Notes: based on the many, many images we have around of Lisbon as the angry little princess with the stolen tiara... and even if I should do other things, and even if I should have done it as I ahve intended, a short one-shot... well, a middle-lenght one shot, ehre there is. hope you'll like it!
He was called the Prince of thieves, but he really didn't know why; Sir Patrick, like often he had been nicknamed, wasn't like he was defined. He wasn't strong or brave, but he knew how to put up a good act, and that was what always saved him: in many years as a thief, he had almost never met face-to-face with the owner of what his heart desired, and in the few times it actually happened, he had always left without even a scratch; he was gifted, after all, with the cleverest mouth of them all, and possessed the rarest of the abilities, the ancient gift of mesmerizing.
As a thief, he was just a myth. Nobody knew who the Prince could be, nobody had seen him, and even few could actually remember they had been visited by him; as Sir Patrick, though, he wasn't just well known, he was… he was like a legend. People loved him, he was famous for his speeches, for his eloquence, the ability to read people (and sometimes, of solving mysterious crimes as well) and cordiality. Everybody loved the man who enchanted with his words and with his hands, the hands of a magician. Everywhere he went, people wanted to meet him, asked him to go to the greatest parties; queens and kings and rulers and billionaires just raced to get him to visit their mansions and their castles, providing, without knowing, objectives the (in)famous Prince.
His life was marvelous; he always got what he wanted, as Patrick and as the Prince , and for the first time in his own life, he felt really cherished; he didn't think too much about love, because it had been a concept he had never been properly introduced to, what he craved was the attention. He had been a carnie for his whole childhood, getting from his old man all the tricks necessary to become the man he was now- both as the prince and Patrick – but that life had left a deep mark on his soul. He couldn't bear the thought of poverty or lonely peregrination any more. He had promised himself to never be that person any longer, and through the Prince, and the rich idiots he conned and manipulated as Sir Patrick, he could get just that: the life he had always craved.
That, until that fateful night.
Along one of his travels to intensify his fame, Patrick had been invited to the Castle of Sir John of the Red; at first, Patrick had thought it was a good idea, because Sir John was well known for his friends and the treasures he hid somewhere in his castle. And, at first, beautiful and great had indeed been: he had met influencing people, increasing his own influence, and making new connections that would have, eventually, helped him out to get even more fame and money along the way, and, few days later, when he returned to the Castle and broke into Sir John's study, opening his safe, Patrick thought that he had never before been that smart, for the treasures of the king were extremely valuable and would have helped him to live up to his expectations for a long period of time.
So, with a purse heavier with jewels and money, Patrick made his way towards his land of origin, where still his beloved sisters, Angela and Charlotte, lived. He smiled on his horse, thinking about the girls with the crown's jewels, and how he was going to buy them a new place to stay, whatever they wanted it or not, since the two had never shared his feelings and his desire for riches.
When he finally come home, he was smiling no more; as soon as he saw the door wide open, he run inside, fearing the worst, his blood leaving his own body out of panic, his sun-kissed skin turned unnaturally pale and sweat covered his whole body. His aching heart actually stopped to beat as soon as he saw what was going on in their home, and that his sisters were sobbing, daggers pointing at the tender skin of their ivory necks and dirty, evil, chuckling maniacs with rotten teeth touching them through their soft clothes in places they didn't have any business touching at all.
And Sir John, sitting on a chair, at the place reserved to the male head of the household with his mudded boots on the dining table… the same table where his beloved sisters used to prey for his return and for his soul to be brought back to them as the man he was no more but they knew he could be once again.
"Well, well, well, look who's here…. Sir Patrick, with a purse full of what I assume is my money." Sir John said, grinning between maniacal laughter as facing Patrick . "My dear friend, you haven't been very nice to me. I invited to my house, threating you like the dearest of my friends just because you honored me with your very presence, with your clever mouth and your magical hands, and what did I get in return? You betray me, stealing from me as soon as I give you my back. I thought you were supposed to be smart, Prince of thieves, for I can be the most loyal of the friends, but treason is not acceptable. And now that you have mocked me, and turned me into the object of the laughter of my pairs, I feel vengeance should be served. But fear not, I'll not hurt your precious family. Unless you'll do something for me…"
Patrick, who knew fear, immediately kneeled in front of the Lord, begging for forgiveness, almost kissing the boots of the feared man. He was sweating and shaking, both for his sake and the one of his beloved ones, and didn't dare to meet the eyes of the man who had their lives in his own hands. "Tell me, tell me and I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes to save them, but please, spare my sisters. Take everything that's mine, everything that I've stolen so far is now yours, I'll give you my hands, hell, I'll even give you my life, but please, allow them to be free and alone, for this life I live, I'm not sharing it with them."
John stood, and immediately took the man for the collar, lifting Patrick from the soil and throwing him without any significant effort against the ground and then the soil. "I'm like you, Prince. You see, your life, it doesn't have a price, it means nothing to me, but their liberty? Of course it has, for the both of us. So. I suggest a deal: in a week's time, I want you to come here, and give me the Tiara of emeralds belonging to the princess of this reign. Your sisters will be fine until that very day, and I'll threat them as my own, but remember: if you'll fail, or you'll be late, they'll be my slaves until their very deaths." Said so, Sir John of the Red left, leaving Patrick on the soil shaking with fear for the future of his beloved, pain and fear, though, were short lived, because one single thought kept running around again and again in the man's brain: he had to find a way to take the princess' tiara soon, or else… else, he didn't even want to consider that option.
His eyes fell on a piece of paper hanging on a wall, one he had left there when he had visited his beloved few weeks prior; he hadn't considered it too much the first time it had come into his hands, for he had already other plans, but now, now everything was different… on a rice parchment, in an elegant black and red and golden writing, stood the invitation to the annual ball of the incoming Winter, hosted by the king himself… and where the King was, his daughter was, and where the princess was, so did her most treasured and beloved belonging… the emerald tiara.
King Virgil had always been a very good king, administering justice like the best of judges, prizing the good and punishing the evil, his people loved him, because under him they had never known nor war nor poverty, and crime was at its minimum; his people, his realm, was like a part of his family, and with them he was as good as he was with his own family… a family that, for his misfortune, wasn't as big as he wished it to be.
Many years before, in fact, the king had lost his beloved wife into an accident, when, after an official travel to a nearby realm, her carriage had fallen into a precipice while she was coming back to the castle, hurrying because the little princess was sick; he had never remarried after that fateful night even if the Queen of another realm, hoping to unify their lands, a woman of exotic origins called Queen Madeline, had previously asked for his hand in marriage; but this Queen was too young, she was just few years older than his own daughter, and he had to love left for another woman, for everything was to be shared between his late wife and his beloved daughter, the only center of his world, of his attention…
The beautiful Princess Teresa, his only daughter, and the only heir to the throne.
Teresa wasn't a child any longer, and was already in age of husband (had been from quite a while, actually), but she still refused, stubbornly, to accept anyone who dared to ask for her as wife; nobody was good enough, they were stupid, or ugly, or just too proud for their own good, and more than once the king almost cried at her out of frustration to decide for once, because she wasn't so young any longer, and she needed to get married to be a respectable princess and queen, for her people, as open-minded as they were, they weren't going to accept a woman as their only ruler… and every time her father asked her to choose, Teresa felt her heart melt in sadness a little bit more, because she knew, deep down, that if she wasn't going to marry on her own accord, her father would have eventually take the matters in his own hands.
"Teresa, my child, I beg of you, listen to my words. I'm not the man I used to be, and I fear the day I'll leave you with the burden of the kingdom upon your shoulders. Our people, they love us, but remember this: if there will not be a man to take my place, I fear someone will try to take control of what we cherish more than ourselves and our love for each other. So, please, Teresa, please, tomorrow evening, when the time will come for the annual dance, I beg of you, chose. "
With those final words, the king left her quarters, and finally, finally, Teresa allowed herself to collapse in a crying mess on the pavement, hiding her face between the knees of her matron, Summer, a mysterious woman, free of mind and, according to rumors, once only ruler to her own body as well, who was said to be a gipsy who could foresee the future.
"I'll not go that party… I can't…I'm… I know what my father says, but I can't marry a man just because he wants me to….!" she cried, and cried, and then, still sobbing, finally lifted her eyes, so that her green emeralds could meet the deep ocean of the woman who had thought her so much about life and human beings in the past few years. "is it so terrible that me, a princess or royal blood, would crave love and passion and adventure at the side of a man who loves me as much as I love him? is it really necessary for me to marry Prince Walter to unify the reigns and the richness? My father cherish our people, and yet, he asks that of me, to renounce to my freedom because of his foolish desire to have an heir as soon as possible…"
Summer stood, and guided in silence the princess towards the wardrobe; there, in front of a full-length mirror, she posed in front of the dark haired heir to throne the dress she was supposed to wear the next day, dark pink, long and soft with a ribbon at her waist, and positioned the tiara of white gold and emeralds on her head. Merely seeing the jewel, Teresa smiled, and tears of sadness were soon replaced by ones of happiness and, yet, of regret, for the jewel had once belonged to her mother, Queen Ellen, and among her mother's many jewels, since she was a child, Teresa had always been fascinated by the crown, so much that her mother had promised it to her, deciding to gifting her daughter with the precious item for her birthday, a birthday that Queen Ellen never had chance of celebrating because of her passing.
"Teresa, my Child, just remember: your father never asked you to marry Prince Walter. He asked you, though, to choose your husband to be. And" Summer went on, smiling, examining Teresa's small hand in her bigger one. "And in your hand, I can see your future, as my people once taught me. for you'll meet a man tomorrow evening, and he'll wear a mask. He'll be a prince like any other out there, but where Walter is dark, he'll be fair. You'll see the blue, and he'll see the green, and when you'll share your first dance, you'll both know that there will not be turning back…."
"But my father… he loves Prince Walter like a son already, and as much as a crave adventure and passion, I can't bear the thought of seeing shame on his face…"
"The king will not be ashamed, nor enraged with you" Summer said squeezing her shoulders. "he loves you as much as he loves his people, maybe even more because where they are family by right, you are by legacy of blood. Remember this, my child, and everything will be alright."
Teresa turned, and squeezed Summer's figure in return, tears of gratitude marking her delicate and pale as the moonlight features; she now both felt a great anticipation for the incoming ball, but fear as well, for love, real love, she had never met before, as much as she had carved for it, whished for it every time a suitor came her way.
But now, now she felt ready, ready to finally spread her wings and be free, free from her role as the princess, the loyal and good-mannered daughter; she felt free to love, with all the passion a woman could master, free and ready to love as Summer had secretly taught her to- body and soul.
The ball of the incoming winter was an annual celebration where everyone who meant something in all the realms wished to be invited to; it was a reason for all the rulers, and the rich men and women, to show to everybody their wellness and their precious jewels; the parties hosted by King Virgil, then, were also famous for their beauty and because of how much spectacular they were; performer from all over the world, even from the far, far away Orient, traveled to have the honor of performing for the king and his guests. Whoever you were, if you happened to be there, it was to be considered an honor.
People, though, often didn't realized it. They just thought that being there meant appearing, they thought about the dresses and the jewels, the clothes and the weapons and the medals, and men, often the men just thought about getting the beautiful and feisty princess' heart- or at least, her dote and all her belongings. They never thought about the beauty of the festivities, about how such great performances could open one's heart and fascinate, nor they gave more than a small thought to the money they donated to help people all over the realms; knowing this, it saddened the princess' hurter in a way no one could understand, and to think she was supposed to marry one of those men….
But, Teresa thought, everybody was going to end soon. She didn't know if she was supposed to believe to Summer's preys, but, deep in her soul, she had to, if she didn't want to give into despair. For, if her fair-haired prince wasn't to show up on that very same day, her father would have tried, and probably with success, to get her to marry Prince Walter Mashburn, one of those men she didn't have any interest in. she knew Walter, and a long time ago, she had liked him, like a girl could love her own brother. Back in the days when they both used to run across green fields, the fraction of her heart belonging to him was just a shadow of what she assumed was supposed to belong to the one you choose to spent your life with. Also, growing up Walter had demonstrated to be an unfair man, just like the ones she now hated with a passion. Walter wasn't looking for an equal, a pair. Walter wanted a woman to carry children until her very death, a woman with no mind of her own, no need, and no wellness left; somewhere along the way, her friend had lost her way , and he no longer wanted her, but just what she could provide with her title and mantle.
She deserved more than that, and she was smart and free enough to know this simple fact.
So, that very day, for the first time she was looking forward the ball, with hope blossoming in her very heart. She could do, she repeated herself, she could break free from her father's will and choose whoever she wanted. It was time for her to meet her destiny. Suddenly, Summer's words didn't matter any longer, for she knew, somehow, that on that day her life was going to change forever, in a way she had never thought possible. .. could she really open her heart to love? For a long time, the princess had thought that she could love no more, for her heart got broken behind repair the day her mother passed away so tragically, but know, she knew. Everything was going to be different. She could have both what she wanted and what her father desired for her. She could marry and give a king to the realm, and she could be in love with her spouse as well.
Her crystal demi-high heels ticked against the marble pavement of the throne room where the party was taking place, and, her face covered with a black lace mask, she walked with blushing cheeks through the crowd; everybody smiled at her, or the crown of white gold and emerald on her mass of dark ringlets was unmistakable, but she didn't care, she politely smiled in return, often just greeting her guests with a nod of her head, but her concentration was fixed just on one thing and one thing alone: find him, whoever he was; after a period of time that looked like infinite, Teresa started to think that he wasn't there, that Summer had been wrong in her readings of her future, for she had saw everyone already, and either she already knew them and didn't approve of said suitors, or they just awoke the passion and the longing like her matron had foreseen just the day before.
She had already lost all her lope, and had silently nodded, with low head and tears in her eyes, to her father who, severe as never before, that she was indeed going to take her decision, when something happened…. Teresa couldn't understand what was going on, what exactly happened, for it was new for the girl, but, as soon as she saw him among the crowd, she felt like he was calling her.
Her eyes wondered in the distance, and remained still on a tall figure approaching her, a man on the other side of the room; he was blonde and tall, dressed with a tuxedo and a mantle, his eyes covered by a mask, way simpler than her own. The breath died in her throat, and her heart stopped to beat, as, slowly, she walked towards him, ready to meet the man halfway, wondering if there was the same turmoil of emotions that were taking place in her very being.
And indeed, it was: because as soon as he had seen the princess on the other side of the room, every thought stopped to cross Patrick's mind; for a second, he forgot about his own sisters, about John of the Red, and when she saw the young woman smiling warmly and with blushing cheeks at him, he just desired to melt into her for the rest of his own life. Was it love? He didn't know, for love had been a stranger to him until that very moment.
They met at the center of the room, and like in some story, like in the tales the old wives liked to tell, everything stopped around them; no murmur could be heard, just the soft, classical tune of the orchestra, and people left them space, surrounding on a large circle the young couple. He took her small hand in his larger and strong one, soft silk against rough and callous hands, but yet delicate, and he kissed tenderly her knuckles, never breaking eye-contact…. Then, without a single word had been shared between them, he took the woman in his arms, and started to slow dance, his right hand on her hip, while, with her left, she held his shoulder, as strong as possible, like she somehow feared he could disappear at any given moment.
And she was probably right.
Patrick closed his eyes, seeing in his mind's eye the crown of the princess, and the destiny that awaited his beloved sisters. What he was supposed to do? He felt like this question didn't have an answer at all, because, as far as he was concerned, he always lost something either way, for if he didn't took the crown and allowed the princess to be as genuinely happy as now, John would have enslaved Angela and Charlotte, while if he took the crown, Angela and Charlotte would be back safely in his arms, but he would lose the princess… without never having actually had her to begin with, and he didn't know if he could do that, not to her, not to this beautiful creature, so simple and yet beautiful, a saving angel offered to him to bring him out of his misery, but yet, at the same, a devilish mistress asked to tempt him with sinful images he had no business imagining… but, maybe, just maybe….
The song ended, and soon another one started, but even if a long line of suitors were at the princess' back, waiting for the honor to dance with her, hoping to get her heart in the process, Patrick found that he simply couldn't let her go; he kept dancing and dancing, pirouetting and delicately moving with such a grace, such naturally, an ease, that it looked like they had done that millions of times before, like they had done that very same thing until that very day since when they were born… blushing and gazing to her crystal-clad feet, Teresa wondered if that was what it was like being in love with your soul-mate, your missing piece.
"Your highness, can I have the honor of sharing this dance with you?" one asked.
"No! the princess will dance with me!" another exclaimed with vehemence.
"My family is sitting on the throne of the realm of Elysium from longer than yours do, it should be me, getting to dance with miss Teresa!" one old man, with an uniform, informed her, while Teresa kept looking at her feet blushing, almost tempted to let it go of Patrick's hands, even if she didn't want; she didn't wish to dance with those men who wanted her for her title and her money, but she knew they were all princes and generals and rulers from all over the world, come there just to dance with her, hoping to get the princess to agree to marry them… a dance, an hope was everything they were asking, and why shouldn't she give them at least them? No pressure, just that, hope…
But then again, the hands and the arms and the strong body of the beautiful and mysterious stranger felt so good, so right for her, that she knew that she couldn't really let it go of him, couldn't fake for those men, giving them a false hope, not even for a short while, for in her eyes , as in the ones of everyone witnessing the interlude, it was already all very clear: whoever he was, that man won the heart of the beautiful princess.
The one with the uniform tried to steal her from her companion with strength and rage, but Patrick merely touched him on the forearm, looking not in the eyes of the old man, but in the ones of the princess… and even if his objective should have been the crown, he really couldn't think about it, for his thoughts were concentrated on the beauty in front of his eyes, longing for him as he did for her. "Your highness, would you honor me with another battle?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper, as eye contact was never broken between the two of them and the world stopped existing.
Teresa nodded, with a smile brightening her whole face; she took once again Patrick's hand, and once again, as soon as the orchestra started playing again the soft and famous tunes, she followed him on the dance floor, blocking everything out as eh turned into the center of her whole world and universe.
"You are beautiful, your Highness, has anyone ever told you so? "
"many did, actually, but only few of them actually meant it. And besides… is it really such a necessity beauty, or there's need for something else, something deeper in this world? Shouldn't one been valued for their soul and heart, instead of the beauty of their body, that's so frail and short-lived?" The breath died in his throat as he words cut him deep in his heart, for, for the first time in his whole, he realized how wrong he had been, how many mistakes he had actually done until that very moment. Hope blossomed in his very being, for he could easily read the princess' heart. She didn't know him, yet she was willing to give him a chance out of blossoming and young love. "Tell, me, stranger, what should I call you?" she whispered, her breath hot against the skin of his neck, without stopping dancing.
"I'm Patrick, and I'm nothing but a thief. They used to call me the prince of thieves, but that, I'm not, for my reputation was born out of lies and manipulations. .. and that's why we should stop dancing right now, your highness. For they say you'll choose your beloved this evening, and you deserve much more than me."
But Teresa wasn't listening. Her heart was blossoming with hope, remembering the words of the wise Summer: a prince was going to going to take her away from this life, a prince different from any other one she had ever met. "Yet, instead of lying or trying to get the treasure belonging to the royal family, here you are, confessing me the truth about yourself. Tell me, why should I doubt you, when you've been nothing but honest with me, and have proved to care more about me than all the others here, them, who all have blue blood running through their veins?"
The music stopped once again, and the murmur that the couple had awaited since their eyes locked finally come, and with that, Patrick fell an hand patting him on the back, resolute and strong, but yet friendly and warm, a strange contrast but that found confirmation in the cheerful tone of the man talking to Prince of thieves. "So, tell me, daughter, is he the chosen one?" the king asked, smiling at the two of them; Patrick's mouth fell, and he fought the need to smile…. Was it really happening to him? was it really love at first sight possible, and was the princess really…. Enamored with him? was it possible for him to save his sisters and have the princess?
"I don't know, father, I just met him. But don't you think you should ask him first if he wants me?" Teresa asked, blushing, but with the tone that only a princess could possess, her eyes still locked on the stranger's ones.
"My lady, only a crazy man would refuse you" Patrick said, drawing invisible patters on her knuckles, before turning to face the king, and kneeling in front of his Majesty, his stormy blue eyes no longer covered by the mask. "Your Highness, please, forgive me, but I'm asking for private hearing with you and your daughter, because, if your daughter may want me, I'd like to tell her my name and position, so that she could choose on her own free mind whatever she still want me or not after my tell will be over…."
The king nodded, and walked towards his private study, followed by his daughter, who kept blushing and trying to skim over the hand belonging to the handsome stranger, and Patrick, who felt a magnetic pull towards the young woman at his side; when they reached their destination, heavy doors of full wood closed at their backs, two guards at the entrance, on the outside of the room. "So, tell me, young man, do you wish or not to ask for permission to marry my daughter?" the king asked, any sign of cheerfulness gone from his voice now that they both were talking business.
"As I told you, Sire" Patrick told him kneeling once again with reverence, his head low, so low it was almost touching his right knee. "I'd prefer for you and your precious daughter to know the full story, for I fear I'm not the man you think me to be. I'm Sir Patrick- although I appointed myself with such a title…"
"Oh, yes, yes! I've heard of you, and when I sent over the invitation, I hoped for you to join us. You are believed to be wise and observant, a good judge of character, son, and if my daughter feels like you could be a rightful king, so be it…."
"You see, Sire, there is more than it meets the eyes when it comes to me, and since you are ready to accept me so willingly in your family, and your own daughter wants to open up her heart for me, I think that, for once in my life, I have to be honest " Patrick started, slightly amused, chuckling "I know you've heard of me, and you've probably learned of my ability to understand where the truth stays, to uncover mysteries. You may even heard of my so-called magical abilities… but, the truth is, I'm not the good man everybody thinks I am. I'm a liar and a cheater, and often I've taken advantage of this abilities I possess to get hold of things that shouldn't belong to me… and in one of those not so rare moments, I met him, John of the Red. Even if I knew him by fame, I've still being enough to try to face him, to provoke him by stealing from him, with the result that, once discovered I was behind the mask of the Prince of thieves, he took away from me my sisters, menacing to enslave them if I'll nit bring him in six days the crown belonging to your daughter…"
The king turned, and was ready to reprimand the young man, when he saw his daughter removing the beloved tiara from her head, offering it to the man she hoped would eventually be her spouse, squeezing his hands like he had done with hers just moments before. Or had it been hours? "My crown, as beloved as it may, is nothing but an object, and at least, I'll always keep in the deepest corner of my soul the precious memories connected to it…. The lives of you family are more important than my own vanity."
Patrick took her in his arms, holding her like for dear life, when the kind coughed, breaking the magic instant, denying them the plan they had already formulated in their minds. "I'm sorry, Teresa, but I'll never allow John to get his dirty hands on your mother's crown again!"
"Again? But, father, I don't understand. I knew you and the lord of the Red had never liked each other, never seeing eye to eye, but what's that? What do you mean, he'll never get his hands on the crown again?"
"I think you are old enough to understand this tale now, so it's time for you to know the truth…"The king took a big breath, and at closed eyes, like to remember it more clearly, he started to explain himself to his daughter and his guest. "you see, daughter, before me, your mother had many men at her feet wishing for her hand in marriage, and one of them was her childhood friend, John of the red. John really loved her, but knew she felt nothing but friendship for him, so he tried to buy the title and her, but he failed once again; not even the crown you now wear helped his cause, for my beloved thought it like the gift of a beloved friend. She even had it on our wedding, and on that very day, John approached her, asking your mother to stop from doing a terrible mistake. Obviously, she refused, like she refused to give the crown up and John had been sent away to think about his misbehavior, and, since that day, he tries to get an hold of the crown every time he can, the symbol of your mother's refusal…." The king paused once again, looking sad, as sad as only once Teresa had seen him before. "There were rumors… because as feared as he is, John is worse than what he is believed to be. When your mother passed away, there were rumors, that he had been… somehow involved in the accident causing her death. And I think that, by having the crown for himself, he would just…. Accomplish everything he had set in motion, erasing the memory of your mother and the last trace of his feelings for her."
As soon as the words left the king's mouth, Teresa started to cry, sobbing in the embrace of the beautiful stranger- Patrick – who kept patting her back and drawing invisible patterns on her naked shoulders to calm her down, like he was trying to mesmerize the woman in his arms. "Tell me, my King, what you are saying, is that John of the Red lies and manipulates the ones around him… my sisters, he'll never let them go, even if I'll give him the crown, right?"
The king remained in silence, than joined the young man. "I'm sorry, Patrick, but I think that if you'll try to stop him on your own, you'll not accomplish what you set yourself to. But don't worry… we'll set a trap for John now that we know his plans, and we'll free your sisters. If he wants the crown, then, you'll give it to him. we'll let him believe that you stole it from us, and when the time for the exchange will come, my men, Cho and Rigsby, will be at your side to put an end to his menace…." The king smiled, once again patting the back of the young man, but this time with cheerful enthusiasm and clear happiness. "Do that, and once back, I'll make sure you'll have my daughter as your spouse… but only if she'll accept you, and if you'll be ready to give up on your life on crime, and will give back what you've stolen in the past , sharing what can't be returned with the poorest of my people"
He nodded, shaking the king's hand, and Teresa, with tears of happiness, hugged both the men at the same time, while Patrick tenderly nuzzled her neck…
On the sixth day, Patrick was stranding in the middle of the dining room of his home, holding the tiara in his hands like for dear life, keeping skimming over the emeralds- so much green, deep and shiny like the eyes of the woman who held his heart… Teresa, his beautiful, sweet and carrying Teresa, the one whom, with merely a gaze, had done what his own sister had failed to accomplish in a lifetime, changing him, for good, for the better … he had to come back to her, and there was nothing that he wanted more than returning the tiara to her, not because of the object itself, but for what it meant, the memory of her long, lost, late mother. He would return it to her, and he would put an end to John's tyranny… with the help of one Cho.
The mysterious knight known as Cho was a legend between the people of the realm; he was different from them, very, very different, and was rumored to have seen the light in a far, far away country; said rumors also said that there, he had met a woman – Teresa's matron, Summer- and, even if she was the mistress of his king, he had fallen victim to her siren's call, abandoning everything and everyone to follow her to her native home. But Cho wasn't just known because he come from far away. Cho, the silent knight, was also rumored to be a magician, even if Patrick doubted the man's powers were situated in his stare. It was just a mental thing, the now former thief believed, a matter of suggestion. When they saw Cho, people felt judged, felt the need to defend themselves, and in doing so, they, partly unwillingly, confessed their own faults.
He was also said to possess a remarkable aim, and yet another rumor said that the very Lord Robin of Locksley had taught him during the Holy War, while they had both been prisoners to the enemy- and that, back then, Cho had been a soldier of fortune, trying to raise enough money to free once and for all Lady Summer from her "owner"…. But those voices were probably just that, voices. Still, Patrick was glad Cho was the one pointing his arrow at John, in case the renegade lord would play something, endangering the women's lives, because his experience suggested that, behind every legend, there was some truth- there was supposed to be some truth…
"Well, well, well, look who's here, the Prince of thieves with my tiara…." Patrick turned, and, leaning against the doorframe, here he was, John himself, crossed arms, grinning evilly, chuckling like a maniac. "looks like you're not so brave when you have to face your own opponent. As stupid as you've been, you've proved to be intelligent, in accomplished the task I gave you." He clapped, and reached Patrick, examining the jewel in the thief's hands.
"Where are my sisters?" Patrick asked at low voice, so low it was almost an inaudible whisper, not daring to meet the eyes of the tyrant. At the words, John chuckled, and snapped his fingers, and the two women were held inside with strength and force and rage by the same men who had dared to touch them the very first time they had been approached by John's men… the men who were still evil, sick, dirty. "You told me you were going to keep them safe…" Patrick almost begged with teary eyes.
"Oh, don't worry, they've been safe. They haven't been touched, nor they'll be, until I'll be sure you did as I asked you to. " he offered his hand to Patrick, but not out of respect or friendship or to build an alliance, but asking something, something that, although reluctantly, Patrick not offered, because John wasn't asking, but gave up… "Oh, the tiara of my beloved… I loved her, you know? My dearest Ellen. I loved her, had loved her since the beginning, since when they were kids. But… the day she met Virgil, everything changed. She saw him and only him, and even if I tried to convince her to succumb to her…our own feelings, she refused. Even if I gave her the crown… a crown I ordered just for her and her alone, for the one who was supposed to be my queen." He walked through the room, fingering the cold metal with malice and hate. "But it wasn't enough. It was never enough! As much as I tried to get her… she refused, she always, always stubbornly refused to give up! Teresa was supposed to be my child, and she refused to see it! She refused to admit she loved me back! And I was so.. so mad with her… that woman.. that woman…" he paused, throwing the beautiful tiara against the wall, the emeralds ending everywhere, spattered all across the room. "Even with her dying breath, she still refused to give me what was mine."
The hold of the evil, dirty men on the two women increased, and in the same time John laughed with such an inexplicable cruelty and craziness, he turned to face Patrick, dagger in hand, ready to jump on him to get rid of the thief who had dared to make fun of him in his own home; Patrick, though, for once, didn't hesitate, instead, as soon as he understood the danger his beloved were in, he tried to go for the two beasts; he tried to divide them, divide and conquer, and it was everything a tangle of limbs and fists and clothes… and when John was going for Patrick's neck, an arrow hit his hand, bull's eye, preventing the cruel man to do any further damage.
"Kill them!" he shouted at his minions, with red eyes, eyes of a madman "kill the women…for he has once again failed and betrayed me!"
And, as the "soldiers" were to follow the bloody order, two arrow hit them straight in the heart, leaving two bodies senseless and lifeless on the ground….
It was a day of celebration in the realm.
The princess didn't want for her wedding to be a huge party like everything her father sued to do, but, then again, this moment was one she was supposed to share with the ones who loved her the most, her own people…. Even if it was against everything she had always wanted, and wished for. Hordes of citizens trying to enter inside the church, trying to have a touch, a feel, a piece of her wasn't what she had always wanted for her wedding day, definitely not, and it saddened her. yet again, even if with his wisdom, her father had failed at knowing her, her secrets, her needs, her fears and needs.
While she was feeling, enchanted, the fabric of her wedding dress on her skin, a pair of warm, strong hands covered her eyes, and when she turned, she fell in the most perfect embrace of them all, feeling so right and so perfect and so good all at once, for the arms, she already knew they belonged to her beloved Patrick.
He kissed her, one of those kisses her father didn't know they were sharing since his return few weeks prior, and then, once again, he asked her to cover her eyes, for he had a surprise for her; she did as he asked, and didn't need to look for knowing what it was, because the feeling, the sensation was well known for her body and for her soul, something she could recognize at heart… her mother's tiara.
"I made it rearrange for you, my love. Helping the knights to ensure order is funnier than expected, and even if it doesn't ensure the same amount of money as my previous life, at least I have you…" he offered her hand, and once again he captured Teresa in his embrace, just like that very first night, not long before.
They smiled at each other, and kissed once again, and, with a last look around, laughing, they left the castle, running away from the oppression of the life of the noble ones…. One day, Teresa would be queen, and her Patrick was going to be her king, but there was time. Until that very day, they were going to live adventure after adventure, and they would marry like they had wished to, and not like someone else had ordered them to.
But, even once back, they knew the truth hidden in their hearts, a truth everybody could understand looking at their smiles…. They were getting their happily ever after.