peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one
She waits for the guards to come and announce her execution or imprisonment, and waits … and waits …
She doesn’t remember closing her eyes.
When she awakes the next morning she’s surprised to realize that she actually managed to get some sleep. She rolls over under her silken sheets, purple eyes staring blankly up at the canopy above her head. Why haven’t they come for her yet?
She sighs and sits up. It doesn’t make sense. They will punish her, it wouldn’t make sense for them not to. They must be deliberating. Yes, that’s it. They must still be working on which punishment befits her crime.
She freezes when a hand knocks against the wood of her door, and is surprised when her usual team of servants suddenly bustles in. She stares at them, wide-eyed, until the leader of her team (a kindly older woman by the name of Mrs. Linton) gives her a pointed look, points at the door of her adjoining bath chamber and says, “come on Miss, time to get up.” Kirke doesn’t see the point, but she doesn’t argue. They’re only doing their jobs.
But really, what’s the point in dressing her up for imprisonment or execution?
With a small sigh she hoists herself out of the bed and walks the few steps to the bath chamber door. The usual routine begins and passes in one big blur - bathing, dressing and painting her face. She’s become so used to the whole process that she doesn’t notice when her makeup artist puts the last finishing touches on her face. But, she does notice when her team begin to bustle out the door. And as Kirke’s eyes follow them out into the hallway, she notices that something’s different. The guard that had been at her door all week is gone.
It must be a mistake, an oversight. There’s no way they’d leave the door of a murderer unguarded. But, she’s not going to let this opportunity pass her by. This could be her last chance to go outside.
She rushes to the door and peers around it. Still no one in sight. Here’s her chance!
She dashes down the hallway, down the stairway where she’d first met Francis (a thought she tries and fails to banish from her mind) and out the first door to the grounds that she can find. She takes a giant breathe of fresh cool air, and a small smile creeps across her face. If nothing else, at least she has this moment. This last opportunity to enjoy the world.
She walks down the castle steps, purple eyes fastened on the tree-lined path in front of her. In the distance she can just see the glimmer of the sun shining on the lake where she and Francis had their first date …
She shakes her head slightly. No point in dwelling on the things she will never have.
Her eyes travel to the the flowers that ring the trees, and she steps over to one and bends down to have a closer look. She recognizes the species - poppies - and closes her eyes to take a deep whiff of the lovely scent.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand firmly taps her shoulder. She stands up straight immediately, nearly knocking over the newcomer in her haste. “Oh I’m so sorry!”
Then she turns around and her mouth falls open slightly in shock.
It’s Francis.
And he’s … smiling?
She stands there, frozen, so unsure of what to think of the expression on his face. It’s so similar to the smile she’d seen in that horrible vision the interrogator had given her, so open, so happy. It doesn’t make sense for this expression to be directed at her in real life.
He motions for her to walk with him and complies without a word. It seems strange that she hasn’t already been carried off by the guards - perhaps he’s trying to be kind, giving her this one last opportunity to be out in the sun. She supposes she should be angry for all that he’s put her through, for all that he will put her through, but she can't bring herself to feel any animosity towards him. He’s done what was best for the kingdom, and she can’t fault him for that.
They walk in silence for a time, until they come upon a little fountain surrounded by roses. There’s a little wooden bench half-hidden in the flowers, and Francis motions for her to sit. Ah, here it goes. Time to say good bye.
She’s not at all prepared for what actually comes out of his mouth.
“You’re the one.”
“Wha …?” She must have heard that wrong, his voice is so soft and quiet. He laughs nervously, then repeats himself. “You’re the one Kirke.”
But …
… what?
He must see the disbelief on her face, because he doesn’t stop there. “I know this whole process must have been so hard on you, especially to have had a secret like that forced out into the open. And, I just want to say, you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. You were a child Kirke. A helpless child being forced into a situation you had no control over, by someone you should have been able to trust.” She can’t help the tears that begin pricking at the corners of her eyes. “And I have to say, having had the chance to get to know you during this selection, the woman that you are today is nothing short of a miracle. Despite all that you’ve been through, you still manage to see the beauty in the world, and somehow, you still manage to love. And that’s the kind of woman that I want by my side for the rest of my life.”
Her breath catches and for a moment she’s completely still, her mind trying to work through the complete flip the world has just thrown her. And then she can’t hold back any longer. Tears begin streaming down her face, tracing tracks through her painted on face. In all her wildest dreams, she had never really expected this.
She starts to slump and Francis leans forward to catch her. She falls into his arms and simply stays there, feeling safe and warm in his strong embrace. After a while the crying slows and Francis clears his throat. “I take it that’s a yes?” She chokes out a laugh and nods weakly. Francis grins and bends his neck to kiss her, and for once she doesn’t give a shit about decorum and kisses him right back.
After a few minutes they part, and Francis gives her a few minutes to compose herself. When she’s ready, he launches into an explanation of what’s facing them in the upcoming weeks. They will have a few weeks to plan, and the the circus will begin. A royal announcement, then a multitude of public festivals, then the big day itself, the wedding. Her head begins to spin at the thought of all that needs to be done, and she steadies herself by grabbing Francis’ hand. At least, whatever happens, she’ll have Francis right there with her.
___________________________________________
The weeks pass by in a flurry of activity - so many parties to be planned, so many dresses and suites to be fitted. She doesn’t have much say in the big decisions for the wedding, which is to be expected, but she and Francis relish in the few decisions they are allowed to make.
Despite her revelations concerning her father, her whole family is brought to the palace, though they are placed in a more remote wing where the royal guard can keep an eye on them. The secret that Kirke had shared during her interrogation had only been previously known by herself and her father, so the royal family has no way of keeping Kirin away without revealing a truth they have no way of proving (and without tarnishing the name of their newest princess). And, as Francis points out to her, it’s far better to keep such a dangerous man close by and happy (what with his daughter being a princess and all) where they can keep an eye on his actions. And, once their villa is ready, Kirke will only have to deal with them as much as she is willing to. Which is a blessing to say the least. She’s really had mixed feelings about her father since the interrogation. She can’t help but love her father, but she also can’t pretend that he’s a good man. The less she has to do with him the better.
But at least there are some other positive things that come out of the process, besides the actual wedding itself. As the preparations progress Kirke begins to grow close to dear Mrs. Linton, the head of her little team of servants. Mrs. Linton is a wonderful listener, and the circus surrounding a the royal wedding grows to a fever pitch, Kirke begins to share her concerns and her dreams for the future with her. In turn, Mrs. Linton talks about her own family, and bonds with Kirke over their early lives spent outside of the palace. In fact, Kirke comes to see her as almost a mother-figure, a sort of do-over for the mother she never got to know … not that she’d ever admit it to herself let alone Mrs. Linton.
It’s no surprise then, when, on the big day itself, Mrs. Linton is the last in the room with Kirke before it’s time for her to walk down the aisle. Kirke gives her a big hug (decorum be damned) and pulls back, clutching at the older woman’s hands. “Thank you for everything Mrs. Linton.” The woman smiles and pats her arm gently, before pulling out a small, wrapped package. “Oh you didn't …” But Mrs. Linton silences her with a gesture. “I know you care for Francis, but I know you care for Illea too - maybe even more than you care for your sweet Prince. We all know Illea needs the change you could bring, I hope you can do what is need to bring those changes for us all. Maybe sooner than later even. If I’m lucky I will be by your side through those changes. You make this old lady happy to be a servant here.” Then she shakes her head, gives Kirke another hug and disappears out the door, leaving Kirke standing in middle of the room feeling more than a little confused.
She looks down at the package, and with a last little glance at the door, rips open the paper. There’s a box underneath, which she opens, and when she sees what’s inside she drops the box in shock. A knife? She bends down to pick it up, and notices a little slip of paper hidden under the blade. The Rebels need you. Illea needs you, sooner rather than later. I think you know what to do. “What?!” But there’s no time to stop and process her confusion. A knock rings out at the door - it’s time for the procession to begin. She quickly slips the knife under the sash at her waste - the knife is a stiletto, long, thin and thankfully easily hidden - and moves towards the door. It’s time.
She steps out the door, and immediately feels the touch of thousands of eyes. She steps in time to the music, just as she’d practiced so many times during the multitude of rehearsals. But, despite the pressure, she feels nothing but excitement. She’s only moments away from marrying the man of her dreams.
She catches sight of her family ahead, preparing themselves to step behind her in the procession. Despite her mixed feelings towards them, she can’t help but feel slightly smug at the look of jealously on Airy’s face. She just feels so stunning right now. More lovely and beautiful than she’s ever felt in her entire life. The dress - a lovingly made detailed concoction of silk and lace - fits her like a glove, and her face has never been more beautifully painted. She can’t wait to see Francis’ face when she finally reaches him at the alter.
But the moment never comes.
A loud crash and horrible scream break through the soft music, and everyone in the hall freezes. A yell of victory reverberates through the air, followed by a terrified voice crying out, “the rebels have killed the King and Qu-” But the rest of the words are lost as all of the people gathered in the hall begin to panic.
Kirke keeps her cool, just as she had in the first attack, and her hand instantly goes to the stiletto hidden in her sash. She pulls it free, remembering Mrs. Linton’s note. I think you know what to do. Had Mrs. Linton wanted her to kill the King and Queen? No … no … she’d wanted Kirke to kill Francis.
Her belly becomes a hot roiling pit of anger.
How dare she. Francis is the single best thing to have happened to her in her entire life. Kirke would sooner cut off her own arm than kill him. Mrs Linton would know that … so why had she thought he was so deserving of death?
There’s no time to ponder however - Francis has pushed his way through the panicked nobles and has almost reached her. Kirke slips the stiletto up her lace sleeve (not well hidden, but at least it’s easily accessible) and starts pushing her way towards him as well. In a few minutes they reach each other, and Francis grasps her hands tightly. “Do you think they really …?” She tightens her grip. “I don’t know. I hope not, but …” She knows well how determined the rebels are. She doesn’t want to believe the King and Queen are dead, but …
There’s no way for them to know. All she can do is keep Francis from dwelling on the possibility. “I know it’s not a good time, but … you just look so handsome.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. He knows what she’s trying to do. “And you look absolutely stunning my dear.”
A loud voice suddenly rises above the hubbub, cutting through the noise with harsh clarity. “There he is! Get him! Get the prince!” Kirke’s hands clench tighter on Francis, and he begins to pull her away. “Come on Kirke, we need to get out of here.” They rush towards one of the side doors, moving away from the main door of the grand hall. Francis pauses briefly to grab a sword from one of the guards trying to direct the nobles, and then they continue on their way. Kirke catches a brief glimpse of her family. Kirin has somehow obtained a pair of swords, which both he and Apothyx are brandishing, and Airy, Halocyn and Kaide all have bowie knives out and at the ready. Despite the general frightfulness of their situation, Kirke can’t help but snort at the image. So typical of her damn family. The blades were probably all stuffed down her sisters’ skirts.
But Francis is still pulling on her arm, and soon they are through the door into a little empty hallway. “What’s your plan Francis?” But he shakes his head at her. “I have no idea. I …” He pauses, thinking. “I need to rally the royal guard. I need to fight back.” He looks up at Kirke, honey eyes meeting her own purple ones. “I know things aren’t perfect in Illea right now Kirke, and I know they just want things to change, but … this isn’t the answer. Too many people are going to get hurt.” He grips tightly at her hand again. “We need to fight them off, and then we can start thinking about change. Maybe …” He pauses again. “I’ve been talking with some of the lords, and I’ve heard about this system called democracy, and maybe … maybe it could work. Maybe it could make things better for everyone. But first we need to stop the fighting.”
He sighs, and looks back towards the door to the hall. Kirke knows as well as he does that half of the royal guard is out there, likely trying to wrangle the nobles and fight the rebels that have no doubt started streaming in. “Whatever you decide Francis, I’ll be right behind you.” She knows what he’s going to do. It makes Kirke’s gut clench with worry, but she knows it’s the right thing. “I know Kirke. And … thank you.” He sweeps her up in a quick, tight hug, then steps back, and both of them move back to the door. “Let’s do this.”
Francis rushes out of the door, Kirke in hot pursuit. “GUARDS, TO ME! TO ME!” He runs up to the dais and holds his sword aloft, a beacon (and a target) amongst the scene of chaos. The guards rally about him, and are quickly joined by many of the noblemen, many of whom are now carrying swords of their own. They appear to be ceremonial blades, but they will have to do. The ladies, for their part, all tumble about and put themselves behind the armed company, trying to cram themselves behind dais to make themselves invisible. And then hell breaks out in earnest.
The rebel fighters that had been pushing their way through the panicked crowd now have a target, and they all turn their blades towards Francis and his gathered fighters. And the battle begins.
Francis shoves her back towards the cowering ladies and joins the fray, and while she is momentarily shielded from being reached by the fighters, she has a full view of the fight. Blood begins to splatter the floor and the walls, staining the white walls and rich carpet. Screams ring out behind her as a head soars through the air and lands in amongst the ladies. A sword clatters to the ground in front of her as one of the guards staggers backwards with a knife in his chest, and Kirke leans down to pick it up. It’s too heavy for her to use well, but she’ll at least be able to defend herself with it. And it will allow her to keep her stiletto hidden for the moment. It’s impossible to know when she might want a hidden blade.
Then she catches sight of something that fills her with fear. A man with a strange symbol painted on his jacket is leading a wedge of rebel fighters through the guards’ defence, hammering their way through the ranks of the guard … and almost to Francis. She yells out to him, “Francis, look out,” but there’s no way for him to hear her, there’s too much going on.
She won’t let him fight alone.
She rams her way through the guards, pushing past surprised soldiers as the rebel leader draws even closer to Francis. She’s half way there when Francis turns and sees the man for the first time. Francis raises his sword and snarls at the man, and then their swords begin to clash.
Kirke keeps forcing her way through the soldiers, trying desperately to reach Francis and watching the fight at the same time. Francis is good, but he’s used to fighting one on one in courtly practice fights, not in the midst of a crushing battle. He makes a few good hits, almost injuring the man, but then he’s down. “NOOOOO!” Kirke crashes through the last few soldiers, arriving just in time to see the rebel leader raise his sword over Francis on the floor. “DAMN YOU!” She rushes forward, holding her sword vertically in front of her. Her arms are shaky and aim abysmal (not to mention her legs hampered by her lacy dress), so she manages to miss the rebel leader with the sword point and instead ends up crashing into him head long. Both of them fall to the floor and Kirke drops the sword but doesn’t miss a beat - she rips open her lacy sleeve and grabs the stiletto inside. Then in one fluid motion she reaches over and stabs the man in the throat before he has a chance to rise. Blood gushes out over her white dress, but she doesn’t care, Francis is ok, Francis is alive. She stands back up, pulling the knife out of the man’s throat, and turns back to look at Francis. For a moment, he looks much the same as the soldier she’d rescued during the last battle - utterly dumbfounded. But her recovers much more quickly and flashes her a slightly amused grin. “I should have known. I owe you my life.” Kirke grins back, and wipes her bloody hands and knife on her blood stained wedding dress.
A shout suddenly rings out across the hall. “HE’S DEAD. THE WARDEN IS DEAD!” Kirke turns to see about half the rebel force suddenly start staggering back. Clearly she’d just killed someone important to their cause. Cut off the head of the snake …
But there’s no time to think. They might have the upper hand now, but the rebels are still fighting. The battle isn’t completely over.
The next few minutes are a blur of blood and gore as the royal guard thoroughly routes the remaining rebel fighters. But, eventually, it is done.
As the last of the fighters disappears through the door, Kirke rushes to Francis, wrapping her arms around him in relief. The battle is over. They’ve made it. She pulls him into a kiss then steps back, not failing to miss the horror in his eyes. He’s not used to death, and in the space of one battle, he’s seen more than most will ever see in a life time.
A movement suddenly catches her eye over his shoulder, and time slows. A rebel fighter, clutching his bleeding gut with one hand, and holding out a thick hunting knife in the other. Francis!
Without thinking Kirke pushes Francis aside and raises her left hand to shield herself. And then her hand is burning. “Kirke!” She falls to the ground, knife blade imbedded in her hand up to its hilt. The rebel fighter quickly follows suite, the swords of two of the guards piercing his torso.
Francis rushes to her, lifting her up with her arms. “Hold on Kirke!” Then to a guard over his shoulder. “Someone get a doctor!” And then everything goes black.
___________________________________________
It takes weeks for her hand to regain any of its old range of motion, and even more weeks after that for the royal wedding to finally happen. It’s a much quieter affair in the end, with far less pomp and circumstance than had originally been intended, but neither Kirke nor Francis care. They’re simply happy to finally have the chance to tie the knot. And, adding to Kirke’s happiness, their wedding coincides with the removal of her family from the palace, their villa having finally been built. Even though they’d somehow all survived the battle (well, she shouldn’t really be surprised), she won’t have to deal with them much ever again.
The royal wedding though is just a jumping point, a stepping stone in Illea’s path to peace. The weeks up to the event are peppered with talks between Francis and representatives of the people, paving the way for a new system of government that will hopefully keep everyone happy. They call it a ‘constitutional monarchy’, with Francis and Kirke as the symbolic heads of the new government - the perfect union between the royal family and the people of Illea. Kirke hopes that it will be a good compromise and that the fighting will finally end, but only time will tell.
What she does know though, is that she is happy. Truly happy, for perhaps the first time in her life. With Francis at her side, she feels like she can take on anything. No matter what happens with Illea, she knows that they will face it together. And that will make all the difference.
kirke