Abigail had grown accustomed to hearing the tales of her mother's exploits. Voyages to the kingdom's farthest reaches in search of ancient treasures, battles heavy with bloodlust to seek revenge for her sister's untimely end, the gargoyles that plagued silent farm towns and her faithful hound's resurrection on a forgotten island were told of with the enthusiasm that only Walter could muster together. Surely, Abigail had realized years ago, the truth had been stretched, pulled and mended back together like the colorful taffy Jasper slipped into her palms when her endless questions grew tiresome.
'So I had thought,' the princess pondered with a sigh as the boat she, Walter and Ben had commandeered rocked through the choppy waves. She had always expected to lead her life as her brother envisioned for her; quiet and luxurious. For everything bad Logan had done in the last several years, he had looked out for his baby sister. He kept her safe and sheltered her from the intricacies of court and the affluent subjects who would exploit her the first chance they got.
And yet she was forging the upheaval to remove him from the throne she had never wanted, following closely in the steps her mother had paved half of a century before. She was even gathering individuals amongst the armies; fellow heroes in the aspects she found mattered. Walter Beck, who had fought alongside her mother and was the strongest fighter she thought she would ever meet. Page, the iron willed leader of the Bowerstone Resistance, always ready to fight for what she believed was right. Then there was Ben Finn, who always seemed ready to fight, no matter the circumstance, and come out on top. Ben Finn who would flirt with anyone with swaying hips. Ben Finn who just couldn't stay out of Abigail's thoughts.
Her eyes were full of trepidation as they turned from the endless sea that looked the same as it did three days ago; russet tresses flowed around her shoulders softly in the salty breeze as gold-trimmed white satin whipped at her ankles. If she knew Walter any less, she'd swear he was steering the ship in circles. She fought the urge to say as much, knowing his return was likely to include "balls" and "no one's sailed to Aurora in decades".
"Cheer up, Majesty," Ben's smooth voice encouraged, peering at her through the golden locks that always seemed to be in his eyes. He wore his smirk like his sword, perfectly balanced and as much for show as it was for his own protection. Sauntering his way to the rails that guarded the bow of the ship, he playfully chided his sovereign. "Jasper would faint if he saw your back hunched like that."
Her cool, emerald eyes met playful cerulean as her body unconsciously stiffened. Soft fingers smoothed the white, gathered material of her dress at her stomach. "Well, you must forgive me, Goodman Finn, if some of us were raised to be proper ladies."
"Yes, mustn't let the arm candy look comfortable," he teased with a wink. "And to think, I was beginning to think you were human after all. Tsk, tsk." Ben would be remiss to say he didn't enjoy ruffling most he came across. Princess Abigail was far from exempt from such tendencies. Truthfully, he thought of it as more of a sign of endearment than any means of offence.
Clearly not surmising his barbed affection, shoulders pulled back as Abigail tried to make herself appear as tall as possible, something she remembered her mother doing when a particular visitor would begin to annoy her. "I beg your pardon? I am the Princess of Albion, not some trollop to be paraded about!"
Ben snorted good naturedly. "Oh! I forgot! Princesses aren't arm candy, they're married off to the wealthiest general-"
In a flash, the tip of her sword found the hollow of Ben's throat. White steel glistened with the living tattoo, blue as the ocean they sailed across, shaking as her breath became labored. Eyes darkened and flashed with anger and loss, memories of Elliot flooding. "Hold your tongue, churl." She pressed forward, drawing a single drop of blood. "Another word and you'll swim your way back to Mourningwood, belly up."
"Balls, Abigail!" Walter's voice boomed from behind her. The older man knew flashes of rage were not a rarity in her bloodline, tempers usually on a hair trigger. "If we kill the Captain, we very may well lose his troops," he reasoned with her logically. Rational usually won out. "As for you, Finn, I don't recommend pissing her off."
The princess huffed indignantly, and in a single, graceful movement, she sheathed her sword behind her back. "Do not refer to me in such a manor in the future."
Safe from decapitation, Ben pressed fingers to the cut on his neck. It was a minor cut, no more deep than a knick from shaving. "No need to apologize," he scowled, "only a flesh wound." His steady gaze kept hers, unwilling to cave first. 'Not to this spoiled and moody brat.'
"Next time I'll be sure to leave a mark that will scar. Maybe then you'll not forget your place," she threatened. Words similar to those Logan spoke as his men dragged Elliot to his death…Her eyes dropped to her slipper-clad feet.
Ben looked to Walter. "And we're putting this one on the throne? Are you sure about this?" he asked dryly.
Walter laughed heartily. "She's got spunk! She's not the tyrant her brother is; up until the day we left, the worst she'd ever hurt anyone was the time or two she'd tripped over Cerberus' tail."
Upon hearing his name, the black and white collie jumped to his feet next to Walter. He barked once, tail wagging, before bounding to his mistress. He nudged at her knees, begging for attention. Abigail couldn't help but smile as her faithful friend licked at her fingers.
"What'd you do that day? Trip over the king's tail, then? Spill his tea, maybe?"
Walter's mirth was quick to fade. "There was a rally in the castle garden's. She saved a dozen citizens and several children." Ben's confusion did not go unnoticed to either party, though he did not speak. "Princess?"
She nodded, shifting to watch the ocean as they crashed along through the waves. "Logan agreed to spare them at the expense of one forfeited life. I had to choose, lest they would all die. The protestors or the captain of my sentinel, Elliot."
"You chose to save many. Surely this Elliot understood his sacrifice?" Ben pushed, obviously missing something.
"He insisted, in fact, that his life was given to save the others," Walter confirmed solemnly. "He wasn't just a guard, he was hand-chosen as someone who would protect-"
"He was my betrothed." Delicate hands gripped the railing tight, gathering a few splinters. "I wanted to save him. I was going to. I wish…" Unshed tears glistened unseen as she tried to gather her words and piece them together. "It doesn't matter, it cannot be changed."