Charming, Volume 2 (16 page)

PRINCESS GWENDOLYN SURVEYED
the church and smiled beneath her veil. It was perfect. The flowers, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the stained-­glass windows, the wall of statuesque footmen, the line of bridesmaids on one end of the dais—­she was glad to see that they had managed to round up five of the six—­balanced by the two kings on the other and the head priest waiting patiently for her before the altar. She frowned at the man's stony face. After a moment's concentration, his mouth turned up into a broad smile.
Better.

She reached the bottom stair of the dais. Rupert, her former love, stepped forward jerkily, and, putting out a hand, led her to the top of the platform opposite her future husband, King William. She made Rupert bow to her, and then dismissed him to his position several steps below her. Then she turned her focus on Will and nothing happened. He stood absolutely still, his face a blank mask of concentration. Beneath the veil, she frowned. He was being difficult. She focused harder on the commands, and, ever so slowly, he moved forward to stand next to her. In unison, they clasped hands and turned to face the priest. Gwendolyn smiled grimly as she felt William's fluttering pulse through his clammy palm.
He will learn his place. In time, they all will.

WILLIAM PICKETT HAD
never felt more drained. He had tried to resist Gwendolyn's commands with every ounce of his willpower, and still he was here, standing hand-­in-­hand with her as the priest discoursed on the sanctity of marriage in the strangely stilted monotone of one of Gwendolyn's thralls. The homily ended, and, in a sudden movement, he swiveled to Princess Gwendolyn, her face a collection of shadows beneath the lace veil. Will braced himself, knowing what she would make him do. The Princess ended her recital of the vows and the whole of the assemblage focused on him.

Will felt the words she wished him to say rolling through his head. He locked the muscles of his jaw until they hurt with a painful intensity. With each second that passed, the urge to speak grew, and the words echoed louder and louder until he thought his head must burst. The standoff lasted a few seconds, no more. His strength gone, the words issued from his mouth one at a time—­emotionless—­until he had spoken them all.

With another rigid swivel he was, once more, facing the priest. He would resist to the end, but he knew that the end was coming, and William Pickett had little hope that he would succeed at anything. His only happiness came from knowing that at least his sister and Elle were well and truly clear of this. He would be a puppet-­king for Queen Gwendolyn until she was done with him, and then, perhaps, she would let him die in peace. He tried to smile at the thought, but could not. Even this was not allowed.

BENEATH HER PINK VEIL,
Liz clenched her teeth in rage as she watched the Princess pull the strings on her collection of human puppets. After Collins and Alain, she could spot the telltale signs, and smells at once. The priest thrall was speaking now, explaining monotonously, one last time, that the union they were forming was not to be entered into lightly or under pretenses false. Elle quivered beside her.

Please keep hold of yourself, Elle
, she thought with a silent shout to her friend.

Almost in answer, she heard Elle whisper fiercely, “Now! We must move now!”

Charming replied from behind them in a soft calm tone. “Not yet. The moment is not right. When the time comes, I will distract the Princess. You will seize the bouquet. That is where she is hiding the fairy ball.”

Liz heard an echo of that old annoying confidence in his voice. Despite herself, she smiled. She did not know what he had in mind, but she was past doubting. She had entwined her destiny with his, and she would share the consequences if they failed.

The Princess said, “I do.”

Liz's throat went dry and she whispered a prayer meant only for herself.
Please let Charming know what he is doing.

IT TOOK EVERY
ounce of willpower in Elle's body not to leap forward as the priest asked King William, her Will, if he would marry Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair. Her whole body quivered in impotent rage.
What are we waiting for? Why am I listening to Charming? The man is a fool, and he ripped out my hair!

Rapunzel's throat went dry and she whispered an oath meant only for herself, “
So help me, if Charming screws this up I will cut off his . . .”

“BEFORE-­THIS-­ASSEMBLAGE-­
and-­knowing-­the-­vows-­to-­which-­you-­have-­both-­spoken,” the priest said, “-­do-­you-­King-­William-­Pickett-­Lord-­Protector-­and-­Dragonslayer-­take-­this-­woman-­Princess-­Gwendolyn-­Mostfair-­to-­be-­your-­wedded-­wife-­till-­death-­you-­do-­part?”

King William, stood at apparent ease atop the dais, but in his mind, William Pickett desperately fought the answer screaming “no, no, no and no!” in his mind. He tried to form that simple word—­“N-­O”—­but the Princess's command was an overwhelming force. It was as though everything he had known was wiped from his memory, and all that remained were two words—­“I do.” Unable to speak, he resolved to keep his mouth shut.

Silence interrupted the ceremony, and the crowd murmured and shuffled. Whispers crept from the back of the chapel. Tension filled the air like a fog. The priest smiled stiffly and asked, “King-­William?”

Will felt the Princess's being slip into him like a stain, and heard himself say, “I-­do,” in a high-­pitched voice that was nearly a squeak.

He felt the Princess slip back out the way she had come. He slumped his shoulders and grief washed over him. Despite Gwendolyn's power, a single tear escaped, running down his cheek in impotent rebellion.

“NOW!” ELLE HISSED
to Charming, and she took a half step forward before Liz's hand clasped on her own like iron.

Behind them, Charming whispered, “Almost . . .”

Gwendolyn and William were facing each other again on the dais. The priest held up his hands, “If-­anyone-­present-­here-­knows-­of-­any-­reason-­”

Charming whispered, “Almost.”

The priest continued, “-­that-­this-­man-­and-­this-­woman-­should-­not-­be-­joined-­by-­the-­holy-­bonds-­of-­matrimony-­let-­them-­speak-­now-­or-­forever-­hold-­their-­peace.”

Charming's voice, with a power honed by years of oratorical training, echoed like a thunderclap through the chapel, “I DO!”

He stepped from behind the bridesmaids and down onto the main floor of the chapel at the foot of the dais. Then, with a movement of pure grace, unclasped his pink demi-­cape—­and with a swirl of fabric, he shed the footmen's uniform like a cocoon, emerging in a brilliant blue-­and-­gold satin doublet and matching breeches that complemented his eyes, showed off his muscular body, and displayed his hair to perfection. The sword remained, a dangerously virile slash of pink and silver against his leg.

Only Liz's very discerning eye caught the little hitch in his unveiling and the gasp of suppressed pain that told the story of what that flourish cost him. Her face curved into a hidden frown, and she added another grievance against the Princess to her growing list.

Stunned silence filled the chapel. Then the Princess, in a fraught voice, a mix of fear, anger, and wonderment, sputtered, “Charming? It can't be. You are supposed to be dead.”

Charming kept his gaze on the Princess, but out of the corner of his eye he saw two of the pink puffs slip along the line of bridesmaids toward the back of the altar. His job now, he reminded himself, was to keep every eye in the chapel on him—­he had never been more in his element. Charming took another step forward, ran a hand through his auburn hair, and embraced everyone in the room with his most charming smile. “I cannot die. I am Prince Charming.”

There were a few sighs from the ladies, and one even swooned, but on the stage the Princess said, “But you're not Prince Charming, you are just Edward Charming. Seize him!”

Almost as one, dozens of guards clad in pink stepped away from the walls and advanced. He thought about using the sword at his side, but then remembered Liz's admonition at the cottage and took his hand away. In an instant, the guards surrounded him, and two on either side grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees, causing the wound in his side to stretch and tear.

Regarding Charming from beneath her veil, Gwendolyn yelled, “I WILL HAVE YOU SENT TO THE GALLOWS FOR THIS OUTRAGE. YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY. NO VOICE IN THIS COURT. YOU HAVE BEEN DISOWNED, DISCARDED, THROWN OUT BY YOUR FATHER.” She waved vaguely down the stair to where his father, the former King, stood in frozen silence. “YOU ARE NOBODY.”

Charming let the words wash over him as he watched, surreptitiously, as Elle and Liz slipped behind the altar. He only needed another few minutes. When the Princess was finished, he smiled even more brightly up at her and said, “But that is why I am here, Dear Lady. I am Prince Charming. I have been destined since birth to marry you, Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair, and to rule this Kingdom.” He let the smile fall on the audience again to a chorus of “Ohhhs” and “Ahhhs,” and then dropping the smile, he nodded his head over at Will. “I declare that this peasant is not and cannot rightfully be King. That crown is mine, and I am the only one in this land worthy of you, Princess.”

“But—­but,” the Princess stuttered, “what about your peasant girl, Elizabeth Pickett? Have you not declared your undying love for that tramp?”

The attention of everyone in the room, Gwendolyn included, was totally focused on him now. He risked a quick glance at Liz and Elle, who were now, step by ever so cautious step, creeping closer to the Princess. A minute, no more, and they would be ready. “Elizabeth Pickett?” He said the name with derision and prayed that Liz would understand. “She was a tryst, a conquest of no consequence. A man of my position and stature is expected to have many such adventures. True, I thought if I wooed and disgraced her that it would prove once and for all the absurdity of William Pickett's fraudulent claim to nobility, but to believe that she meant anything to me is laughable.” He laughed—­a playful sound that titillated the assemblage with its delightful wickedness and hidden suggestions.

“I don't believe you,” she said harshly. “Take him away!”

The guards seized him roughly and pulled him to his feet. Gwendolyn began to turn back to the priest. He needed more time, just a little more time. A sudden, wicked thought came to him. “Before you throw me in the dungeons,” he said in his most Charming voice, “I have a last request.”

“And why would I grant a last request to the man who tried to ruin MY wedding?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Because if I cannot have you, then at least I wish to give you a wedding present.” He swallowed as the shadowy face beneath the veil stared at him suspiciously. “I wish to grace you with my final ­couplet.”

Elle and Liz were now just behind her.

­“Couplet?” said Gwendolyn. “Fine, make a fool of yourself. It will be good to remind everyone of who you really were.”

At an unseen command from the Princess, the guards released him and he fell to one knee. He cleared his throat to hide his gasp of pain. He placed one hand over his heart and with the other gestured grandly.

“Never have I seen such beautiful eyes,

Or woken to discover such pure bliss.

Not for riches or titles would I exchange,

That timeless moment of true love's first kiss.”

Gwendolyn fell silent. “That wasn't ­couplet.”

Charming smiled back, dropped one hand to the hilt of his sword, and tensed his body. “And it wasn't for you. Now!” he shouted.

A screech came from Gwendolyn as Liz and Elle sprang at her, clawing at the bouquet. The flowers flew apart in a rain of pink and red and white, and, for a second, the three women disappeared into a confused wash of pink and cream satin. Charming tried to jump to his feet and felt something tear in his side, and then a brilliant light flared and Gwendolyn's voice rang out, “STOP!”

The struggle was over. A strong smell of burnt spice hung in the air of the chapel. Charming looked about in disbelief. Everyone but he and the Princess had simply frozen. It was as though the entire chapel was a painted canvas that the two of them were walking through. The Princess gathered herself and threw back her veil, revealing a hag's face of creases and shadows, in her hand the fairy ball glittered like a torch. She reached down with her other hand and ripped the veils off Elle and Liz and chuckled to herself. “So, this was your plan—­pathetic.”

She looked over at Charming as he struggled to his feet and took a step back in horror at the change that had been wrought on the Princess. She gasped. “How? How are you moving?”

Charming wondered that also. He looked at the unmoving guards surrounding him and took a painful step toward her. She raised the glass sphere, glowing now with the intensity of the noonday sun, and again shouted, “STOP!” That same smell of nutmeg hovered about Charming like a cloud, and he felt a chill emanate from the little golden wolf around his neck as she said the words. He sent a wordless thanks through the miles to the Beast and, giving her a predatory smile, took a single step forward. The pain in his side was a burning brand, and he felt something warm and wet against his skin. He ignored it, gathered his strength, and stepped forward again.

“FAIRY, I COMMAND YOU TO MAKE HIM STOP!”

A voice echoed about the room, seeming to come from all corners at once.
“I cannot fulfill thy desires, Mistress. He is immune to my magicks
.”

Her eyes widened with fear. “No, that isn't possible.”

“It is over, Princess Gwendolyn,” said Charming, drawing his sword. “Release the others and I shall treat you gently.”

“Nothing is over until I command it,” she hissed. Like a striking snake, she drew a curved black knife out from a fold in her gown—­and, far faster than Charming could hope to move, especially considering his current condition, she placed the blade against Elizabeth's throat. “Don't make me hurt her. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I am going to have MY wedding.”