabelle’s forehead by the time each cut was coated with the unguent. Bianca used more of the chamomile water to bathe Isabelle’s face, and then dabbed the cream on the cuts along her friend’s cheekbone and lip. She pulled a different crock—this one smelling of lavender—out of her bag to treat the chafed places on Isabelle’s neck, wrists, and ankles, and finally she helped the Queen into a comfortable position on her stomach. The mattress had been shredded, but there were enough blankets in the room to make a soft pile for Isabelle to lie down on.

  “I wish I could move you to another room.”

  “Alas, might as well wish for the moon, or a fairy prince to save us all.”

  Bianca looked down at Isabelle, who was well on her way to falling asleep. The older woman had taken a savage beating, and it would take weeks for her body to mend, even if she was given skillful care the entire time. Gazing around at the room, Bianca doubted that Brannon would allow her that type of care. She shivered as she thought of the king; of his vicious rage and ever-increasing lack of control. The madness of an ordinary man was bad enough, but the madness of a king…

  Bianca held herself tightly with both arms, trying to keep from flying to pieces.

  She didn’t think even a fairy prince could save them all from this.

  Chapter 2

  The throne room was deadly silent as the court assembled. The peers of the realm knew that something momentous had happened, and with each passing moment the tension in the room grew, until Bianca could hardly breathe. She stood in her place at the foot of the dais, with no idea of what the king intended, praying that Isabelle was not going to be dragged before them and charged with treason.

  When King Brannon Uriens finally appeared and ascended to the throne, Bianca felt her heart rise up in her throat. She wanted to turn and run from the room, but instead she stayed where she was and buried her hands in her skirts so that she could clench them tight. She didn’t dare betray her fear in any other way. If she did not bear up well in court, Brannon would punish her for it later.

  The king settled on his cold marble seat, and looked out at the realm’s nobility, a nasty smile on his face. Bianca knew firsthand the enjoyment he got from tormenting others. She could only imagine how much pleasure he would get seeing the peers of the realm huddled below him in nervous fear. He seemed to savor it a moment, and then gave a casual wave of his hand.

  Sir Miles stepped to the foot of the dais, a few feet out from where Bianca stood. Though Brannon had insisted on knighting him, no one considered Miles a true knight. He was the king’s hatchet man, willing and able to do the most foul of tasks without a second thought. He was universally reviled by the nobility, but also universally feared.

  “Your majesty,” Miles said, “it is my pleasure to bring before the throne the treasonous snake who has been passing royal secrets to the rebels.” He waved his hand, and two of the king’s private guards began carrying a limp form to the front of the room. The poor woman drooped between them, obviously unable to walk.

  Bianca thought she would faint, or go mad. Her knees trembled, and hidden away in the folds of her skirt, her hands clenched so tightly she was sure her nails were cutting into her palm.

  The prisoner lifted her head, and Bianca held back a gasp of surprise, snapping her jaw shut on the inhalation. It wasn’t Isabelle, but it was someone Bianca knew. The woman, despite her swollen face, was still recognizable. She was one of Isabelle’s chambermaids—a pretty thing who had a knack for cleaning velvet. Her name was Alice, and she was sweet and soft-spoken. More importantly, Bianca knew for a fact that she had nothing to do with Isabelle’s spy network.

  When she was close enough to the throne to be heard, she began speaking, and though tears rolled down her face, her voice was clear.

  “Your majesty, it isn’t true. It isn’t true. I never committed treason; I never would. Please, please your majesty, I don’t know who spoke against me, but I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I never—”

  Miles reached over and grabbed her hair in his fist, yanking her head up. Her voice cut off with a whimper of pain.

  “Silence, woman.” Brannon’s eyes glittered. “We have no time for your lies.” He paused, watching the chambermaid sob softly, then cast his gaze out over the throne room. “Let it be known that any and all traitors living in our midst will be found and questioned.” Alice’s pitiful state left no doubt about the method of questioning that would be used. “The only way to avoid this fate is to come forward, beg pardon, and be given a chance to help us root out the rest of the rebels. The crown will offer mercy to those who sincerely repent and offer us aid.”

  The king surveyed the room, gauging the court’s reaction to his announcement. His eyes passed for a moment over his illegitimate daughter, and the cold light of calculation that always lurked in their depths surfaced. He knew that she and Isabelle were close. He must have known that Bianca knew who the real traitor was, and must have wondered if she would let that information spill. She tried to meet his gaze calmly, but as always, her heart shriveled beneath his stare. She focused desperately on the poor, weeping woman who lay near her feet.

  She didn’t know what to do. Alice was innocent of any betrayal, and Brannon surely knew it. He was just using her—using her to hurt Isabelle, using her to send a message to the real informants, and using her to shake the confidence of the rebels. Bianca felt torn apart. Alice needed someone to defend her, but if Bianca spoke up…

  She looked at the king. She was afraid of him, as she was afraid of nothing else in this world. Her father. High King of the noble nation of Toldas, Protector of the Elissian sanctuary, and Knight Paramount of the realm, but an evil man—corrupt on the inside. She trembled at the thought of defying him, but Bianca knew she couldn’t allow her fear to stop her from helping Alice.

  When she opened her mouth to speak, the king saw her.

  “You’ll want to keep your mouth shut, little maid.” He leaned close to the quietly sobbing chambermaid, and spoke to her in a voice that just barely carried to Bianca’s ears. “If people got it into their heads that you weren’t really a spy, I’d have to let you go. And all sorts of unpleasant things can happen to a young woman when she’s cast out, on her own.”

  His eyes met Bianca’s, viciously amused, and she snapped her mouth shut. Of course. If Bianca spoke up and told the truth, Brannon would be forced to release Alice. But once she was free, he would send someone after her. Eventually her body would be found, beaten beyond recognition, and no one would be able to link it back to the king. Bianca felt sick as she realized she could do nothing to help the woman. The best she could do was not make it any worse.

  Brannon stood straight once more and addressed the throne room. “This woman is remanded to the custody of Sir Miles, who has agreed to ta
ke charge of the investigation into her treason. We charge you to go out and spread word of what has happened here, that all who oppose our rightful rule may know it, and be brought to justice.”

  Miles gestured to his lackeys, and they dragged Alice out through the narrow aisle that parted for them, as the king climbed back to his marble throne.

  A short cornet call signaled the end of the audience, and the peers began to file out, whispering to themselves. Bianca stayed where she was. She was expected to remain until the throne room emptied, just one of the many rules Brannon had set for her.

  The room was slow to empty, and Miles took a few steps over so that he could speak with Bianca in low tones.

  “I know we can count on you to tell the queen why she’s missing her chambermaid, can’t we, my lady?” He smirked knowingly at her, and Bianca wanted to scream. She had no doubt he’d taken part in Alice’s beating. For that matter, he had probably been there when Brannon had beaten Isabelle. She felt sick, forced to stand and listen to this vile, despicable man.

  He dropped his voice even lower. “Do tell Isabelle that I hope she holds out for a while. I’m having such fun with young Alice. You won’t forget to pass that along, will you, Nieve?”

  Bianca felt anger boiling up inside her. Anger at this loathsome man, anger at her father’s evil, and anger at herself for her weak, powerless position. The anger consumed her, and for once she spoke without thinking, her voice carrying clearly in the almost empty throne room.

  “My name is Bianca.”

  She heard the words leave her mouth, and she couldn’t believe she’d uttered them. Her anger turned to horror and she froze, wishing she could take it back, but knowing she’d been heard. Sir Miles and the few remaining nobles stared, and the king slowly swiveled his head in her direction.

  “What was that, daughter?”

  She didn’t look directly at him. She was afraid she’d cry. But from the corner of her eye, she saw him rise and stalk down the stairs. He stopped in front of her, and though he didn’t touch her, menace radiated from him. She had just uttered her only defiance right on the heels of his moment of triumph, and he was going to make her regret it.