Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (14 page)

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

Bianca
sighed. “You’re right, Vivi. I’ll try to do better. I’m just… so sad.”

“Oh darling,
I didn’t mean that.” Vivienne swung the door open and came the rest of the way
into the room, kneeling down at Bianca’s side. “You have every right to be sad,
if that’s what you feel in your heart. But you are doing this for good and
noble reasons, and I don’t want you to miss out on the joys you can have, even
in the midst of your sorrow.”

Bianca
looked at her cousin. “That was quite poetic.”

“I thought
so.”

“And you’re
right, of course.”

“Of course I
am.”

“So who have
you brought to see me?”

A bundle of
cloth with feet came mincing into the room. “It’s only me. I would have seen
you in one of the salons, but Vivi thought you might prefer we met here in your
suite.” The pile of fabric slithered down to lie on the bed, revealing a lovely
young woman with honey-colored hair and a charming smile. “I’m Eleanor
Wellesley, your highness.”

“Please, do
call me Bianca, Lady Wellesley. I’m not at all accustomed to being given a
title.”

“Well, in
that we are alike. I shall happily call you Bianca, if you will call me
Eleanor, or, better still, Ella.”

“And you may
both call me Madame High Muckety-Muck. Now, let’s pretend you’re already
friends, and start looking at dresses!” Vivienne’s impatient outburst left
Bianca smiling, and she realized her friend had been right. She might as well
enjoy what she could.

Ella pulled
a pad of paper from beneath the fabric, and flipped it open to a few simple
sketches. “These are the gowns that have been most popular this season,
although, if you want my advice—” She hesitated, until she saw Bianca nodding
vigorously. “I would dress you in something different. Every woman in Albion is
wearing an empire waist, but you’re a foreign princess. You don’t want to
follow trends, you want to set them.”

The next
half hour was spent with Ella sketching, and Vivienne making suggestions.
Bianca only spoke up twice, once to insist—over Vivienne’s objections—that her
back be fully covered. The second time was when she exclaimed in delight over
the final drawing.

“I love it!”

“As do I.”
Vivienne nodded in approval. “Despite your appalling insistence on modesty.”
She glanced at the clock over the mantel. “Alas, I shall have to allow you free
rein now. My father has requested my appearance for a bit of royal duty.” She
kissed them both on the cheek with great affection, and then swooped from the
room. Ella looked at Bianca, and they both started giggling.

“Honestly, I
think she does it on purpose to make us laugh, but Max says she’s always been
this way.” Ella stood up and fetched a tape measure. “Now, before we look at
fabrics, I should take your measurements.”

Bianca stood
and held her arms out to the side, but Ella shook her head. “Not for a dress
like this, your highness. I’m going to need you all the way down to your
chemise.”

Bianca didn’t
argue, but her fingers were slow in undoing her dress. She wondered how the
couturier would respond to her scars, but once her back was bare all Ella did
was cluck her tongue softly.

“So that’s
why you didn’t want a low-cut back.”

“I… I don’t
ever show them to people.”

“Well, then
I’m touched by your trust. But you needn’t worry. I shan’t talk about them with
anyone else, and I’ll make careful note of how high your neckline needs to
extend. Your scars are your own, to reveal or not, as you choose.”

Ella started
measuring, and for a few moments there was silence. Then Bianca spoke up.

“You didn’t
ask how I got them.”

“I assumed
if you wanted me to know, you would tell me.”

“Perhaps I
will.” There was something about this kind, gracious woman that made Bianca
trust her. “But not just yet, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t
mind at all.” Ella wound up her measuring tape. “Now for the fun part. Would
you like to look at fabrics?”

Bianca
adored the cloth Ella had brought. Each was lovely, but they became even more
so when Ella would select two or three, and describe how they might be put
together. At one point Bianca caught herself fingering a soft, white mesh with
threads of silver wound through it.

“Could you
make me a gown out of this?”

“Well, not
on its own; the mesh is too sheer. But with an underdress, perhaps something
like this?” Ella pulled a lovely pink from the pile, but Bianca shook her head.

“What about
this, or this?” She held up two shimmery swatches of silk, one in silver, the
other in an icy pale blue.

Ella cocked
her head, and rifled through the pile as she spoke. “That would be lovely;
maybe with this as an accent?” She held up a thin velvet ribbon of a blue so
dark it was almost black.

“That’s
perfect.”

Ella nodded
in agreement. “It’s a winter palette, like fresh snow. You’ll look like an ice
princess.”

“Or a snow
maiden.”

Ella arched
an eyebrow, and Bianca flushed. “Is that significant for some reason?”

“Someone
told me I was like a snow maiden, only in his life for a brief season.”

“That
someone wouldn’t happen to be the Dame’s exceedingly handsome grandson, would
it?”

Bianca was
surprised. “How did you know?”

“I have a
singularly observant husband who loves to gossip. He said, and I quote, that
even when your eyes are elsewhere, it’s like your whole body keeps track of
him. And that Robin ignores you so intently, it’s like he’s calling your name.”
At that description, Bianca felt her blush deepen. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why am I
making you gowns to meet other suitors, when you obviously feel so strongly
about Robin?”

“It isn’t
that simple. Do you know Robin well?”

“Not at all.
I know his grandmother, however. She’s my Godmother.”

“Oh!” Bianca
thought hard about how to phrase her next question. “Do you know much about her
people?”

Ella
laughed, and leveled a very direct gaze on Bianca. “Know? I don’t actually know
anything. But I’ve guessed a great deal.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed. Ah.”

“Robin doesn’t
seem to think we could be together, at least, not in the long term. And I can’t
force him to care for me, if he doesn’t want to.”

“Hmmm.” Ella
began carefully folding fabrics. “I wonder if he will be able to force himself
to stop.”

“It doesn’t
matter, anyway. I must consider Toldas, as well.”

“You mean,
your campaign to take the throne?”

Bianca
laughed gently. “I never would have called it that. I think taking the throne
is something I want about as much as I want to marry a stranger. But it seems as
though the people need me, and I cannot turn my back on them. Not when I, more
than anyone, understand what it’s like to suffer under my father’s hand.”

“Haven’t you
been through enough?” Ella’s warm eyes were full of sorrow.

“I don’t
think the fates care.” Bianca tried not to sound pitiful. “I was born into
politics and intrigue, and I cannot be free of them just by wishing it so. At
least this way I can use my life as I choose, instead of being treated as a
puppet.” She flopped down onto the corner of the settee, tired of the emotional
sea she was drowning in. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Very well.”
Ella thought a moment. “When do you think the welcoming ball will be held?”

“I asked
Vivienne the same thing; she says three weeks. We have to give the messages
time to reach the other kingdoms, and then they’ll need to travel here.”

“Well, I
should be able to have most of your wardrobe done by then. Anything in
particular you’d like to wear to the ball?”