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

by Jessica Woodard

  “I’d be delighted, my lord.” Bianca placed her hand in his, and turned a victorious smile on Vivi. “Now go enjoy yourself.”

  The older man led Bianca out to the dance floor, and they took their place at the end of a long line of partners. As they waited for the music to start, Bianca started to feel an itch between her shoulder blades.

  “I feel like everyone is staring at us, my lord.”

  “That’s because they are, your highness. But don’t let it worry you. Almost all of them wish you well.”

  “Almost all?”

  He shrugged. “Invariably, there will be those who are striving to thwart your goals, or take your power, and there’s always good, old-fashioned jealousy to account for.” The music started, and they raised their hands to circle one another. “It’s human nature.”

  Bianca wanted to call him a cynic, but she thought about her life thus far, and couldn’t disagree with his observation. She was struggling to find a response, but he saved her the need.

  “One of the benefits of age, your highness, is that you learn to see things as they are, and not as you would have them be.”

  “How is that a benefit, if what you see is unhappy?”

  “Ah!” He smiled as he pivoted her out in a twirl and then back into line. “One of the other benefits of age is learning to appreciate what is good, despite the bad things. After all, the knowledge that not everyone here will adore you does not erase the fact that, by a very large margin, most of them do.”

  She smiled up at him. “I suppose you’re right. That seems a useful skill.”

  “It is.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “It is the same skill that allows me to enjoy dancing with you, when I very much doubt that I have any chance of being chosen as your bridegroom.”

  She cocked her head. He didn’t sound upset, merely matter-of-fact. “Why do you say that?”

  “When all is said and done, your highness—”

  “Please,” she interrupted. “Call me Bianca.”

  “Very well.” He gave a little nod in thanks at her permission. “When all is said and done, Bianca, a young woman would prefer to marry a young man, and there is no shortage of them here to court you.”

  “You might be right.” Bianca saw no reason to prevaricate; Edicus didn’t seem perturbed by what he was saying. “But a queen might prefer to marry a man who was wise and experienced. Such a man would make a good king.”

  He gave her a considering look as they linked arms for a promenade. “You sound as though you mean that.”

  “I do.” She was sincere. “I have made no decisions, except that if I am to marry for the good of my kingdom, then that is precisely what I shall do. You could very well be the right choice. Besides,” she smiled up at his handsome face, “you aren’t entirely unappealing.”

  He laughed, and Bianca saw a number of women, young and old, take note with appraising eyes.

  The music ended, and he turned to walk her off the floor towards Fain and Vivienne. “I must confess, I wouldn’t mind if I was your choice. I think we might do well together. But, even if I am not,” he said, bowing over her hand in farewell, “I do hope we can be friends.”

  “I should like that very much, Lord Edicus.”

  He brushed a kiss across her wrist, and Bianca had to admit, it was pleasant. She watched his broad, straight shoulders move off through the crowd, and thought she could do worse than to marry him.

  Vivienne, her face glowing from the dance, whispered confidentially, “Well?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I do like him.”

  A neatly-attired, middle-aged woman dropped a curtsey directly in front of Bianca. “Excuse me, your highness, but Prince Cansado was hoping he could make his farewells, before he retired for the evening.”

  Bianca recognized the woman as the prince’s nurse, and she assumed they were well past his royal highness’s bedtime.

  “Of course, lead the way.”

  She followed the nurse through the crowd, and found the poor little prince drooping in a chair next to the punch bowl. Before the nurse could roust him out, she crouched down before him, so their eyes were level.

  “Thank you for coming to the ball, your highness. I am sorry if we’ve worn you out.”

  Cansado blinked at her, and bobbed his head in miniature courtesy, but said nothing. Bianca’s heart twinged; the little fellow was so very young, to be offered up for a state marriage. She resolved, right then and there, that whoever she chose it would not be this lad.

  Bianca looked around, spotted Billy, and waved him over. “Perhaps, tomorrow, I could send my friend Master Notter to show you around the palace.” Cansado was indifferent, until he caught sight of Billy. The page was just enough older to seem like a fascinating companion. The nurse looked alarmed, but Bianca hastened to reassure her. “Master Notter is Lord MacTíre and Princess Vivienne’s special protege. He will know everything that a well-bred young boy might like to do in the castle.”

  Which, of course, was basically what every other boy wanted to do. She had no doubt before the day was over the two of them would be jumping out of the stable loft into piles of hay. But the nurse didn’t need to know that.

  When Cansado nodded eagerly, Bianca considered the matter settled. “Excellent. Then I shall bid you good evening. Expect to see Master Notter bright and early.”

  The nurse led the young prince away, with him glancing back over his shoulder to evaluate his new playmate. Bianca looked at Billy.

  “You don’t mind playing with his highness, do you?”

  “Not a bit. And I’ll keep him good n’ safe. We’ll stay off the roof and everything.”

  She laughed. “I shall entrust him to you, then. Let me know if you need anything to see to his entertainment.”

  Bianca made her way back to the edge of the dance floor, but Fain and Vivienne were no longer there. They had returned to the dance floor to waltz blissfully around, and Bianca sighed, watching their happy faces. Then she sighed again, because she saw Lord Scemo—perfectly elegant in his perfect evening coat—headed towards her.

  “Your highness, may I have the honor of this dance?”

  Bianca couldn’t think of a single good reason to deny him, so she smiled and held out her hand. He swept her onto the floor, drawing her almost too close for good manners. Bianca kept her smile plastered on her face, but felt a surge of irritation. What sort of idiot thought that this was the way to woo a woman? Scemo showed no inclination to converse; he just stared down at her with what she could only assume he thought were seductive eyes. Desperately she groped for some sort of small talk.

  “How are you settling in to your suite, Lord Scemo?”

  “Well enough. It has a lovely view of the gardens. There’s a hedge maze that looks like a marvelously secluded place to walk. Perhaps you might join me for a stroll, later.”

  Bianca was sure she was confused. He couldn’t possibly be propositioning her. That would be… Would be…

  Would be almost as inappropriate as him sliding his hand down from her waist, to cup her backside. Which he was currently doing.

  She pushed away from him, unwilling to allow him to grope her on the dance floor, even in the name of diplomacy. She was sure her anger must be clear to read on her face, but he only gave her a lazy smile, and offered a parting shot. “Let me know if you change your mind.” Then he left, abandoning her in the midst of the dancers.

  Of all the insufferable, rude, conceited dolts! Bianca allowed her mind to find further adjectives as she wound her way off the floor, avoiding the still-waltzing couples. She headed straight for the refreshment table, determined to avoid any more dancing until her temper cooled.

  She had just found the chocolates when she heard a dreamy voice at her elbow.

  “Try the little coconut ones. They’re very good.”

  Prince Grantig used the fork he held, currently spearing a small meatball, to indicate the truffle he meant. Bianca popped one in her mouth and discovered he
was right.

  “Do you enjoy chocolate, Prince Grantig?”

  “Call me Tig. Everyone does.” Bianca thought about giving him permission to use her name in return, but she highly doubted he required it. “I enjoy everything. Life. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

  She smiled at his phrasing, but answered the question honestly. “I do.”

  “Me, too. I told my father that, when he sent me here. That life is beautiful, and war is ugly.” Tig seemed to lose track of his thought, but Bianca followed it anyway.

  “Do you mean you disapprove of the coming war?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do.” Bianca thought as she spoke. “But I’m not sure there’s an alternative.”

  “Maybe, highness. Maybe not. I don’t get to decide, though. I’m not a king.”

  “But you want to be, don’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  He shrugged. “My father said to come.” He sauntered off towards the garden doors. “I go where the wind blows me.”

  Bianca stared after him, torn between reflection and a fit of the giggles. The giggles finally won. She could reflect later.

  Prince Anders came up and bowed, giving her the same understanding smile he had offered earlier. “So, what do you think of Tig?”

  “He’s like a mystic. Or a jester who speaks in nonsense. I can’t decide which. Maybe he’s both.” She turned and smiled at the prince. “What do you think of him?”

  “He seems to me very much like a child who has grown, but not grown up.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” She studied her companion. “And what are you like?”

  Anders laughed. “I’m not sure any man is qualified to answer that question about himself.”

  “I see. So you’re philosophical by nature,” she teased him.

  “I suppose I am. Although, at the moment, I find I am more curious than anything else.”

  “About what?”

  “I was wondering if now was a good time to claim a dance?”

  She offered him her hand in answer, and they headed out to the floor. Though couples were still waltzing, the music had picked up in tempo, and they were sailing around at high speed. Prince Anders caught her about the waist in a perfectly seemly embrace, and they fell into the flow of dancers.

  Bianca’s heart raced as they spun across the floor, and she laughed out loud.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Anders smiled down at her.

  “I am.” Bianca could hardly answer, for lack of breath. “But I doubt we’ll get to know one another better.” She was gasping by the end of even that short speech.

  “The intellectual in me agrees, but the philosopher thinks one can learn a great deal about a man, by the way he dances.” And with that he drew her closer, and set their feet flying.

  ***

  Robin wished himself anywhere, at the far ends of the earth or in the darkest paths through the mists, rather than in this ballroom, on this night. He had been here all along, moving among the guests, saying polite words, and keeping just out of sight of Bianca. He moved as a counter to her, stationing himself where he could see her, but she would never spot him.

  From the moment she’d entered the ballroom, he’d known the evening would be hard. She was the picture of loveliness and grace, coming down the grand staircase. Her face showed none of the panic he knew she felt, none of the fear. It was hard—so hard—not to stand with the others and greet her triumphal entrance, but he kept himself in the shadows near the wall through sheer force of will. He lurked there while she danced with her first suitor, and detested the charming older gentleman with every fiber of his being. He watched her smile, and flirt, and saw the hint of blush that graced her cheeks when Edicus bent low over her wrist, and he wondered if the Dame had ordered him to be here because she hoped he would lose his temper and punch the lord from Hellas.

  He calmed down, once she went to speak with Cansado. She was so absorbed in the little prince that he managed to sneak close enough to hear her words, and he was proud of how she handled the situation. Young Billy would be a good companion for the boy, and cause him to reflect on his time in Albion with fondness, while her actions would convey to all of Castillia that she had no intention of wedding a child still in the nursery. Truly, it was well done.

  Lord Scemo’s manhandling of her made him grind his teeth anew, but he got a great deal of satisfaction when he saw her push the rake away and stalk off, fuming. He also saw no harm in Prince Grantig. Bianca clearly found him amusing, and possibly even pleasant, but he saw no spark between them.

  But then she danced with Anders.

  She barely even spoke to the prince from Dule, but her eyes glowed as they galloped across the dance floor. A few whispered words caused her to throw her head back and laugh, a laugh that was free and delighted, maybe even sensual.

  Robin told himself to stay put. He told himself that this was the purpose of the ball, for Bianca to find a man who delighted her. He told himself that if he were going to do any foolish thing, it should be to leave, against Dame Merriweather’s express command.

  But when he saw Prince Anders draw her closer and twirl her across the crowded floor, he found himself moving forward. He set a path that would intersect theirs, and stalked across the floor, heedless of the couples that were still dancing around him. When he saw Anders spin Bianca out to the end of his arm, Robin seized the opportunity. Wrapping his arm gently about her waist he continued the spin, breaking the prince’s hold on her hand and sweeping her off into the crowd.

  Bianca stopped dead and refused to budge. “What are you doing?”

  The music ended with a flourish, and Robin could see Anders making his way towards them. He turned quickly to Bianca.

  “I wanted to ask for the next dance.”

  “And you couldn’t wait until that dance was over?”

  “I felt it had gone on entirely long enough.”

  She gazed up at him, and Robin felt something loosening in his chest. Something that had ached for the past three weeks. Something that had made it hard to breathe.

  “Your highness?” The prince had finally drawn near enough to be heard, and the courteous concern in his voice made Robin want to snarl at him.

  Bianca turned and bestowed a charming smile on him.

  “Do forgive me, Prince Anders.” Robin realized he was grinding his teeth again, and forced himself to stop. “Master Goodfellow had an urgent message for me, and judged it worth interrupting our dance. You have my humblest apologies.”

  “Think nothing of it, your highness.” He smiled, and placed a lingering kiss on Bianca’s palm. “I’m sure we’ll have a chance to speak further, some other time.” He and Bianca exchanged a look that was far too warm for Robin’s liking, and then he strode off the dance floor.

  The music was beginning again, something slower this time. Bianca was still looking thoughtfully after Prince Anders, so Robin cleared his throat.

  She looked back at him. “Yes?”

  “Will you dance with me, Bianca?”

  “Oh!” The simple question brought a pink flush to her cheeks, more than all the compliments of all the men with whom she’d danced tonight. “I suppose I will.”

  Robin took her in his arms, and once her hand was resting lightly on his shoulder he moved them out in a slow, rotating step. She settled against him as though she belonged there. It was an unnerving thought.

  “How are you enjoying the ball?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Well enough, I suppose.” The pink, which had begun to fade, returned to her cheeks. “Perhaps a bit more, now.”

  Robin sighed. The answer made his chest glow with a pleasant warmth, while at the same time making his heart ache anew. “And your suitors?”

  She frowned. “They’re… fine. Unobjectionable. A few are even nice.”

  Robin knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “But?”

  “It’s hard to th
ink of marrying one of them. I don’t love them. Not the way I love—” She broke off, and Robin felt his heart start pounding. He felt her ribs rise with a sudden, sharp breath, and saw her eyes fix on his face, open and vulnerable. They stared at one another, the words she had almost said lingering between them, until she dropped her chin to one side, pulling her gaze away.

  “Not the way I loved Thomas.” Her whispered words were barely audible, but he could still hear the lie in them.

  Robin wondered what he was doing. All he could do was hurt her, and he didn’t wish to hurt her. Did it matter, if she found some of her suitors pleasant? Wouldn’t that be better? How could he help either of them, by feeding this dangerous connection between them?

  He started to drop his arms, to let go, to walk away, but Bianca clutched him, suddenly fierce.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Her tone was grim. “I’ve already been abandoned once on this dance floor. It isn’t going to happen again.”

  “Then let me escort you back to Vivienne and Fain.” He was desperate to get away, but not enough to leave her, hurt and angry, in the middle of the waltz.

  “No.” She sounded obstinate. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you tell me what happened, the night we kissed?”

  He thought furiously. He could tell her. He wouldn’t be breaking the treaty.

  Not quite.

  Still, he kept his voice low, and moved them away from the other couples on the floor. It wouldn’t do to have all the guests of the ball overhear.

  “We are all, every living thing, made up of energy. Do you understand this?”

  “I am not kidding, Robin, I want an answer. Don’t try to put me off with some ridiculous—”

  “I am trying to answer you. Now, do you understand, yes or no?”

  “Yes.” She sounded suspicious, but held her tongue. Well enough.

  “The Fae are more aware of this energy than mortals are. The guiding lights we see, the magics we perform, our long lives, these are all results of our interaction with that force. We pass it among ourselves without thinking. That is what happened that night. We shared our life energy.”