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 Four

"Oh, drat!" Cursed Cecilia. "Stupid rain!" It was still early summer in Fraanc, so her escorts were hardly surprised at the sudden rainfall. However, it was the twenty-first of June and they had to make it to Pareis by the next day. And if the carriage got stuck in mud… well. It was a scenario that Cecilia hated to think of.

Luckily, it was still in the wee hours of the morning and so they would have an entire day to complete the journey. Hopefully the rain would let up soon. Hopefully.

Glancing out her carriage window, Cecilia surveyed Fraanc. It had a different sort of beauty than Italle, but it had a breathtaking quality of its own. Predominately, it was made up of mossy hills and snow-tipped mountains, but the southern coast that bordered the Mediterra Sea—the same sea Italle was located in—reminded her awfully of home with its sandy beaches and clear waters.

Trying to recall some of her lessons about the foreign land, Cecilia remembered that Fraanc was one of those countries with mostly mild temperatures all year round. Thank goodness. She remembered when she traveled to Greenlin with her father one year. It was terribly icy and frigid the entire time! She shivered just thinking about it.

Sighing, Cecilia tried to concentrate on the book she brought along, but the words seemed listless on the yellowed page. She had been travelling for roughly two and a half weeks and her body could feel it. Despite the roomy carriage, sleep was hard to come by. When it did come, the uncomfortable position she had to hold caused aches and pains. However, she succumbed to the urge to sleep as a sudden wave of exhaustion swept over her.

Moments, hours, days later—there was a soft rap on the carriage door. "Your Highness?" the tentative voice of an escort murmured. "We are here."

At one point in her life, Cecilia had been a sound sleeper. Among other things, the war had changed that. "Yes, yes," she sighed, sitting up immediately, taking another peek out the window. They were safely within the walls of Pareis, the capital, and she was amazed to discover that they were virtually in the middle of a huge, gorgeous forest. Huge oaks and pines and redwoods towered over the ferns and wildlife and Cecilia was surprised to see that there were, in fact, inhabitants besides the Fraanc monarchs. However, there weren't very many. But for whatever reason, the sight of smoke rising from the neat and cozy looking cottages warmed Cecilia's heart.

Once they were beyond the stern looking gates, Cecilia stepped out of her carriage and knocked on the humbling wooden doors that led to the inside of the castle, as was custom between nobility.

Cecilia did not know what to expect, but she knew that she definitely expect to see a rather uptight man with a spindly mustach and a plump frame. "You are Her Royal Highness Princess Cecilia of Italle, I presume?" He asked, bowing.

"I am not late, I hope?" she responded with a question, hoping that the sleepiness in her visage had faded.

"You have arrived just before tea," entered a deep voice that sent shocks up her spine. Whether this was a good thing or not, she hadn't decided. What she did know was that she did not care for the tone of the voice. It was cold and Cecilia could sense the distaste he held for her in his words.

Narrowing her eyes, Cecilia decided that this person didn't seem especially glad that she made the appointed date. "How… fortunate of me," she replied frostily. "And you are?"

With a smirk, Derek stepped out of the shadows. "I am your host, Prince Derek," he bowed smartly, but that smirk was still plastered onto his face. "You must be Princess Cecilia." He straightened and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Welcome."

Cecilia fought a scowl. So this was the insufferable pig that threatened her father. He was handsome, to be sure, with straight, strong shoulders and a confidence that one couldn't ignore. But what a conceited scoundrel! "You are too kind, Your Highness," she snipped, her tone implying anything but.

If it was possible, the smug expression on his face deepened as he considered his next words. "I am as kind as your father is reckless," he responded.

Inwardly, she took a deep breath to calm her raging temper. Fine. If he wanted to word play with riddles, then let the games begin. "Yes," she agreed, a saccharine tone to her voice, "I concur. You are exactly as how I imagined you to be, Crown Prince." She smiled sweetly.

She was pleased to note that her subtle snub did not go unnoticed, like it did with other nobility. Derek knew exactly what she was implying. And he didn't like it. "I must say that you are exactly as I pictured you as well," he answered smoothly, no evident anger in his voice… but were his teeth just a tad bit sharper? "Your… charms are quite evident."

"As are yours," shot back Cecilia. If it weren't for their good manners, Cecilia would have guessed that they would be circling 'round each other like animals, waiting to pounce and fight.

The portly man who opened the door looked fearfully back and forth between the two. Oh dear. What should he do? Send for Her Majesty? Oh, where was she?

Luckily, the poor man was relieved, for Queen Marguerite appeared, out of nowhere it seemed. After shooting a glare at her son, she turned her attentions to her guest. "Cecilia," instead of the perfunctory kisses that she gave the other girls, Marguerite swept the girl in a hug. "Oh, darling, how good to see you! How much you have grown…" And, with a smile, "You look just like Dominique."

With a pleased flush, Cecilia curtseyed. "Thank you for inviting me to stay with you," she told the queen graciously. "I haven't traveled in so long."

"Well, then, I'm glad I could help! It really was all Derek's doing," she motioned to her son, who stood sulking a few feet off. "You've met my son Derek, have you not?"

"I have," admitted Cecilia, gritting her teeth. Marguerite did not miss the looks going between the pair, but, ever the hostess, ignored it.

"Wonderful!" Gushed Marguerite. "I'll have Priscilla show you to your rooms—Priscilla!" A middle-aged servant with rosy cheeks and ginger curls appeared. "Do show Princess Cecilia to her rooms, won't you please?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Priscilla curtseyed. With a friendly smile, she said, "Right this way, Your Highness."

"Thank you again," called Cecilia to Marguerite as she followed Priscilla. With a smirk of her own, Cecilia was very well aware that she had completely ignored Derek. And she didn't care.

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Once she was out of sight, his mother turned to her son as if he were prey. "Well?" She demanded. "What did you think of her?"

With a cold sneer, Derek turned on his heel, his cape fluttering majestically behind him. He called, "She's just like the others." The last thing he heard before the doors slammed was his mother's sigh.

Stalking down the halls, Derek tried to keep his temper in check. He could feel his nails; they were itching to tear something… No, this wasn't good at all. And it was all because of that damned girl.

When he first heard the butler announce her presence, for once he wanted to make himself known. He wanted her to know the man who brought her here, who had the control over her father. It seemed as if the alpha in him dominated his common sense... athough, it was rather bastardly of him, but Derek didn't careWhat he hadn't prepared for was the fact that she was a spitfire. He had never anticipated that she would match him, jab for jab, word for word. Derek wasn't sure what to think of that.

Oh, he knew of her upbringing. Of her archery, and her fencing, and riding. Apparently she excelled with linguistics and knew six languages. Rumor had it she was a skilled debater who loved to read as much as any man.

Derek supposed he was lying when he told her she was exactly how he had imagined her. To him, she would either be a big, masculine brute of a girl or a beautiful, albeit meek one who did what everyone told her. The type who had to have every word whispered in her ear by a councilman before she said it aloud herself.

Instead he got a stubborn, insolent girl who really wasn't all that bad-looking at all.

Angrily, Derek pushed the thought out of his head. What she looked like was irrelevant. The fact of the matter was she was too smart for her own good and that was that.

As he smashed a vase, he felt instantly better. Breaking things was cathartic to his beastly soul. Closing his eyes, he slid to the ground.

To him, women were placed into three categories: the relenting, delicate ones who couldn't lift a finger and would die without their maids or the hulking, ugly, wild women or worse, the simpering, conniving, whorish girls. And now, faced with this girl who fit into neither category, his entire way of thinking was thrown for a loop. Granted, his mother was a woman who fit into neither category as well, but to every man, their mother was an angel, the exception to every rule they had towards women.

Frowning to himself, Derek decided it didn't matter. This time next year she and the rest of those girls would be out of his hair and he would be able to live his doomed destiny in peace.

Besides… it wasn't as if she could be The One… No. No, it was impossible. Improbable.

At least, that's what he told himself.


Last edited: 12/24/08