A/N: Hello all! To answer a few questions from the reviewers. A.) Charming
ran out because his father was coming after him. B.) A note about the
identity of Jocelyn - My sister says I read weird fairy tales, and that no
one will guess it. *sigh* C.) You guys are the best readers ever!!!! You
write awesome reviews and have such great taste in stories! (hehehe). Here
we reach a climactic/ actually plot-possessing chapter. *oohs and aahs from
the well-paid audience* Enjoy!
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MARY POV
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I scowled, fists clenched as I marched out into the royal gardens. Of all the audacity! The moron! Yes, he had been adorable - such an adorable shepherd. Both Bo and I had been watching him for weeks now as he sat watching his sheep. He was especially gorgeous on summer days when he would take off his shirt off.
But he chose Bo! Bo! Bo and her idiotic sheep, their dimwitted mouths hanging slack as they stared out at a world glazed by their cocked eyes. Argh! I yanked at my hair furiously, stomping down the stairs and huffing over the rejection of my sheep's Adonis.
Oh, he made my blood boil! My dress was neat and wrinkle free tonight (I had given the old hag down the lane a whole handkerchief for the spell), and every hair was in place. Why then did he choose Bo - Bo, as she chomped obnoxiously on her fried meats, sauce dribbling slowly down her uncouth chin and onto her collar. And yet he sat beside her, brilliant eyes full of adoration as she mumbled about her sheep through mouthfuls of thick gravy and chicken.
I screeched in rage, tearing at my former masterpiece of curls. I could still see the absolute love that shone in his eyes as he gazed at the cockeyed expression of my fellow shepherdess and her soiled clothing. I felt the envy of before renewed as I remembered the delicate art that I had made of eating, the pinnacle of perfection I had constructed at conversation.
Oh, it had all been so perfectly planned! So beautifully executed! So ---- I screeched in surprise as I tripped over something warm and fell onto my stomach, gasping for air. What in the realms of weasels?
Someone groaned. I blinked a few times and turned myself round, still lying on the ground. There was Jocelyn, face twisting with anguish beneath my left boot. I briskly lifted my foot and smoothed over my skirts, exposing his contorting features. "What are you doing lying there?" I barked, still furious at the humiliation of letting my skirts fall over his face. He gasped for air. "It hurts so much," he whispered, trying to sit up.
"What? Tripping? Get over---" My mouth dropped open as I saw the dagger sticking from his stomach. He whimpered. "Grease and tallow---" He tried to stand, and fell back to his knees. "Baldechrit!" (The latter I knew to be a particularly obscene Hyrene curse) I stood, still in shock.
"I will go to the royal physicians, Jocelyn. I promise that they will come; I will make them." His miserable eyes followed after me as I raced up the stairs, beautifully shined boots clacking against the light elegant steps of cement. And I experienced strange guilt from the sight of my own frivolity. Someone was dying and I worried about the gloss of my shoes. Where was my sense of reality?
I dashed up the steps even more quickly. Who in the realms of toads had stabbed him? He hardly posed a political threat to anyone, not even the highly disliked Dashing. He was nobody - nothing. What motive could anyone have to kill him?
And why did he wince when I said his name?
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*** *** *** *** *** ***
MARY POV
****** ****** ****
I scowled, fists clenched as I marched out into the royal gardens. Of all the audacity! The moron! Yes, he had been adorable - such an adorable shepherd. Both Bo and I had been watching him for weeks now as he sat watching his sheep. He was especially gorgeous on summer days when he would take off his shirt off.
But he chose Bo! Bo! Bo and her idiotic sheep, their dimwitted mouths hanging slack as they stared out at a world glazed by their cocked eyes. Argh! I yanked at my hair furiously, stomping down the stairs and huffing over the rejection of my sheep's Adonis.
Oh, he made my blood boil! My dress was neat and wrinkle free tonight (I had given the old hag down the lane a whole handkerchief for the spell), and every hair was in place. Why then did he choose Bo - Bo, as she chomped obnoxiously on her fried meats, sauce dribbling slowly down her uncouth chin and onto her collar. And yet he sat beside her, brilliant eyes full of adoration as she mumbled about her sheep through mouthfuls of thick gravy and chicken.
I screeched in rage, tearing at my former masterpiece of curls. I could still see the absolute love that shone in his eyes as he gazed at the cockeyed expression of my fellow shepherdess and her soiled clothing. I felt the envy of before renewed as I remembered the delicate art that I had made of eating, the pinnacle of perfection I had constructed at conversation.
Oh, it had all been so perfectly planned! So beautifully executed! So ---- I screeched in surprise as I tripped over something warm and fell onto my stomach, gasping for air. What in the realms of weasels?
Someone groaned. I blinked a few times and turned myself round, still lying on the ground. There was Jocelyn, face twisting with anguish beneath my left boot. I briskly lifted my foot and smoothed over my skirts, exposing his contorting features. "What are you doing lying there?" I barked, still furious at the humiliation of letting my skirts fall over his face. He gasped for air. "It hurts so much," he whispered, trying to sit up.
"What? Tripping? Get over---" My mouth dropped open as I saw the dagger sticking from his stomach. He whimpered. "Grease and tallow---" He tried to stand, and fell back to his knees. "Baldechrit!" (The latter I knew to be a particularly obscene Hyrene curse) I stood, still in shock.
"I will go to the royal physicians, Jocelyn. I promise that they will come; I will make them." His miserable eyes followed after me as I raced up the stairs, beautifully shined boots clacking against the light elegant steps of cement. And I experienced strange guilt from the sight of my own frivolity. Someone was dying and I worried about the gloss of my shoes. Where was my sense of reality?
I dashed up the steps even more quickly. Who in the realms of toads had stabbed him? He hardly posed a political threat to anyone, not even the highly disliked Dashing. He was nobody - nothing. What motive could anyone have to kill him?
And why did he wince when I said his name?
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