Her nails dig into the skin of his forearms, leaving half-moon marks as she squeezes hard enough to drawn blood. Bellamy doesn't mind, though, as he stares into her blue eyes – his stomach churns at the fear he reads in them, no doubt matching his own. She bites on her lip, too, a habit of hers to swallow down tears, to force herself to be stronger than she looks.
"Say it," he demands.
Her reply is immediate. "I'm not afraid."
Bellamy nods, leans forwards to kiss her forehead, and tugs a dark strand of hair behind her ear. There is little strength to her words, but everyone around them is panicking, crying, yelling, so at least Octavia's fake calmness is an improvement in comparison.
"Again."
"I'm not afraid."
He squeezes her arm, if only for a second, as if that alone could give her the courage she so obviously needs. They all need it, as the bells ring loud and clear above their heads, as the crowd keep growing and growing around them. Kitchen staff, guards, noblemen alike – all hiding in the dungeons as if it could help, as if it would save them from the ineluctable. Save them from the curse.
"Say it 'till you mean it, O."
Ever the docile one when she's scared, his sister starts muttering the words, over and over again, as she presses her eyes shut. It is nothing more than a distraction, just a way to keep her mind off things, but it proves itself working and so Bellamy won't make her stop now.
He looks around him, looks at the wary faces of the people – people he has seen every day since he was but a lad, people who have seen him growing up, who have grown up with him. Nathan is but a few feet away from where the siblings are standing, a reassuring hand on a girl's shoulder as she cries and shivers – he has never been a people's person, the main reason why he became a guard just like his father, but today is a day of exceptions and he comforts the poor lass with a kind word.
Both he and Bellamy look up when the door opens with a loud bang, letting a handful of men from the Royal Guard in. Byrne is among them, her Commander of the Guard's cloak crimson with blood at the hem. Bellamy doesn't ask, doesn't need to – everyone knows Cage would send his men too, just in case.
Byrne only needs a nod for Bellamy to let go of Octavia, not without a last promise to be back by her side as soon as possible. His loyalty lies with her, first and foremost, but he also swore allegiance to his king.
And his king needs him, now more than ever.
Byrne doesn't say a word, not until they are far from the dungeons, far from the people. "We need to protect the princess, for her to make it to the wardrobe. That is the priority, the only mission. If she dies, if she is taken by the curse, we are all doomed. Is that clear?"
Bellamy nods alongside the others, his hand finding the pommel of his sword with ease. He has never killed a man before, has never been in a proper battle, only training with other guardsmen – he guesses that will change today. He isn't ready to take a life, probably never will be, but knows the princess's life is more important than his moral compass. Knows of her prophecy, of her destiny – she will save them all from the curse, as long as she enters the wardrobe before the curse hits.
The clamour of battle reaches his ears by the time they make it to the main hall, and so Bellamy unsheathes his sword, his every muscle tensing with anticipation. He knows the fastest way to the princess's chambers, if only because he knows the entire castle like the back of his hand – too many a lost hour wandering its hallways and exploring its rooms when he was a child – so he doesn't hesitate turning left to reach a door, hidden behind a heavy tapestry.
The stairs are narrow but empty of enemies, and so he climbs them with hurried steps that lead him to the royal wing. There is no surprise in the sound of metal against metal as he nears the princess's chambers – she wouldn't go out without a fight, spitfire that she is – but he starts running anyway. She may be good with a sword, but he has no doubt her enemies are stronger, and will have the upper hand if only in number.
Still, the scene unfolding in front of his eyes when he rounds a corner doesn't disappoint him. Both the king and the princess are there, fighting with their backs to each other and their sword in hand – the king's dripping with blood. They're a sight to behold, surely, each fiercer that the other as they spare with their enemies, slashing through leather and flesh alike like they would do butter. A dozen men surround them, though, so Bellamy takes a deep breath before he jumps into the battle.
He has the benefit of surprise, if only for a second. But a second is more than enough for him to knock out one man before turning to another with a feral grin. He lets his instincts guide him as he falls back into the easy steps that come with hours of training, with muscles used to the movements. The silver of his sword soon turn crimson too and, as he unsheathes it from the belly of Cage's soldier – he winces at the thought, his first kill –, he turns around to find all their enemies on the floor, in various states of death or unconsciousness.
Bellamy looks up to the king, but the older man only has eyes for his daughter. Rightfully so, of course, as he puts a hand on her lower back, pushes her forwards. Her eyes are wide, the blue a cold fire in the dim lights of the corridor, as she stares at the men at her feet. Her father pushes her away a little more strongly, and so she starts walking even if distress still paints her features.
Even if neither of them acknowledges his presence, Bellamy follows – what else is there to do, after all, when he swore to give his life for this family? He does hope he will not go so far as to die tonight, though, Octavia's unshed tears flashing in his mind when he blinks – the curse is to hit, and he doesn't want her to be alone when it does. Doesn't want her to be alone in whatever life will be there once the orange fog engulfs them.
The king barges towards the royal nursery, holding on to his daughter's wrist as he goes. He raises a leg as to kick the door open, no time wasted on decorum, when the shouts of more men stop him in his tracks. Bellamy barely has time to register what is happening before more enemies appear, seemingly out of nowhere. He doesn't think, only acts, as he grabs the princess by the arm and pulls himself between her and Cage's men.
"Open the damn door!" he all but yells at her, respect and politeness be damn when he blocks a sword with his own. "Now!"
He hears her struggling with the handle, because of course the thing would be locked when they need it open the most. She starts hitting on it with the pommel of her own sword while he acts as a shield between her and the men, the king fighting some off not ten feet away form where Bellamy stands.
She lets out a little yelp of joy when the door finally agrees to open, the sound so out of place it startles Bellamy for a second. Still, the next moment he pushes her inside with his shoulder – she will hate him for it, not that he cares – as he cuts through a man's side.
"To the wardrobe!" he screams.
Not that she would need his instructions, but better safe than sorry. And, really he isn't all that surprised when she doesn't obey – not that he should be shouting orders her way in the first place, but, still.
"Papa," she says, plaintively, as she looks for her father over his shoulder.
Bellamy sighs, before turning to her just enough to look at her in the eyes – so blue and beautiful and desperate. "I will go back to him and bring him to you. I swear." He nods, for emphasis. "But you need to go. Now."
She hesitates long enough for him to nudge her a little too forcefully with his shoulder once more, just enough as to break her out of her haze. She nods and, finally, turns to the wardrobe.
Another man is running toward Bellamy when he feels the gust of magic in his back. He can't help but grin at the enemy standing in front of him, confusion settling over his face. Bellamy laughs, the chuckle cold yet delightful. "You lost," he tells the man, before running him through with his sword. The body hasn't even reached the floor that Bellamy is already running back inside to help the king.
He freezes in horror when he crosses the doorframe.
It all happens slowly yet fast, a flash of fabric and metal as Bellamy witnesses the sword making its way into the king's stomach, wrenching a cry of pain from him. The king falls to his knees, giving Cage's man the perfect angle for a last blow – one he doesn't have the opportunity to give as Bellamy urges forwards and kill him first in a single slash of his sword.
"Your Majesty, now," he whispers as he falls to his knees in front of the king, holding him by the shoulders. "You need to follow your daughter to the Land Without Magic. You need to go."
King Jacob's eyes are glassy already, and Bellamy's grow wide as his mind screams no, no, no. They were close, so close to succeeding, they can't lose now, can't lose so close to the end. His hands get desperate as he struggles to keep the king in an upward position, fighting against the dead weight of him.
"You go, boy," he tells Bellamy, his voice hoarse and breathless as blood appears at the corners of his mouth. "Go with her. Help her."
"I – I can't."
"Yes, you can." There is determination in his voice, still. "You must."
His eyes roll at the back of his skull before his lids shut tight, and he falls backward. Bellamy helps him lay on the floor, staring for way too long at a single drop of blood runs down his mouth, his cheek, and disappears in his blond hair. He stares, and stares, before the clamour outside brings him back to the reality of the moment, reminds him of the events unfolding around him.
He stands up on wobbly legs, looks out the window – even in the darkness of the night, the orange cloud can't be missed, casting yellow shadows on the forest and within the castle. Bellamy looks over his shoulder, then back at the cloud. His mind screams for him to go back downstairs, to go back to the dungeons and hug Octavia one last time before the curse hits. But the king, his king, still lies at his feet, and another voice, one that sounds like Byrne's, screams at him to remember his duty, his oath.
His choice is made, even if it is a difficult one.
The orange cloud of the curse hits the castle as the same time he closes the wardrobe's door on himself.
…
He falls to his knees in the grass, holding his hands out to break his fall – a jolt runs up his arms and he winces in pain before looking up to the forest around him. The air is different, smoky and metallic as it fills his lungs, makes him cough slightly. Still he rises, grabbing his sword in the process, as he scans his surroundings with something akin to curiosity beneath the alertness. It wouldn't do to let his guard down now, but he also wants to discover the word around him, wants to learn more about this curious new land he finds himself trapped in.
He forces himself not to think of Octavia as the word 'trapped' crosses his mind – if he ponders on it now, he will most certainly drown in his own dark thoughts, and he can't allow himself sure a weakness now. She is strong, and fierce, and stubborn; whatever happens, he has no doubt she'll manage just fine, even if it kills him not to be by her side for the first time since she was born.
No, instead he is by the princess's side, as she stands a few feet away from him, sword still in hand and white nightgown pooling around her legs. She's barefoot, which will prove problematic soon, and covered in blood. She's also shivering – from the cold or from shock, he isn't certain.
"Your Highness?" he asks tentatively, as not to scare her.
She startles anyway, fingers curling more tightly around the hilt of her sword as she turns around, ready to fight. Her eyes open wide at the sight of him, before travelling to a point above his shoulder, and it dawns on him before she even speaks.
"Where is my father?" He closes his eyes only to picture the King's, blue and glassy. "Where is he?"
"He – I'm afraid he didn't make it, Your Highness."
Realisation contorts her beautiful face, eyes growing even wider as the tears freely run down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling until she bites down on it, hard enough to draw blood. Bellamy isn't exactly certain how to react to that, partly because crying maidens always scared him half to death, partly because she is a princess and will probably not react kindly to being comforted by a member of the guard.
Still, he takes a step closer to her, just in case, because she seems frozen on the spot and it frightens him even more so than the tears. The last thing he wants is for her to have a meltdown right now, but her father is dead and her entire kingdom cursed, so maybe her reaction in that moment is appropriate. What does he know about such things?
"Your Highness?" Bellamy asks again, voice barely more than a whisper – like one would talk to a wounded deer for it not to run away and make matter worse.
She looks so young and fragile in that moment, despite the deadly weapon she's still holding on to – she's barely of age, after all, and yet carries the weight of the word on her shoulders, the responsibility of saving her people from Cage. So many responsibilities it may as well swallow her, and Bellamy pities her a bit.
"Your Highness," he says again, a little more strongly this time.
But a loud sound, louder than he ever heard before, startle them both, and so they both turn to it at the same time – looking up to see a metal bird in the sky. Bellamy has never seen anything of the like before, and it says a lot when he grew up with Raven inventing a hundred different engines when she wasn't too busy with her chores of the day. This bird seems propped up by some kind of magic, but the sound it makes tells a different story, and so Bellamy just frowns at it until it disappears out of sight.
"What was that?" he asks uselessly.
"I have no idea," the princess replies. Already she's squaring her shoulders, her face an emotionless canvas. It is impressive, how she can be a shivering mess one second then calm and collected the next instant. The life of a noblewoman, probably. "We should move, the sun is going to set soon."
Bellamy nods in reply, but he isn't certain she notices before she's already moving forwards with a new determination in her steps. He has no idea where they are heading, and neither does she, but at least she pretends otherwise. He might respect her a little more for it.
That is, until she stops in her tracks and turns back to him, a frown on her brow as she stares at him without a word. A slight blush creeps up her cheeks when she finally averts her eyes. "What is your name?"
He can't help it, when a dry chuckle escapes his lips. Not that he expected otherwise – she is the future queen and he is a newly appointed member of the guard like there is a hundred more in the castle – but it still stings, if only a little.
"Bellamy, Your Highness."
Her eyes lights up a bit before she says, "Octavia's brother?"
His stomach is in knots at the way his sister's name sound in the princess's mouth – a tangle of emotions that makes him want to throw up again with the thought of breaking his promise to come back. He forces a tight smile in his lips, though. "Yes, indeed."
Octavia had be appointed as one of the princess's maids not four months ago – such a step up from kitchen duties and potato peeling. He isn't all that surprised that four months were enough for her to make a name for herself – and for him, too, apparently.
The princess nods, once, before resuming her purposeful walking. Bellamy falls into step behind her again, and so they settle into an easy pace through the forest, not once starting a conversation. Hell, Bellamy wouldn't even know where to start. 'Sorry about the king, he was a good man'? 'So, how are you supposed to break that curse'? 'What's Cage's deal with you anyway'? Somehow, none of those lines seems appropriate, so Bellamy elected to shut up and let her brood instead.
The sun is low in the sky, all in crimsons and oranges and golden hues, when the princess finally stops, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It takes Bellamy three steps to come and stand next to her, and only then does he notice what had her halt. What that is remains a mystery, some kind of road, grey and smooth and mad of a material he has never seen before. He thinks back to the metal bird they saw a few hours before and knows the Land Without Magic still have many mysteries in store for them.
The princess cautiously taps the road with one toe – she's still barefoot, gods – before she steps forwards. She stops again, looks down, to her right, to her left. Then, surprisingly, she looks at him above her shoulder. It is the first time since the beginning of their walk that she had acknowledged his presence by her side, and Bellamy isn't all that sure what he is supposed to do now.
"Left or right?" she asks, as if privy of his confused thoughts.
It makes matter worse – since when does a member of the royal family ask a lowborn his opinion on anything? – but he forces himself not to dwell on it as he steps on the curious road too. Roads mean civilisation, which means food and lodging, and perhaps even answers to their questions. Not much, but something. Whether it be a town or a village, or hell even an inn by the side of the road, he takes whatever comes their way.
"Right?" he says.
He didn't mean it to sound like a question, but his voice rises anyway. Not that the princess seem to notice, for she nods and then starts walking to the right without any further comment. As always, Bellamy follows, looking above his shoulder every so often in hope of finding a rider or another traveller of any kind. They remain alone for another half an hour, before his ears make out the sound of – something.
It is another ten minutes, sound growing stronger with every step they take, before they find themselves in front of a little town, one Bellamy has never seen the likes of which before. If the metal bird was a surprise, and the road a curiosity, they have nothing on the town in front of them. There is noise everywhere, and lamps that doesn't seem to be lit by candles, and weird wheeled machines on the streets, even weirder little shops and houses. Everything is foreign, different, unknown, that Bellamy barely notices the princess's hand finding his, her fingers locking between them and squeezing hard enough to be painful.
He looks down to their entwined finger, goosebumps rising on her fair skin and arm shivering even so slightly. He squeezes back to reassure her, to let her know she isn't alone in this strange word – whatever happens next, it is his duty to follow her, to help her. She casts him a glance, gratefulness in her eyes even if she doesn't quite smile.
When her fingers slip out of his hold, his palm feels cold all of a sudden, skin tinkling in protest. He shakes his hand, wills the feeling to go away.
They don't make it too far before they meet someone, a woman wearing weird clothes and holding a little dog in her arms. She gasps when she sees them, and holds on tighter to her pet, horror written on her features as she takes a few steps back. It goes downhill from there – they're both covered in blood, after all, even if it has dried and turn into a brown hue, the princess not wearing shoes, their swords still in hand. Something tells Bellamy it might not be a casual sight.
One of the wheeled machines stops next to them on the road, and so Bellamy stops too, a hand on the princess's elbow for her to do the same. A man and a woman come out of the machine, and Bellamy almost sighs in relief at their matching uniforms – some sort of guards, or sheriffs, and definitely this town's kind of authority figure, bless the gods.
"Everything okay there?" the man asks as he puts his hands on his hips.
Bellamy lets the princess do the talking, quite obviously. "We might be lost, actually," she says, her voice uncertain. "If you could maybe direct us to the nearest inn, we would be most grateful."
The two sheriffs glance at each other with matching frowns, before the woman starts talking in the little black box clipped to her collar. Bellamy doesn't understand everything she says, but he can make out the words 're-enactment freaks taking it too far', whatever that is supposed to mean.
"You are going to come with us, okay?" the man says. "No funny business, just get in the car."
He moves closer to the wheeled machine, opens the door, and gives them a pointed look. The princess and he know better than to argue, and they enter the strange carriage without a word. There is a grid between the front and back seats, which doesn't mean anything good – the machine makes the same kinds of noise the metal bird did, too, and the princess's hand find his once again. This time, Bellamy refuses to let go, probably because he needs her moral support as much as she needs his.
Once they reach the building – it reads 'police station' on the front – they are shoved into a room, one with a table and a handful of chairs in the middle. No other piece of furniture inside, but Bellamy shrugs it off as he pulls a chair for the princess to sit. He stands behind her, fingers etching for the sword they took from him, not liking being weaponless in such a place.
The door opens suddenly, and so Bellamy places himself between it and the princess as the same woman from before enters the room. She quirks an eyebrow at the sight but doesn't say anything as she moves to take a seat by the other side of the table and slowly folds her hands on top of it. She gives Bellamy a pointed look, then does the same with the empty chair, then back to his face. He doesn't move an inch.
"Fine," she says, even if it sounds anything but. "Whose blood is it?"
She nods to Bellamy's clothes, then to the princess's. "Ours," the princess lies through her teeth, voice calm and composed. There is an open gash on her arm and Bellamy's side has been hurting for hours, so the lie holds. "We were trekking through the forest, and it didn't go as well as planned."
"What about your shoes, lady?"
The princess's mouth opens in protest, surely to put the woman back in her place and do you have any idea who am I?
Bellamy speaks up before she can actually form words, though. "Lost them. We were running, things got messy. You know how it is."
He offers the woman a bright smile, one she mirrors ironically. Then she turns back to the princess, her frown deepening. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more concerned. "Do you want us to talk about what happened, alone? You're safe here."
The princess looks at him in confusion for a few seconds – it dawns on them at the exact same time, eyes lightening up with realisation before growing wide. She turns back to the other woman, scandalised. "He isn't violent with me."
"That's what they all say."
"Like hell I would hurt her!"
Anger builds within him. He isn't naïve enough to believe such men don't exist – too many bruises on his mother's fair skin prevented it from thinking as such – but he wants to laugh at the mere idea of him doing that to a woman. To the princess. Not only would he never stick so low as to act so disgustingly toward a woman, but he is pretty certain the princess would kill him on the spot if he ever dared thinking about it. He's seen her with a sword, after all.
"Okay, have it your way," the woman goes on, though obviously unconvinced. "What's your deal anyway, with the clothes and the blood and the swords? World of Warcraft party gone wrong?"
He has no idea what that is supposed to mean.
'Think fast!' Octavia would say when they were working in the kitchen, throwing a potato his way so he would catch it before it hit him square in the face. Think fast, and so he does. "Yes, we took it a little too far, I'm afraid."
She frowns. He smiles again.
"Okay, fine then."
…
She clings to her necklace, fingers curling around the pearls, and it takes all of Bellamy's self-control not to snap at her here and there. She's been ridiculous, really, and it doesn't help that he's running on very little hours of sleep and an empty stomach. All he wants is to have a hot meal and a good night of sleep, before they can do whatever they're supposed to do at first light tomorrow.
If only one princess wasn't being so damn stubborn about it.
"It was a gift from my betrothed for my sixteen birthday!"
"Do I look like I care about that?"
"You will not raise your voice when speaking to me!"
"And what you going to do about it, huh?"
Maybe he's being ridiculous about it too, but the innkeeper wants to be paid before he gives them the key to their room and they don't have the kind of money this land requires. What they have is the princess's jewels, around her neck and wrists as well as on her ears, which they can barter for money, and he'll be damn if he lets her be a stubborn brat about it. They won't go that far in their quest if she lets them starve to death.
"Leave it alone," she tells him, with fire in her eyes.
"Bloody hell, give me the damn necklace already."
She's making a scene and he has no idea how she ever gained the reputation she had back in their land – the kind, generous princess, loved and adored in every kingdom there is – because right now he can't see the appeal. She's just being obtuse and, quite honestly, childish about it. He doesn't mind skipping a meal, it wouldn't be the first time after all, and sleeping out in the open may be uncomfortable but not impossible. But it's coming from a seamstress's son, not from a king's daughter, so he knows she will have to see it his way at some point.
If that point could be soon rather than later, it would be all the better.
"Listen," he says, and forces himself to adopt the voice he would use with Octavia when she was younger and refused to go to bed. "This isn't our land, you're not a princess anymore. Your name alone doesn't grant us free lodging, but you have a way for us to make some money, and we need it right now. I'm certain Prince Wells will be happy to give you more necklaces once we're done with the curse. But we need the money, now."
She glares at him for a very long time, before she reaches for the clasps of her necklace at the nape of her neck. He holds his hand to her, palm up, fingers curling around the necklace once she gives it to him. He smiles at her, mostly because she's been through a rough day and he needs to cut her some slack, before he turns back to the pawnbroker's shop.
He isn't exactly certain how much the little pieces of paper in his hands are worth, but the innkeeper is happy enough when they pay the room for the night – breakfast included! – and so it's all Bellamy focuses on right now.
That is, until he opens the door to the actual room.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he tells the princess before she has time to fuss about the only bed in the room. It is big enough for the both of them, but Bellamy knows better than to push his luck. The policewoman may have taken their swords, but that doesn't make the princess any less of a threat. She could still kill him with her bare hands if she so wishes.
With a sigh, he grabs one of the pillows and lets it fall at his feet, before turning to the wardrobe in hope he will find at least a blanket. The princess does some exploring of her own, opening a door that might lead to the washroom. She plays with one thing or another, making little metallic sounds, before her loud squeak of surprise is followed by… the sound of rain?
"Bellamy!"
It's a bit embarrassing, how fast he runs by her side.
(It's the first time she's used his name, and it rolls smoothly down her tongue, like music to his ears. He wants her to say it again, wants to keep hearing his name in her mouth.)
When he enters the room, it's to find some kind of glass closet, water indeed raining down. The princess holds her hand, and smiles delightfully. "It's hot!" she says, like she found a treasure of her own. It surely is the highlight of an otherwise dreadful day.
Bellamy looks around to see the other wonders hidden in the room, but she's already pushing him out of the room. "Hush, hush, I'm going to wash now."
As he sits on the bed and listens to the water falling by the other side of the door, he forces himself not to think about anything. But, try as he might, there is still a naked princess – a naked, wet princess – sharing his lodgings, and the thoughts still cross his mind, as forbidden as they are.
With a sigh, he rubs his hand down his face. Hopefully she will break the curse soon enough and he will go back to his peaceful life, one that only involves training and wooing Roma in the kitchens. Soon, he thinks, soon he will go back to his old life and forget about beautiful princesses with stubbornness in their eyes.
"We'll need clothes, too."
His head snaps up to the sound of her voice. She stands in the doorframe, wearing the clothes the police gave them, grey and ill-fit but at least bloodless. She plays with the hem of the shirt, looking down to her bare toes. They have new shoes, too, but she won't need them for the night. It makes for such an intimate scene, with her wet hair and flushed cheeks, that Bellamy doesn't know what to do of it.
His body reacts though, fire burning in his veins at the sight of her long legs and faire skin, at the way her hair frames her face, and how she keeps fidgeting with her clothes, toes curling and uncurling. His body reacts even if it isn't supposed too, but the shame flashing through Bellamy's mind holds little strength next to the lush settling deep in his bones.
"I'll go wash too, then."
And if he takes matter in his own hands under the running water, releasing himself after a few, purposeful jerks and with the princess's beautiful face in mind, well – no one can blame him, really. He comes with his teeth biting into the flesh of his bottom lip not to groan of pleasure, and presses his forehead against the cold wall after that.
His cheeks are flushed when he looks at himself in the mirror as he towels his body, and the freckles stand out even more so than usual. His hair is a mess and his eyes exhausted, but at least he washed the blood and grim off his face and looks a little more like himself now.
He killed a man for the first time today – took more than one life, actually – and is now stranded in an unknown land with a princess who makes him feel way too much. So he rubs a hand down his face and stares at his own reflexion, knowing the next couple of days (weeks? months? gods, years?) can only get worse from there.
With a sigh he leaves the room. The princess is already under the blanket of her not-so-royal bed, blonde hair fanning around her as she presses her face to the pillow. As silently as possible he switches off the light, before lying down on the floor and staring at the ceiling.
"Thank you," she says, so quietly he barely makes out the words. "For following me when you didn't need to."
He closes his eyes, sees Octavia's face in the darkness, hears the king's voice in his ear. You must. "Only doing my job, Your Highness."
He stares at the ceiling some more, and pretends he doesn't hear her crying herself to sleep that night.
…
Her eyes are rimmed with red the following morning, her hair a tangled mess on top of her head, and the clothes don't look any better on her small frame. She's still the most beautiful woman Bellamy has ever seen. Which is enough to make him groan in frustration, but he manages to pass it out as back pains when she looks his way, stretching his arms above his head to make his point.
(His back does hurt enough to make him groan, too, so he needs little pretending on that front.)
She finds a little comb in the washroom and braids her hair, so she looks a little more like her regal self by the time they are ready to go out for breakfast. The inn's main room is empty as they go downstairs, and so they pick the first table they see, Bellamy pulling her chair for her.
"Wow, quite the gentleman," a waitress says as she walks towards them, jug of orange juice in hands. She winks to the princess, "Got yourself a keeper."
The princess bows her head, but it doesn't quite hide her smile. Bellamy feels both like blushing and standing a little taller.
"The buffet is right there," the waitress goes on with a nod to the table full of food by the other side of the room, all the while pouring two glasses of juice. "Just help yourself and call if you need anything, okay?"
They both nod and thank her, before she leaves the room. The smell of bacon and hot bread makes the princess's stomach groan loudly, and Bellamy barely stifles a laugh as he stands up and follows her to the buffet. Their plates are filled with food in an instant, everything looking mouth-watering when they haven't eaten in what feels like forever – that's more food than Bellamy has ever had access to in his lifetime, but he tries not to make a big deal of it. That is, until he pours himself a cup of hot cocoa, puts the plate down to taste the hot drink immediately. The chocolate slides down his throat and settles warmly in his stomach, making him hum appreciatively.
It's the princess's time to laugh. "Cacao beans from Agrabah are so expensive, I can't believe they're serving it for free in this land."
She helps herself to it too, before she goes back to pilling pastries, chocolates and fruits on her plate. Sweet tooth, then.
They eat in silence at first, too busy enjoying the food to bother with any kind of conversation. They fill their plates a second time – who knows when they'll have access to such a feast again – before going back to their tables. Still, with their stomach fuller and appetite satisfied, it allows for conversation at last. Sadly not the peaceful kind one would usually have so early in the morning.
"So, how does it work, then?" he asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
She frowns. "I actually have no idea. I need to find where my people are, and I need to break the curse, but that is all I know on the matter."
Perfect. Simply perfect.
"Wasn't there a prophecy though?"
"Yes." She frowns, obviously upset. "And it's a prophecy, not a cook book. It said I would be the one to break the curse, but didn't give further details."
"Huh." Bellamy frowns at this, because it doesn't make her task complicated – it makes it impossible. If this realm is as big as theirs, or even bigger, it could take years for them to explore it all, and he has no doubt the curse will act in a way that will not make their task easy.
For the first time since he decided to follow the princess inside the wardrobe, Bellamy truly regrets his choice. He could be with Octavia right now – cursed, but with Octavia nonetheless. It may be a selfish thought to have, but Bellamy never declared himself a selfless mind. He thinks of his sister and mother first, and himself second; everything else is an after-thought, a detail he could do without.
But now his entire life revolves around the little blonde thing in front of him – his life is hers to play with, and he has no other choice but to follow her wherever she so wishes. It wasn't the oath he had taken, not exactly, and so Bellamy feels cheated at life.
It could be worse, a little voice in his head tells him, but said little voice doesn't hold much strength when he slept on the floor the night before. So Bellamy sighs and rubs his nose with his thumb as to gather his thoughts. It doesn't help much.
"We should find a library," the princess says after long seconds of silence. "It can be a start."
He nods, because she is right, and drinks a long sip of hot chocolate – still delightful, but it is not enough to sooth his bad mood now. As if sensing the tension that has settles between them, the princess goes back to her own breakfast in silence, and they finish eating without another word.
She asks the innkeeper for clothes and a library – he points them to a nearby shop, and then explains that the town is too little for it to have a library and so they will have to take the bus (what even?) to another place to find what they're looking for. She thanks the man with another smile and kind word, the spitting image of politeness and grace, before leaving the inn.
Bellamy follows, because that's what he is doomed to do from now on.
The shop isn't that far and they hurry to pick a decent outfit, or at least whatever passes for a decent outfit with this realm's unknown fashion sense. The girl working there doesn't look too scandalized by his choice of white shirt and blue pants, and neither is she of the princess's dress and soft leather jacket, to which they add a bag to carry the little belongings they have. Bellamy has to pay an impressive number of little green papers, though, something he doesn't quite enjoys – he would rather not sell all of the princess's jewels right now, least she throws another of her tantrums.
The bus – big car, apparently – is thankfully less expensive, and they take seats in the back, the princess looking at the landscape outside as they make way to the other town the innkeeper told them about. She seems deep in her thoughts, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes, and so Bellamy refrains from asking more questions about the curse. For now, he settles more comfortably in his seat, and lets the princess to her mourning.
It is, after all, the least he can do.
…
The books prove to be of little use. Not that they expected a miracle, really, but the reality of it isn't any less depressing after three hours spent going through every book about magic, history, myths. Bellamy is amazed to see this realm shares many a tale with their land – names familiar and stories well-known – but it isn't all that comforting when they haven't made a single step forwards.
The princess keeps eyeing the devices aligned against a wall of the library, like they hold the answers to their questions. Perhaps they do, what does he know of those things? So, curiously, Bellamy moves closer to them. A lad, no older than ten, is sitting in front of one of the devices, engrossed in the moving pictures in front of him. Bellamy waits for a few seconds, before he clears his throat. The princess is by his side when the lad looks up to them.
"Can you show me how that works?" he asks with a nod to the device.
The lad frowns, openly confused, and then frowns some more. "No," he scoffs before going back to his moving pictures.
Bellamy sighs and rolls his eyes. At least something that doesn't change, he thinks as he reaches for one little paper in his pocket, one with 20 written on it. He holds it in front of the lad's nose, and asks again, "Can you show me how that works?"
The lad snatches the paper from him before standing up, leaving his moving pictures behind. Bellamy sits in front of another device, sharing a glance and a nod with the princess before he focuses back on the lad.
Lad who's still frowning, may he add. "Are you a Hamish?"
Whatever a Hamish is, Bellamy is pretty sure he isn't one. So he answers a simple "No," and then nods to the device again, to go back on tracks. The lad shows him how this thing – a computer, apparently – works and how to go on the Internet (?) and how to basically look for things. He shows how to click on another page, then go back, then click again, and Bellamy is glad he has a sharp mind otherwise he would be lost in a minute.
When the lad is done with his explanations ("So that's that, really."), Bellamy thanks him and waits until he has left them before turning back to the princess. She's smiling, a really, hopeful smile that makes her eyes shine a little, and she takes a seat next to him and scoots closer with both her elbows on the desk, chin resting on her closed fists.
"Let's try this. Write 'parallels realms'."
He does that, which leads to confusion more than anything else ("What the hell is a movie?") when they understand that it leads to a lot of fictional books and stories. So they try again, 'land without magic', and again, 'dark curse'. No matter the words he writes, the results are never the ones they're hoping for. The princess becomes restless after a while, growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute. It is only when her stomach groans loudly that they call for a well deserved break and leave the library to find some place to eat.
They settle for a diner and grilled cheese, mostly because it's the least weird-sounding item on the menu, eating in silence, too lost in their thoughts to bother with conversation. It is only after the princess has emptied her glass of apple juice that she looks back at him.
"We'll find a way," she tells him.
"I know we will, Your Highness."
She crunches up her nose. "I have a name, you know."
"I know, Your Highness."
Ruffling her feathers is entertaining, even more so when she opens her mouth and slaps his shoulder, scandalized by his cheekiness. Her mood swings throw him off the loop every so often, from brooding and mourning to smiling and teasing, but he likes her that way – carefree and laughing with him, eyes shining a vibrant blue, pink lips curling up.
He remembers the previous evening and how beautiful she had been, clean and still a little damp.
He remembers, and even if he would never admit it, not out loud and not to himself, Bellamy would follow her to the end of the world. Not just because he has no other choice, but because he would never be able to say no to her. He barely knows her, but he knows one thing – he's so very doomed.