Another vase of flowers has been added to his room. He overlooked the first, thought little of the second, but now there is a third. He inspects the arrangement; an assortment of blooms, roses most prominent among them. The garden must be starting to look bare. They fill his bedchamber with a sweet perfume that reminds him of…
As he sleeps, the flowers creep into his dreams, vines crawling across the floor, climbing up the bed, winding around his arms and ankles. He stands in the dining room, the garden hedgerows crowding in through the walls. Around him, people laugh, revelling in the good cheer. Amongst the blur of faces, he spies Don Pedro, Leonato, Benedick, Antonio, Beatrice, Conrade and Borachio…
The vines tighten their hold, cutting into his wrists. He tries to move but he cannot. He calls out but violet petals rain from his mouth, a vine constricting around his throat. The others smile and address him as if nothing were amiss. The vines pull taut, jerking him in this direction then that, puppeteering his limbs. He fights them, more petals spewing as he screams, but to no avail. He is their marionette.
Thorns dig into his flesh, scarlet splatters amongst the green and violet. He coughs up more petals and the room erupts in laughter, as if he said something hilarious. Wine flows and they toast their goblets to him.
Pedro, he wheezes his brother's name but all that escapes is a wet, choking sound as he spits up more petals, this time a stem amongst them. Don Pedro stares at him, a familial smile on his face that Don John has never seen directed at him. On the ground, love-in-idleness speckles his blood. The vines curl tighter and he cannot breathe…
Gentle hands touch his face. He blinks. Hero stands before him, her lips curving in a soft smile, seeing him as no one else does. The vines recede, violet flowers bloom along their chains.
Her image ripples. His hands reach for her own — he can move again — but she is wilting. He clutches her wrists but she dissolves into petals—
He bolts awake, hands still grasping. He pants, regaining his breath, and rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. What was that?
:-x-:
"Don John!" Hero's skirts swish as she bounds towards where he is conversing with Conrade and Borachio. She presents to him a delicate bouquet of wildflowers, their stems braided together. "I picked these for you. I hope you like them."
Don John is conscious of the group of soldiers who have paused to watch their exchange. Even without looking he can feel their scythe-like grins cutting into him, Borachio's repressed amusement and Conrade's careful neutrality.
He accepts the flowers, inclining his head. "My thanks, my lady. They are… lovely."
"Will you wear them?" She asks, her eyes shining with a hope as bright and fragile as the buds in his hand.
He thinks he hears a snigger. His fist tightens around the frail stems. "I will be honoured."
He affixes the bouquet in his coat buttonhole. Hero beams.
A muffled snort reminds him of the pack of dogs salivating behind him, eager to mock the bastard receiving flowers from a doting maid.
He clasps Hero's hand, lifting it to his lips. "A favour for a favour."
He kisses her fingers, watching the colour stain her cheeks. When he lets go, her hand remains hovering in the air, her face flushed, her eyes glazed with fever, lovesick.
"Ah, lady, I believe your father wanted a word," her gentlewoman companion informs, hustling her off.
Hero waves to him as she is steered away, blowing a kiss. "Goodbye, my sweet prince."
Conrade shakes his head, "Poor lamb."
Borachio chuckles, "She would serve herself on a platter if you so desired, my lord."
"It will not come to that," Don John mutters, stalking on.
"Goodbye, sweet prince!" One of the soldiers calls and the others cackle.
He does not slow his stride. They may mock, but he has forged his armour well, their blows never land.
:-x-:
Don John wears the flowers for the rest of the day. There are curious looks — Don Pedro raises an eyebrow and grins — but Don John does not baulk. Hero's face glows at the sight of him wearing her boutonniere and he feels no need to explain himself.
After supper, the musicians bring out their instruments, people rise to dance and Hero beseeches Don John with sparkling eyes. He cannot refuse her and offers his hand, stumbling forwards as she pulls him into the dancing circle.
His hands tangle with hers and they are jumping around the circle in-time with the music, weaving through the lines of the other dancers. Hero laughs bright and effervescent as she skips and spins, her dark curls fluttering out like ribbons. He leaps with her, twirling her under his arms, exhilaration pulsing through his veins. Her joy is luminescent, igniting sparks in his chest and decorating the evening sky in stars.
Her giggles tickle across his lips as she leans into him. "Please may we dance forever?"
He rests his head upon hers. "As you wish."
He holds onto her hand, he holds on…
:-x-:
In dream, the vines entangle him again. He fights but cannot escape their slithering coils, growing tighter and tighter. Before him, he sees the faces of his past and present; Don Pedro and his soldiers, Claudio and Benedick, Conrade and Borachio, the courtiers of Aragon, the household of Messina, Leonato, Antonio, Beatrice, his fellow rebels, Don Pedro's mother, his father. They watch him struggle with grins and laughter as the vines twist him into performing a puppet show.
Hero joins him on stage; like him, she is encased in vines, the violet petals of the love-in-idleness bloom around her frame. They dance her across the stage, skipping and twirling. The audience titters.
The vines force him to his knees and he stares as she spins before him, her eyes glowing the same violet as the flowers. Something stabs his palm and he sees he is clutching a red rose. The vines pull and he holds it out to her.
Hero smiles and takes the rose, prancing about the stage as she shows it to the audience, plucking petals that flutter to the ground. He strains against his confines, heart bludgeoning his ribcage, but the vines hold him firm.
Hero dances back to him, the rose now limp and petal-less in her hands. She smiles and kneels before him, her hand sweeps out and caresses his cheek. Leaning forwards her lips ghost over his own.
Violet eyes flicker back to their usual hazel-green. Pain pierces his chest as she rams the rose-briar through his heart. He cries out. The audience cheers. Tears spill from his eyes as he stares into Hero's empty face. She wipes them aside; her fingers come away dripping with red petals.
He wakes, his hands scrabbling for the wound in his chest. There is none. Still he feels the throb of a thorn inside his pounding heart. He inhales a ragged breath, tastes salt on his lips, notices the dampness of his cheeks. He raises a hand to his face and — oh, he is crying.
:-x-:
"I know that flower." Hero taps the sketch in his journal. "Heartease also known as—"
"Love-in-idleness," Don John finishes. He has sketched the flower into his journal along with all the notes he copied from the few books he found that mentioned the plant. "You are familiar with it?"
"Of course." She settles beside him in the window-seat. "They grow in the woods."
"But, you know of their powers… to… to make a person fall in love…?"
She nods. "They warn us about them as children. There is an old story of one child deciding to play Cupid; half the town fell in love. As a consequence, men are sent to the woods each year to cull the flower. Yet it always comes back. There is something romantic in that. Even when you think it has been destroyed, love blooms anew."
She looks wistful; Don John considers the dark sweep of her lashes, the soft red of her lips. He clears his throat. "Half the town? It must have been chaos waiting for the effects to wear-off with no cure."
"There is a cure."
His gaze snaps to her, brow knitting. "Time is the only known cure."
Hero shakes her head, smiling like she has a secret. "There is another."
He frowns, gesturing to his journal. "There is no record of another cure. I have looked."
"Then you have not looked in the right places."
His pulse leaps and he holds himself still as if that might calm his heart. "Where… what is it?"
Her laugh is like bluebells and butterfly wings. "Is it not obvious?"
"No." His nails bite his thighs. "If you are mocking me—"
"John…" Her hand settles over his knee and he goes still. "I am sorry for teasing but I thought everyone knew." She leans into him, practically in his lap. "Love potions come from faerie tales… and what breaks a curse in a faerie tale?"
Warm lips press against his cheek, just to the side of his mouth. He is frozen, blood drumming in his ears.
She pulls back, an impish smile on her face. "True love's kiss, of course."
He looks down at his hands, half risen to touch her and he clenches them by his sides. "That… that cure will not work for… for… everyone."
She hums, folding her hands in her skirts. "Perhaps not… but it is romantic."
He considers her, then stands. "It is too good a day to remain inside. Will you walk with me in the gardens?"
She bounces to her feet, linking her arm through his and pressing into his side. "I would be delighted to."
He stares at her, her face bright with trust and adoration. His chest clenches, heart ground between two stones, but he turns his attention ahead and leads her into the sun.
:-x-:
Hero is determined to feed him grapes. Don John protests at first, out of pride and principle, but she is persistent and he submits to her coaxing. Her fingers graze his lips as she feeds him. He bites down on the grape, mouth filling with its sweet tang. She looks pleased, pressing one between her own smiling lips.
"I would like to make a toast." Claudio stands, bringing an abrupt end to the conversation around the table.
Don John leans back in his chair.
"I would like to thank our dear Prince, under whose wise and noble rule, we continue to prosper, in peace and in war. It is no wonder he is so beloved. Fool, are those who seek to oppose him."
Around the table people cheer their assent and Don Pedro smiles in that manner of his that is both humble and proud.
"I would also like to honour the brave men, the brothers, who fought beside me in arms," Claudio continues. "Ours was a treacherous, conniving foe, but our hearts were nobler, our courage great, and we had the right of God on our side. We vanquished the insurrection and all its traitors fell to our swords."
Soldiers hoot and thump the table.
"You are modest, Count." Quiet falls as Don John speaks. "I recall most of the kills were yours."
Claudio's smile sharpens. "I am proud to have done my duty in eliminating threats to our crown. But the glory of our triumph is not mine alone."
Don John twists the stem of his goblet, regarding Claudio over its rim. "You make killing peasants fighting for better wages sound like a valiant feat."
Claudio's gaze narrows. "Does it gall you, sir, that I have earned so much honour whilst you have squandered the little of yours?"
"This toast runs long," Benedick mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.
All eyes are on Don John as he inclines his head. "Indeed, it would seem my loss was your gain. As your loss, has been mine."
He slides his hand through Hero's, raising it to his lips and bestowing a sly kiss.
Claudio bristles, his face turning crimson. "Another honour you are unworthy of. But then I am not surprised you deploy such deceits when your mother did the same."
Benedick springs to his feet "I would like to make a toast myself. To our excellent hosts and the delicious supper they have served. Shall we enjoy it?"
"I thank you for your courtesies, Claudio. Now please retake your seat," Don Pedro instructs coolly.
But Don John is already standing. "Leave my mother out of your mouth."
Claudio's gaze darts from Don Pedro to the other faces around the room, gauging if the audience remains in his favour. He looks Don John in the eye and flashes a lopsided grin. "You are right; such subjects are too foul for polite society."
Don John is about to leap across the table and throttle the insufferable brat but delicate fingers curl around his hand.
"My lord," Hero's voice entreats him.
Blood pounds in his skull, his teeth scrape together. His head turns stiffly and then he is staring into her warm gaze, hazel-green eyes soothing the blaze inside him.
Her fingers stroke the inside of his palm. "My love."
He recoils, scorched. The eyes of the room sear into him. If he flees, Claudio triumphs, but everyone can see the blow has landed. His armour is cracked and he cannot remain. He will not stay to be made their jest. He stalks from the room, into the hall, uncertain of his destination except to get away.
He is striding through the courtyard when he hears the patter of footfalls chasing after him. He knows without turning it is Hero.
"My lord! John! Please wait!"
"Return to your supper, Hero."
She darts out in-front of him, forcing him to stop. "I can have no appetite when I know you are in distress."
He scoffs. "I am no damsel in danger of weeping herself to death. I will be all the better for you leaving me alone."
Her face flinches but she remains resolutely in his path. "No. I will not. I will not let you think you are alone when you have me. Always, always you have me."
"No."
She stretches out her hands to him. "John, my dearest, my darling heart—"
His hands close like manacles around her wrists. "STOP. Do you not hear yourself? The foolishness coming out of your mouth? You have made laughingstocks of us both."
"I care naught for the opinion of others. You are all that matters to me. I lov—"
"NO." He clamps an iron hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder. "Do not say it. Do not lie."
Her eyes shine with indignation and sorrow. Her lips move against his palm and he recognises the muffled plea of his name. His chest breaks as it had in his dream, ribs caving into sinew as he feels the phantom briar buried within him. Delicate fingers wrap around his hand and he does not resist as she pries it from her mouth.
"John…"
"You are cursed," he utters as she kisses his fingers. "And you have cursed me too."
He crumples forwards and crushes his mouth to hers. His kiss is neither gentle nor loving, clasping the sides of her face, until her cheekbones dig into his palm, imprinting his teeth onto her soft, honeysuckle lips, ruthless in his pace. He feels her rabbit heart tremble under his thumb and shows her the hunger of the wolf, kissing her as only a villain would.
Her hand seizes his collar, but instead of pushing him away, she pulls him closer. He lurches out of her grip, staring with wild eyes and panting as he undergoes the painful transformation from beast to man.
Hero gasps, with pupils blown and her hair in disarray, she looks half-wild herself. "J-John…!" Her hand curls against her breast, hunching in on herself as if there were something lodged there. "John… please…" She stares at him, desperate and in awe, as if he were both poison and cure. "I lo—I love—you!"
Her voice splinters. His bones feel ancient as he takes a step back. "You do not love me. No one loves me."
He leaves the words to clatter on stone and stalks from the courtyard. He does not dare look back; so he does not see Hero fall.
:-x-:
Don John does not see Hero the next day. She is reported as unwell and remains in her bedchamber. He is left to dwell on his actions the previous night and a knot of thorns tighten in his stomach.
Despite intending to distance himself from Hero, he finds he is at a loss without her and resorts to the familiar refuge of the library. Amongst the shelves, he finds an aged book of faerie tales and reads about love potions, mischievous imps, scheming kings, and spellbound lovers.
As he passes through the wretched courtyard, he has the sense of eyes upon him and looks up in time to see the flutter of something at an upper window but no one is there.
Hero is not at supper and he has little appetite. He stabs at the fish on his plate until Benedick beside him murmurs "It is dead."
Something is amiss. He senses it in the loaded glances between Leonato and his kin. After supper, he follows Beatrice out and ambushes her in the corridor.
"What is Hero's affliction?"
Beatrice gives him an arch look. "Tis a common malady."
"It is not… serious?"
"That is to be seen. Shall I tell her of your concern?"
He considers. "No."
He starts to retreat but now Beatrice corners him. "You appear a little flushed, my lord. Perhaps the malady is catching."
"I… am fine," he retorts and stalks from her perceiving gaze.
:-x-:
Hero picks petals off a blood-red rose, "He loves me… he loves me not…"
Scarlet gore stains her hands as the petals drip-drip upon the floor.
"He loves me… he loves me not…"
The rose beats in her hand, shuddering as its petals are plucked.
"...he loves me… he loves me not… he loves me…"
She strips the rose bare revealing a bleeding heart pulsing in the palm of her hand. His chest throbs, blood oozing from the gaping hole in his broken ribcage.
She meets his gaze as she peels the last petal. "He loves me… I love him not."
:-x-:
Hero rejoins them the next day, pale-cheeked and huddled at her cousin's side. She is no longer the flurry of motion Don John has come to know but resembles a pinned butterfly in her stillness. She looks anywhere but at him and he is frozen under his skin. He deserves this.
He is not the only one to notice the change in Hero. He sees the curious glances, the conclusions drawn as she shies from him.
"Sit with us, my lord," Leonato bids him as they gather for another dinner. In her seat beside him, Hero stiffens.
Don John knows Leonato is trying to maintain appearances. He wants this marriage to go ahead, to strengthen the alliance between Messina and Aragon. Don Pedro is watching him too and Don John has no choice but to take the seat next to Hero. She is tense, her hands clenched around her cutlery, gaze fixed on her dinner, cutting the partridge into small chunks and smaller still. Her knife scrapes across the plate; he can practically feel the tremor in her pulse.
He knows all eyes are on them but doubts he will have a better opportunity to speak with her. He leans in, assessing the right distance not to scare her but also not to be overheard. Down the table, Benedick launches into a loud story.
"Are you recovered, lady? From your illness."
Her hands pause and she turns her head to him, still not meeting his gaze. "I… I am, m-my lord. My… my head is… clearer now. Th-Thank you."
"I… am relieved to hear it."
She peeks at him then looks back at her plate. "Thank you… um… thank you."
She says no more and he doesn't know what else to add. He owes her an apology but not here. Instead he stares at his own food, head down so he does not have to see the watching faces. He feels the cut of Claudio's smile from the other end of the table and stabs a cranberry. It bleeds across his plate and he is hollow.
:-x-:
"You look to be in intense thought," Antonio observes as he joins him on the veranda.
Don John stares across the villa's garden, out towards the fields beyond. "The love potion has worn-off."
"It seems so."
He exhales, "That is good."
"May I ask, what you plan to do now?"
"What do you mean?"
Antonio arches his eyebrows. "If you will pardon me, your interaction at dinner was… painful to witness. I do not suppose you wish the rest of your marriage to follow that same course."
Don John stares. Antonio stares back.
He shakes his head and returns his gaze ahead. "There has been no final decision on the marriage."
Antonio tuts gently. "I believe there has been a decision, at least on Leonato and your brother's part." Don John scoffs but his façade is brittle and Antonio sees through it. "It will be easier on you both if you have a proper conversation, away from poking noses and prying eyes."
"She fled from me as soon as the meal was over. She does not want me near her." He doesn't mean to sound petulant.
Antonio ignores it. "Do you not want the truth from her?"
Don John presses down on his chapped lips, dragging out the sting.
"You know," Antonio's tone softens, "Of all the people she could have stumbled into when that potion took effect… I think she was fortunate to stumble into you."
Don John swallows a breath, gaze darting to him. Antonio offers him an easy smile and clasps his shoulder. His eyes shift pointedly towards the garden and Don John spies the swish of white skirts and a head of dark curls bobbing between the hedgerows. His palms turn clammy.
Antonio gives him a gentle but meaningful shove. "Good luck."
He removes his hand and strolls back the way he came. Don John is left wavering. He looks towards the hedgerows again and sees Claudio striding in the direction Hero has just gone. His blood spikes, fists balling. Without further thought, he leaps over the veranda and plunges into the garden.
He strides through the hedgerows until he hears voices. Rounding a corner, he finds Claudio in intimate conversation with Hero.
"Get away from her."
Both spin to face him. Claudio's mouth curls in an ugly sneer. "Sir, I do not appreciate your tone."
Don John stalks forwards, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "You will not appreciate my steel when I run you through. Leave the lady alone, you have done her harm enough."
Claudio grabs for his own sword. "So be it, traitor. If you did not learn your lesson before, I shall have much satisfaction in teaching it to you again."
Hero darts between them. "Gentlemen, pray, quell your tempers! I wish none of this violence!"
Claudio draws his rapier. "Stand aside, sweet lady. The challenge has been issued and I shall not refuse it to be called a coward. As I shall pronounce him if he denies me."
"You shall not, Claudio." Hero's voice sharpens. "Or I will tell everyone how you happily bid me drink from wine laced with love-in-idleness."
Claudio freezes, gawping at Hero. "But… you… how?"
"The spell did not erase my memories. You gave me that tainted chalice intending for me to fall in love with you. I am fortunate for Beatrice's intervention, otherwise I suspect you would not have been so forthcoming with the truth and we…" she sways back a step, "...we would have been married now."
Claudio sheaths his sword. "Is that so terrible? Hero, I adore you, worship you. I would be your devoted husband… I could be still."
He steps towards her. She shrinks back.
"And if she ever disagreed with you," Don John drawls, "Behaved in a manner you did not like or spoke too long with another man, you would have a cure for that."
Claudio scowls at him, then turns beseechingly to Hero. "I acted for love. Hero, I love you. I could not bear to see you promised to another. These last weeks have been torture, watching you dote upon this villain."
"Claudio…" Hero shakes her head, lips thin. "I was never promised to another, these jealousies are your own invention. All that has happened is the result of your actions. This torture is self-inflicted."
Claudio's face contorts in anguish. "It was a mistake! And I have suffered for it. But — But you can end my suffering. Sweet Hero, say you will be mine! Marry me, please!"
He tries to grab her hand but she recoils. "No."
"But — But Hero! I love you!"
Don John steps in-front of Hero, blocking Claudio's pursuit. "If you loved her, you never would have enchanted her."
Claudio's face is furious. "You judge me but was it not a love potion that caused the Prince of Aragon to disgrace himself with your wanton mother?"
Don John lunges at him. Hero shrieks. Claudio hits the ground. It descends from there.
:-x-:
In a backroom parlour, sat at a table beside the window, Don John holds still as Hero cleans his knuckles. Sunlight spills across her cheek, illuminating her freckles, and he wills his stammering pulse to calm before she notices.
"You do not need to do this," he tells her again. "I can tend to myself."
"Please, I would like to… after all the trouble I have caused you, it is the least I can do."
"You have caused me no trouble. It was a pleasure to punch Claudio."
Her mouth flickers. "Even so…" she stares down at the cloth pressed to his hand. "...with the love-in-idleness… I know I have been… vexsome."
"You were under a curse. Do not apologise. And you were not… vexsome."
She smiles at him through her lashes. "I was irrepressible."
Don John inclines his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, and catches himself from saying something foolish like I liked it.
She reaches for the bandages, wrapping them around his hand. "Thank you for your patience. I do not want to think how it could have been with someone less kind."
Don John chokes on his saliva. "I am not — I was not kind. The other night… I treated you abominably."
Her focus is on the bandages, her hands do not pause but a flush darkens her cheeks. "You were provoked. And it is not as if my own behaviour has been to my credit. I have put you in a number of uncomfortable positions."
His hand shifts in hers, his voice soft. "I have told you, there is no need to apologise."
"But there is." She finishes tying the bandage and looks at him. "I behaved the fool but you never made a mockery of me. You were kind and I am glad it was you, not some other. Least of all Claudio." She wrinkles her nose at the thought and he cannot restrain a smile. "He was odious towards you… how he spoke of… of your mother…"
She trails off guiltily. He leans back in the chair, his stoic mask back in place. "You want to know if the rumours are true, if she did use a love potion on my father."
Hero hunches her shoulders, looking as if she desperately wants to shove the words back into her mouth. "That was bad of me."
"Then we shall call ourselves even." He stares at the bandages she carefully tied around his hands. "The trouble with the truth is… it depends on who you believe. The common tale is that my mother tricked my father into her bed with a love potion… no one considers that the honourable Prince of Aragon, with a wife and child of his own, might have used one on her."
Hero's mouth parts in an oh.
He shrugs as if it did not dig like claws into his shoulders. "But who can say what is true? They are both dead now and all that remains is… me."
"Don John…"
His eyes flash to hers, daring her to pity him. She swallows her tongue.
"I fear…" she licks her lips, "I am afraid… that you will not escape a black-eye."
He touches his face and winces. Claudio had gotten in a few good hits before Don John had broken his nose and the men had come to pull them apart, drawn by Hero's shouts.
"Let me…" She wets her cloth and leans across to dab at a cut on his cheek, her fingers cradle his jaw.
His pulse beats in his throat. "Does this mean my face will no longer… ah… inspire artists."
Her face flames, eyes twinkling. "It is not as dire as that." She draws back, soaking her cloth. "Claudio bore it worse."
"He will trouble you no more."
Leonato has at last had enough of Claudio and forbidden him from the villa, with no protest made by Don Pedro. It is doubtful anyone will miss him.
Hero sighs. "I am not sorry. Though this shall be the talk of the town."
"It is bound to set a stir." He blows out a breath, fixing his gaze on her. "Hero… this betrothal that your father and my half-brother have devised… I will protest it if you desire me to."
She blinks at him. "What… what do you mean?"
"I know I have a face carved by the angels," he crooks a grin enjoying her blush, "But there is the devil in me. I will not be offended if I am not what you wish for a husband." She starts forwards but he cuts in before she can protest. "If — If I am fortunate enough to become your husband, I want it to be of your own free-choosing. If I am not for you, tell me, and I shall defend your choice."
She bites her lip, hands disappearing into her lap. "Even against your brother's orders?"
He serves her a tilted smile. "But I thought you knew. I am a rebel."
Her lips flutter into a smile, her gaze bright. "I-I am no longer under the love potion's thrall… and yet… and yet my heart beats faster when I am around you…" She looks at him from beneath her lashes, "...is not that strange?"
His throat is dry. "It… it may be a lingering effect of the curse."
Her hand returns to the table, in it she clutches the scallop shell he gave her at the beach. "Loving you…" her fingers stroke the shell's opalescent inside, "...loving you… never felt like a curse."
A breath shudders through him, thorns scratching inside his windpipe. He lurches out of his chair, staggers a step, then drops to his knee before her. She gasps, as he takes her hand.
"My lady… ours has been a strange courtship, 'til now the pursuit has been yours. Let me right that. Let me give you the courting you deserve." He drags his lips over her knuckles. "I want to know you, Hero, free of illusion and as you are."
"Vexsome as I am?" She teases, sounding breathless.
"I would be more vexed… to be without you."
"Oh John…" she trembles in his grasp, "Do you mean it?"
He leans into her. "You are not the only one… who has been enchanted."
Her fingers flit to his jaw. "M-May I?"
"Yes," he exhales and their mouths meet.
Sunbeams stream around the kissing couple, dust dancing in the light, appearing almost like faerie sprites.
:-x-:
"My lord." Hero leans into him, offering another strawberry. Don John takes it slowly from between her fingers as she watches him, entranced.
Laughter from around the clearing reminds them they are not alone as much as he would like to be. Benedick crows like a rooster before the hens, entertaining the ladies gathered on their picnic rug as he juggles oranges and plums. His focus draws to one in particular of their number. Beatrice does not giggle like the rest but watches him with a gleam in her gaze, parrying his playful remarks with her own witty riposte. Don John does not think Benedick is aware that his whole heart is in his face but there is no mistaking what is between them.
Hero rests her head on his shoulder and he toys with her soft curls.
"Brother, sweet Hero," Don Pedro materialises beside them.
Don John stiffens. Hero strokes her fingers down his sleeve, causing his muscles to relax.
"I have it in mind to undergo a Herculean labour of bringing Signior Benedick and Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other." Don Pedro's eyes possess an impish twinkle. "What say you, brother, gentle Hero? Will you help me bait our trap?"
Don John and Hero glance at each other
"As much as I favour such a match…" Hero begins diplomatically. "There has been enough meddling with hearts… it is better for them to find their own way to each other."
Don Pedro hums. "Sometimes people need a push, as you two well know."
"Sometimes." Don John entwines his hand through Hero's. "But love is not won through tricks or potions. This I know."
"Do you say the same, sweet Hero?"
"Oh yes." Hero gives Don John a wide, dimpled smile and his heart swells. "This is much better. This is real."
With a grin and not a care for the opinions of anyone else, Don John leans in and kisses her true.
