"There are some who abhor love; who speak of it as a chain. They have no romance in their hearts! Love is wonderful; love is glorious! I have loved each of my wives in turn, and for their part they gave themselves to me; mind, body and soul. It reveals men and women for what they really are. Without love, life would be empty and sad. And it would be much harder to control people by threatening their loved ones."
–
Louis de la Vallière, the Bloody Duke
…
It is traditional to talk about the beauty of princesses when kidnapping and/or rescuing them, and make all kinds of florid metaphors comparing them to flowers, morning sunrises, the songs of birds, and other things of that ilk. Often, their hair is like gold and is long and flowing, and never suffers from inconvenient knots or tangles. Some might note that for all their well-behaved hair, their garments mysteriously tear in a revealing manner, but that is surely not deliberate. Trapped piteously in their deprotagonising captivity, they must wile away the hours looking delicately ornamental.
However, honesty compels us to note that while Princess Henrietta was indeed fairly pretty, she mostly looked sulky and somewhat red in the face. And that her hair was not like flowing gold, not even metaphorically, and thus she was not the prettiest blond in the kingdom – that was Guiche de Gramont. And that, rather than moping over some lost love or singing beauteous tunes about the prince who would someday rescue her, she was instead muttering as she punched a pillow.
Well, maybe she was moping a little, but she wasn't being very elegant about it. Henrietta de Tristain came from a long line made up of approximately equal measures of shining heroes, blood-stained tyrants, fair beautiful maidens (who later ceased being maidens, but remained fair and beautiful) and wicked witch-queens. As a result, while her features and feminine attributes were of course those of a beautiful gentlewoman cruelly harassed by the world/sinister seductive temptress seeking only power and control, she also had a certain stockiness about the shoulders which came from twenty generations of – usually, but not only male – ancestors being expected to be able to casually smash in the skull of an insubordinate peasant/vile enemy of righteousness. Which her pillow was finding to its cost. And which had only been further accentuated by nine months of captivity with little to do but exercise.
It was at that point, however, that the princess heard a whispering outside her door, accompanied by a peculiar odour. It wasn't that it was a bad smell… okay, it was. But it was strangely organic and animalistic, rather than strictly repugnant. The nose was quite aware that it didn't want to smell any more of it, even if it was not entirely sure what it was that it was smelling.
Putting down her pillow, and picking up the closest thing on the table – a candlestick – she strained to hear the whispering.
"… I still no see why we no can breach-an'-clear-on-zoo-loo," a cruel, inhuman voice said.
"Because I don't trust you with explosives," said another, more human voice. Henrietta frowned. There was something familiar about it. "Out of the way."
"Overlady is mean overlady," another grumbling voice protested.
Henrietta blinked, grasping her candlestick tight in both hands. Overlady? She hadn't heard what she had just thought she had, had she? No, clearly not. That was ridiculous. That was stupid. That was… by the Founder, was the bit around the door's lock glowing red hot? She recoiled away, clinging close to her improvised weapon.
"Help!" she tried.
The lock fell out of the door with a heavy thunk, and the entrance to her chamber swung open. Standing in the hallway was a frightful figure in malevolent armour, eyes blazing under the shadows of – her? Their? Probably her – helmet. In one hand, she held a staff, with a sinister flame the colour of inflamed flesh hissing and crackling on the end. Around the dark figure was a horde of wicked goblins, dressed in… well, they were certainly dressed! That much she could say, though words escaped her.
"Don't come any closer!" she shrieked. "I mean it! I…"
The next thing she knew was a glass bottle hitting her in the head. And then there was just blackness.
…
"When I said 'Use the sleeping potion to put her to sleep'," Louise said tartly, glaring at the minions, "I meant 'soak a rag in it and hold it to her face'. That is why I said 'soak a rag in it and hold it to her face'. I did not, in any way, say 'throw the bottle at her head'."
"But we put rag in bottle so it soaked," one of the minions pointed out reasonably.
Louise let out a slow breath. "One week in the dungeon when we get back," she said, trying to control her temper. "I'm really very sorry, Ann," Louise apologised to the unconscious girl as she was minionhandled into the sack. She really was sorry, too. But she couldn't make it look like Henrietta had gone willingly. She also couldn't get distracted with
explaining and
justifying and all those sorts of things. She was acting in Henrietta's best interests, and so couldn't risk her screaming or calling for help. In fact, it reduced the chance she might need to kill all the guards, so really, knocking Henrietta out and sticking her in a sack like this was really the moral choice.
She could always explain later, anyway.
"One princess, looted!" Maggat reported. "This are awful wicked! We only loot one princess before, an' she were all old!"
Louise blinked. Technically, she was on a deadline here. However, she had to know; "When did
you abduct a princess before?" she asked, trying to keep the shock out of her voice.
"Oh, ages and ages ago," Maggat said casually. "I no know her name no more."
"It were the dough-a-ger princess Elizabeth of Albion," Maxy interjected. "She ancient, and her hip break when we put her in sack. The hip of your princess no break when we put her in sack, so it already going much betterer than last time!"
"… right," Louise said, after some thought. "Yes. Yes, if you break any of her bones – or all of her bones – I will have the whole lot of you killed painfully, brought back, and then killed again. So don't! I mean it!"
The overlady balled her gauntleted fist up, and tapped it against her lips. "Cattleya, Jessica, Gnarl," she sent, "I have the princess in custody. Report on anything blocking my routes out of here."
"
Uh… out in the sunlight, looks like the procession is coming back from the cathedral," Cattleya reported. "
I can't see too much from here, but it's on the way back. You're probably not going to be able to leave through the front."
"What?" Louise hissed. "That doesn't make any sense. The queen only left for it a few minutes ago." She pursed her lips. "The queen always normally gives a speech and… it's the first day of spring! She should be there!"
"
Yeah, that's definitely weird," Jessica chimed in. "
Portal network is still up and good; that way's clean, if you can get down to the basement."
"
Ah, yes, your evilness. The dear little minions on the windship have faithfully been waiting for your call, if you wish to arrange a pick-up," Gnarl said.
"
A glorious escape by airship would be pretty dramatic!" Jessica said. "
Man, there'd be so many drawings of it."
Louise paused. Took a breath. Considered her options. "I'm not taking the risk," she said. "We have the princess, and I want to get back safe and sound. And being chased by the Dragon Knights is not part of my plan. We'll head out back through the mirror in the dungeons again. Gnarl, keep the windship in position until we are safely back at the tower, then order it back. I want to keep it safe for later use."
"
As you wish, your wickedness."
The overlady looked around the room. "Minions, loot and move out," she ordered. Her knuckles tightened around her staff, fire flaring to life on its own. "I want to leave the Council my little… message. And that means I need lots and lots of clear stone to write on."
…
"Well," said the duc de Richelieu, cheeks flushing slightly. "I see things here have gone more tits up than a colony of great tits taking off on the first day of spring. Which is today. And which I saw this morning." He glowered at the interior of the cell. "Would anyone mind telling me why the princess is missing, and there is a message in burning runes carved into the inside of her cell saying 'I have your princess. The Council will surrender themselves to me, or she will remain in my custody'? Especially since the writing is getting rather cramped towards the end."
"Oops, sorry, your grace," said his manservant, shifting away from where he had been standing on the bit which said 'signed, the Overlady of the North'.
"Rikkert, you imbecility," the duc said, slapping his manservant over the back of the head and then wiping his hand on the wall. "Did you not think I might need to read what the writing says?"
"The words ain't saying anything, your grace," said Rikkert le Chauve.
"Ah. I have my answer. No, you were not thinking. Full stop," he said. "Wardes, what do you think?"
"I think the Overlady of the North has kidnapped the princess," the Viscount de Wardes said, elegant in pale grey which matched his hair. His eyes looked distant as he glanced over the scene, uncaring. "Well, we will need to sweep to see if she has left the…"
There was a fanfair of trumpets, and the queen entered from behind the two men.
"Ah, Richelieu, Wardes. Oh, was I late for the ceremony?" the queen said, blinking heavily.
"Yes, your majesty," the duc de Richlieu said, inclining his head. "You were haranguing your daughter for no less than two hours and fifty four minutes, according to the staff. This is less than usual, and clearly a sign of your forgiving nature. Most days you hit the three hour mark."
"But why didn't the servants remind me?" she asked.
"Your majesty," the duke said, raising one eyebrow, "you gave the servants quite clear instructions that no one was to approach you when you were scolding your daughter."
"I did?"
"Yes, your majesty, you did. Very imperiously. And threatened them with being fired without references if they did disturb you." He coughed. "It appears your daughter has been kidnapped and…"
A distant muffled thud shook the tower, and the queen screamed and fainted.
"Oh, what now?" asked the duc de Richelieu, palm going to his forehead.
…
Large amounts of the basement and the dungeons of the palace were on fire. Some of it had been on fire, before collapsing rubble had extinguished the flames. And in between the screaming, the burning, and the crashing, a minion from the "cleanup squad" hummed cheerfully to himself as he rumaged around underneath his melodramatic black cloak.
The name "clean-up squad" was blatant lies, because their real job was to make a big mess or two. Maybe three.
Messes had been made.
"Oooh!" Scyl said happily. "Igni went to the dead place." Pulling out a spatula from under his stolen black cape, the blue-skinned minion began scraping his compatriot from the wall. "I hope he make some friends there." With a contented grin, the minion glanced around. "Nice explosions," he said. "Pretty."
The flattened minion flopped from the wall, brains oozing out of his ears.
"Well, soon have you back on your footsies," Scyl said. "Oh dear. I see the blackpowder in your pockets went boomie. You no have a coat any more. You need to loot a new one. And your helmet hat are a gonner."
Igni said nothing, being temporarily dead.
"I wonder if this is what overlady meant when she say we should clean up escape route and remove signs we was here?" the blue pondered to himself again, out loud. "That what overladies and overlords usually mean. 'Oh minions, go dispose of the evidence'. Proper thing to do. There no way they tell we leave through mirror when everything on fire."
Blue light coalesced around his hands, and surged into Igni's body.
"Igni! You no is dead no more!" Scyl said delightedly, giving him a big hug.
"My head…" the red groaned, pulling himself to his feet. "What is happening to my hat?"
"It are a gonner," Scyl said sadly.
"Noooooooooooo!" screamed the red, falling to his knees again.
"Well, at least you make plenty of friends on trip," Scyl remarked.
"What is you, stupid? No, I not make friends! Because I dead!"
"Oh, that shame. Maybe you meet someone nice next time you die." The blue coughed. "We go now? Else maybe all other minions drink reward drinkies."
"I drink mug to my doomed hat," Igni said, sadly. "In remembering."
…
The minions' afterparty was in full sway. Louise had been invited to join by Jessica, who was drinking goblinoids under the table. She wasn't sure what her sister's maid was doing there, either, but she did not ask these things.
Anyway, she had more important things to think of. And drinking with minions – who weren't Gnarl, at least – would never end well.
She made a note to be particularly merciless to Jessica tomorrow when the other girl was hungover. She had brought this on herself.
Letting herself into the room she had prepared for the princess, she noted with satisfaction that it was both considerably larger and considerably more comfortable than the room which Henrietta had been confined to in the palace. She had told Jessica to work out the dosage that her friend had got from having a bottle of sleeping potion thrown at her head, and she should be waking up about… now.
About now.
…
Now?
Well, maybe she hadn't taken account of the blow to the head from the bottle, Louise considered, taking one of the books down from the bookshelf which she had half-filled with things she liked. The other half was filled with things Jessica liked, which was something which was worrying her. She might as well take a chance to vet what the half-incubus had picked out.
She was a third of a way through one of Jessica's books, about a race of talking mice who were busy rounding up all the talking rats and weasels and imprisoning them in camps. She was raising an eyebrow at the lurid descriptions of how the 'unclean' vermin were being systematically slaughtered, when Henrietta began to stir. Quickly, she put the book back, and stood up, brushing down her dr… her armour. She should have changed! But she had been sure that Henrietta had been about to wake up and…
"My head," Henrietta groaned, clutching the red mark on her forehead. Pulling herself up onto her elbows, she looked at the armoured figure with the glowing eyes at the end of her bed, and screamed.
Well, it wasn't much of a scream. It was more of a yelp of surprise, come to think of it. A slightly weary one.
"Princess Henrietta," Louise said. "I…"
"Another kidnapping? Oh well." The other girl looked Louise up and down. "Aren't you a little short for a foe to all righteousness?" Henrietta asked suspiciously.
Louise worked her mouth uselessly, lost for words. "Another?" she managed.
Henrietta laughed. It was a bitter, self-mocking laugh. "Oh goodness, yes," she said. "You'll be my eleventh kidnapping attempt – three of them successful, although no one has tried in almost a year. It seems you – unimaginative at that – villains aren't interested in damaged goods."
"You're not damaged!" Louise blurted out.
One of the other girl's eyebrows crocked upwards, and she frowned. "My all-so-wise mother and her ever-so-loyal councillors seem to think I am," she said, unhappily. "And so do the rest of the wretched stinking useless forces of Evil, who can't even get their act together to kidnap a princess who's locked up in a tower. Which incidentally, should really be a Hero's job to free me, in my opinion, but it seems modern Heroes are just
worthless." She sighed. "Well, at least you're female, so hopefully you're just in it for a ransom, or maybe concessions from my mother. Honesty compels me to inform you that the stupid cow won't give you all you want. And if you want to listen to the smug crowing of lecherous fools all across the land, I'm apparently worthless as a virgin sacrifice, so you're out of luck there."
Louise shifted uncomfortably.
As if Henrietta could read her expression from under the helmet, Henrietta laughed that dreadful laugh again. "And look at me. Blabbering my heart out to the villain who's presumably got me locked in her dungeons, because I'm so insanely bored that the maids who come every few days are the only people who I get to talk to who don't harangue me and call me wicked and depraved and slatternly. Do you know how it feels? Th-that the only p-people who I get to talk to who don't say horrid things are the maids who change my b-b-bed linens and the like?"
"Oh, Henrietta," Louise sighed. "I'm so sorry for you. Those horrid traitors have been just… well, horrid! And your mother has brought shame to the royal family with the way she's treated you!"
There was silence.
"Louise Françoise," the princess whispered in a tiny voice. "It's… it's you? You're… evil? They… they said you were dead. And… and… your eyes are glowing and…"
Louise removed her helmet, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. "I'm not dead," she reassured Henrietta, and paused. "Or undead," she added, because she felt that bore clarifying. "And before you start thinking that I'm some evil plan of the overlady, who's taken on my form or… or okay, I'm not sure how I can persuade you that I'm not being mind-controlled, because surely that's what I'd be told to say now and…" her shouldered slumped, "I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"
"You've fallen to Evil, Louise Françoise!" Henrietta protested. "Yes, I am sure it's you, but… you're Evil!"
Louise looked around. "It's all an act," she whispered, leaning over the end of the bed. "I'm pretending to be a villain so I could rescue you and go against the Crown to make sure you were safe and out of the hands of traitors. I've already taken out the comte de Mott, and when I take out the rest of the traitors of the Council, you can 'defeat' the Overlady of the North, and 'rescue' me from jail where I've been trapped for over a year!"
Henrietta blinked. Swallowed. "You… you did all that for me?" she asked in a small voice.
Louise nodded, her heart pounding like a drum. The look of gratitude on her friend's face made her head reel. "I did," she whispered. "I've been working on this since last summer and… and I've actually managed it. You're safe and… and, oh it went exactly as planned! Mostly! Pretty much! Ish!"
"Louise Françoise!" Henrietta declared, "you're the best friend I've ever had! The… the only real one, too!"
The overlady felt her throat choke up. "Thank you," she whispered. "Now, although we're telling people that you're my captive, I'm certainly not going to keep you locked up in here. I've got a library and…"
"You always did like your books, Louise Françoise," Henrietta said, smiling, "but no! I need to look more like I'm your captive! You're taking a dreadful risk admitting it to me like this." She tapped her chin. "You can't let it get out that you're really good," she said, "so you're going to have to keep everything looking normal for a kidnapping. Don't worry; I'll help you make it look authentic. I have experience."
"We can work out a plan later," Louise said. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable, and then I'll be back. We can take you to Jessica and talk about getting you some clothes tomorrow, when she's still hungover and won't question things too much."
"Jessica?"
"She's my tailor and forgemistress," Louise said, with a shrug. "She's a little bit strange, but I'm sure you'll get along fine. Oh, and my older sister, Cattleya, is also helping, but… drat! Drat, drat, drat!"
"What?" Henrietta asked, alarmed.
"I forgot to tell her that it was safe for her to leave the tower!" Louise said. "I'm going to have to… oh, how could I forget that? She's all the way back in Bruxelles!"
"What?" the princess asked, shocked. "You locked your sister in a tower?"
"Oh, no. No, she was watching one of the escape routes I could have used. And also she was there to stop them raising the alarm."
"That's fine, then," Henrietta said. "Come to think of it, we should probably have plans for escaping, just in case your underlings usurp you, or we have to get out quickly if my mother sends thugs after me. I'll be sure to grow my hair long, so I can get out! No matter what, I am never going back in her room! Never!" she exploded.
"I promise I won't let them take you back," Louise said, gazing deeply into her eyes as if she could make it true with her stare alone. "And… uh, how would long hair help?"
"Oh," Henrietta said, blushing faintly. "Well… I was sort of thinking of one of my great-great-aunts, who also got locked in a tower. She grew her hair out really long, long enough to make a rope, and sung at the window, calling curious knights to her who ventured to where she was imprisoned to see the mysterious beautiful singer."
"Ah," Louise said knowingly. "Well, you have quite a long way to go until your hair gets long enough for that."
"And then when she was ready, she made her hair into a noose, threw it down over one of the knights, who choked to death, and then she pulled his corpse up into her room. She then dressed herself in his armour, armed herself with his wand, and killed the three-headed dog which was guarding the tower entrance. Oh, and then she brought it back as her undead steed, and rode off, never to be seen again." Henrietta cocked her head. "Although it is somewhat suspicious that the queen at the time, her twin sister, suddenly had quite a radical shift in personality, and the king was mauled by a great undead hound while hunting and was reduced to an invalid. But I'm sure that was just a coincidence."
"Uh…" Louise said. "That's… not the version of the story I heard."
"Well, the family hushed it up," Henrietta said awkwardly. "Oh, Louise-Francoise, I am so glad to see you! So very glad! We're going to have so much fun together!"
…
In a secret, silenced place in the palace, two of the members of the Council met where they could not be overheard. The dim lighting cast long shadows across their features, the light of the moons creeping in through the single narrow window.
Armand-Jean smoothed down his moustache. "What should we tell the court and the masses, Jean-Jacques?" he asked the other man.
Wardes shrugged. "Tell them the truth," he said, his voice melancholy. "That a vile force of evil has kidnapped the princess."
"It does occur to me," the red-clad man said smugly, "that vile forces of evil must be fought. Perhaps we should look for heroes. And of course, we will have to increase the strength of the military, to fight off the marauding armies of wickedness which have shown that they can penetrate all the way to the inner sanctum of the palace."
"Perhaps," Wardes said. "We can talk with Montespan soon."
"My, my," the duc continued, "I do believe that taxes might have to be raised; after all, we need to fortify the defences of the capital. The palace has already been shown not to be safe. And nobles who try to avoid paying the perfectly reasonable dues for the defence of the land and who whine on and on about their 'rights', like the damnable Duke de la Vallière… why, they may well be in league with the forces of darkness itself." He balled one fist, and slammed it into his other hand. "They've fallen into my hands – in the name of the Crown, of course," he said. "This 'Overlady of the North' has given me that most wonderful of things; an
excuse."
And outside, Cattleya de la Vallière clasped both hands over her mouth, trying not to yelp. Her sister's foes were just inside, almost within reach, and yet they were untouchable because she had not been invited in. But this, their plans, their monstrous plans? They had to be stopped. A shadow flickered across the rooftop, and she was gone.
…
