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

by Jessica Woodard

  “Just before we came here, a whole village was taken by Brannon’s men. Dorshire was a small mountain community, just farmers and goat herders, not a threat to him at all. But he wanted to punish Fain, so he took every last one of them, down to the children, and sent them off to who knows where.”

  There was silence around the table. Then Lord Durns sighed heavily and spoke again.

  “And the murder of Prince Jestin?”

  “It’s true.” Isabelle sounded tired. “It’s all true. When Brannon summoned me home for King Lodney’s state funeral, I could tell something was wrong. Even when we were children, I didn’t care for Brannon, but upon seeing him as an adult? I could tell he was power-mad. When he wouldn’t let me leave, to come back to Regal and Vivienne, I knew it was part of some larger plan. It took a while, but eventually I managed to piece together what had happened. Brannon is insane. He has done everything Fain accuses him of, and more.”

  “How do you know?” The question came from Marcus.

  “Once I got in the habit of collecting information—” She shrugged gracefully. “I kept doing it, and tried to pass it along where it would do the most good.” She smiled at Fain. “I know most of what Brannon has been up to.”

  Lord Rhince rolled his eyes. “So, we have a murdered prince, and a kidnapped queen, and now you.” He turned and fixed his eyes on Bianca. “The evil king’s bastard daughter. What part do you play in all of this?”

  His haughty expression turned to a look of pain, as Max Wellesley quite obviously kicked him under the table. Bianca had never met Max, the heir to the Duchy of Yarrow, but she’d heard so much about him from Vivienne that she’d been anxious to do so. It had delighted her to find that he was coming as his father’s representative to the war council, and she’d asked him to keep her company at her end of the table. Now she was doubly grateful for his presence. Otherwise she would have felt terribly alone.

  Still, even with Max on her side, she couldn’t help but wish for Robin. He had gone with his grandmother the night before, and Bianca hadn’t seen him since. She had thought he would be here—had hoped he would be here—after all, it hardly seemed likely that Dame Merriweather would allow a council of such magnitude to go on without her. But King Regal had summoned them all some time ago, and neither Robin nor the Dame had appeared.

  Lord Durns turned towards her, and Bianca felt a spasm of nerves.

  “My lady, the Queen seems to be implying that Brannon is not only power-hungry, he is actually sick. Is this true? Has Brannon become mad?”

  “He’s always been mad.” Her voice shook, and she steadied it before she went on. “In recent years he’s simply become less adept at concealing it.”

  “Perhaps the time has come for you to tell us your story, my dear.” Lord Durns meant well enough, but Bianca quailed. To be asked to tell her history, before a large crowd, almost all of whom were virtual strangers, made her want to run and hide. She sat frozen as they all waited for her to begin.

  “Do forgive me for being late.” Dame Merriweather swept into the room, Robin on her heels. “I don’t much care for the tedious rehash of things I already know, so I thought I’d spend the time catching up with my grandson.”

  Regal looked at her with a bemused expression. “I fear your timing is not as good as it normally is. There is more tedious rehashing to come. Bianca was about to tell us her story.”

  “Oh, I doubt that’s necessary.” Merriweather came to a graceful halt next to the chair occupied by Max, who immediately leapt up and offered her his seat. “Thank you, dear.” Max fetched a seat from the wall, and shooed Rhince and Marcus over until he could wedge himself back in at the table. “If you wish to hear from every person that Brannon has terrorized, you’ll be here forever. You have the facts from her majesty and Lord MacTíre. Now, stop stalling and get on with it.”

  The lords around the table looked at one another sheepishly, and turned away from Bianca. She felt a surge of relief, and smiled gratefully at the Dame. Merriweather kept her face composed, but shot Bianca a quick wink. Then she focused on Marcus Havilard, who was raising some complaint.

  Robin had not taken a seat at the table. Instead he was standing just behind Bianca’s shoulder, like a page, or a bodyguard. Bianca could feel him there, even though she couldn’t see him, and she had to work to focus on the discussion at the table, instead of his tangible presence.

  “…don’t see why Albion must correct this! Toldas has a horrible king, true enough, but why should we spend our blood and coin to stop him? Men who are mad seldom enjoy a full span of days; why not wait until his disease takes him from the throne? Why must it be war?”

  Vivienne leaned forward to answer. “It is Brannon’s desire that our two countries unite. He told me as much, when I was in Inisle. He planned to marry me and get a child on me, so my father would have no choice but to agree. He wants control of Albion, and he will not be stopped. He could not take it through marriage, so he will attempt force. Do not doubt it.”

  “With all due respect, your highness, it is one thing to threaten a woman, held helpless in your power, with a fictional war. It is another thing entirely to carry it out.” Lord Rhince was all oily charm. “Who is to say if he is in earnest with his threat? And, even if he was, it could take years for him to be ready to invade. Marcus is right. Why should we spend the resources to invade Toldas? It would be far easier to defend our country than to take theirs by force.”

  Queen Isabelle opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Sean Kelly stood up. Kelly was one of the men Fain had brought with him, and at this casual disregard for his homeland his face had gone red. “And I suppose the lives of all those people, suffering beneath his rule, mean nothing to you?”

  “Indeed not, dear chap,” drawled Rhince. “After all, they aren’t my peasants.”

  Baines and Max Wellesley both leapt to their feet and began shouting at Rhince, but neither could be understood in the general clamor. After a moment a hard voice cut through the bedlam.

  “Enough.” Regal spoke the word with absolutely authority, and the men fell silent. “Isabelle, I believe you have something to say?”

  “Thank you, your majesty.” She nodded at her husband. “Gentlemen, though I understand your concerns, trying to pretend that there will not be a war if we do not invade is pointless. My most recent project of discovery was to find the villagers that had been taken from their homes. When I found them, I knew they had to be liberated, not only for their sake, but for ours. The villagers, and all the other people Brannon has imprisoned on various charges, have been sent to labor in work camps. They work in mines and in logging camps, and they are all gathering raw materials for the same thing.” Isabelle paused a moment, to make sure she had their attention. “They’re creating war machines.”

  “What?” The word came from all the men, in a collective voice.

  Isabelle spent some time explaining the nature of the steam-powered metal wagons that Brannon was building. Bianca was neither a student of war nor technology, but it sounded as though it would be difficult for men to defend against the armored contraptions. The military advisors seemed to agree with her, and the noblemen were sitting, white-faced, staring at the little sketch Isabelle had drawn.

  There were no further arguments over the necessity of removing Brannon from power.

  There were plenty of concerns, though. Chancellor Nucis flipped through his ledger, and—with some fact-checking from the military aides who bustled along the walls—came to the conclusion that Albion was not prepared to launch a campaign of this magnitude.

  “We can feed and supply an army, with little to no difficulty, your majesties.” The fussy man was pawing through his papers as he spoke. “The problem is with assembling a large enough fighting force. Albion has been at peace for generations, and though we are rich in resources we have never been a large kingdom. Our military is barely more than ceremonial. We have the muskets, but…”

  “We have no one to f
ire them.” Max had his head cradled in his hands, rubbing at his temples. “And even if we send out a levy to raise troops, training them takes time. How long do we have, before Brannon starts sending those monstrosities through the mountains?”

  “He’s planning on bringing them through early in the fall, and securing the passes behind him before the weather turns. Once the snows fall there will be no chance to send a force to flank their supply lines; the passes will be the only way through, and he’ll hold them with a large force of men. He’ll have a secure foothold to begin the full push of invasion next spring,” Isabelle spoke softly. “We have a few months, at most, to launch a counter-offensive with men we don’t have, and no war machines of our own. Should we fail to stop him now, we must be prepared for all-out war on Albion’s soil, only a year from now.”

  “If I may say a word, your majesty.” Baines cleared his throat, eyeing the map of Toldas that was spread on the table. “Where did you say these work camps were located?”

  Isabelle pointed to a number of locations, scattered across the southeastern region of the map.

  “Seems to me like a small strike force might be able to move among those camps, causing all sorts of trouble for the productions. Maybe so much trouble that Brannon wouldn’t be ready to move this year at all.”

  “That would be a suicide mission.” Marcus Havilard was dismissive of the idea.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. A couple of Fain’s boys are from that area, and they know it real well. Might be I could take fifty of ‘em and see what trouble we can stir up.”

  King Regal held up his hand before Marcus could be rude. “It’s a brave offer Master Baines, but it’s risky. Are you sure you want to risk yourself on our behalf?”

  “Pshaw.” Baines grinned at the king. “We’d do it just for the fun of it, your majesty. But, as it happens, we’ve already been talking over something like this, and it’s just coincidental that our aims run together with yours.”

  “You have?” Fain raised an eyebrow at the man he used to lead.

  “Indeed, MacTíre, we have.” Baines was firm, but not unkind. “You’ve found a place here with her highness, and none begrudge you that, but the rest of us? We don’t belong in a palace. We belong back in Toldas, doing our bit.” Fain nodded thoughtfully, and Baines smiled. “Besides, Tom Woddsmith is awful fired up to go find his sister and her family. Once he finds out we know where his little niece is, he’s going to go haring off, one way or the other. We’ll have to go along, just to keep him out of trouble.”

  “Maybe I should go with you.” Fain was sincere, but Connelly laughed at him. The medic was the last of the men Fain had brought along to the council, and his gnarled face was split by a gleaming smile.

  “How, man? Ye canna walk a mile in Toldas but ye’ll be spotted. Ye’d have the army down our necks before ye kin blink. No, ‘tis better if ye stay here, an’ be our man in Albion. We’ll be needin’ one, an’ ‘tis a sheer joy that it need not be me.”

  Vivienne’s face held a look of utter relief, but she wiped it clean when Fain turned to look at her, instead giving him a sympathetic smile.

  “So, we may have more time, thanks to Baines’ company.” Regal nodded at them. “But soon or late we will have to face Brannon’s army. We must have more fighting men.” He and Isabelle looked at each other, and then turned as one to face Bianca. Her heart fell into the pit of her stomach, and their faces were so miserable that she dreaded what they would say next. But it wasn’t them. It was Vivienne.

  “Oh Papa,” her voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Is there no other way?”

  Bianca watched him shake his head sadly.

  “Well,” Vivienne’s words were full of false cheer, “I suppose I shall get to buy you some party frocks, after all.”

  Vivi sounded unhappy, and though Bianca didn’t understand she knew something was terribly wrong. She looked to Isabelle and Regal, but the Queen seemed stricken and unable to speak.

  “Robin?” She whispered his name, turning to him for an explanation and comfort, but his face looked lost, and desolate. For the first time since their kiss he met her gaze head on, and she saw a world of conflict in his beautiful eyes.

  “The only way to get the troops we need is through an alliance with another kingdom.”

  Robin seemed unable to go on. Just as panic began to set in, Bianca felt a touch, and broke away from his tortured expression to find Dame Merriweather had taken her hand.

  “You are the key. You must make the alliance, Bianca. You are a potential heir of the royal Toldan house. Through you, a man could make a legitimate claim to the throne. The idea that one of their younger sons might someday reign as co-regent will be enough to bring other kingdoms in, eager for an alliance.”

  Bianca sat frozen, knowing what the Dame meant, but unable to accept it.

  “You must marry, Bianca. And your new husband’s troops will help you claim the throne.”

  Chapter 18

  “I don’t want the throne!” Bianca could hardly stop the tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t care. At her first, broken sob the king had asked most of the council to leave the room, so there were very few there to see her splotchy, tear-streaked face. Only Vivienne, Fain, Isabelle, and Dame Merriweather.

  And Robin. He stood there silently, with a pale face, but he was there, and she took comfort in his presence.

  “Bianca, I sympathize, I truly do, but you can’t leave your father to rule Toldas. He’s mad, and a danger to us all.” Vivienne wrung her hands as she spoke.

  “Then you take it. You’re far more suited to rule than I am, cousin, and the nations would benefit by being joined.”

  Isabelle took a long breath and swallowed hard. “She can’t, Bianca. If Albion wages war on Toldas and Vivi takes the throne, the people will view it as a war of conquest, rather than liberation. There will be civil unrest for years. Our best hope for a swift peace is to put you on the throne. Maybe the next generation can unify the countries through marriage. For now, Toldas needs you. And you cannot help them unless you can bring enough soldiers to make a difference.”

  “So I’m still just a pawn?” she cried in frustration. “Why bother to leave my father’s house? I could have allowed him to give me to some Lord he wanted to placate, if I wanted to be forced into a life not of my choosing!”

  “No.” Robin finally moved, stepping forward to catch her by her shoulders. “Bianca, no one will force you to marry. This is your choice, and no one will take it from you.” She began to sag in relief, but Robin wasn’t finished. “You must face it though. You must make the choice, and not just beg that it be taken from you.”

  She straightened, and stepped back from Robin’s grasp, her head reeling. She could make her own choice, and that meant she could choose not to marry. She could please herself, live her life in freedom, reject the throne…

  Or she could stop being a child, and do what needed to be done.

  She looked around the room. Her friends, few though they were, were dear to her. But it wasn’t just about them. She thought of all the people of Toldas, and all that Brannon had done to them. She thought of the happy, prosperous little farms they had passed, as they made their way to the palace in Albion, and imagined what war among the fields would do to the farmers and their families. Finally, she thought of the future. Would it be a future where King Regal kept his throne? A man who would not force her to marry, even to save his kingdom? Or a future where her father held sway, a man who had controlled her out of a spiteful desire to do so, and nothing more.

  In the end, though it ripped at her heart, she had to admit the truth.

  It was an easy decision to make.

  She walked over and opened the door to the conference room. King Regal was in the hall, speaking in hushed tones with the young heir of Yarrow.

  “Max?” She had to swallow once, before she could continue. “I understand your wife is an excellent dressmaker.”

  “She is.”

&
nbsp; “Do you think she would be willing to take a commission from me? It seems I am in need of some gowns. Something suitable to entertain my suitors.”

  He swept into a low bow. “I’m sure she would, your highness.”

  Both Bianca and Regal looked at him quizzically. For a moment, she saw the flashing grin that Vivienne had told her about.

  “If you’re going to call yourself the heir to the Toldan throne, you might want to get used to being a princess, your highness.” He turned and strode off, calling back over his shoulder. “I’ll just go fetch Ella for you.”

  Regal turned his regard on Bianca. He looked her over for a brief moment, and then nodded his head in respect.

  “Your highness.”

  “Your majesty.” She nodded back, and then surveyed the people gathered in the room behind her. The Dame’s face was impassive, but Fain looked upset, and Vivienne and Isabelle both had tears in their eyes. She gave them a weak smile, but found no words to reassure them. When her eyes came to rest on Robin she felt her heart falter, and she closed her lashes, trying to keep the tears in.

  She felt him in front of her, so close that they almost touched, and thought for a moment he would speak. Instead she felt a ghost of a caress on her hair, and a rush of wind. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know he was gone, so she left them closed, to keep her pain from spilling in hot tracks down her cheeks.

  ***

  Bianca had been installed into a lavish suite in the palace. She was sitting, staring abjectly into her mirror, when she heard a light knock on the door. When she gave permission, the door cracked open and Vivienne popped her head in.

  “Someone is here to see you, cousin.”

  “What? Why?”

  “No need to be so excited.” Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Bianca, what you have to do is awful, but you might as well take fun where you can get it.”