Summary: A desperate monarch makes a pact with another king that will one day force him to give his headstrong daughter to the king's harsh son. Within the castle walls lay many secrets, including a deadly curse with one year to break. Let the fairytale begin.

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Chapter Two

"Absolutely not," King Cesario said firmly. "It is out of the question." It was dinner in Cecilia's household and she had just informed her father of her plans. Isobella was excited at first, babbling on and on about how envious she was and what a great time Cecilia would have… that is, until Cesario regained his wits (he had been stunned when he first heard the news.) He was obviously not pleased about the turn of events.

Cecilia was more than annoyed. "Father, you have raised me to become a mature adult and for many years now I have conducted myself as such! It's time you started to give me credit and treat me like one."

"You've never been by yourself for an entire year!" Cesario shot back.

"Then I think it's time I try it," Cecilia said. "And besides, how would it look for you not to send your daughter to your late best friend's kingdom! People might think it was as if you did not trust the Freench."

"Cecilia, you and Isobella are all I have left," Cesario said wearily. "I don't want anything abominable to happen to you."

"I will never truly live if you don't let me," her eyes softened slightly. "And that means taking the good with the bad."

Cesario remained silent for a few moments and all was still at the dining table. Then, "I am going to pen your decline for you," Cesario said, abruptly turning away. "I will say you are needed too much here."

"But Father—" Cecilia cried in distress.

He wheeled back. "The discussion has been closed," he roared bluntly.

Cecilia fell silent, angry tears smarting at the corners of her eyes. She felt frustrated and helpless, two feelings she loathed.

Her father took no heed of her and, finishing and sealing the letter, gave it to a servant to have it mailed. Because of the exceptionally good weather the two countries had been having, the king of Italle's reply to the queen of Fraanc took a mere two weeks, instead of three.

Upon reading the former's reply, the latter pursed her lips together, disturbed, though calm. The stately woman was full of grace and dignity above all. Sensible and wise, Marguerite went with the general flow of things; she was a supreme adapter who flourished wherever she went. It was in this way that she became accustomed to her volatile husband. Gradually she learned to love him and he for her, and that was more than she could ask for. After his demise, the light of her life was her only son, Derek, and she had great plans for him.

Sighing, Marguerite put the letter down. Of all the girls, she had hoped that Cecilia would come. After all, she had been good friends with Dominique, Cecilia's mother. She and Dominique had liked to daydream together and hoped that their eldest children would marry. Now, with Cesario's refusal, that may never happen.

Cesario, in Marguerite's opinion, was a good man, though sometimes foolishly paranoid. He had lost much that was true, and was sensible in valuing what he had left. Yet, he went to such unreasonable extremes to protect his girls that Marguerite feared that he may suffocate them. And the letter she held in her hand was proof.

Cecilia must come at all costs, decided Marguerite. If not for herself or Derek, then merely for Cecilia's sake. That girl needed to experience life before it vanished. Cesario of all people should know that, she thought sadly.

But how to do it? There was The Gift; the binding words Cesario said to Maxwil. When her late husband promised to help with the war between Italle and Rushha, Cesario had said, "Once this war is over, anything you want and it shall be yours." These were dangerous words, but Cesario and Maxwil had trusted each other. Now that Maxwil was dead, Cesario was bound to Maxwil's heir, Derek.

But how to get Derek to agree to take advantage of Cesario's words? It was time to put her skills to use, thought Marguerite.

Seeing his tall figure grace the doorway, Marguerite smiled and put her plan into action. "Derek," she called.

Although he could beharsh, aloof, andproud, Derek was always respectful towards his mother. His dark eyes softening, he went towards her. "Yes, Mother?"

"Here is a letter, from King Cesario of Italle," his mother handed him the letter. He read over, it, frowning slightly. Ending it, he shrugged.

"That's too bad, I suppose. Ah, well… one less exasperating female running around the palace."

Inwardly, Marguerite smirked. She knew he'd say that. "It's not just that," she sighed dramatically. "It's just… goodness, how will this make us look? That a king turned us down… as if we're not good enough for his daughter."

Derek scowled. "I never thought of that," he gritted out.

Of course you didn't, Marguerite wanted to say, but held her tongue. "I know that's not the case with Cesario… you know how paranoid he has become with his daughters. But still… what will everyone else think?"

"How dare he do this to us!" Derek slammed his fist down on a nearby table, causing it to tremble.

"Of course…" Marguerite proceeded to pretend to ponder. "It is just an 'exasperating' girl, right? I suppose I shouldn't worry."

"Nonsense!" Growled Derek. "It's the principle of the matter… and besides, after all Father has done for him… We deserve this!"

Marguerite nodded her head. "That is true. Perhaps we can write Cesario and remind him of this…?"

"Yes," Derek started to breathe heavily, a sign that he was agitated. "That is exactly what I shall do."

He proceeded to storm out of the room.

"Remember to be polite, dear!" His mother called after him. In reply she got a slamming of doors.

Leaning back into her chair, Marguerite's lips curled into a smirk. Behind every great man... was an even greater woman.

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Cesario folded his head within his arms. He never expected it to be like this. That Maxwil's son would write him, demanding he send his daughter. What a fiery temper! This is what Cecilia would have to live with for a year?

What had he done? If only he had gotten a hold of that letter before Cecilia had seen it, they could just pretend that they had never gotten it! Of course, Derek might have mailed that letter anyway.

Cesario scowled. Foolish boy. Who did he think he was? He wasn't king yet… what was Marguerite thinking! She raised Derek better than that. It was despicable, it was humiliation, it was…

Well. There was nothing he could do now. To start a war over would be entirely irrational and stupid. Obviously the pig-headed boy wouldn't take to a discussion.

Sighing, Cesario knew that the only thing he could do was have Cecilia go.

Back in her chambers, Cecilia was trying to convince herself that it was better she not go to Fraanc. It would only cause trouble back home anyway. Who would take care of the villagers? It had been her job to walk amongst them and learn of their problems. Who would make sure her father ate every night? He was prone to skipping dinner; whether it was because he had too much to do or it pained him to see the empty chair across from him, where his late wife had once reigned, she pretended not to know. Who would be a mentor to Isobella? The girl was just starting to become a woman—and good lord knows that is difficult.

Yes, it would be better for everyone if she stayed there. What had she been thinking, anyway, wanting to do something so selfish? No, it was better if she didn't go. Besides, it would've been a waste of time… the prince wouldn't have picked her. Not that she wanted him to, but still…

A knock on the door startled her out of her pondering.

"Cecilia?" Freezing, the said person looked to the door slowly. It was her father. "We need to talk," he continued on.

Cecilia felt a pang of guilt. He sounded so tired… was it because of her?

Apparently he didn't expect an answer, for he kept talking, his voice heavy. "I have just… received a letter from Fraanc in regards to your—my—decline on your behalf."

She didn't want to hear anymore about Fraanc; she wanted to move on with her life. Cecilia waited for more.

"… And they… they won't take no for an answer. You'll be leaving tomorrow."

Not thinking, only acting, she leapt from her spot on her chair, efficiently knocking it over, and sprinted to the door. Yanking it open, she saw her father, his semblance worse off than she thought. Pale, with the only color the bags under his eyes, she turned her wide eyes to his. "They won't take no for an answer?"

"That's right," he said this reluctantly. "Derek, on behalf of his father, demanded you go."

"How can this be?" Stormed Cecilia. "Why can you not just refuse him?"

Cesario sighed. "It is not that simple," he told her. "At the start of the war, I went to Maxwil to form an alliance. I did not know if he would accept my offer, and when he did I was so elated that I promised him that upon the war's end, anything he needed, anything he wanted, I would provde for him. You know how pacts are magically binding. Now that Maxwil is dead, I am now magically bound to Derek. And this... this is what he wants. He is using our pact in order to have you."

Cecilia sat in stunned silent, but soon began to fume. How dare this prince treat her as if she were a bag of money! Clenching her fists, Cecilia narrowed her eyes. "If that's the way it is, then I don't want to go."

Sighing, Cesario said, "Cecilia, neither you nor I have a choice in the matter. Unless you would like another war—one that I would most definitely lose—you must go." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gave her a smile of defeat. "If not for him, or for me, do it for your people."

Cecilia, remembering his harsh words from before, gave him a look of defiance. Her fiery eyes were hurt and resentful, wondering fiercely if that was all he thought of women as, objects to barter with.

A lone tear dripped down her father's cheek. "You know I only want what is best for you, do you not?" He whispered, referring to what he had said earlier.

Cecilia turned her eyes away from his. She did not want to admit it, but she understood her father. They were both prisoners, in a way. He was trapped in his insecurities and paranoia and she in her gender and its restrictions. And although she did not agree with her father's judgement at times, Cecilia never doubted his love for her. With that thought in her mind, Cecilia reluctantly whispered, "Yes. I know. And I will go to Fraanc. For you and Issy."

Silently apologizing, Cesario kissed her head and whispered, "I'm so proud of you."

Despite the circumstances, it was the first time since the war had ended that both felt as though things would turn out all right after all.


Last edited: 8/9/10