Tales after Dusk 05

Thorne takes a deep breath. He knows it doesn't matter what he says, he is no match for Alecta's whit or tongue. He shifts across the carriage, taking the seat next to her. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he pulls her towards him and rests his chin on her head so that he can breathe in her scent, for perhaps the last time.

Just outside of town, they stopped so that everyone could change clothes. Despite having broken into a nymph's house, being tied up and killing someone, Alecta looks perfect as always in a plain yet well made green silk dress. Thorne, on the other hand, can feel the shadows growing on his face and knows that his lack of sleep the night before must have produced dark circles around his eyes.

As they arrive in town the townsfolk rush about, cleaning and preparing various feasts and refreshments for the new Prince and Princess to enjoy during their reception walk. None pay attention to the carriage as it makes its way to the castle.

Alecta walks with Thorne, just inside the front doors as if she was afraid he wouldn't actually do it unless she was there. The grand reception hall doors are shut, two guards standing outside in full uniform. Though they see the pair, they remain stiff and rigid.

Thorne looks over Alecta, who intentionally remains out of his reach, "So this is good bye?"

Though her face is blank, her eyes betray the hurt she feels. She doesn't dare come any closer to him, because she knows he will reach out to her and she won't be able to pull herself away from him again. She nods slowly and offers a small, sad smile, "Good bye, Thorne. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future."

He looks at her, longingly, "Perhaps, Alecta." He can't bring himself to say any more.

Knowing that this is just as hard on him as it is her, she turns on her heels and gracefully leaves the castle.

Thorne watches her go, feeling his heart break. He fumbles with the small bottle in his pocket; when he can no longer see her, he sits down on the red velvet bench across the hall from the guards. His body feels as if it weighs as much as stone. He pulls the bottle from his pocket, staring at the purple liquid inside.

After several minutes, a male voice permeates his thoughts, "Are you all right, Sir?" When Thorne doesn't respond, the guard queries further, "Baron Remington?"

Thorne looks up at the guard, who still doesn't know who he is. Success in all your endeavors, a distantly familiar voice rings through his mind. Slowly, he gets an idea, "Yes, I'm sorry, it is just that I am a little disappointed. You see, I bought this bottle of perfume from the apothecary, as a wedding present for the Princess—it is supposed to be the most divine scent known to man, however my nose seems to be a bit stuffed up because I cannot distinguish a thing." He rises slowly, opening the vial, "Would you mind telling me what it reminds you of?"

The guard looks over to his partner, who shrugs at him. When Thorne walks to him, vial extended, the guard sighs a little, "I'm really not supposed to do anything like this but if you promise not to tell..."

He leans forward slightly, nose hovering over the bottle. Slowly, he inhales, pulling a small tendril of purple smoke into his nostrils. The guard freezes for a moment, seemingly stuck in time. Thorne holds his breath, unsure what will happen. Perhaps as one last feat of revenge, Carabosse managed to switch the bottles and whatever is inside this one will again bring a great slumber over the town.

It is several moments before the other guard questions, "Joseph, are you all right?"

Joseph blinks slowly, before jerking up into a stiff posture, then down into a bow, "My apologizes, Prince Thorin, please forgive me," his shaky, frightened voice speaks.

"I don't understand," the other guard says, taking a few steps towards them. Another lone tendril snakes its way out of the vial, this time finding the other guard. A few moments later, he repeats the same thing.

When it is obvious that both guards are terrified at their behavior around him, Thorne is angry at himself; if he weren't such a horrible person before, these men wouldn't be worried about losing their jobs, or worse—their heads.

"It is quite all right, please rise," he pauses, waiting for both men to stand. "Now I realize that the past week might seem rather confusing now but I need you to set that aside for a moment. Joseph—is it? Can you recall the woman that was just here with me?"

"Countess Remington, Sir?" He says timidly.

"Yes, Countess Remington. Right now she is in a carriage heading out of town. I need you to hurry, as fast as you can; you must catch her before she leaves and escort her back to the castle immediately. Is that understood?"

Joseph raises his hand to his forehead in a salute; upon getting a nod from Thorne, he bursts into a full out run towards the doors.

"What shall I do, Sir?" The other guard queries.

"For right now, I just need you to remain here and guard the doors. When he returns with Contess Remington, please escort her inside."

"Yes, Sir!"

Thorne quietly slips through the door and into the back of the large dance hall. There are at least a hundred people sitting in witness to the wedding, only about half of them are from Briartown. In the distance, he can see the two thrones where his parents sit. Before them is a large white arch and in that arch stand Miss Talia and the faux Prince. They are facing each other, holding hands while the Priest reads from his book.

Standing just to the left of the door, Thorne leans against the wall, holding the vial in his hand. He is about to uncork it, when a stunning thought crosses his mind. He doesn't suppress the small smile on his lips but instead turns his attention to the wedding before him.

After a few more moments, the Priest shuts his book and looks up over the crowd, "Be there anyone who has a reason why these two should not be married? Speak now, or forever hold your peace." He pauses, slowly looking across the crowd. Thorne remains still, without objection.

"Then I now pronounce you husband and wife," he extends his hand forward towards the couple. The faux Prince leans forward and places a huge kiss on Talia's lips. Though she tries to return it, it is obvious that she has no attraction towards him.

As the crowd rises to their feet, clapping and cheering, Thorne pops the cork off of the bottle. Memories come flying out like dragonflies, darting around the room to find their rightful owners. When the townsfolk start to realize that the man standing under the arch is not the Prince, the cheering subsides, worried looks are exchanged. Suddenly, the King rises to his feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" He booms, clearly outraged.

Everyone who isn't from Briartown looks at him with shock. Talia's father timidly leans forward, "I'm sorry, your majesty?"

"What is going on here?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand—my daughter just married your son, the Prince..." He is completely confused. He motions towards Talia and the man next to her.

"That is not the Prince and he is certainly not my son," he snaps. Stepping forward, the King looks around the crowd; it takes a few minutes before his eyes land on Thorne, "That is my son," the King says, pointing at him.

Immediately, everyone turns around to discover Thorne standing near the doors. The townsfolk of Briartown bow deeply at once, leaving the rest of the wedding guests completely confused. Thorne takes a deep breath and slowly walks down the aisle towards the front.

"Baron Remington?" Philip Carden says, "I don't understand—he is here with his cousin and the Count Montage."

Thorne stops just before the King. He can feel all eyes on him, especially Talia's. "Hello, Father," he says casually, "Mother. It appears I have missed my wedding."

The King looks at Thorne, shocked. When Philip starts to walk towards them, the King spins on his heels, "Chambers, immediately," he says sharply before disappearing.

It is an odd group of people that fill the chamber; the King and Queen, Thorne, Talia, along with her parents and Edmond, the faux Prince, Duke Ferris, the Priest, a few advisors and a few guards.

"Would someone mind explaining just exactly what the hell is going on here? If you're the Prince, then who is this?" Talia's father's voice begins to raise.

"I'm not entirely sure," Thorne says, turning to his counterpart, "Who are you?"

The faux Prince bows. The slightly frightened, confused look on his face differs greatly from his behavior before, "My name is Yosif. I am the baker's apprentice," he says quietly.

The King, clearly at the edge of his patience, motions to a guard, "Arrest him."

"Now wait just a minute, father," Thorne says softly, holding out his had to halt the guard, "Yosif is not at fault here."

The King throws up his hands, waiting for an explanation.

Thorne nods slowly, "Yes, where to begin. Sometime during the century that we were asleep, Carabosse moved my body down to the servant's quarters. She placed Yosif in my bed and then removed my face from everyone's memories, in hopes that all who would come here to wake the Prince wouldn't be able to," he thinks for a moment, waiting to see if he forgot anything. He holds his hands out, "That pretty much covers it."

"I don't understand," Talia says, almost frantically, "I kissed him. Everyone woke up."

"That is a bit ironic. At the exact same moment that you kissed Yosif, I was also kissed—that is why everyone woke up. Since no one knew who I was, I was on my own. I hired a group of—" he pauses a moment before quickly covering, "of mercenaries who helped me to kill Carabosse and get the town's memories back."

The Queen smiles, gently squeezing Thorne's shoulders, "So it is over now, finally?"

He nods slowly, "Yes."

"Wonderful," the King says, his mood uplifted by the fact that Carabosse is finally dead.

Talia's father pinches the bridge of his nose, "Great! So you can marry my daughter now and everything will be as it should be."

The King looks at him, "Right," he says, somewhat unconvinced.

"Wrong," Thorne says, "Your daughter was not the one who woke me. Besides, she is already married."

"You've got to be kidding me," Talia says, her voice rising higher, "I only married him because I thought he was you. That means that it was a hoax."

Thorne looks at the Priest for back up; the man in black steps forward, "I am sorry, my child but Yosif didn't knowingly deceive you. The two of you took the sacred vows. You are now bonded to each other for the rest of your lives."

Talia's face loses all of its color as if she is about to pass out. She takes one look at the Priest, then Thorne and finally Yosif. As her true self starts to show, her eyes tear up, "That is not fair—I am nobility! He is just—just—a baker."

"A baker's apprentice," Yosif says softly, not entirely thrilled at the idea of being married to Talia either.

Talia lets out a loud wail. Unable to control herself, she runs towards the doors; frantically, her parents and Yosif chase after her. Just as she leaves the room, Alecta gracefully enters with two guards escorting her as if she was either a criminal or a Queen.

She quietly appraises the room; after tearing her eyes off of the disappearing Talia, she quickly surveys for exits, an old habit. On the wall opposite her is a large painting of Thorne, the King, Queen and Duke Ferris. She immediately notices that while three of them look the same, one looks significantly older. As she comes to a halt, she sees Edmond, Duke Ferris, the priest, King, Queen and finally Thorne. Though she is glad to see him again, from the appearance of the situation she has a feeling that she will not enjoy it.

"Lady Remington? Why are you here?" The King questions flatly.

"Why, indeed," she says. Taking a few steps forward, she curtseys deeply to them.

Thorne takes a deep breath, looking at her. Alecta knows exactly what he is about to do; she shakes her head slightly but to no avail. Immediately her posture diminishes and she drops down to her knees, keeping her head down cast. Everyone in the room is shocked at her behavior, except Thorne. He knows that she thinks this will end with her execution but he has no intentions of letting that happen. He takes a deep breath, "This woman, whom you know as Lady Remington, is actually one of the mercenaries. Her real name is Alecta."

"I don't believe it," the Queen says after a slight gasp. She is not the only one; the dumbfounded look is shared across the room.

"Though she has arguably committed a few crimes in Briartown, all were for the sake of my protection. She is the one who broke me out of jail, she saved my life several times, she went into Carabosse's house and retrieved your memories and she is also the one who took the nymph's life." He pauses for a moment to let it sink in. All eyes are glued on her, everyone in booth awe and disdain that she was capable of fooling them. "She is also the one who woke me, because she is my true love. And I never wish to be parted from her from this day forth, regardless of the consequences."

Alecta takes a sharp breath in; she tilts her head slightly so that she can look up at Thorne and see the sincerity in his eyes.

"Rise, Alecta," the King says, stepping forth. Alecta seemingly floats to her feet, keeping her chin and eyes down. "Tell me," he continues, "are you of noble birth?"

"I am not, your majesty." She says quietly.

"Then how is it that you are able to..." He tries to find a way to word his thoughts without being offensive, "To present yourself in such a way? And so convincingly? Surely, no one could so accurately imitate nobility unless they were raised as such."

Alecta senses that he is trying to lead her into an answer, one that would favor both her and Thorne. She pauses for a moment, hesitating at the opportunity—but she immediately realizes that she cannot lie anymore. Not only does she not have the desire, she is tired of pretending that she is someone seemingly better than herself. She smiles softly, "I am sorry to disappoint you, Sir but I am not. I am an orphan, raised on the streets of Reddington. I had gainful employment with a troupe of actors for many years but after that subsided..." she decides not to sugar coat it, "I am not a mercenary. I am a master thief, a confidence woman, an imposter, a murder and a wanted criminal." She sighs, finally looking up at the King, "To be honest, your highness, there isn't a country that I am not wanted in, nor one in which I would not be hanged for my crimes. I have escaped from every prison I have come across, several times over as a matter of fact but there is no way that I can escape from myself. When we arrived in Briartown, this was supposed to be my last job." She purses her lips for a moment before letting out a small laugh, "And I suppose it still is. I am tired of running. Do what you must."

Everyone is floored by her complete honesty; unsure how to respond, the King looks over at the Queen. She smiles softly, "It is a silly rule. Standing before me I see a man that resembles my son but one who has seen the world for what it truly is. I see a man that is worthy of being a great ruler, a King for the people and in him I see the capacity of loving someone other than himself—and a woman, whom despite the difficult hand she was dealt, found it within her heart to change my son into this type of man. Alecta, I pardon you for the crimes you have committed—as long as you promise that those days are behind you."

Alecta's brow crinkles, surprised that her luck has changed for the better, "They are, ma'am."

"Good," the King says, nodding, "Then I say we abolish the law that the Prince must marry someone of noble birth."

The Queen smiles, "I second that."

The King raises his arms in celebration but is cut off immediately by Duke Ferris, "I object." Everyone turns to look at him; he has a small, coy smile on his face. As if they didn't hear him the first time, he repeats himself, "I object."

"Then I abdicate my claim to the throne," Thorne says flatly. The Queen and King quickly turn to him, somewhat shocked, yet proud, that he would abandoned his position for love.

Alecta opens her mouth in protest but before she can speak, Thorne takes her hand in his. Dropping down to one knee, he looks up at her sincerely, "None of it matters to me—I don't care if I have a title. I don't care if we have money, or a house, or a shack or even if we spend the rest of our lives sleeping under the stars. All that matters to me is that I am with you. Marry me."

She freezes. In no way would she have been able to predict these turn of events. Her heart pounds so fiercely she can feel it in her ears. She tears her eyes away from Thorne to look at the King and Queen. Shock is still written on their faces but the Queen has a small smile and tears in her eyes. Her eyes drift to Ferris, who stands rather smugly against a cane, a half smirk on his aging face as things have played out in his favor. When she turns to look back at Thorne, she finds herself staring at the painting once more, bothered by the discrepancy. As the thought forms in her head, she allows a small smile on her face. Turning back to Thorne, she extends her hand and cups his cheek. Just before she opens her mouth, she winks at him, "Prince Thorin—how old is that painting on the wall?"

He is slightly taken aback. There must be a good reason why she would suspend his proposal for a simple, unrelated question. "That painting was just a week ago," he thinks on it a little better, "well, not in linear time. It was made two days before my twenty-seventh birthday."

She nods slowly, letting one hand drop while removing the other from his grip. Crossing the room, she stands before the painting, examining the faces on it, "Was it your usual artist?"

"Yes," the King adds, intrigued by her attraction to it.

"It seems he is very attentive to detail. Your majesty," she addresses the King, "you have a small scar above your right eye. It intersects your eyebrow, leaving a tiny gap in the hair, aye?"

"Yes but I am afraid I don't understand what this has to do with anything?" the Queen says, somewhat impatiently.

"Well, your highness, it seems extremely unlikely that an artist would paint a realistic flaw into the likeliness of the King but erase those of his brother, does it not?"

Everyone turns to Ferris. He huffs a little, "Theatrics won't get you anywhere, child. No one here will fall for your tricks. I am no different now than I was a few weeks ago."

"Did your Uncle always use a cane, Prince Thorin?" She queries, walking closer to Ferris until she stands before him.

"No, never," he says, the thought having just occurred to him.

He shrugs, "A new fashion statement."

Alecta nods slowly. Without remorse, she quickly kicks the cane out from under him. The uncle falls, stumbling a bit and is barely able to catch his balance on a nearby chair, "You idiot child!" he shrieks.

"Where did your injury come from?" She asks, her question halting the advancing guards, "Don't bother answering that with another lie. It is an old injury, one that you have spent years recovering from to the point where you can walk with the aid of a cane and no one will notice your limp. An artist wouldn't have painted a realistic scar on the King just to leave out the graying hair on your temples, or the wrinkles forming around your eyes."

"You're just a confidence woman—a criminal, a hoax! Arrest her!" He screams.

Alecta gets a sarcastic smile on her face, "It takes one to know one. While I was recovering the memories of the townsfolk, I glanced into the bottle and saw a peculiar memory—it didn't make sense to me then but it makes sense to me now. The memory showed Prince Thorin, lying in the bed in the servant's quarters. The same bed that I discovered him in when I woke him. Only someone who was awake after the entire town had fallen asleep would have that memory. How many years did Carabosse give you in return for betraying your own blood? Ten? Fifteen?"