She's a Rebel // Ben Finn x Princess

Chapter 12

Attempting to open my eyes was like trying to push back against a brick wall. Every part of my body ached, my limbs sinking into the sheets around me like deflated balloons. I moved my arm, feeling, questioning how exactly I got to safety. Every time I managed to force my eyes open for long enough to desperately register my surroundings, all around me was pitch darkness. I felt like the sole member of an audience to a theatre performance that was terrible even before it even started.

I let myself sink into a hazy, shallow slumber. I could remember every excruciating moment of the fight, and somehow that made it a lot worse. How could I, after every battle and every conflict, fall to a banshee because of... what? My own stupid pride? I was fully aware of what I was doing; Ben had told me outright, "you can't go fight banshees on your own. It's suicide." Yet, that's exactly what I did. Did I want to die? Or just prove I could do it on my own?

If anything proved how unfitting I was for a romance, it was this. How could I profess to be interested in keeping him to myself for the rest of my life if I didn't even listen when he, quite aggressively, gave me advice? And valuable advice at that - if he had been there, it would have undoubtedly ended well. Probably without me almost dying. And it wasn't even necessarily about his skills; he made me physically stronger, resilient, even. Although having Albion's greatest marksman on my side wouldn't have hurt. I didn't even deserve him as a soldier, never mind a friend - or more.

The more I drowned in my own thoughts, the further away from the surface of normalcy I got, my sanity only a tiny spec in the distance. I suddenly felt the tears cover my face, the pain washing over me in waves as my body shook with unavoidable sobs. Was I really this kind of person? Who cried in the dark over a boy, the real life equivalent of all of those weepy heroines in romance novels? Was the banshee right? Was I totally unlovable? I mean, I had made some sacrifices but that was to defend the entire Kingdom - it wasn't my fault that Aurora insisted they had to rebuild immediately. If we had waited even a few months, we would have had enough money to afford the construction, without forcing them to work. I had tried everything, done everything, and sacrificed everything to keep the country happy. Was it worth it? Had I even managed it?

"Being a monarch has really messed with you," at the sound of the familiar, booming voice, I became alert - the pain not even registering as my eyes snapped open and my spine straightened. Standing, proudly, stoutly, at the foot of my bed, was the spirit of the one and only Sir Walter Beck. His trademark outfit lost some of its respectfulness in white hues but I still felt my body flood with relief, nostalgia, comfort, my nerves tingling. "You used to complain at Jasper for waking you up too early, and now look at you."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice quiet, barely daring to believe what was so obviously right in front of me. Why would he be here now, after everything that had happened? Wasn't it a bit late for a ghostly premonition? "Shouldn't you be, you know, resting in peace?"

"Shouldn't you?" He countered, with something closely related to anger in his glare. "You've done so much these past years, don't think I haven't noticed. You've run Albion the way your mother did... well. Don't you think you can afford a little happiness?" I closed my eyes for a few seconds, though whether to avoid his disapproving look or to check he was still there when I opened my eyes, I was unsure.

"I am happy," I lied, "totally happy. I'm ruling, everybody loves me, everything's great," I faked a smile, and Walter just shook his head, "what? Albion has never flourished like this, the economy is amazing and the crime rate is down, everyone's so happy."

"I don't think you truly believe that," he replied, sitting down on the bed near my feet, his weight causing the whole bed to dip, and consequently sending a shooting pain down my spine. "Yes, the country's doing great, but have you forgotten who got them here? I know they haven't. Those people out there, in your city, your country, they want you to be happy, in the exact same way you do for them. They don't want their Queen to be so selfless as to not enjoy her life at all. Do yourself a favour, do Albion a favour..." He leaned closer to me, smiling, as if sharing a secret joke with me, "tell Ben how you feel."

"Ben? You mean, Ben Finn?" I spat, heat rising to my cheeks as I protested, "tell Ben how I feel about what? I mean, what would I have to say to Ben?" Walter looked at me, mocking me, almost - how could someone so translucent be so intimidating? When I realised no amount of denying it would convince him, I gave in and sighed. "You really think he'll feel the same?" My voice was barely above a whisper; I had never confessed my true feelings out loud before and it felt foreign to hear the words myself.

"Hah!" Walter snorted, and I couldn't help but smile back, "why do you think he flirted with Page so much? He only did that when you were around, you know. Why else do you think she was so annoyed?" As I shrugged, I felt a twinge of my pain in my chest - I only just realised how much I'd missed him, my mentor, my confidant, my friend. "You're a buffoon, did you know that? He told me the minute he met you - he wanted to propose, would you believe that boy?" He chuckled, the assorted metal belongings attached to his belt making an untuned, clanging melody. "Meets a princess and instantly wishes his youth away."

"Propose?" I pondered, tasting the word as I said it, a light feeling taking over me, any trace of pain evaporating completely. "Why would he want to propose? Do you think he still does? Oh, Gods, what if I've ruined everything now?" I looked to my hands, twisting, in an attempt to stop them shaking. "Oh, Walter, why did you never tell me this before? Everything would have been so much easier."

"May I remind you that, at the time, you were managing a revolution and then fighting the darkness incarnate and, not least of all, ruling the bloody country? If I had mentioned that your closest ally had a crush on you, do you think you would have taken any notice, at all?" Before I could nod, my current feelings overshadowing any semblance of logic I should have had, Walter shushed me, his hand on my knee feeling as light as a feather. "You wouldn't have, Rose, don't kid yourself."

"I guess," I yawned, my tear-filled drama seeming a million years ago, "I'll talk to him. I think. If the moment presents itself. Or if he brings it up. Maybe. I'll think about it." I laid back, the once frustrating sheets now beckoning respite.

"Finally tired?" He mused, his smile like a security blanket, soothing me more than I could ever have hoped. I nodded, sleepily, in response. He rose, not before wrapping his strangely cold, ghostly arms around me. His stout stature gave the impression it would be more appropriate to salute him than hug him goodbye, "do you remember the stories I'd tell you when you were a child?" He asked, the familiar words a welcome tune, and I couldn't help my beaming smile as I closed my tired eyes, "and, after each one, do you remember what you would say?"

"Teach me how to be a Hero," I muttered.

Within minutes of the blinding white light that marked the second time Walter left my life, I fell into one of the most restful, deep sleeps of my life.