She's a Rebel // Ben Finn x Princess

Chapter 10

The thing about tavern rooms and, more specifically, tavern beds is that you're not supposed to be in them sober. The drab walls and concrete-like mattress are totally forgivable when intoxicated but they were impossible to overlook when there was nothing but the howling wind and my own thoughts to serve as distractions. The moonlight was nowhere near as poetic as writers make it seem; its failure to illuminate the room left me in total darkness. I thought over the events from the day, which felt like a thousand years ago, with the storm raging outside out of the walls, the cold seeping through the thin sheets and the smell of stale ale permeating the room. I thought of Ben, in the only available room, which just happened to be next to mine, how he was probably sleeping so easily, with no real responsibilities resting on his shoulders.

I found it difficult to assume the words he had said earlier were sincere, with his track record, but I found myself replaying the scenes in my head, picking up new details every time - those eyes, those lips, that smile. It was so easy with him, so simple, thoughtless, effortless. His scent, the aroma of gun smoke, but with a weirdly sweet twist, hung about me, lingered on my skin, on my clothes and in my mind. Maybe it could work, maybe, despite the disapproval and this arranged marriage and Hobson, maybe we could still do it. A wedding, a spring wedding, with wild flowers and Ben in a suit - Ben Finn, pledging his life to one woman. That sounded like the set up to a joke. Perhaps I was the punchline.

My eyes refused to close, my body refused to sleep, my mind full of tulips and sunshine, distant dark clouds and black roses. I couldn't just keep staring at the ceiling; my hair was getting more tangled with every turn and it was unfitting for a queen to be seen on the battlefield with messy hair and tired eyes. I sat up, my back almost aching already from the mere hours I'd spent on that rock of a mattress. I wanted this to be over, I wanted to go home. I had to go the Temple of Avo as soon as possible, and I couldn't bring a drunken Ben with me. No, I had to go quickly and I had to go now.

I travelled to my Sanctuary within seconds, accidentally waking Jasper up. He emerged, in his pinstripe nightgown and yawning, from the elusive 'boudoir' section. I had always desired to break in, but I could never manage to catch the man off guard; he was constantly dignified and defensive. The epitome of class, even in the middle of the night.

"Unlike you to let sleep evade you, your majesty," he yawned, adjusting his cap, "is there any, ah, particular motivation for this visit? I was having quite a pleasant dream. About cats, I believe..."

"I'm good, Jasper, thank you, you can go back to sleep," I replied, with a short laugh, making my way to the armoury. I would require more preparation than usual, facing fucking Banshees. I'd heard stories, ones Walter told me at bedtime, of my mother fighting many, many Banshees. I was nothing like her. She saved the entire city of Bloodstone from a Banshee once. I had only seen pictures of them. I shook my head, attempting to rid myself of the fear. I was a Hero, the last Hero in Albion, my brother's only hope and it was ridiculous that I doubted myself.

Within moments, I found myself at the Witchwood Cullis Gate, an area that didn't look any prettier for being bathed in darkness. I gingerly took a step forward, feeling my feet sink into the marshland, my whole body recoiling from the sensation. I regretted not changing my outfit into something more reasonable for the journey. But an adventure requires adventuring clothes, and hell, the day I sacrificed style for my life would be a dark day.

The darkness of the night seemed solid, as if I could simply reach out my hand and feel a smooth wall of black. But, with each step, the moonlight seemed to form a fog around my ankles, illuminating the overgrown forest. I wondered, briefly, how many people had actually braved this area in the last 600 years, and how many terrifying beasts were calling this their home. In the stories, the many, many stories, I remembered hearing that this part of the Kingdom used to be overrun by bandits. I listened as carefully as possible, both terrified and excited.

Before too long, I found myself facing a large, smooth rock. In the darkness, all I could make out was faintly glowing blue veins across the surface. The fog, which felt somewhat artificial, had grown to surround me entirely, its hazy light confounding me more than the absence of light. The earthy smell of the soil was sickening, making my sense of direction even worse. My hand remained on the hilt of my sword, only occasionally spooking myself with an oddly placed step or a misunderstood shadow.

I stopped once I was close enough to touch the stone. The fog thinned out. Aloud hissing began from an undeterminable area. I drew my sword in an automatic defence. From seemingly nowhere, a hooded woman-like figure appeared in front of me, covered in rags. I froze, involuntarily, as her scream reached my ears.

"You've been waiting for this," her voice sounded like a whisper, in contrast to the screaming. Her mouth was a black hole, a dangerous threat, and I realised, all at once, that there was no way I could fight this alone. "You want to die; it would be a relief. It's such a shame you never left an heir."

I closed my eyes, readying myself for attack, attempting to break from the curse. When I opened them again, I was surrounded by tiny shadows... of children? Once I could move my limbs again, I struck, blindly, my blade hitting only a few of the abominations. The darkness was making it difficult enough to manoeuvre and the pale light from the fog only served to emphasise the largeness of the Banshee.

"You think you can save everyone? You think anyone wants to be saved by you?" The sting of the words was accompanied by the rhythmic attacks from the unnatural children. I was surrounded, the black figures seemingly unaffected by my swings. I had trained for years in combat, but this was impossible. "He was doing fine without you - even your most trusted allies turned against you and you think you can make him fall in love with you?" She laughed, a sound that was far scarier than the screams. I threw fireballs at random, at any figure I saw, but they seemed to multiply with each hit. "As if anyone could love you, with the things you've done."

I had no time to process the insults; I was outflanked and at a disadvantage. The fog, and darkness beyond it, allowed the shadows to blend in almost perfectly, making it even harder to gain a foothold. Each strike I landed on the Banshee, she let out a stupefying shriek, and in a heartbeat, the amount of children tripled, and she remained unfazed by the damage.

"So this is Queen of Albion? Such a powerful woman to welcome death in this way. Is it tiring? Saving everyone but forgetting yourself, how saintly, how... stupid," she seemed to be inside my head, reading thoughts even I didn't know I was thinking, preying on the insecurities I didn't know I had, "you should have told him. You should have waited for him. You were stupid, but you won't have to live with this guilt for much longer," I felt my energy sap as the edges of my vision faded, my efforts to continue the fight proving fruitless, "join us, join us, join us."

The hissing of the monsters made the impact of my body hitting the ground far more comfortable, as my mind slipped slowly into unconsciousness and my eyes closed against the pain.