The clack of a walking stick reverberated through the dining room as Demetrius, the Broken Prince, stepped out from the hidden alcove wearing a grim expression. He wore the royal colours of black and gold, but his uncut hair fell forward in long greasy strands, contrasting with his otherwise princely appearance.
Queen Melinda gave her son a careful look, hoping that he would understand her silent communication.
"Miss Blackbell has clearly decided against the arrangement," drawled Demetrius in a low voice, hoarse from disuse. "If we forced her, it would tarnish our allyship with the Blackbells. Sir Blackbell holds his daughter's opinion in high esteem."
King Donovan considered this, and in his silence, the Queen was painfully aware of her racing heart. If the King had noticed the same thing that she had, she had no idea how he would react, or what he would decide, so it would be better if she said nothing at all.
"And," Demetrius continued, sensing an opening in his father's reflective quietude, "a Last Dance might not be a bad idea. The Royal household hasn't held one since before the war, and it could restore our connections with the noble families."
The King huffed a deep breath, as if he were preparing to make his announcement, and everyone else in the room tensed as they awaited his final decision, but then the King did something that nobody expected. He closed his eyes and dragged a hand across his exhausted eyes, before he stepped back from the table.
"Fine," he conceded. Then, he inclined his head to the Queen, and her breath caught in her throat. "One year. See to it."
The King turned and walked away, leaving the Queen alone with her firstborn son.
Only once the King had closed the door of the dining room behind him, did Melinda let out a ragged and unnerved breath, before she turned to face Demetrius. "You did well," she appraised him with a relieved smile.
His eyes flicked over to her, but he did not move. "You noticed it too, didn't you?"
The Queen nodded. "He seems quite taken with her."
A moment of silence, as the knowledge sunk into them both.
"Don't tell your father," she whispered.
"And ruin my brother's chance at happiness?" Demetrius scoffed. "I think he's suffered enough."
Her eyes softened on him. "Not like you have."
Demetrius tensed, and looked away with a grimace. Strands of his hair fell in front of his face, shielding him from his mother's pity.
Damian just about held himself together as he steered Becky and Anya out of the dining room, and without quite realising it, he had managed to take them to the adjacent drawing room. His entire body was on autopilot and his only thought was to get out of there.
Finally, in the relative shelter of the drawing room, Damian collapsed onto the chaise-longue, and threw his head in his hands, and as the fatigue set in completely, the tremors overtook him.
He had talked back to his father. Talked back to the King. He was going to be in so much trouble - maybe he would be locked in his room again, or worse, the dungeons, and this time his father would definitely give him no respite. But the King seemed so intensely angry, it awoke every survival instinct in Damian's body, and it was at that moment that he knew what the King was going to do.
"Oh my god," Damian breathed, barely able to stop his shaking. "He's going to kill me."
That was it. That was definitely it. The wrath of the King was boundless, and Damian had undoubtedly provoked him, insulted his judgement even, and for that there was only one recourse.
He's going to kill me.
He's going to kill me.
He's going to-
Hands on his wrists jolted him out of his petrified stupor, and he stared, stunned, at whoever had dared to grab him.
"Damian," said Anya in a low murmur. "It's going to be okay. Breathe."
Damian had not even noticed that his chest had constricted so tightly with panic that it was physically painful to breathe. He exhaled in a strained wheeze.
By grabbing his wrists, Anya had pulled his hands away from his face, and Damian inadvertently caught part of his reflection in the opulent brass mantelpiece on the opposite side of the room, and his own terror-stricken expression punched him in the gut.
Anya shifted her skirts to kneel before him, before she leaned forward and tenderly embraced him. "Shhh. It'll be okay. I'm here. I've got you."
She wrapped her arms around his torso, pulling him closer, and for a moment Damian was so stunned, he didn't know what to do with himself, and his hands hovered uselessly in front of him.
An image flashed in his mind of when he had comforted Anya as a frog, when she was so terrified after the attack. He had spoken from the heart then, knowing that if anything happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself.
Damian lowered his trembling hands, both terrified to touch her, and desperate to hold on to her forever, but when his fingers brushed the blue satin material, he couldn't help but melt into her. His grip tightened on the fabric of her dress, and he pulled her closer to him, savouring the feel of her in his arms. Once again, Damian had to remind himself that she was really in front of him. That she was real.
"How are you so calm?" he whispered hoarsely. "Aren't you scared?"
Anya shook her head, and the simple movement of her hair sent a fresh wave of strawberry over to him. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "My mama gave us her blessing right? So it's going to work out."
How did she manage to sound so confident? Damian wanted to believe her so badly, but he couldn't ignore the pit of dread pooling in his stomach.
Damian steadied himself, and leaned his head against hers. If she was right there, if she was with him, then maybe he could feel okay, maybe he could be confident too. Maybe he could believe in the future that they could have together.
Strawberry and mint surrounded him, and Damian's shoulders loosened, and he closed his eyes, letting himself melt into her touch. Maybe she was right. Maybe if he believed, too, then it really would all be okay. After a lifetime of being unable to put his faith in anybody else, Damian let his heart open up, let himself put his trust in Anya's confidence that it would all work out.
"You guys are so cute," squealed Becky, and Damian tensed. He had forgotten about Becky entirely.
He didn't remove himself from Anya's gentle embrace but he opened his eyes, and lifted his gaze to where Becky stood in the room, with her hands clapped to her cheeks. She looked almost tearful as she smiled at them. "Look at you lovebirds! I'm so proud of my work," she lifted a finger to wipe away an invisible tear.
To Damian's dismay, it was Anya that pulled away first. His body became unexpectedly cold as she removed herself from him, and he missed her contact already.
"I knew Becky was nice," said Anya, addressing Damian. "She didn't even faint!"
Heat flooded his face as he remembered their first meeting.
"You really need to know your fairytales," Rebecca laughed at Damian's obvious embarrassment, but she meant it playfully.
At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened and the Queen entered, blessedly and uncharacteristically alone.
Queen Melinda was a sight to behold when she stood at her full height. Her black dress glittered with gold jewels embedded in swirling celestial patterns, like stars in the sky, and the golden crown almost glowed against the contrast of her dark hair. The last few times that Damian had seen his mother over the past year, she had been sitting down, and her opulent clothing had not had their chance to shine to their full potential like they normally would. Damian heard Becky's sharp intake of breath, seeing the Queen carry herself with the countenance befitting that of a royal.
Under the oppressive shadow of the King, Damian had almost forgotten that his own mother could also command the attention of a room. As one, everyone held their breath and waited for her.
"Your father has agreed for you to hold a Last Dance."
Damian sagged with relief. If he wasn't already seated, then he might have fallen to the floor with the freedom that the weight had left him with. It looked as though his mother was going to say something else, and perhaps she was going to ask about Anya, but she held herself back. "You have been given one year."
And then she unceremoniously retreated without another word, leaving the others staring dumbfoundedly after her.
Damian and Becky made eye contact, and he wanted to ask her: what happens now?
She hadn't even got to describing the rest of her plan (assuming that she had one), but whatever further thoughts Becky had, she wouldn't need to bother. They both knew that since Damian's request to hold a Last Dance was accepted, then the next step was obvious. Damian would need to take time to organise everything, and in the meantime, Becky had purposefully announced herself as Anya's guardian, in the interim that she was away from Sir Loid Forger.
Which reminded him -
"Sir Forger? Are you kidding me?" Damian blurted. "What possessed you?"
Becky started.
"Don't laugh," she began to say, and she sighed heavily. "It came to me in a dream last night."
Damian wanted to yell at her ("A dream? Are you fucking joking? You would ride our future on a dream?"), but when he and Anya made startled eye contact, the anger in him fizzled. At her look, a new understanding came to them both: A dream? Was this Yorticia's doing?
Becky continued: "And when you think about it, it makes narrative sense. My father and Sir Forger happen to be good friends, so most of society doesn't even know that his previous wife died without leaving him a child. If we get Anya to fill that place, it could make sense to everyone else."
Damian was speechless, but to his surprise, it was Anya who spoke up. "What did you see in your dream?"
Becky tapped her chin in recollection. "It wasn't too detailed, but I saw you and Sir Forger standing together. I thought about it more when I woke up, and I realised that his separation from society could really work well for us. If he has been a recluse all these years, then it wouldn't be totally implausible that he had a daughter the whole time, and just didn't introduce her to society."
Damian still had his doubts. The entire campaign held on to a very thin thread, a crazy assumption that Sir Forger would even agree to something like this.
"And, well, you saw what the Queen said," Becky added. "She deduced by herself that he hid Anya because of his grief for his wife. If she guessed that so quickly, others will probably do the same."
Damian looked away in thought. Okay so maybe she had a point. Still, doubt niggled at his mind. "What about Sir Forger? Won't he object or have something to say about taking in a strange girl that he doesn't even know?"
Becky shrugged. "Maybe, but I've known him for a while and I think he would be okay with it."
He still couldn't believe it. The fact that the Blackbells were on speaking terms with Sir Forger, to the extent that Becky would confidently make a decision like this, had him wondering what exactly Sir Forger did during his days while he hid away from the rest of society.
There were still so many uncertainties, and Damian was painfully aware that so much of the future rested on the shoulders of all of them. Sir Forger agreeing to a crazy plan, all of them actually going through with it, and Becky overseeing it all.
His brow furrowed in thought, and he regarded Becky with a cautious look. "You've done so much to try to help us ," said Damian. "What's in it for you? What do you get out of it?"
Becky raised a sceptical eyebrow, possibly making fun of him for being cautious, but Damian didn't back down. If he was going to put everything, his entire future, on the plan, he needed to know what Becky was doing it for.
After a few long seconds, Becky conceded, and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. "I already told you that I didn't want to marry you, but the reason is that I already have someone back home that I love."
"So why come here?" Anya blurted. "Not that I'm not against you coming here or anything, I'm happy I met you, but, I don't get it…"
"It's alright, Anya. My father agreed to the arrangement because he wanted me to have the best life possible but…" she hesitated, and threw her face in her hands, clearly embarrassed. "He didn't know that Bill was about to propose!"
Damian reeled back. "So even from the start, you were planning to break it off anyway?"
"Maybe?" Becky sagged, and dropped herself on the seat next to Damian and Anya. A resigned expression took over her face, and she bit her lip, clearly wondering how much she wanted to say. "Look, I'm sorry. I knew it wouldn't be fair on you unless I at least gave this whole thing a chance, but it was so obvious that you were preoccupied with something - someone - else. I actually have to thank you for that, because it made it easier to rescind the arrangement."
Becky straightened herself up, once again the dignified noble. "So, I'm doing this for all of us, but for me, breaking off an engagement with the prince comes with a price." She turned to Damian, and held herself so seriously, that he unconsciously straightened his own posture to match hers. "I don't want this to backfire on me. So you have to come to my wedding."
Damian blinked. "Excuse me?"
"That's it, that's all I need." Becky held up her hands defensively, and Damian realised, with growing confusion, that she was acting apologetic, even if she didn't say the actual words.
"If the other nobles see that we are on good terms, and they know that you are attending my wedding, that means that you bless my union, and then I won't be cast out."
Damian sucked in a breath. He had no idea that he held that much power in a situation like this, just for the simple virtue of being born into royalty. "Okay," Damian agreed, and he was surprised to see that she had sagged with relief.
It occurred to Damian that he had more influence than he thought. He was ashamed to remember how the staff acted so scared around him, when they were still afraid of him, and what he could do to them with just a single word. But seeing Becky act like this around him, it dawned on Damian that even if he didn't feel like a prince, even if he sometimes loathed the position he never asked for, he couldn't deny that his actions had power.
Just that thought made him feel… good. A fragment of hope rose in him.
"Okay," Damian repeated, cementing his agreement. "So, I attend your wedding. Is that it?"
Becky collected herself once more. "Yes, and then you have to hold the Last Dance. Invite everyone. It will be Anya's introduction to society, and it would be the perfect chance. Once you show your intentions to everyone, they can't contest you. It's unchallengeable!"
"Huh," Damian tilted his head back. He forgot about that little detail - that once he made a choice, it could not be contested by anyone. Maybe that's why there hadn't been a Last Dance in a while.
"Is there anything I can do?" Anya interrupted. "You both are doing so much for me, and I, um, I want to make sure I'm doing something as well..."
Damian paused, unsure, but luckily it seemed that Becky had this one as well.
"If you want to join us, you need to learn to be one of us," Becky said simply. "So, you need to go to school." She paused as something else occurred to her. "Can you at least read?"
Thankfully, Anya nodded, and the other two collectively sighed. At least Anya wouldn't have to start from scratch completely.
"Okay. One year." Damian sighed, more in disbelief than anything else, for agreeing to something so outlandish, and something else occurred to him.
If Anya was going to go and live with Sir Forger…
Did that mean she was going to leave him?
He looked over at her desperately, but it looked as though Anya had come to the same conclusion.
"It'll be okay, Damian," she smiled, and once again Damian couldn't help but be reminded of how much he loved her. "I think my mama is helping us. So it'll work out."
"You really believe that, huh?" Damian exhaled a ragged laugh, but he didn't have the energy to be sceptical anymore. He wanted - needed - to believe, like she did.
"Of course," she reached for his hand. At her touch, sparks fizzled through his skin. "We're unstoppable."