One.
She'd gone to bed counting Pi to the hundredth decimal, and awoke staring at the edge of a knife.
Her first thought was how ludicrous it all seemed. The man hung from her ceiling by a thin length of rope, his dagger a fixed point in her vision that caught moonlight and reflected it at odd, warped angles. Though she could not spy the rest of him in the dark, a pungent odor of fetid meat and moist woodland clung to him tighter than any cloak ever would.
She twisted left before the dagger found her neck, the blade slicing into her pillow to scatter feathers and satin everywhere. The assassin let out a series of clicks—another clue—and then detached itself from the thread keeping it aloft. When it moved, it did so in jerking, constrained spasms, as though something were keeping it from achieving its full range of motion.
It used an "arm" to support itself, the length of the appendage nearly double that of its thin body or the legs dangling beneath it. When seven more "arms" unfurled from its back, Bonnibel knew exactly who had sent the creature—knew and cursed, for she realized in that instant that the Spider King no longer held any pretense of suing for peace with her father's kingdom.
"It is most unwise of you to do this," she said as the creature dropped from the eaves. Its mandibles clicked a hollow, clipped beat as it advanced upon her. "Turn back now, good spider-ser—leave before the guard arrive! Your life is not yet bubkes."
"Leave," it echoed: its voice a mismatched combination of low, rumbling baritone layered over rapid clicks and clacks. "Leave…" it repeated, as if tasting the word.
A glob of something viscous fell from its jaw and splattered on the ground, hissing as it melted the carpeting, the hardwood floor beneath. Bonnibel stood her ground
"…No."
Her lip curled. "You are not the first assassin I've survived, you know."
"But, my delectable Princess…" it stepped into the moonlight, its nine red eyes glinting like rubies. "I will certainly be the last."
"The man sent by the Fire Kingdom threatened as much, I'll have you know," she calmly replied with only the barest hint of sarcasm in her voice. "A bucket of water proved his hypothesis wrong."
What she had thought the creature's body now hung in the air as though weightless: a vaguely humanoid pendulum, its neck growing into the thorax of the large huntsman spider that was its skull. It wore enough clothing to avoid immodesty, a cloak draped over the majority of its arachnoid bits, with light leather armor decorating its human portion. Bonnibel could not gauge where it would come at her from, each of its eight legs posed a potential threat. Moreover, without a weapon she had no way to even the playing field.
"I taste your fear," it stated, its mandibles clicking in what Bonnibel could only take as a threatening gesture. "Exquisite."
She squared herself as her mother had taught her: one leg back, eyes to her opponent's waist, her hands raised and ready at her sides.
"Bring it."
It surged toward her, ink spilt over parchment, a flood of chitinous legs and shadows. Its every movement coursed with the fluid, unnatural grace of an apex predator: one moment vertical, the next horizontal; crawling alongside the wall, the ceiling, both at once; then back to the floor and closer than sin—too close, so close she could not catch her breath. Its path held neither rhyme nor reason, as if achieving pure, erratic momentum were its only goal.
Where—she could not tell where its attacks would come from. Instinct, more than anything else, kept her backpedaling away from its every mad slash, from every thrust and jab and rake. It wasn't until one the creatures legs shattered her vanity that she realized its grim purpose. Her back hit the corner wall hard enough to knock the wind from her, the assassin pausing its charge mere feet from where she stopped.
"Soon, soon…Nowhere to run: dead in her castle, and dead to the world…" it sang, its eight-fold eyes perfectly tracking her feeble attempts at escape. It knew she had nowhere left to run; the thing had her cornered, each of its limbs poised to strike at her from any angle she could find.
"This isn't a fairytale!" she shouted, pressing back into the wall behind her to avoid a cut aimed at her belly. "The concept might be too advanced for you, so let me gave you a demonstration!" Though the assassin cornered her, Bonnibel was nothing if not attentive. When it attempted a stab, she deftly moved out of the way, its arm slicing into the concrete behind her.
"You require ample space to move as quickly as you do," she explained, only the tiniest bit smug, "You're all moving parts—organic machinery." The space between the two remained too short for the creature to do anything but attempt to box her in—with such long limbs, it could no longer stab at her: only cut and grapple. "There isn't enough of you to keep me in one place and keep up your assault."
"You've nowhere to run," it hissed, "No insect escapes the spider's web."
"Last I checked," she answered, steeling herself; "Bubblegum makes everything stick."
It was a stupid, illogical thing to do—in any other circumstance, it would have been suicide. But… desperate times, she thought, bracing herself against the wall before pushing off toward her attacker's midsection as hard as she could. Years of racing Lady Rainicorn through the castle gave her speed enough to avoid the assassin's frantic attempts to stop her—ha!—while adrenaline did the rest, the two of them tumbling toward the ground in a heap of flailing limbs.
As they dropped, the princess reached for the hand she believed still held the assassin's dagger. Pain immediately lanced up her arm for her trouble; she misjudged how sharp the spider's natural armor was, the distraction just enough to render her tragically unprepared to meet carpeting and floorboard. The pair landed with a soft, muffled whump, Bonnibel breathless and electric, the intimacy of how close they now were making her every hair stand on end, her stomach churn, and heave. This close, the pungent stench of rotten meat on its breath was nearly overpowering.
What next, what do I—she felt, rather than saw one of the creature's legs flex at her side, its intent clear as the malice in its gaze. Oh geez, what in Glob am I even going to—
It twitched and she kneed it in the groin, once and then again, almost by reflex. The thing snarled in response and attempted to shove her away, seemingly unphased. Another quick strike dispelled the perception; it recoiled visibly, hissing in pain as something metallic fell and clattered to floor, somehow close but distant in the dark. Bonnibel reached for it instead of continuing her assault, hoping beyond hope that the spider would remain temporarily stunned.
It did not.
They tumbled for purchase, rolling across the carpet, both princess and assassin attempting to grab whatever had fallen as drowning men would a lifeline. Bonnibel ignored the spider's other legs as they twisted and thrashed around her, their sharp barbs nicking her skin wherever they did not tear into her nightgown, her hair, the floor. Neither outmaneuvered the other; again and again, the princess felt her nails barely scrape metal, her fingers barely wrap around the leather of a hilt before some errant limb would push it from her grasp, scattering her hope across the carpet.
Distantly, she wondered why the spider did not simply tear her limb from limb—it seemed the easier course by far. Messy, but simple. And then, somewhere between crawling over its body; over the mad staccato of its clicking mandibles, her floundering fingers, its hissing and snarling and frantic, hurried struggling: she heard it. She felt it; her fingers closed around the dagger, Bonnibel scrambling to take it for her own, and—
The panic that simmered just under her skin boiled over, metal sliding through rough chitin and soft flesh with a final, muted thunk. The spider gasped; one single intake of breath before it went limp, boneless and still.
The princess felt a black pleasure, a release, in the sound. It meant immediate safety, it meant she had survived another attempt on her life—triumphed, even.
Killed, she would not admit.
"Princess!"
Peppermint Butler found her before the guard, bursting through the doubled-doors leading to her room with a surprising amount of force. She thought it fascinating how quickly things reversed, how easily one moment sublimated into the next; Peppermint appeared at her side with swiftness few outside the royal family ever observed, handkerchief in hand as though Bonnibel had spilled anything but blood.
"Princess, we must—oh! Oh! You've been injured; oh my!" Despite herself, Peppermint's excitement almost made Bonnibel laugh. "Can you stand?" he asked, fretting this way and that. "Are you bleeding? Did the blackguard—My Princess, are they still here?" he whirled then, a thin dirk appearing in hand, unsheathed from only Glob-knew-where, "Out with you if ye remain, rogue!"
If only we had an army of him, Bonnibel thought idly, ruminating briefly on how sluggish the Banana Guard room remained silent, the air calm. The spider lay where it had fallen, now seated, its back propped by the edge of her bed. Its utter stillness unnerved Bonnibel—only moments ago, it had been alive and well: a sentient being with thoughts, opinions, and cause. Now, blood slowly pooled around its knees, the smell of copper and feces a stark contrast to the crisp, minty perfume Peppermint Butler trailed wherever he went.
"Peace, Peppermint…" Bonnibel laid her hand on his shoulder, the rotund candy turning slightly to glance up at her, all business. "I think—I think the worst has passed. We won't be seeing any more violence tonight."
His eyes looked this way and that, still scanning the room for threats. After a fashion, he relaxed all at once, sheathing his blade with a small sigh. Bonnibel still wondered where he hid the thing. "You may never be too cautious, princess. It seems the castle is not as safe as we once believed," he walked over to the fallen creature, stopping just short of where it lay. "The creature did not bite you, did it?"
"I am uninjured," Bonnibel shook her head, forcing a smile. "Waaaay grody, though—who knew an arachnid of that size would contain so much fluid?"
Peppermint Butler looked at the assassin as though searching for something, though Bonnibel could not guess what. "—Arachnid filth," he spat, before turning back to the princess, apparently satisfied. "There'll be no calming your father once he sees this, you mark my words."
Bonnibel bit the inside of her lip. If he sees, she thought.
"Princess?"
Dangit, did I say that out loud? She waved him off, feigning disinterest. "It's nothing, Pebs. Just processing."
Peppermint Butler opened his mouth—most likely to protest, Bonnibel thought—before stopping himself, his eyes slowly growing wide. "Surely you do not mean to—"
She sighed inwardly; Peppermint's mannerisms made it hard to remember how sharp he was. "I mean to take a shower and clean myself," she explained, brushing hair from her face, sounding put-upon on purpose, "What happens afterward is another matter entirely."
The mint clucked his tongue at her, tut-tut-tutting on the approach. "Oh, nonononono—that simply will not do, my Princess. You father would smash me for a traitor," he explained, climbing atop the desk Bonnibel needed to pass to reach the bath. "Now, hold still: 'tis a small matter, hardly worth the trouble, but a butler's work is never done."
"Yo, Pebbs; what the cabbage…!?" she deftly stepped out of his reach. "As I just told you: I'm fine."
"Come now, Princess…The two of us are the only candy in the room, no?" his tone made the princess' eye twitch; even if his silly little butler outfit made him look cute, she hated condescension. From anyone. "While I may understand the…necessity of a strong front, I hardly believe now is the time for theatre."
"Congratulations, you've completely lost me.," Bonnibel replied, crossing her arms. "Are you done being weird, now? The guard are going to be here any minute and I want to—"
"Your neck, your Highness." he finally explained, gesturing upward, "You're bleeding."
"I—" at his silent urging, she began to feel at her throat until her fingers found a warm trail of—oh. She was injured-. Math. "Well…Huh. I suppose I was. Fancy that."
Peppermint nodded, clapping his hands together with a smile. "Yes, yes; now if you'll let me—"
"All the more reason to wash up!" Bonnibel exclaimed, lightly pounding the bottom of her fist into her open palm before heading back to the bath. "Now, if you'll excuse me—cleanliness awaits!"
"P-princess…! You must allow me to inspect your wound," Peppermint Butler stammered, his shoes thumping a busy tempo as he hurried after her. "Glob knows what the fiend could have coated his weapon with! It's of utmost importance that we—"
"Peppermint," she said, adopting the toneless her father used to make visiting heads of state rethink foreign policy. "Could you do me the favor of…tidying this up while I'm gone?"
He stopped in front of her and stood his ground, face a mask of worry. If he understood the implication, she did not know; his face could be unreadable when he felt like it.
"I'm fine Pebbs," she smiled, knowing it wouldn't reach her ears. "You've no need to worry—we're made of sterner stuff, us Bubblegums!"
"Princess, I must insist," he repeated, sterner this time. "Stay."
Footsteps echoed from the bottom of her tower. There were the guards, finally. Unfortunately.
"…Pebbs, please," she asked, feeling the command in her tone slightly wane. There wasn't going to be enough time. "Just—let me do the thing, okay?"
Peppermint Butler's white eyes briefly held at her face before darting to the door of her room. Bonnibel knew that he understood the gravity of the situation, of what such a brazen attack on the Princess meant to the Candy Kingdom and its allies. More than that, she knew they could not afford an impasse: the Guard and her father would arrive sooner rather than later. Either the body disappeared as the others had, forestalling war, or—
"As you wish, my Princess. The deed shall be done." Peppermint Butler answered, bowing lightly before making his way to where the assassin lay.
Bonnibel curtsied before closing the door to the bathroom, leaving it open just enough to allow her a protracted view of her bedroom. With any luck, she could finish washing herself and help dispose the body before the guard arrived. Once she reached the sink, she immediately set about cleaning herself with a wet washcloth: face first, then hands, forearms, and shoulders. Her hair took longest: viscous as it was, she had to take several moments underneath the showerhead to rinse it out completely. She'd never be able to fix the nightgown in time—if ever, dang—so off it went after she toweled off, traded for a bathrobe she hadn't even seen Peppermint Butler hang up for her.
By the time she finished, Bonnibel could discern two different sets of footsteps pound up the stairs—the guard had stopped to rouse her father, it seemed.
"Oh Glob, he's always gotta put his nose in everything doesn't he?" she whined, hastily pulling on the robe as she exited the bath. "We have to hurry: the Guard will be all business if dad's around."
"Time is but a figment of the imagination, Princess. No matter the obstacle, a butler is always precisely where need be." Peppermint Butler replied, a tint of laugher in his voice. In the dark of her room, she could barely make out his round form. "Now come: this skullduggery may require a touch of, hmm—finesse. Yes, that's the word."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Bonnibel found herself smiling. Time and again, the little mint continued to prove himself invaluable: after dealing with the first assassination attempt herself, it had been Peppermint who counseled her on how best to hide numbers three through four. "You've kind of got a knack for this," she commented idly, beginning to help him lift the spider from the floor. "It almost frightens me to think of what work you used to busy yourself with before becoming a butler."
Peppermint laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he attempted to take the brunt of the spider's weight on onto his tiny frame—again, his physical abilities surprised Bonnibel. "A tale for another time, perhaps," he answered, surprisingly cryptic. "We've the peace of a Kingdom to uphold."
"That we do." She pushed the spider's frame this way and that, attempting to settle it in place. Despite her inability to keep the thing straight, Peppermint never faltered. "I'll have to thank him come morning—father, I mean," she commented aloud, slowly beginning to help lift the spider toward the window. "His decision to install you as my aide was most wise."
"A fair bit too wise, I should think." The king's voice rang out behind her, baritone and imperious: a rumble of stone in the dark. "That's my problem, though: always committing one-hundred percent," he laughed, the floor shuddering, "Your mother hates it, you know."
Bonnibel froze in her tracks. In the dim light of the moon, her father cut a terrifying figure. Tall as mountain, almost impossibly broad: he seemed more a jawbreaker carved into the shape of a man, every inch of him corded thick with muscle and sinew. Despite the late hour, not a fraction of him stood out of place or bedraggled, as though the very word were an alien concept to him. He wore his apple red hair short, cropped close around the ear, and boasted a full beard that nearly hid him mouth from sight. His crown—a simple thing, tri-pointed and steel—rested atop his head, centered perfectly, while the silk tunic and shorts he wore looked as though they had never held a wrinkle in their life. Sword at his side, King Wrigley held himself as was befitting a monarch: towering over the armored knights on either side of him, his back ramrod straight, his lips a thin line; neither frowning nor smiling in earnest.
That worried her most. Whelp. This is…certainly problematic she thought, the pit in her stomach now a chasm. He—he is definitely going to tell mom about this. "…Uh, so. Hey dad," the princess eventually ventured, timidly waving at her father with one hand, "Sup?"
Her father advanced on them with long, casual strides. Peppermint Butler immediately let go of the body and fell to one knee, the guard fanning out in formation behind the king. When he came to a stop, he merely looked down at the pair of conspirators, his green eyes hard as rock candy, his gaze searching. Her father's face reflected years long spent leading men from the front lines: cracked and scarred, smile and laugh lines nearly indistinguishable from old wounds. Bonnibel focused intently on the thin, vertical scar bisecting his nose, long since experienced in looking at him without really looking. She could still salvage this.
"Sup," the king echoed back, the ghost of a smile on his splintered face, his arms crossed at his chest. "I think I should be asking that, o-daughter mine."
She dropped the chitinous arm in her hands, mindful of its spines, her mind running roughshod through every strategy, every idea she had dreamed up to bypass this particular contingency. It was yet too soon for her father to become involved in her plan to save the Kingdom.
"…It was an accident," she lied.
"An accident," the king repeated, "My daughter, almost taken from me by some murderer, and she calls it—" rage threaded through his voice, iron-hot, an ember threatening to turn wildfire before he caught himself and squelched it. "An accident, and my entire world—" the king fell to his knees and suddenly drew his daughter to his chest, nearly crushing her in an embrace. "Oh Bonnibel, my child…You—thank Grob that you're—you aren't hurt, are you?"
Bonnibel shook her head, attempting in vain to push herself toward freedom and oxygen. "I'm—geez, dad, I can't breathe! Could ya let me go?" He always overreacted like this. "Peppermint already saved me once tonight; I'd rather his valiant efforts not go in vain."
The king held her at arm's length, his face a mask of worry. "The whoreson didn't cut you, did he? You aren't feeling flush?" he felt at her head, hand massive and solid against her skin, "Tell me everything that happened, please—and Peppermint!" the round candy nearly leapt to his feet, all business. "Get up, you minty layabout! Up with you! Tend to the safety of the Queen and check the castle grounds; I'll not have another would-be assassin endanger my family this night!"
Peppermint Butler bowed at the hip then sped toward the guard as though possessed, a blur of red and white. "You heard your king, you worthless dogs—look alive! Move, move!" the Banana Guard jostled into ranks, quickly slipping out the door and down the stairs as Peppermint berated them from behind. "Sweep the castle floor by floor! Release the hounds! No candy enters or leaves this kingdom until every stone is overturned!"
King Wrigley grinned as the lot of them emptied out the room, his harsh mien easing back to the warm, comforting smile Bonnibel knew belonged only to his daughter and his queen. When their footsteps became echoes, only her father and the Captain of the Guard remained. Bonnibel would not relax, however—now came the difficult part.
"…An accident, eh?" the king surveyed the room, pacing here and there, his face still a mask of pleasant indifference, "Seems we've had quite a few of those, as of late—almost ironic, really," idle; and then, after circling her bed: "Considering all the long talks I've had to sit through recently."
The princess bit the inside of her cheek. "I admit that it seems—far-fetched, yes. Completely. However, I have cause to believe it the truth," the king perked an eyebrow. She continued: "The assassin looked rather surprised when it realized who I am."
Surprised, she thought. That was one way to put it.
"Hrm—so you spoke to the thing?" the king pressed, before gesturing to the window with his chin. "Would you shut that window, Captain? The draft is unbearable."
"Well, it…" Bonnibel sighed, feigning embarrassment. "I left the window open, Captain, allow me to—I know, I know!" she waved off her father's judgmental gaze as she broke away from him, mind running at a mile a minute. She snuck a quick look at the castle's courtyard before closing the window. "I realize how many times you've reminded me to keep it closed. The lesson is not lost on me."
"Thirty-seven," the king answered.
"Yes, well—with the guard about, I thought myself quite safe in my own household." Bonnibel immediately regretted the bite in her voice, catching the Guard grimacing out of the corner of her eye. "Oh…I-I apologize, Captain. The hour is late; I realize your men do as best they can to safeguard the kingdom."
The banana bowed lightly, a brief inclination of its head. "The culprit must have slipped past the castle walls during a shift in the watch," he explained, "I'll have our sharpest-eyed replace whoever was on duty."
The King nodded. "And were there others?"
"Not that I saw, no. Spiders tend to avoiding traveling in groups." Bonnibel took a seat on the lip of the windowsill, crossing her legs, "Though I was admittedly rather preoccupied at the time—what, with Peppermint saving me from certain doom."
His laugh was a short one, hand ghosting the back of his neck. "Aye, aye; you are a daughter of Gumball at heart," the king replied, slowly pacing around the room a second time now that he had more room to do so, "Once the call to battle sounds, it's all our bloodline can do to stay in the here and now."
Briefly, Bonnibel thought of her Great Uncle. "…And, as I explained earlier: I believe you or mother were the original targets of the attack." She looked down toward the courtyard, scanning for movement. Pepperment's words still clung to her. "With so many of the guard at the base of the tower, and Lady patrolling the roof, it's only logical that someone unfamiliar with the castle would target this room."
"Aye, that you did say," the king nodded, halting just short of the spider's corpse, this time. He frowned. "Though…it doesn't quite explain what you and Peppermint had in mind for the carcass."
Shoot. She hadn't come up with a reason for that, yet. "I—"
The king held up his hand, imperious. Bonnibel fought the urge to blow him a raspberry, a habit of her youth. "On second thought, it can wait. Just—" he gestured for the captain to come near, eyes glued to the spider. "So long as it will not lead another lemony abomination, we can discuss it in the morning."
Bonnibel opened her mouth to reply, but found nothing immediately wrong with the reprieve. Lemongrab was a ghost she would never shake, it seemed—present usefulness notwithstanding. "Nothing so…aggravating, no." she explained, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a soft smile, "Glob—could you even imagine?"
"I'd much rather not," her father laughed—in earnest this time—before signaling the Captain to come near. "Now, If you would, Captain?" he gestured to the corpse, face scrunching up in distaste, "Bonnibel may be made of sterner stuff, but I find this stench unbearable."
The Captain saluted, eyes briefly flickering to Bonnibel before he bent down and hoisted the spider over his shoulder. King Wrigley aided the banana in carrying the corpse of the spider to the top of the stairs, whereupon the two exchanged words Bonnibel could not hear—orders to keep an eye on her, no doubt. When he returned, Bonnibel stood to her feet. "Father, while I…appreciate your concern, there's no need to order the guard to keep watch—I assure you: this was the first creature to make an attempt on my life."
"And last, by my marker," the king replied, dusting his hands on return. "First and last."
Bonnibel sighed, exasperated. "Father."
The king held up his hand again. "Whatever you deign necessary to hide from me, from the Kingdom, your people, as though it were another one of your failed experiments…That choice is yours to make, my daughter, and yours alone," Her father waited until his footsteps vanished from hearing before continuing. "I am an understanding man. I was once Prince, just as you are Princess now. As was your mother, in her time," he strode over toward Bonnibel and knelt before her, taking her slender hands in his own. "We are a strong-minded family—too resolute in our rule, some would say. But do not mistake a reliance on family as weakness. You are not in this alone."
And a gilded cage is still a cage, she thought, saying nothing. Her father regarded her in silence, eyes searching for….something. Bonnibel did not know.
He sighed, after a fashion.
"Simply…remember that you are the only heir left to this kingdom." The king softly ran his thumb across his daughter's hand, swallowing hard before continuing, "More importantly, you are my daughter: my own flesh and syrup," he pressed her fingertips to his forehead and then looked up, searching for Bonnibel's eyes, "You must realize that I will do whatever it is in my power to keep you safe."
"Father, I…" she shook her head, steeling herself. "You've no cause to worry, I assure you."
The king said nothing, quiet in the pellucid light of the moon. And then: "…Truly?"
Bonnibel nodded, forcing a smile. "Truly."
"Then I place my faith in your capable hands, my daughter," She chuckled, and before Bonnibel knew what had happened, she found herself airborne, hoisted onto the king's shoulders in one fell swoop. "Tonight, however, your safety is my primary concern!"
"Woah…! F-father, I—this is highly unnecessary!" she cried, struggling half-heartedly to escape. "As I said earlier to Peppermint, I am uninjured! Let me down! Dad!"
The king laughed, ducking low for a moment to square away his daughter properly atop his shoulders. "This may be the first assassin by your reckoning, my daughter," he answered, starting out of the room despite Bonnibel—playfully—hitting him on the head. "But, as Grob as my witness, it will be the last by mine!"
"Dad, holy cow! This is so embarrassing! Stopit!"
"I respect your right to privacy, Bonnibel, but live it with the shame!" the king laughed again, already taking the stairs leading down from Bonnibel's room two at a time, every landing a thunderous sound that echoed through her tower. "Now come on," he continued, "You'll be sleeping with your mother and me tonight—no complaining!"
And the absurdity of the situation, of the grim warrior-king Wrigley Bubblegum skipping down the ivory stairs with a grumpy eighteen-year-old princess in tow, made Bonnibel laugh hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.
Hopefully, she thought, as her father laughed with her, these days of peace will outlast us.
Hopefully, she thought later, when her mother later embraced her tight, I can prevent father from dragging our kingdom into war.
Hopefully, she thought again, before sleep claimed her. What a terribly promising word.